FIC: The Pure and Simple Truth, part 6
Title: The Pure and Simple Truth
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, but this fic might as well be gen. Besides Harry and Draco, mostly canon pairings
Rating: PG
Warnings: No porn. No plot. No, really!
Summary: Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.
Word Count: 70,000 It happened by accident.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, in case you didn’t know, and talekayler wrote Nunquam Securus
Previous
30 September, 2004
When Harry saw Malfoy at the Ministry, Malfoy looked the other way.
A couple of times, Harry headed to SO to catch Malfoy after work, but his desk was always empty.
Harry rode the lift alone.
*
Just Pansy and Blaise were at the pub that night, a week after the incident with Neville and Greg.
“You haven’t come here in a while,” Harry said to Pansy.
“I wasn’t wanted,” Pansy said.
“That’s not true,” Harry said.
Pansy looked bored. “You don’t count.”
Harry supposed he should feel offended, but he didn’t, really, because it was Pansy. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded, even when she deliberately made it sound that way. “Why not?”
“Pansy doesn’t like a fuss,” Blaise said.
“You mean Hermione,” Harry said.
Pansy sipped her Bloody Fairy. “Blaise means everyone who isn’t you.”
Harry wanted to ask about Malfoy, and found he couldn’t.
“Oh, hello,” said Luna.
“Luna,” Blaise said, standing. “How lovely it is to see you.”
Luna gave him her hand and he kissed it, just as though this were ordinary and they did it all the time, which apparently they did. Blaise slid her chair out for her and she sat down.
“Draco said you’re usually here on Thursdays,” Luna said. “He said that I could visit.”
“Hello, Luna,” Pansy said.
“Hello, Pansy; hello, Harry.” Luna looked around. “Where’s Draco?”
“Curled up in a corner somewhere,” Pansy said.
“I don’t like it when he does that.” Luna took one of the cocktail menus from the centre of the table.
Harry coughed. “Does he―does Malfoy curl up often?”
“Only when he thinks the world is ending,” Pansy said. “That was once a month at Hogwarts.”
“He’s become less morbid since,” said Blaise, “but only just.”
Luna put the menu back. “I think I’ll have the spinach.”
Immediately, Blaise stood. “I’ll order for you. May I fetch anything for anyone else?”
He went to go get drinks and spinach, and Pansy said, “How’s Jorge?”
“Everyone keeps asking,” Luna said. “That was months ago.”
“Oh.” Pansy sipped her drink. “Who are we on now?”
“His name is Sven,” said Luna. “He’s two metres tall.”
“Why is Malfoy curled in a corner?” Harry asked, because he couldn’t help himself.
Pansy turned to him, unblinking. “I thought you put him there.”
“Is he . . .” Harry trailed off, and tried again. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Draco always was a wasting heroine,” Pansy said.
Luna looked at Harry with interested eyes. “Why did you put Draco in a corner?”
“I.” Harry swallowed. “I called Greg an idiot.”
“That would do it.” Pansy threw back the rest of her drink.
“Oh,” said Luna. “How sad.”
“I’ve tried to apologize,” Harry said.
Luna still looked interested. “To Greg?”
“To both of them.” Harry had owled Greg, and never had a response. Malfoy wouldn’t look at him in the Ministry, so Harry knew he didn’t want to see him. If it went on like this, he’d make it a point to see them both―he knew he could, but he didn’t want to force them into something they weren’t ready for.
It was what had got him in this mess to begin with.
“Draco can’t accept apologies,” Pansy said.
Harry swallowed. “Can’t he?”
“He’s too busy on his fainting couch with his smelling salts.” Pansy hitched a shoulder slightly, her equivalent of a shrug. “Best just to leave him be until he comes to his senses.”
“Will he . . .” Harry swallowed again. “Will he come to his senses?”
“He’ll rally,” Pansy said. “He always does. He has to; that’s what heroines do.”
“Malfoy’s not a heroine,” Harry felt the need to say.
“Draco would look very pretty as a heroine,” Luna mused.
Pansy smirked at her, a little. “Especially the corset.”
Then they sat and thought about Malfoy as a heroine, for a little while.
“What are we doing?” Blaise asked, distributing Pansy’s drink and his own figtini. “The spinach is on its way,” he said, sitting down.
“We’re imagining Draco in a corset,” Luna said. “Thank you.”
“An excellent past time. I’ve whiled away many delightful hours engaged in just such an activity.” Blaise smiled. “While we are on the subject, Luna, how is Jorge?”
“We’re past Jorge.” Pansy started in on her next Bloody Fairy. “We’re on to Sven.”
Blaise started in on his own drink. “I knew a Sven. Heir to Nimbus Racing Broom.”
“Oh.” When Luna reached for Blaise’s drink, he pushed it closer to her. “Is that what he does? I haven’t bothered to find out.”
“So it is that Sven. However did you manage to land him?” Blaise asked. “I’ve been intending to for years.”
“Er,” said Harry. “Are you talking about fishing?”
Luna looked at him in confusion. “We’re talking about sex.”
Retrieving his drink, Blaise took a sip. “I just love a woman who’s concise.”
“I’m sure we didn’t mention fish at all.” Luna still looked confused.
“You didn’t,” Harry said. “Blaise says he prefers primates anyway.”
“Oh,” said Luna. “Primates are lovely for certain activities, though they're not as essential as some people seem to think.” She turned to Blaise. “Are you still in love with Ginny?”
Blaise was taken completely off guard.
It was almost as awesome as the last time, except Harry couldn’t quite believe it, not really. It was too preposterous, the idea of Blaise being in love with Ginny, and then he had to decide whether it was preposterous because Blaise was Blaise, or whether it was because Blaise was a Slytherin.
It had to be because Blaise was Blaise, Harry decided eventually. Pansy and Ron was preposterous too, but Hermione thought it could happen, apparently. And Hermione was insightful and very clever, so if she thought that it could happen, it probably could.
Nothing was outside the realm of possibility, and suddenly, Harry felt a ray of hope.
He didn’t know why he felt it or where it came from, but he didn’t question it too hard, because he needed it. Lately he’d mostly felt like punching things, and that never ended well.
“That’s a trick question,” Blaise said at last, softly. “My dear girl, I refuse to answer, on the grounds that it may compromise everything I stand for.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna said. “I thought you knew.”
“Blaise knows everything,” Pansy said, “except about himself.”
Blaise looked very sad. “I try so very hard never to know anything at all.”
“You should ask her out,” Harry said, “if you like her.”
“But Harry, how can I?” Blaise looked sadder still. “I abhor practicality in practically every incarnation.”
Harry shrugged. “Then you’re out of luck, I guess.”
Blaise looked saddest of all. “My one virtue.” He sighed. “I shall resign myself to revelling in other people’s good fortune.” Turning to Luna, he said, “Sven is a very fine specimen of primate.”
“I met him in a banquet hall,” Luna said.
“I always do like a banquet hall,” Blaise said, “unless there are banquets going on in them.”
“I don’t know if there was a banquet going on,” said Luna. “I was giving a talk on Widgety Flingbats."
“Beautiful animals, Widgety Flingbats,” said Blaise.
“Widgety Flingbats don’t exist,” said Luna.
“But they don’t exist so beautifully.” Blaise didn’t look at all disturbed.
“They’ve been extinct half a million years,” said Luna, “but there are fossil remains in Arkansas.”
“Beautiful place, Arkansas,” said Blaise. “It does exist, doesn’t it?”
Harry leaned across the table toward Pansy. “Is Malfoy going to be all right?”
Blaise and Luna went on talking about Arkansas and Sven, while Pansy said, “He isn’t slitting his wrists, if that’s what you mean. He just acts like he’s going to.”
When Malfoy had been asking Neville to give them a chance, he’d looked as though he would have done it, if it would have helped at all.
“He’s very disappointed,” Pansy went on.
Harry swallowed hard. “I fucked up.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s not you he’s disappointed in.”
“Greg?” Startled, Harry pulled back a little. But―”
“Don’t be a blockhead. He’s disappointed in himself.”
“Oh,” Harry said.
Pansy stirred her drink. “Did he threaten your balls?”
“Er,” Harry said, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”
“I thought as much. I’d give it another week.”
Harry frowned. “Is that how long it usually takes?”
“No.” Pansy raised a brow. “It’s been months and he still hasn’t forgiven me for propositioning his precious girlfriend’s boyfriend. But as for you, he’s ashamed of himself, and very guilty; besides, he admires you very much.”
“He . . .” Harry had to swallow again. “He does?”
“Don’t play coy.” Pansy looked at him expressionlessly. “If you told Draco he could fly, he’d jump off a cliff.”
“You’re angry,” Harry said, surprised.
Pansy looked at him with boredom. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you didn’t know about Draco, so listen up. Don’t tell Draco he can do things he can’t. Don’t make him promises you can’t keep. Don’t lead him on, because Draco will believe you. Just because it’s you.”
Harry suddenly felt as blank as Pansy’s face. “I haven’t been,” he said. “Leading him on.”
“Yes, you have been. Hermione has been. Even Ronald has been leading him on, in his utterly artless way, and if any of you ruin it for him, I will crush you like the ants you are.”
“Are you still angry?” Harry pushed his glasses up. “Just, it’s hard to tell.”
“Funny.”
“I’m not going to ruin it.”
“Pity.” Pansy looked bored. “The idea of crushing you gave me pleasure.”
“That, I could tell.”
Inclining her head, Pansy regarded him for a while. At last she blinked, slowly. When she was done with that, she stirred her drink, moving a bit more like a normal person. “Have I told you about the time a peacock chased Draco around the Manor?” she asked at last.
Harry shook his head. “Is it as good as it sounds?”
“It’s better,” Pansy said, and smiled.
* * *
5 October, 2004
“Potter.”
“Malfoy.” Harry turned and lurched out of the chair at his desk so quickly that he almost stumbled.
He might be turning into Malfoy, just a little bit.
It was just that Malfoy was here, at his desk, and it hadn’t been another week yet, which was how long Pansy had said to wait; it had only been five days.
While Harry searched for the right thing to say, Malfoy looked away. “May we go somewhere . . . else?” he said.
“Sure,” Harry said. “There’s . . .” It was just before five, and there could be people in the lounge. “There’s records,” he said.
“All right,” was all that Malfoy said.
Harry walked out of his cubicle and Malfoy followed. They had to walk down the corridor, and by Robards’ office, past the conference room, around the corner. Malfoy didn’t try to say anything. He didn’t even really try walking beside Harry; he was just following, and Harry had to resist turning around again and again to make sure he was still there. At last he reached the door, and there was the records room.
Malfoy came in; Harry shut the door, and Malfoy said, “I’m sorry that I threatened you. I’m sorry that I was unpleasant to Hermione.”
Harry’s chest felt tight. “Malfoy,” he said, and couldn’t say anything more.
“I’ve already talked to Hermione about it. We’re . . . she’s all right. I’m sorry that Greg said those things.”
“Malfoy.” Harry’s voice croaked.
“I read the owl you sent to him. He wanted to know what to do with it. I told him to apologize to you. He will.” Malfoy frowned down at the scrolls on the shelf beside Harry’s thigh. “You were right. He does do what I tell him to.”
“Please stop,” Harry said.
“All right,” Malfoy said, and looked at the scrolls.
There were a lot more records down below in Archives; these were just the case files from the past couple years or so, but there were enough scrolls to fill the little room. Harry almost never went in it. It smelled like books.
“I’m sorry I said what I did to Greg,” he said. “I would never have lifted a hand.”
Malfoy pursed his mouth. “I know. I get . . . stupid, sometimes.”
“Protective.”
Malfoy grimaced. “If I were Blaise, I’d say that was a pretty word.”
“You’re not Blaise.”
“Then I’ll just say that it’s too pretty for what I am.”
The records room wasn’t a dark closet. Not at all. But the light wasn’t the brightest, and it softened Malfoy somewhat, made all his angles seem less harsh.
They should go to lunch again, Harry thought. He wanted to see Malfoy more in sunlight.
“Luna thinks you’re pretty,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Potter, Luna thinks Nargles are pretty.”
Now that he had his eyes, Harry held them. “I’m sorry about what happened with Neville.”
For a moment, Malfoy held his gaze, but then he dropped it. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No.” Malfoy sounded annoyed. “It was Greg’s, and it was mine. It was about things we did, and we need to pay for them.”
“For how long?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “Not getting to share a pint with Longbottom and gossip about the old days is a small price to pay, believe me.”
Harry just looked at him. Malfoy looked a little pale, drawn about the eyes. There were shadows under them. “I made a promise I couldn’t keep,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”
“Morgana’s tits.”
Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard him swear before.
“Potter, you’ve been talking to Pansy, haven’t you?”
“Yes?” Harry said.
“When am I going to convince anyone that you can’t listen to anything she says?”
Harry tilted his head. “She did tell me this great story about you and a peacock.”
“I don’t follow people blindly.” Malfoy shook his hair back. “I mean, I did, but I don’t any more. If I do something, it’s because I think it’s right.” He paused. “Or because I’m a stupid arse, but it isn’t because I can’t think for myself. I wanted to try with Longbottom because―because I wanted to try, Potter. Not because you said so, no matter what Pansy said. And no matter how big your head is.”
“Oh.” Harry thought about it a little while. “She said she’d crush me like an ant.”
“Yes, well.” Malfoy’s mouth was an unhappy little line. “She’s always wanted to say that to you.”
“I like that she said it.”
“Well, that’s . . .” Malfoy looked at the scrolls again. “. . . kinky.”
“She said it because she cares about you.” Harry studied the curve of Malfoy’s neck. It was quite long, his neck. “I like that.”
“Yes, she’s just a barrel of laughs, that Pansy.”
Harry wanted to tell him not to be so hard on her, but he didn’t. He was pretty sure he’d learned his lesson, where Malfoy’s friends were concerned―at least for now.
Instead he looked at Malfoy’s neck some more. “Does this mean you’ll come on Thursday?”
“Yes, about that.” Malfoy swallowed. “I was wondering . . .”
He seemed to be having trouble speaking, so Harry said, “You don’t have to.”
“I was wondering if you might like to go tonight.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I was just―”
“That’s all right,” Malfoy said quickly.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said, but that wasn’t true. He already had dinner plans. “Pansy.”
“Ah.” Malfoy nodded.
“Come with me,” Harry said.
“Blaise?” Malfoy asked.
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I assume so.”
Malfoy looked at him then, something indecipherable in his eyes. “I think you should go alone,” he said. “Have fun.”
“We could just go to the pub.”
“No,” Malfoy said. “I’m tired anyway.”
Harry couldn’t help himself. “Are you going to be mad at her forever?”
“Only until she stops being a cow.” Malfoy sighed. “You should know, this is how we are, Potter. She and I . . . we bicker.”
“I don’t know anyone who’s like that.”
Malfoy smiled a little. “No, I suppose you don’t.” The smile fell away. “Sometimes I wonder how people like you and Blaise can stand to be around people like us.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you two are even bickering about.”
“I don’t know either.” Malfoy put his hands in his pockets. “I think it started, though, when she dipped my pigtails in a well of ink.”
“You had pigtails, Malfoy?”
“Oh, yes. Pansy’s always worn the trousers, in our family.”
Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice what he’d said, that he used that word just as if it were as true as blood could be.
Harry’s chest went tight again, and he suddenly realized he was in a dark closet with Draco Malfoy, and Harry’s hands were beginning to sweat, and this had the potential to end very, very badly.
Malfoy didn’t seem aware of the danger, even a tiny bit. “Well, Potter,” he said, “have a good time.” He started opening the door.
“You’ll be at the pub,” Harry said. “Thursday?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “And tell that filthy bint I said hello.”
*
“Malfoy says he misses you,” Harry said.
“That’s why you’re so happy,” Pansy said.
“I’m not happy that he misses you,” said Harry.
“You’re happy you made up.”
Harry came into the room, because it wasn’t like Pansy was going to ask. She called it a drawing-room; Harry guessed that was all right, since he didn’t know what else to call it, and whenever he came to Pansy’s, he kept thinking about Petunia’s specials on the BBC.
Pansy’s parents’ town-house was in Chelsea, sandwiched magically between the other houses on the row. Unlike Grimmauld Place, the Muggles had corrected the numbers long ago; there were two number threes. Her parents never stayed there out of season―whatever Pansy meant by that―so she set up there the rest of the year. Pansy’s life seemed one long exercise of being wherever her parents weren’t. When they came to town, she went to her family’s estate in Surrey, or she stayed with Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t live in his parents' house, or in a house at all. He had a flat in Hammersmith. Pansy seemed to find something about it distasteful, even though she once roomed with him for four months straight. Harry didn’t know what was wrong with it; he had never been to Malfoy's flat.
He’d been to Pansy’s quite a few times, though.
Pansy was in an over-stuffed wing-back chair, her legs tucked up under her somehow, lost in folds of heavy robes. When she wasn’t in a formal setting―she seemed to think a pub was a formal setting―Pansy was always perching places, and yet, somehow, she managed to make it look like lounging.
“Did he come crawling?” she said, sounding not at all interested.
Harry thought it might mean that she was very interested. He looked at the vases on Pansy’s parents shelves. They looked like they were all from Japan. “I don’t think he does that.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Pansy said. “But I’m talking about Draco.”
“I am, too.” Harry turned to her. “I think he used to do that. Maybe he did it all the time. But now―I don’t think Draco Malfoy crawls to anyone.”
Pansy looked at him, her eyes as black as always and unreadable. “You’ve never seen him without any clothes on,” she said at last.
“No.” Harry turned back to the vases, steadfastly not thinking about Malfoy crawling without any clothes on.
There was another pause. “You’re defending him. To me.”
Harry turned back. “You sound surprised.” He smiled, because getting Pansy to sound anything was pretty much a victory.
“I didn’t know,” Pansy said blankly.
Harry just shrugged. “Now you do.”
The door clicked, and Squeak, one of Pansy’s house-elves, came inside. “Mr Blaise Zabini and Mr Theodore Nott,” said the elf.
They did things like that here, with misters, and announcements, and elves. It was really weird, but Harry was kind of getting used to it.
“Theodore?” Pansy stood. “What are you waiting for?” she asked Squeak, seeming more angry than she had when she’d told Harry she’d crush him like an ant. “Show them in.”
Squeak disappeared, and Blaise and Nott walked in, Nott coming up to kiss her hand.
Harry never could figure out about the hand-kissing; Malfoy never kissed anyone’s hands, and Blaise never kissed Pansy’s. He’d kissed Luna’s, though, and Blaise hardly ever stood for Pansy when she left the table or entered a room, either. Maybe it had something to do with what Malfoy had said about Pansy not being a lady, except that Pansy had stood this time, when Blaise and Nott had come in, and she never stood for anyone.
Come to think of it, she looked rather flushed.
“I hope you don’t mind, Pansy,” Blaise said. “I thought that Teddy could use some company.”
“I believe it was Blaise who required company,” Nott said. “Good evening, Pansy.”
“Hi,” Pansy said.
Nott was lanky, angular, and very thin. Dark brown hair hung rather flat and long on either side of his face, but his eyes were surprisingly large and soft, with straight black brows slanting over them. He was neither handsome nor particularly bad-looking, though his height was striking.
Harry couldn’t really remember what Nott looked like at school. He couldn’t even remember if they had ever spoken more than two words to each other.
“Hello, Harry,” Blaise said.
“That’s Harry,” Pansy told Nott.
Nott came over to him, extending his hand. “Good evening, Mr Potter.”
Harry shook it, just as if they were meeting for the first time. He supposed they actually were. “It’s Harry,” he said.
“Call me Teddy,” Teddy said. “You did an admirable job killing Voldemort.”
“Er,” said Harry, “Thanks?”
“Don’t tease him,” Blaise told Teddy.
Pansy reseated herself, curling up her legs. “Harry’s very shy about it.”
“I wasn’t teasing,” Teddy said.
“I’m not shy about it,” Harry said.
Teddy looked at him. “Sometimes they say things they don’t mean.”
“You noticed that?” Harry asked.
“I wonder how you did it,” said Teddy.
“What?”
Blaise walked over to what Pansy called the sideboard, where there was what Pansy called a decanter with something she called port inside. To Harry it looked a lot like a table with a pitcher with wine in it, but what did he know. “I told you,” Blaise said, taking off the glass stopper and pouring out some wine, “he’s shy about it.”
“I wonder how you killed Voldemort,” said Teddy.
“I never talk about killing anyone before supper,” Blaise went on. “Completely ruins my appetite.”
“I was merely curious,” said Teddy. “If you can’t say, that’s understandable.”
“I can’t say,” Harry said.
“Pity,” Teddy said, and went to go sit across from Pansy.
He didn’t seem at all dangerous. Harry had never thought about him much before―he’d never been a part of Malfoy’s gang. His father had been a Death Eater; Harry knew that much, but Nott―Teddy―had pretty much kept to himself in school. Harry didn’t really know what that meant.
“He’s not plotting to become evil,” Pansy said.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Harry said.
Blaise brought Pansy the glass of wine. She sipped it. “Yes, you were.”
Teddy looked at Harry with mild curiosity. “I don’t see a point in being evil. Do you?”
“There’s all kinds of point,” Harry said. “Just never any good ones.”
“It’s senseless. No,” Teddy told Blaise. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Teddy’s always making sense,” Blaise said. “I try to make up for it, but there’s only so much I can do. Would you like a drink, Harry?”
“No,” Harry said, “I’m not thirsty either. You do realize, this makes you evil, Blaise.”
“That’s a false causality,” Teddy said.
“That’s okay.” Blaise sat down, lounging elegantly. He never really sat any other way. “Harry can think I’m evil if he likes. It makes me seem rather dashing, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly makes you interesting,” Pansy said, “which is new.”
“So, Teddy,” Harry said. “What do you do?” It was the sort of thing you said when you were getting reacquainted, or never really knew someone in the first place. The trouble with Pansy and Blaise was that they never really did anything.
“I’m studying,” Teddy said. “At Endor.”
“That’s a good one,” Harry said, even though it was really the only wizarding university he knew. Hermione had gone there, so it must be good. “What do you study?”
“Applied arithmancy with a focus on quantum thaumaturgy,” said Teddy, “but I have an interest in astrosorcery as well.”
Harry sort of wanted to tell him he’d just made that up.
“Teddy’s our swot,” Blaise said.
Harry said, “I thought Malfoy was the swot.”
Blaise laughed, then looked at Harry. “I’m sorry.”
Harry frowned. “Malfoy’s clever.”
“Harry’s gone and got prickly,” Pansy said lazily. “I think Draco may be rubbing off on him.”
“Draco’s very clever,” Blaise said kindly. “But he was never a swot. He was a little too busy with . . . other things.” He looked at Harry thoughtfully. “He was our fearless leader, if that makes you feel any better.”
“He didn’t lead you,” Harry pointed out.
“Well, I was never really part of the group,” said Blaise.
Pansy looked at her nails. “We’ve already established I was the Ron Weasley.”
Blaise looked thoughtful again. “I like to think of myself as the Luna Lovegood of the crowd.”
“You’re batty enough,” Pansy told him.
Harry frowned. “Sorry, mate,” he told Teddy. “But you’re no Hermione.”
“Miss Granger is a very clever witch.” Teddy didn’t seem to mind not being Hermione. “I’ve heard about her Magical Beast Sanctuary. Have you seen it?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “I work there.”
Frowning, Teddy said, “I had read in the papers you were an Auror.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I am. I mean, I volunteer. So does Malfoy,” he felt the need to add.
“I’ve read that the idea is to teach trolls to speak, and gnomes earth magic,” said Teddy.
“Not so much earth magic for gnomes,” said Harry. “I mean, maybe one day. Hermione’s really big on creatures regaining lost arts, but she’s starting small. She wants gnomes to be able to grow their own gardens―you know, places they would prefer to live.”
“Interesting,” said Teddy. “What does she plan on doing with centaurs and merpeople?”
“Nothing, really.” Harry pushed up his glasses. “I mean, they seem content where they are. Okay, that’s not true,” because so did house-elves. “Hermione wants to improve their relationships with other Beasts and Beings. Same with werewolves and Giants. Even vampires, goblins, and Hags. She thinks there should be more . . . I don’t know. She talks a lot about idea sharing and . . . cultural exchange.”
“Yes,” said Teddy. “Only think of the economic consequences.” His eyes were lit up and warm, a little bit like chocolate. “It’s a fascinating thought experiment.”
Harry recoiled. “It’s not a thought experiment.”
“Naturally, it’s more than a mental exercise.” Teddy looked surprised. “I only meant that it’s an innovative way to test certain theories of a free enterprise system―combined with a marked cultural isolationism―against a more socialist approach.”
“It’s not a socialist approach,” Harry said.
“I told you he’s become prickly,” Pansy said.
Teddy tilted his head. “I only meant a more collaborative form of commerce,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything political by it.”
“I didn’t mean anything political by it either!” Harry clenched his jaw. He never meant to get frustrated. It just happened, the feeling of wanting to punch someone. “It’s not politics; it’s what’s right!”
“Harry doesn’t talk politics.” Pansy sipped her wine. “He says that he gets angry.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Blaise said.
Teddy was looking at Harry, head still tilted. “You’re upset,” he said. He sounded curious about that, too.
“No.” Harry unclenched his jaw. “Sorry.”
“Harry is only trying to make up for the excessive lack of passion in this room,” Blaise told Teddy.
“I see,” Teddy said.
Pansy was still looking at her nails. “I’m not sure if even in a rage, he could completely compensate.”
“You care,” Harry said.
Eyeing him lazily, Pansy said, “About what?”
Harry turned to Blaise. “So do you.”
“Good heavens,” said Blaise.
“You all care,” Harry said.
Pansy yawned. “And here I was certain I didn’t invite Draco.”
“Perhaps you should have,” Blaise said. “He and Harry could have cared together. Or is he still caring all by himself?”
“No,” said Pansy. “He’s caring with Harry and Hermione again. I don’t know what I would have done with another week of him moping about.”
“This is excellent news,” Blaise said smoothly. “Now we may all go to Luna’s soiree.”
He had probably been anxious to change the subject, since Harry still sort of wanted to punch things. It was probably for the better, because he sort of wanted to punch things even more when they talked about Malfoy that way, like Malfoy feeling miserable because of something Harry had done didn’t matter very much.
“Since I can see you’re dying to tell us,” Pansy told Blaise, “pretend I asked, ‘what soiree?’”
“I’m not dying,” said Blaise. “That would be unbecoming. Luna is celebrating Phoenix Day.”
Teddy quirked a brow. “Phoenix Day?”
“Yes,” said Blaise. “It is a Muggle holiday.”
Harry scowled. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Disappointed, Blaise said, “But I was sure she said it was Muggle. Here I thought that we were going be very culturally diverse.”
“What did she say about it?” said Teddy.
“I believe invitations are forthcoming.” Blaise shrugged. “She said that Muggles set off fireworks.”
“Oh,” said Harry. “Is it for the beginning of November?”
“Some time around then.”
“I can see how she got confused,” Harry said.
Blaise brightened. “Then it is Muggle?”
“Well,” said Harry. “Sort of. The fireworks will be, anyway.”
“I certainly hope not.” Pansy put her drink aside. “Muggle fireworks would be insipid.”
“That’s true,” said Harry. “Compared to wizard fireworks.”
Pansy turned to Blaise. “Do you remember the fireworks at Madam Valinsky’s masque ball?”
Blaise did remember. While they went on about it, Teddy set his drink down and came to stand closer to Harry. “My apologies for offending you earlier,” he said. “I tend to be more interested abstracts than actions. Pansy tells me it’s not conducive to living in the real world.”
“Okay.” Harry glanced at Pansy and Blaise, who were nattering on about ballrooms and the length of skirts. He turned back to Teddy. “Here’s an abstract for you, since you’re smart. Do you believe in conscience?”
Teddy quirked his brow again. “Do you mean, an innate understanding of and urge toward right versus wrong?”
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”
Teddy blinked. “No.”
“Then why do people think they have one?”
His brow furrowing as he considered his reply, Teddy said at last, “Society breaks down if everyone thieves, murders, rapes, and pillages, and society benefits most individuals.” He shrugged. “People have developed conscience to benefit themselves.”
Harry glanced at Pansy and Blaise again. When he caught Pansy’s eye, she blushed. In her slow and slothful way, she turned back to Blaise, but the colour stayed on her cheeks. Harry turned back to Teddy. “Then people do have it.”
“Many people do. Some learn it. Some never do. It’s just like social cues, or a will to live. These things aren’t moral imperatives. They’re not even magic. They’re survival instincts.”
“Where does magic fit in?”
“Magic is a survival instinct too.” Teddy shrugged again. “People developed a sense of sight to better interact with their world. Lesser creatures don’t have eyes. People also developed a sense of magic.”
Harry’s hands fisted in his pockets. “You think Muggles are lesser creatures.”
Tilting his head, Teddy said, “I’m speaking theoretically. You asked me what I thought.”
“Yeah.” Harry loosened his hands, glancing at Pansy and Blaise again. Now Pansy looked completely blank, and Blaise looked utterly at ease. “So, what do you do with people who don’t have that survival instinct? A conscience, I mean.”
“Put them where they won’t hurt anybody, I suppose.”
“You mean, you kill them?”
“No,” Teddy said. “Just because someone’s detrimental in certain ways doesn’t mean he can’t be useful in others. Just look at Muggles.”
“So, Muggles and psychopaths. Basically the same?”
“You're talking about sociopaths, and I didn’t say they were the same as Muggles. What I was going to say is that you should help them. And if you can’t help them, you protect them, because they might be helpful to you.”
“Okay,” said Harry. “What should I have done with Voldemort?”
Teddy’s eyes were wide and brown, his lashes long. There were actually tiny freckles all over his face, but they were so light, Harry hadn’t seen them until he stood this close. “The Janus Thickey ward hasn’t got high enough security,” he said. “They say there’s a wizard hospital off the west coast of America, for the criminally insane.”
“You’re saying Voldemort shouldn’t have been killed.”
Teddy’s brow rose. “Does that make me a Death Eater?”
“No.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “That makes you more humane than me.”
Teddy’s other brow rose as well. “I’m not trying to be humane. I’m trying to be logical. Voldemort had a great deal of knowledge that might have proved very beneficial to the world, had it been used in a more reasonable way.”
“Yeah.” Harry looked at Pansy and Blaise again. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter what you’re trying to do. Maybe it just matters what you do.”
“I prefer not to do anything at all,” said Teddy. “I just think about doing things. If Voldemort had beaten you, I’d have probably been very interested in the effect of a dictatorship on wizarding economic trends. I’d have probably drawn up charts. I’d have probably been fascinated by it. I may even have been Voldemort’s accountant.”
“But Voldemort didn’t beat me,” Harry said. “You’re doing astrosorcery, not economics. The world’s a different place.”
Teddy looked rather solemn. “Are you sure? I haven’t changed at all.”
“I’m sure, because I’ve changed a lot.” Harry wasn’t looking at Teddy. He was looking at Pansy and Blaise.
* * *
Next
This entry was originally posted to Dreamwidth. Read Comments | Reply
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, but this fic might as well be gen. Besides Harry and Draco, mostly canon pairings
Rating: PG
Warnings: No porn. No plot. No, really!
Summary: Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.
Word Count: 70,000 It happened by accident.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, in case you didn’t know, and talekayler wrote Nunquam Securus
Previous
30 September, 2004
When Harry saw Malfoy at the Ministry, Malfoy looked the other way.
A couple of times, Harry headed to SO to catch Malfoy after work, but his desk was always empty.
Harry rode the lift alone.
*
Just Pansy and Blaise were at the pub that night, a week after the incident with Neville and Greg.
“You haven’t come here in a while,” Harry said to Pansy.
“I wasn’t wanted,” Pansy said.
“That’s not true,” Harry said.
Pansy looked bored. “You don’t count.”
Harry supposed he should feel offended, but he didn’t, really, because it was Pansy. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded, even when she deliberately made it sound that way. “Why not?”
“Pansy doesn’t like a fuss,” Blaise said.
“You mean Hermione,” Harry said.
Pansy sipped her Bloody Fairy. “Blaise means everyone who isn’t you.”
Harry wanted to ask about Malfoy, and found he couldn’t.
“Oh, hello,” said Luna.
“Luna,” Blaise said, standing. “How lovely it is to see you.”
Luna gave him her hand and he kissed it, just as though this were ordinary and they did it all the time, which apparently they did. Blaise slid her chair out for her and she sat down.
“Draco said you’re usually here on Thursdays,” Luna said. “He said that I could visit.”
“Hello, Luna,” Pansy said.
“Hello, Pansy; hello, Harry.” Luna looked around. “Where’s Draco?”
“Curled up in a corner somewhere,” Pansy said.
“I don’t like it when he does that.” Luna took one of the cocktail menus from the centre of the table.
Harry coughed. “Does he―does Malfoy curl up often?”
“Only when he thinks the world is ending,” Pansy said. “That was once a month at Hogwarts.”
“He’s become less morbid since,” said Blaise, “but only just.”
Luna put the menu back. “I think I’ll have the spinach.”
Immediately, Blaise stood. “I’ll order for you. May I fetch anything for anyone else?”
He went to go get drinks and spinach, and Pansy said, “How’s Jorge?”
“Everyone keeps asking,” Luna said. “That was months ago.”
“Oh.” Pansy sipped her drink. “Who are we on now?”
“His name is Sven,” said Luna. “He’s two metres tall.”
“Why is Malfoy curled in a corner?” Harry asked, because he couldn’t help himself.
Pansy turned to him, unblinking. “I thought you put him there.”
“Is he . . .” Harry trailed off, and tried again. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Draco always was a wasting heroine,” Pansy said.
Luna looked at Harry with interested eyes. “Why did you put Draco in a corner?”
“I.” Harry swallowed. “I called Greg an idiot.”
“That would do it.” Pansy threw back the rest of her drink.
“Oh,” said Luna. “How sad.”
“I’ve tried to apologize,” Harry said.
Luna still looked interested. “To Greg?”
“To both of them.” Harry had owled Greg, and never had a response. Malfoy wouldn’t look at him in the Ministry, so Harry knew he didn’t want to see him. If it went on like this, he’d make it a point to see them both―he knew he could, but he didn’t want to force them into something they weren’t ready for.
It was what had got him in this mess to begin with.
“Draco can’t accept apologies,” Pansy said.
Harry swallowed. “Can’t he?”
“He’s too busy on his fainting couch with his smelling salts.” Pansy hitched a shoulder slightly, her equivalent of a shrug. “Best just to leave him be until he comes to his senses.”
“Will he . . .” Harry swallowed again. “Will he come to his senses?”
“He’ll rally,” Pansy said. “He always does. He has to; that’s what heroines do.”
“Malfoy’s not a heroine,” Harry felt the need to say.
“Draco would look very pretty as a heroine,” Luna mused.
Pansy smirked at her, a little. “Especially the corset.”
Then they sat and thought about Malfoy as a heroine, for a little while.
“What are we doing?” Blaise asked, distributing Pansy’s drink and his own figtini. “The spinach is on its way,” he said, sitting down.
“We’re imagining Draco in a corset,” Luna said. “Thank you.”
“An excellent past time. I’ve whiled away many delightful hours engaged in just such an activity.” Blaise smiled. “While we are on the subject, Luna, how is Jorge?”
“We’re past Jorge.” Pansy started in on her next Bloody Fairy. “We’re on to Sven.”
Blaise started in on his own drink. “I knew a Sven. Heir to Nimbus Racing Broom.”
“Oh.” When Luna reached for Blaise’s drink, he pushed it closer to her. “Is that what he does? I haven’t bothered to find out.”
“So it is that Sven. However did you manage to land him?” Blaise asked. “I’ve been intending to for years.”
“Er,” said Harry. “Are you talking about fishing?”
Luna looked at him in confusion. “We’re talking about sex.”
Retrieving his drink, Blaise took a sip. “I just love a woman who’s concise.”
“I’m sure we didn’t mention fish at all.” Luna still looked confused.
“You didn’t,” Harry said. “Blaise says he prefers primates anyway.”
“Oh,” said Luna. “Primates are lovely for certain activities, though they're not as essential as some people seem to think.” She turned to Blaise. “Are you still in love with Ginny?”
Blaise was taken completely off guard.
It was almost as awesome as the last time, except Harry couldn’t quite believe it, not really. It was too preposterous, the idea of Blaise being in love with Ginny, and then he had to decide whether it was preposterous because Blaise was Blaise, or whether it was because Blaise was a Slytherin.
It had to be because Blaise was Blaise, Harry decided eventually. Pansy and Ron was preposterous too, but Hermione thought it could happen, apparently. And Hermione was insightful and very clever, so if she thought that it could happen, it probably could.
Nothing was outside the realm of possibility, and suddenly, Harry felt a ray of hope.
He didn’t know why he felt it or where it came from, but he didn’t question it too hard, because he needed it. Lately he’d mostly felt like punching things, and that never ended well.
“That’s a trick question,” Blaise said at last, softly. “My dear girl, I refuse to answer, on the grounds that it may compromise everything I stand for.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna said. “I thought you knew.”
“Blaise knows everything,” Pansy said, “except about himself.”
Blaise looked very sad. “I try so very hard never to know anything at all.”
“You should ask her out,” Harry said, “if you like her.”
“But Harry, how can I?” Blaise looked sadder still. “I abhor practicality in practically every incarnation.”
Harry shrugged. “Then you’re out of luck, I guess.”
Blaise looked saddest of all. “My one virtue.” He sighed. “I shall resign myself to revelling in other people’s good fortune.” Turning to Luna, he said, “Sven is a very fine specimen of primate.”
“I met him in a banquet hall,” Luna said.
“I always do like a banquet hall,” Blaise said, “unless there are banquets going on in them.”
“I don’t know if there was a banquet going on,” said Luna. “I was giving a talk on Widgety Flingbats."
“Beautiful animals, Widgety Flingbats,” said Blaise.
“Widgety Flingbats don’t exist,” said Luna.
“But they don’t exist so beautifully.” Blaise didn’t look at all disturbed.
“They’ve been extinct half a million years,” said Luna, “but there are fossil remains in Arkansas.”
“Beautiful place, Arkansas,” said Blaise. “It does exist, doesn’t it?”
Harry leaned across the table toward Pansy. “Is Malfoy going to be all right?”
Blaise and Luna went on talking about Arkansas and Sven, while Pansy said, “He isn’t slitting his wrists, if that’s what you mean. He just acts like he’s going to.”
When Malfoy had been asking Neville to give them a chance, he’d looked as though he would have done it, if it would have helped at all.
“He’s very disappointed,” Pansy went on.
Harry swallowed hard. “I fucked up.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s not you he’s disappointed in.”
“Greg?” Startled, Harry pulled back a little. But―”
“Don’t be a blockhead. He’s disappointed in himself.”
“Oh,” Harry said.
Pansy stirred her drink. “Did he threaten your balls?”
“Er,” Harry said, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”
“I thought as much. I’d give it another week.”
Harry frowned. “Is that how long it usually takes?”
“No.” Pansy raised a brow. “It’s been months and he still hasn’t forgiven me for propositioning his precious girlfriend’s boyfriend. But as for you, he’s ashamed of himself, and very guilty; besides, he admires you very much.”
“He . . .” Harry had to swallow again. “He does?”
“Don’t play coy.” Pansy looked at him expressionlessly. “If you told Draco he could fly, he’d jump off a cliff.”
“You’re angry,” Harry said, surprised.
Pansy looked at him with boredom. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you didn’t know about Draco, so listen up. Don’t tell Draco he can do things he can’t. Don’t make him promises you can’t keep. Don’t lead him on, because Draco will believe you. Just because it’s you.”
Harry suddenly felt as blank as Pansy’s face. “I haven’t been,” he said. “Leading him on.”
“Yes, you have been. Hermione has been. Even Ronald has been leading him on, in his utterly artless way, and if any of you ruin it for him, I will crush you like the ants you are.”
“Are you still angry?” Harry pushed his glasses up. “Just, it’s hard to tell.”
“Funny.”
“I’m not going to ruin it.”
“Pity.” Pansy looked bored. “The idea of crushing you gave me pleasure.”
“That, I could tell.”
Inclining her head, Pansy regarded him for a while. At last she blinked, slowly. When she was done with that, she stirred her drink, moving a bit more like a normal person. “Have I told you about the time a peacock chased Draco around the Manor?” she asked at last.
Harry shook his head. “Is it as good as it sounds?”
“It’s better,” Pansy said, and smiled.
* * *
5 October, 2004
“Potter.”
“Malfoy.” Harry turned and lurched out of the chair at his desk so quickly that he almost stumbled.
He might be turning into Malfoy, just a little bit.
It was just that Malfoy was here, at his desk, and it hadn’t been another week yet, which was how long Pansy had said to wait; it had only been five days.
While Harry searched for the right thing to say, Malfoy looked away. “May we go somewhere . . . else?” he said.
“Sure,” Harry said. “There’s . . .” It was just before five, and there could be people in the lounge. “There’s records,” he said.
“All right,” was all that Malfoy said.
Harry walked out of his cubicle and Malfoy followed. They had to walk down the corridor, and by Robards’ office, past the conference room, around the corner. Malfoy didn’t try to say anything. He didn’t even really try walking beside Harry; he was just following, and Harry had to resist turning around again and again to make sure he was still there. At last he reached the door, and there was the records room.
Malfoy came in; Harry shut the door, and Malfoy said, “I’m sorry that I threatened you. I’m sorry that I was unpleasant to Hermione.”
Harry’s chest felt tight. “Malfoy,” he said, and couldn’t say anything more.
“I’ve already talked to Hermione about it. We’re . . . she’s all right. I’m sorry that Greg said those things.”
“Malfoy.” Harry’s voice croaked.
“I read the owl you sent to him. He wanted to know what to do with it. I told him to apologize to you. He will.” Malfoy frowned down at the scrolls on the shelf beside Harry’s thigh. “You were right. He does do what I tell him to.”
“Please stop,” Harry said.
“All right,” Malfoy said, and looked at the scrolls.
There were a lot more records down below in Archives; these were just the case files from the past couple years or so, but there were enough scrolls to fill the little room. Harry almost never went in it. It smelled like books.
“I’m sorry I said what I did to Greg,” he said. “I would never have lifted a hand.”
Malfoy pursed his mouth. “I know. I get . . . stupid, sometimes.”
“Protective.”
Malfoy grimaced. “If I were Blaise, I’d say that was a pretty word.”
“You’re not Blaise.”
“Then I’ll just say that it’s too pretty for what I am.”
The records room wasn’t a dark closet. Not at all. But the light wasn’t the brightest, and it softened Malfoy somewhat, made all his angles seem less harsh.
They should go to lunch again, Harry thought. He wanted to see Malfoy more in sunlight.
“Luna thinks you’re pretty,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Potter, Luna thinks Nargles are pretty.”
Now that he had his eyes, Harry held them. “I’m sorry about what happened with Neville.”
For a moment, Malfoy held his gaze, but then he dropped it. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No.” Malfoy sounded annoyed. “It was Greg’s, and it was mine. It was about things we did, and we need to pay for them.”
“For how long?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “Not getting to share a pint with Longbottom and gossip about the old days is a small price to pay, believe me.”
Harry just looked at him. Malfoy looked a little pale, drawn about the eyes. There were shadows under them. “I made a promise I couldn’t keep,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”
“Morgana’s tits.”
Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard him swear before.
“Potter, you’ve been talking to Pansy, haven’t you?”
“Yes?” Harry said.
“When am I going to convince anyone that you can’t listen to anything she says?”
Harry tilted his head. “She did tell me this great story about you and a peacock.”
“I don’t follow people blindly.” Malfoy shook his hair back. “I mean, I did, but I don’t any more. If I do something, it’s because I think it’s right.” He paused. “Or because I’m a stupid arse, but it isn’t because I can’t think for myself. I wanted to try with Longbottom because―because I wanted to try, Potter. Not because you said so, no matter what Pansy said. And no matter how big your head is.”
“Oh.” Harry thought about it a little while. “She said she’d crush me like an ant.”
“Yes, well.” Malfoy’s mouth was an unhappy little line. “She’s always wanted to say that to you.”
“I like that she said it.”
“Well, that’s . . .” Malfoy looked at the scrolls again. “. . . kinky.”
“She said it because she cares about you.” Harry studied the curve of Malfoy’s neck. It was quite long, his neck. “I like that.”
“Yes, she’s just a barrel of laughs, that Pansy.”
Harry wanted to tell him not to be so hard on her, but he didn’t. He was pretty sure he’d learned his lesson, where Malfoy’s friends were concerned―at least for now.
Instead he looked at Malfoy’s neck some more. “Does this mean you’ll come on Thursday?”
“Yes, about that.” Malfoy swallowed. “I was wondering . . .”
He seemed to be having trouble speaking, so Harry said, “You don’t have to.”
“I was wondering if you might like to go tonight.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I was just―”
“That’s all right,” Malfoy said quickly.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said, but that wasn’t true. He already had dinner plans. “Pansy.”
“Ah.” Malfoy nodded.
“Come with me,” Harry said.
“Blaise?” Malfoy asked.
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I assume so.”
Malfoy looked at him then, something indecipherable in his eyes. “I think you should go alone,” he said. “Have fun.”
“We could just go to the pub.”
“No,” Malfoy said. “I’m tired anyway.”
Harry couldn’t help himself. “Are you going to be mad at her forever?”
“Only until she stops being a cow.” Malfoy sighed. “You should know, this is how we are, Potter. She and I . . . we bicker.”
“I don’t know anyone who’s like that.”
Malfoy smiled a little. “No, I suppose you don’t.” The smile fell away. “Sometimes I wonder how people like you and Blaise can stand to be around people like us.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you two are even bickering about.”
“I don’t know either.” Malfoy put his hands in his pockets. “I think it started, though, when she dipped my pigtails in a well of ink.”
“You had pigtails, Malfoy?”
“Oh, yes. Pansy’s always worn the trousers, in our family.”
Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice what he’d said, that he used that word just as if it were as true as blood could be.
Harry’s chest went tight again, and he suddenly realized he was in a dark closet with Draco Malfoy, and Harry’s hands were beginning to sweat, and this had the potential to end very, very badly.
Malfoy didn’t seem aware of the danger, even a tiny bit. “Well, Potter,” he said, “have a good time.” He started opening the door.
“You’ll be at the pub,” Harry said. “Thursday?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said. “And tell that filthy bint I said hello.”
*
“Malfoy says he misses you,” Harry said.
“That’s why you’re so happy,” Pansy said.
“I’m not happy that he misses you,” said Harry.
“You’re happy you made up.”
Harry came into the room, because it wasn’t like Pansy was going to ask. She called it a drawing-room; Harry guessed that was all right, since he didn’t know what else to call it, and whenever he came to Pansy’s, he kept thinking about Petunia’s specials on the BBC.
Pansy’s parents’ town-house was in Chelsea, sandwiched magically between the other houses on the row. Unlike Grimmauld Place, the Muggles had corrected the numbers long ago; there were two number threes. Her parents never stayed there out of season―whatever Pansy meant by that―so she set up there the rest of the year. Pansy’s life seemed one long exercise of being wherever her parents weren’t. When they came to town, she went to her family’s estate in Surrey, or she stayed with Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t live in his parents' house, or in a house at all. He had a flat in Hammersmith. Pansy seemed to find something about it distasteful, even though she once roomed with him for four months straight. Harry didn’t know what was wrong with it; he had never been to Malfoy's flat.
He’d been to Pansy’s quite a few times, though.
Pansy was in an over-stuffed wing-back chair, her legs tucked up under her somehow, lost in folds of heavy robes. When she wasn’t in a formal setting―she seemed to think a pub was a formal setting―Pansy was always perching places, and yet, somehow, she managed to make it look like lounging.
“Did he come crawling?” she said, sounding not at all interested.
Harry thought it might mean that she was very interested. He looked at the vases on Pansy’s parents shelves. They looked like they were all from Japan. “I don’t think he does that.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Pansy said. “But I’m talking about Draco.”
“I am, too.” Harry turned to her. “I think he used to do that. Maybe he did it all the time. But now―I don’t think Draco Malfoy crawls to anyone.”
Pansy looked at him, her eyes as black as always and unreadable. “You’ve never seen him without any clothes on,” she said at last.
“No.” Harry turned back to the vases, steadfastly not thinking about Malfoy crawling without any clothes on.
There was another pause. “You’re defending him. To me.”
Harry turned back. “You sound surprised.” He smiled, because getting Pansy to sound anything was pretty much a victory.
“I didn’t know,” Pansy said blankly.
Harry just shrugged. “Now you do.”
The door clicked, and Squeak, one of Pansy’s house-elves, came inside. “Mr Blaise Zabini and Mr Theodore Nott,” said the elf.
They did things like that here, with misters, and announcements, and elves. It was really weird, but Harry was kind of getting used to it.
“Theodore?” Pansy stood. “What are you waiting for?” she asked Squeak, seeming more angry than she had when she’d told Harry she’d crush him like an ant. “Show them in.”
Squeak disappeared, and Blaise and Nott walked in, Nott coming up to kiss her hand.
Harry never could figure out about the hand-kissing; Malfoy never kissed anyone’s hands, and Blaise never kissed Pansy’s. He’d kissed Luna’s, though, and Blaise hardly ever stood for Pansy when she left the table or entered a room, either. Maybe it had something to do with what Malfoy had said about Pansy not being a lady, except that Pansy had stood this time, when Blaise and Nott had come in, and she never stood for anyone.
Come to think of it, she looked rather flushed.
“I hope you don’t mind, Pansy,” Blaise said. “I thought that Teddy could use some company.”
“I believe it was Blaise who required company,” Nott said. “Good evening, Pansy.”
“Hi,” Pansy said.
Nott was lanky, angular, and very thin. Dark brown hair hung rather flat and long on either side of his face, but his eyes were surprisingly large and soft, with straight black brows slanting over them. He was neither handsome nor particularly bad-looking, though his height was striking.
Harry couldn’t really remember what Nott looked like at school. He couldn’t even remember if they had ever spoken more than two words to each other.
“Hello, Harry,” Blaise said.
“That’s Harry,” Pansy told Nott.
Nott came over to him, extending his hand. “Good evening, Mr Potter.”
Harry shook it, just as if they were meeting for the first time. He supposed they actually were. “It’s Harry,” he said.
“Call me Teddy,” Teddy said. “You did an admirable job killing Voldemort.”
“Er,” said Harry, “Thanks?”
“Don’t tease him,” Blaise told Teddy.
Pansy reseated herself, curling up her legs. “Harry’s very shy about it.”
“I wasn’t teasing,” Teddy said.
“I’m not shy about it,” Harry said.
Teddy looked at him. “Sometimes they say things they don’t mean.”
“You noticed that?” Harry asked.
“I wonder how you did it,” said Teddy.
“What?”
Blaise walked over to what Pansy called the sideboard, where there was what Pansy called a decanter with something she called port inside. To Harry it looked a lot like a table with a pitcher with wine in it, but what did he know. “I told you,” Blaise said, taking off the glass stopper and pouring out some wine, “he’s shy about it.”
“I wonder how you killed Voldemort,” said Teddy.
“I never talk about killing anyone before supper,” Blaise went on. “Completely ruins my appetite.”
“I was merely curious,” said Teddy. “If you can’t say, that’s understandable.”
“I can’t say,” Harry said.
“Pity,” Teddy said, and went to go sit across from Pansy.
He didn’t seem at all dangerous. Harry had never thought about him much before―he’d never been a part of Malfoy’s gang. His father had been a Death Eater; Harry knew that much, but Nott―Teddy―had pretty much kept to himself in school. Harry didn’t really know what that meant.
“He’s not plotting to become evil,” Pansy said.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” Harry said.
Blaise brought Pansy the glass of wine. She sipped it. “Yes, you were.”
Teddy looked at Harry with mild curiosity. “I don’t see a point in being evil. Do you?”
“There’s all kinds of point,” Harry said. “Just never any good ones.”
“It’s senseless. No,” Teddy told Blaise. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Teddy’s always making sense,” Blaise said. “I try to make up for it, but there’s only so much I can do. Would you like a drink, Harry?”
“No,” Harry said, “I’m not thirsty either. You do realize, this makes you evil, Blaise.”
“That’s a false causality,” Teddy said.
“That’s okay.” Blaise sat down, lounging elegantly. He never really sat any other way. “Harry can think I’m evil if he likes. It makes me seem rather dashing, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly makes you interesting,” Pansy said, “which is new.”
“So, Teddy,” Harry said. “What do you do?” It was the sort of thing you said when you were getting reacquainted, or never really knew someone in the first place. The trouble with Pansy and Blaise was that they never really did anything.
“I’m studying,” Teddy said. “At Endor.”
“That’s a good one,” Harry said, even though it was really the only wizarding university he knew. Hermione had gone there, so it must be good. “What do you study?”
“Applied arithmancy with a focus on quantum thaumaturgy,” said Teddy, “but I have an interest in astrosorcery as well.”
Harry sort of wanted to tell him he’d just made that up.
“Teddy’s our swot,” Blaise said.
Harry said, “I thought Malfoy was the swot.”
Blaise laughed, then looked at Harry. “I’m sorry.”
Harry frowned. “Malfoy’s clever.”
“Harry’s gone and got prickly,” Pansy said lazily. “I think Draco may be rubbing off on him.”
“Draco’s very clever,” Blaise said kindly. “But he was never a swot. He was a little too busy with . . . other things.” He looked at Harry thoughtfully. “He was our fearless leader, if that makes you feel any better.”
“He didn’t lead you,” Harry pointed out.
“Well, I was never really part of the group,” said Blaise.
Pansy looked at her nails. “We’ve already established I was the Ron Weasley.”
Blaise looked thoughtful again. “I like to think of myself as the Luna Lovegood of the crowd.”
“You’re batty enough,” Pansy told him.
Harry frowned. “Sorry, mate,” he told Teddy. “But you’re no Hermione.”
“Miss Granger is a very clever witch.” Teddy didn’t seem to mind not being Hermione. “I’ve heard about her Magical Beast Sanctuary. Have you seen it?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “I work there.”
Frowning, Teddy said, “I had read in the papers you were an Auror.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I am. I mean, I volunteer. So does Malfoy,” he felt the need to add.
“I’ve read that the idea is to teach trolls to speak, and gnomes earth magic,” said Teddy.
“Not so much earth magic for gnomes,” said Harry. “I mean, maybe one day. Hermione’s really big on creatures regaining lost arts, but she’s starting small. She wants gnomes to be able to grow their own gardens―you know, places they would prefer to live.”
“Interesting,” said Teddy. “What does she plan on doing with centaurs and merpeople?”
“Nothing, really.” Harry pushed up his glasses. “I mean, they seem content where they are. Okay, that’s not true,” because so did house-elves. “Hermione wants to improve their relationships with other Beasts and Beings. Same with werewolves and Giants. Even vampires, goblins, and Hags. She thinks there should be more . . . I don’t know. She talks a lot about idea sharing and . . . cultural exchange.”
“Yes,” said Teddy. “Only think of the economic consequences.” His eyes were lit up and warm, a little bit like chocolate. “It’s a fascinating thought experiment.”
Harry recoiled. “It’s not a thought experiment.”
“Naturally, it’s more than a mental exercise.” Teddy looked surprised. “I only meant that it’s an innovative way to test certain theories of a free enterprise system―combined with a marked cultural isolationism―against a more socialist approach.”
“It’s not a socialist approach,” Harry said.
“I told you he’s become prickly,” Pansy said.
Teddy tilted his head. “I only meant a more collaborative form of commerce,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything political by it.”
“I didn’t mean anything political by it either!” Harry clenched his jaw. He never meant to get frustrated. It just happened, the feeling of wanting to punch someone. “It’s not politics; it’s what’s right!”
“Harry doesn’t talk politics.” Pansy sipped her wine. “He says that he gets angry.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Blaise said.
Teddy was looking at Harry, head still tilted. “You’re upset,” he said. He sounded curious about that, too.
“No.” Harry unclenched his jaw. “Sorry.”
“Harry is only trying to make up for the excessive lack of passion in this room,” Blaise told Teddy.
“I see,” Teddy said.
Pansy was still looking at her nails. “I’m not sure if even in a rage, he could completely compensate.”
“You care,” Harry said.
Eyeing him lazily, Pansy said, “About what?”
Harry turned to Blaise. “So do you.”
“Good heavens,” said Blaise.
“You all care,” Harry said.
Pansy yawned. “And here I was certain I didn’t invite Draco.”
“Perhaps you should have,” Blaise said. “He and Harry could have cared together. Or is he still caring all by himself?”
“No,” said Pansy. “He’s caring with Harry and Hermione again. I don’t know what I would have done with another week of him moping about.”
“This is excellent news,” Blaise said smoothly. “Now we may all go to Luna’s soiree.”
He had probably been anxious to change the subject, since Harry still sort of wanted to punch things. It was probably for the better, because he sort of wanted to punch things even more when they talked about Malfoy that way, like Malfoy feeling miserable because of something Harry had done didn’t matter very much.
“Since I can see you’re dying to tell us,” Pansy told Blaise, “pretend I asked, ‘what soiree?’”
“I’m not dying,” said Blaise. “That would be unbecoming. Luna is celebrating Phoenix Day.”
Teddy quirked a brow. “Phoenix Day?”
“Yes,” said Blaise. “It is a Muggle holiday.”
Harry scowled. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Disappointed, Blaise said, “But I was sure she said it was Muggle. Here I thought that we were going be very culturally diverse.”
“What did she say about it?” said Teddy.
“I believe invitations are forthcoming.” Blaise shrugged. “She said that Muggles set off fireworks.”
“Oh,” said Harry. “Is it for the beginning of November?”
“Some time around then.”
“I can see how she got confused,” Harry said.
Blaise brightened. “Then it is Muggle?”
“Well,” said Harry. “Sort of. The fireworks will be, anyway.”
“I certainly hope not.” Pansy put her drink aside. “Muggle fireworks would be insipid.”
“That’s true,” said Harry. “Compared to wizard fireworks.”
Pansy turned to Blaise. “Do you remember the fireworks at Madam Valinsky’s masque ball?”
Blaise did remember. While they went on about it, Teddy set his drink down and came to stand closer to Harry. “My apologies for offending you earlier,” he said. “I tend to be more interested abstracts than actions. Pansy tells me it’s not conducive to living in the real world.”
“Okay.” Harry glanced at Pansy and Blaise, who were nattering on about ballrooms and the length of skirts. He turned back to Teddy. “Here’s an abstract for you, since you’re smart. Do you believe in conscience?”
Teddy quirked his brow again. “Do you mean, an innate understanding of and urge toward right versus wrong?”
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”
Teddy blinked. “No.”
“Then why do people think they have one?”
His brow furrowing as he considered his reply, Teddy said at last, “Society breaks down if everyone thieves, murders, rapes, and pillages, and society benefits most individuals.” He shrugged. “People have developed conscience to benefit themselves.”
Harry glanced at Pansy and Blaise again. When he caught Pansy’s eye, she blushed. In her slow and slothful way, she turned back to Blaise, but the colour stayed on her cheeks. Harry turned back to Teddy. “Then people do have it.”
“Many people do. Some learn it. Some never do. It’s just like social cues, or a will to live. These things aren’t moral imperatives. They’re not even magic. They’re survival instincts.”
“Where does magic fit in?”
“Magic is a survival instinct too.” Teddy shrugged again. “People developed a sense of sight to better interact with their world. Lesser creatures don’t have eyes. People also developed a sense of magic.”
Harry’s hands fisted in his pockets. “You think Muggles are lesser creatures.”
Tilting his head, Teddy said, “I’m speaking theoretically. You asked me what I thought.”
“Yeah.” Harry loosened his hands, glancing at Pansy and Blaise again. Now Pansy looked completely blank, and Blaise looked utterly at ease. “So, what do you do with people who don’t have that survival instinct? A conscience, I mean.”
“Put them where they won’t hurt anybody, I suppose.”
“You mean, you kill them?”
“No,” Teddy said. “Just because someone’s detrimental in certain ways doesn’t mean he can’t be useful in others. Just look at Muggles.”
“So, Muggles and psychopaths. Basically the same?”
“You're talking about sociopaths, and I didn’t say they were the same as Muggles. What I was going to say is that you should help them. And if you can’t help them, you protect them, because they might be helpful to you.”
“Okay,” said Harry. “What should I have done with Voldemort?”
Teddy’s eyes were wide and brown, his lashes long. There were actually tiny freckles all over his face, but they were so light, Harry hadn’t seen them until he stood this close. “The Janus Thickey ward hasn’t got high enough security,” he said. “They say there’s a wizard hospital off the west coast of America, for the criminally insane.”
“You’re saying Voldemort shouldn’t have been killed.”
Teddy’s brow rose. “Does that make me a Death Eater?”
“No.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “That makes you more humane than me.”
Teddy’s other brow rose as well. “I’m not trying to be humane. I’m trying to be logical. Voldemort had a great deal of knowledge that might have proved very beneficial to the world, had it been used in a more reasonable way.”
“Yeah.” Harry looked at Pansy and Blaise again. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter what you’re trying to do. Maybe it just matters what you do.”
“I prefer not to do anything at all,” said Teddy. “I just think about doing things. If Voldemort had beaten you, I’d have probably been very interested in the effect of a dictatorship on wizarding economic trends. I’d have probably drawn up charts. I’d have probably been fascinated by it. I may even have been Voldemort’s accountant.”
“But Voldemort didn’t beat me,” Harry said. “You’re doing astrosorcery, not economics. The world’s a different place.”
Teddy looked rather solemn. “Are you sure? I haven’t changed at all.”
“I’m sure, because I’ve changed a lot.” Harry wasn’t looking at Teddy. He was looking at Pansy and Blaise.
* * *
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