FIC: The Pure and Simple Truth, part 8
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
11 November, 2004
“Hey Potter,” Malfoy said, stepping onto the lift at the Ministry.
“What’s wrong?” Harry said.
“What?” Malfoy pushed back his hair. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Right.”
Malfoy turned back to look at the lift doors. “I was rotten at Occlumency.”
“Me too,” Harry said.
Malfoy chewed the inside of his cheek. “Not because I wasn’t good at it, though.”
Harry pushed his glasses up. “You do realize what you just said makes no sense.”
The lift dinged, and they stepped out. “I was good at Occlumency,” Malfoy said, “but everything was always there to read right on my face.”
Harry could feel his lips twitching into a smile. They kept doing that, lately. “So,” he said, as they walked by the Fountain of the Brethren. “What’s wrong?”
“Pansy’s coming.”
“That’s . . . that’s good, right?” Stopping by the Fountain, Harry frowned. “You guys made up.” Finally, he didn’t add.
Malfoy smiled faintly, as if he could hear it regardless. “Yes, we made up.”
“Why, exactly?”
“Why did we make up?” Malfoy’s smile became more definite. “Because we were dancing and―and we used to have to. Dance together. And when we did, we’d be so angry that our parents were making us that . . . that it actually was all right, dancing with her. I haven’t danced with Pansy since we were sixteen.”
“But you looked really good.”
Malfoy’s smile was teasing. “Thanks, Potter.”
“I mean, Pansy looked good too. I mean,” Harry said weakly, “the dancing looked good. It was good.”
Malfoy’s smile was smirking, now. “Yes, Potter, but did you think it was good?”
“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry would’ve punched him on the arm, if he were Ron.
“It’s Hermione,” Malfoy said.
“What?”
“She’s―I invited her. I mean, she usually comes on Thursdays. When we’re not . . . she usually comes.”
Malfoy meant he didn’t know if Hermione would still come, now that Pansy was coming too.
“I don’t want her not to come,” Malfoy said, after a long moment.
Malfoy just sounded so―Pansy had said it once; he sounded earnest, and Harry realized he wanted Malfoy to have what he wanted, and that it wasn’t just for Pansy’s and Hermione’s sake. He wondered how much had happened―how much Pansy and Greg and Crabbe and even Blaise had done―out of a deep and fundamental need to not let Draco Malfoy be disappointed.
Harry would have wondered where that deep and fundamental need came from―after all, Malfoy wasn’t god-like like Dumbledore or even awe-inspiring, like Voldemort―but the question, at its heart, would have been dishonest. People didn’t want to disappoint Malfoy because they looked at him, saw what Harry was seeing now, and couldn’t help themselves.
“I can’t say it’ll be all right,” Harry said at last.
Malfoy brushed the hair out of his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, last time. With Neville.”
“It was, though,” Harry said. “I said it would be all right, and I had no way of knowing. You were right.”
“No.”
They could stand and argue this all day, but Harry wasn’t going to.
Malfoy was looking down, chewing his cheek, hair falling across his brow again. In moments like this, Harry could smell him, but he still couldn't figure out whether Malfoy ever wore cologne or not. Mostly, he just smelled clean.
“Why did you go into the Forbidden Forest?” Malfoy looked up.
Harry knew what he was talking about, despite the sudden change of subject, but he said, “What?” anyway, just to buy time.
“When Voldemort,” the name was still a struggle for Malfoy to say, “asked you to be brought to him. You went. Why?”
Harry didn’t think that Malfoy was asking him the same question Theodore Nott had, about how Voldemort died. Even if he was, Harry didn’t really feel like explaining Horcruxes just then. “I had to,” was all he said.
It seemed to be the answer Malfoy was looking for. He nodded. “I said you do the things you do because you think everything’s going to be okay,” he said, “but you don’t. Do you.” It was not a question. He held Harry’s eyes. “You have no idea what’s going to happen. You just do what you do because―because it’s the best thing to do. You always do your best.”
“Not always.” Malfoy was just staring at him, and Harry couldn’t quite figure out whether he approved or not. “But . . . I try,” he said at last.
Malfoy’s eyes drifted from Harry’s own―down to Harry’s neck. His mouth―or possibly his chin. They’d done that before. They’d been doing it more and more, lately.
Harry thought then that Malfoy did approve, after all, and that if his eyes drifted that way again, something was going to happen.
Something might happen now.
Harry licked his lips. “Malfoy―”
Malfoy drew in a noisy breath of air. “Except in potions.”
Harry forgot what he had been about to say. “What?”
Malfoy wasn’t looking at him. “You tried your best, except in potions. You were absolutely, without a doubt, atrocious.”
“Except when I was cheating,” Harry pointed out. “I did my very best at that.”
Malfoy looked at him again then, his little smile starting at the corner of his mouth. “Tosh, Potter. You probably stumbled on that book by luck.”
“Well.” Harry tried to put his nose in the air, like Malfoy. “But once I found it, I did my very best to be a fraud.”
Malfoy’s smile widened. “I believe your efforts in that direction have mostly proven unsuccessful.”
Harry brought his nose down. “Honestly, I didn’t try as hard as I could have to be a charlatan.”
Malfoy laughed. It was a dry, husky sound that seemed to fill the Atrium, or Harry’s ears at least, and Harry’s chest went tight. “Come on, Potter. Let’s go get a pint.”
“All right,” Harry said.
*
When Harry and Malfoy got to the pub, Pansy was already sitting at a table. Hermione arrived ten minutes later.
Malfoy lurched out of his chair in his Malfoy-ish way, and took Hermione’s coat. Harry didn’t know when Hermione had started letting Malfoy take her coat without even making a fuss about it. It didn’t seem very Hermione, but Malfoy seemed to like doing things like that.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Pansy said. “It’s always interesting to see Draco all aflutter.”
“How are you, Hermione?” Harry said, because even if Pansy was being a git, Malfoy was agitated, a bit, and Hermione had on her big doe eyes.
“Oh, I’m―I’m doing all right,” Hermione said. “How are you, Harry?”
“Great,” Harry said. “We closed a case today.”
“That’s nice.” Hermione wasn’t paying much attention. Sitting down, she turned to Pansy nervously. “And―and Pansy, how are you?”
“Between bouts of detachment and dispassion, I’ve been experiencing dullness.” Pansy looked at her nails. “Is this normal?”
“Pansy used up a month’s worth of energy on Phoenix Day,” Malfoy said in an encouraging way.
“You should see me at Christmas,” Pansy said.
“Oh. Er.” Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “Do you dance at Christmas?”
“No.” Pansy lost interest in her nails. “I lose the will to live.”
“I thought―I thought you danced beautifully with Draco.” Hermione went to tuck her hair again and found that it was already tucked. “At Luna’s, I mean. I mean―you looked lovely.”
Slowly, Pansy lifted her eyes. “And you danced with Theodore Nott.”
There was a big long silence. Harry thought of a thousand things to say―is that what they’re calling it?; I danced with Blaise; Malfoy looked good too; Hermione doesn’t like Teddy like that; and, Hermione, I’m almost ninety percent certain Pansy didn’t have sex with Ron in the pumpkin patch, so you can rest assured―
But none of them seemed right.
And so the silence stretched, and Harry couldn’t see Malfoy’s hands. He thought that he might be holding onto Pansy’s leg, when Hermione burst out, “Ron told me what you said.”
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Did he.”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “and I want to say―I want to say thank you, and you’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You told me―you told me something once; I mean, about yourself, and you said you thought I’d understand, and I thought I did, but I didn’t really, and―and maybe I still don’t. In fact I’m certain I still don’t, but I judged you on it, and thought it meant that I knew who you were and how you would act, and I―I wasn’t fair to you, and―and I’m sorry.”
“You people say you’re sorry a lot,” Pansy said.
Malfoy didn’t really move, but Harry could tell for certain, now; his hand was on Pansy’s leg.
Pansy blinked. “I forgive you.”
“Oh,” said Hermione, with her shining eyes, “I’m―I’m so glad. I hope―I hope we can . . . we can be friends.”
Harry wasn’t sure what Pansy had said to Ron. He was fairly certain she hadn’t apologized or admitted to wronging Hermione, or anything like that; it just wasn’t Pansy. Maybe she’d told Ron it wasn’t worth it, or to go back to his girlfriend. Maybe she had just helped Ron see it wasn’t over yet with Hermione. Whatever it was, Harry thought that Pansy had probably done it for Malfoy, not Hermione or Ron at all.
Under the table, Malfoy let Pansy go.
“You know, Hermione,” Pansy said after a moment, “the world isn’t a fair place.”
“I know.” Hermione tucked her hair again. “But that doesn’t mean that I should treat you unfairly.”
Pansy just kept look at her with her black and lazy eyes. “It doesn’t mean that you should treat me fairly, either.”
“But . . .” Hermione looked a little helpless. “I want to.”
Raising a slow brow, Pansy said, “Is the idea that I’ll reciprocate?”
Hermione shook her head. “That isn’t it at all.”
Pansy’s brow stayed up. “Then why bother?”
Malfoy’s hand was tight around his fizzy water.
“Oh!” Hermione looked surprised. “Because―because I’ll feel so much better.”
“You are a bizarre and incomprehensible creature. Don’t get your shorts in a twist, Draco.” Pansy rolled her eyes without even looking at him, then said, “I won’t do anything with Ronald.”
“I,” said Hermione. “Thank you.”
“Unlike you, I expect something in return. In return, you won’t suspect that either of us are doing anything, and so everything will be pleasant. Everything will be convenient, because that’s the way I want it.”
“I want it that way, too.” Hermione smiled.
“Watch out,” Harry said. “Now that you’re best friends and everything, all Hermione’s going to want to talk about is hair, make-up, and boys.”
“That’s all right.” Pansy looked bored. “That’s all Draco ever talks about.”
“You never talk to me about boys,” Hermione said, hurt.
“Would you like me to?” Malfoy leered.
“I want to hear Malfoy talk about make-up.” Harry smirked at him. “Greg told me how you wanted an earring in fourth year.”
Pink with embarrassment, Malfoy muttered, “That little traitor.”
Harry leered in lieu of Malfoy. “I think you’d look dashing with an earring.”
Malfoy looked away. “You’re spending too much time around Blaise.”
“You’re spending too much time around Greg,” Pansy told Harry. “I see he’s taken my place as your informant on Draco.”
“You all can inform on Malfoy any time you want,” Harry said magnanimously.
Malfoy looked sad. “No one ever informs on Potter.”
“Poor Draco,” Hermione said. “It’s okay. I’ll inform on Harry, if you like.”
Malfoy perked up. “Will you?”
“Hermione,” Harry said.
“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, looking brave. “Someone has to. Did you know, Harry didn’t even know what a Portkey was until fourth year?”
Harry put his hand over his face. He could feel himself turning red. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Potter,” Malfoy said, sounding utterly delighted, “there are these things called books. They have words. I highly recommend you try one.”
Harry groaned.
“He didn’t know what a Pensieve was until fourth year either,” said Hermione.
Harry glared at her. “I wasn’t raised in the wizarding world!”
“Right,” Hermione said, happily, “because my parents are so magical.”
“Well,” said Harry, “you could have told me about Portkeys and Pensieves, only maybe you missed the ‘p’ section of reciting Hogwarts: A History.”
“To think that I wasted all that time telling stories of Draco’s dungarees,” Pansy said.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Malfoy’s dungarees. Let’s go back to those.”
“Here’s another thing about Harry,” said Hermione. “He never listened when his friends tried to give him information, or suggested that maybe he should pay attention in class.”
Malfoy was nodding. “He was just bragging a little while ago about what a miserable little cheat he was in potions.”
“Hey!” Harry couldn’t help feeling betrayed. “That’s not what I―I wasn’t bragging. We were . . .”
Malfoy beamed at him. “We were what, Potter?” he said sweetly.
“Teasing,” Harry said.
Malfoy blinked his eyes, and his lashes were blonde and very long, sweeping low. “Is that what we were doing,” he murmured.
“Honestly,” Hermione went on, “I don’t think Harry even knew what the Wizengamot was before fifth year.”
“I like you,” Pansy said.
“Fifth year,” Harry said, “when I was put on trial.”
Pansy turned to Malfoy. “I like her.”
“I was attacked by Dementors,” Harry said. “I had to cast a Patronus.”
“Yes, yes,” said Pansy. “Your life was very hard, and you’re a hero. Now, Hermione, tell us. Did you have to explain the birds and the bees to Harry, or did he have to figure it out on his own?”
Hermione slid sly eyes Harry’s way. “I didn’t have to explain the birds and the bees to him,” she said.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Thanks.”
“But I did have to explain the bees and the bees,” Hermione went on.
Harry put his hand over his face again. “Why?” he said. “Why, why?”
“That’s okay,” Malfoy told him soothingly. “I’ll explain the bees and the bees to you, if you’re still confused.”
Harry wanted to bat his eyelashes and say something very clever and―and teasing, the way Malfoy just had, except that he couldn’t; he was too embarrassed. “I don’t understand why I’m even friends with you people,” he moaned.
“I’ve been working on a theory,” Pansy said, “and now I believe I have enough proof: it’s because we all had miserable childhoods. Now, Hermione,” she said, turning to her, “tell us all about your childhood. Leave out none of the gory details.”
“I didn’t have a bad childhood,” Hermione said.
“But your parents were―”
Harry waited. He was sure Malfoy waited; even Hermione probably waited, but none of them should have, because there wasn’t even a pause, and Pansy went right on talking as though she never could have said anything worse than:
“-dentists. Of course you had a terrible childhood.”
“Well.” Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let me tell you all about this horrible, Muggle thing called orthodontics.”
* * *
17 November, 2004
“Potter!”
Harry dropped his fork. He’d just sat down to dinner alone in Grimmauld Place. It was where he usually ate, when he wasn’t with Ron and Hermione, or at the Burrow, or at the pub.
It was a Wednesday night, so there was no pub. Harry had just been trying to decide whether to fall asleep to the wireless after dinner or whether he was in the mood for a fly, when he heard his name.
Rushing over to the hearth, Harry dropped to his knees. “Malfoy?” he said stupidly, because of course it was Malfoy.
Just, Malfoy had never called him on the Floo before.
“Potter.” Malfoy’s face, green with Floo fire, looked panicked. “There’s a hydra. It’s in the sanctuary.”
Harry closed his eyes, then opened them. It was the half second he needed. “I’m coming. Have you got hold of Hermione?”
“I’m calling her next,” Malfoy said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“It’s a hydra,” Harry said. “We need more than just us three.”
“I know,” Malfoy said. “I’ll get Ron and Neville; Luna―”
“Remind Hermione about the coins,” said Harry. “She’ll get the rest. If you get Kingsley, I’ve got―I can get us more.”
“Right,” Malfoy said. “That’s good thinking. I’ll see you there.”
Malfoy started pulling out, and Harry flailed, just a little. “Malfoy.”
“Yeah?”
“You take care.”
“You too,” Malfoy said, and was gone.
Standing, Harry reached for a handful of powder above the hearth. “The first Number Three, Redcliffe Road,” he told the Floo, and put his head in.
When she answered the Floo, Pansy looked bored. When Harry explained the situation, Pansy looked bored. When Harry said, “Will you help?” Pansy looked bored, and said, “Why should I?”
“Because it’s Malfoy,” Harry said, “and Hermione’s sanctuary, and a hydra.”
“There is that,” Pansy said, looking still more bored.
“You said he was waiting for a chance to prove himself,” Harry said.
“This requires trousers.” Standing up, Pansy walked away from the hearth.
It might have meant she was coming. It also might have meant she was getting ready for bed. Harry really had no idea what Pansy’s pyjamas were like.
Harry grabbed another handful of powder. “Sixty-five Mindnar Row, High Dugon, Somersetshire.”
“Hey Harry,” Greg said, when he answered the Floo. “So, it’s good you’ve called.”
“Hi, Greg,” Harry said. “You wanna fight a hydra?”
“Huh?” Greg said.
“A hydra,” Harry said. “It’s sort of like a dragon. Except with a whole lot of heads.”
“I know what a hydra is.” Greg frowned. “I’m not stupid.”
“Sure,” said Harry. “So, you wanna fight it?”
“Look,” said Greg. “I’ve been thinking about that girl Weasley.”
“You could cast fireballs at it,” Harry said.
Greg was still frowning. “Won't people get mad?”
“I don't think anyone will get mad. I think people will be really happy actually. They'll probably think you're a hero.”
The frown was turning into a scowl, which was a little more promising. “What about being ethical?”
“Trust me, in this instance, it's totally ethical to do a whole bunch of unethical things, if they're all aimed at a hydra,” Harry said.
Greg was scowling even less. “Will there be a lot of gore?” he said.
“Oh,” said Harry, “I think there'll be gore everywhere.”
“Well,” Greg said, “okay.”
The next place Harry tried was a mansion in Greater Manchester. When he put his head into the Floo, he saw that there was a party going on. “Mrs Zabini?” he asked the woman who answered. She was very beautiful.
“Me?” The woman laughed, a tinkling sound. “I’m Miss Poole. Would you like to talk to Gloria? Of course you would. Everyone does.”
“Wait,” Harry said. “I want Blaise.”
The woman laughed again. “Of course you do,” she said. “Everyone does.” Then she wandered away, hips swaying in her silver gown.
When Blaise finally came up, he was holding a glass of champagne. “Why, Harry. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“It’s Hermione’s sanctuary,” Harry said. “It’s under attack.”
Blaise put down his champagne. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He truly did look sorry.
“It’s a hydra,” Harry said. “We’re going to fight it.”
“Ah,” said Blaise.
“Will you come?”
Blaise looked sad. “It’s a hydra,” he said, “so you need as many hands as possible.”
“Yeah. Will you come?”
Blaise looked sadder still. “I have a party, Harry.”
“I know,” said Harry. “I thought you might like to look very important, though.”
“Ah,” Blaise said again.
“Will you come?” Harry said again.
“You know I don’t like violence,” Blaise said, very gently.
“No,” said Harry. “I don’t.” Blaise raised his brows, and Harry said, “You seemed to like it quite a lot when you were talking to Ginny.”
“Yes, but I was speaking of very pleasant violence. You are speaking of painful violence. You’re also speaking of exertion. I only like very pleasant exertion, Harry.”
“Ginny might be there,” Harry said. “She gets hot for heroics. I should know.”
“Yes.” Blaise looked at him thoughtfully, still rather melancholy. “You’ve thought of ways to get to each of us, haven’t you?”
“What?”
“You’ve tried to understand what I think is important,” Blaise said, “and you’re attempting to manipulate me, using what I value.”
“I’m not attempting to manipulate you,” Harry said. “I need your help.”
“I admire the effort,” Blaise said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you’ve thought of me, in this hour of crisis. But Harry, I am an essentially selfish being. I’ve told you that. I’ve told Draco that. But neither of you cares to believe it, and so you don’t.”
“I don’t care if you’re selfish,” Harry said. “I don’t really care what the fuck you are. I just care if you help. Blaise,” he said, “help.”
Blaise just sighed. “I’ll think about it, Harry.”
Harry said okay.
*
Blaise didn’t come.
Malfoy, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Hannah Abbot, Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, Cho Chang, George and Angelina Weasley, Gregory Goyle, they all came.
Pansy Parkinson came in trousers.
They were soft and black and form fitting, and she wore a tunic over them, almost to her knees. It was red, and her hair was done up tight in a bun near the nape of her neck, and she was stunningly fast, dressed like that. Harry never thought she could be, she always seemed so lethargic, but when she was fighting her spells were sharp and quick, incisive, and Harry was just a little bit afraid of her.
Harry had never seen Draco Malfoy fight a battle. He wasn’t sure Malfoy had ever actually fought a battle. He had seen Hermione and Ron fight battles, and even though it had been well over five years, they were still stronger than a lot of the others. He had seen Neville and Luna fight, but it had been a while since he had trained Hannah, Dean, Padma, and Cho. It had, perhaps, been a bit too long, but they were good at hanging back. Even at his most modest, which Harry usually was without really trying, he couldn’t really deny that he was the best fighter they had there.
Malfoy, however, was not half bad.
Harry didn’t really think of him as a fighter, even though he was a hit wizard. When Harry pictured Malfoy at his job, he pictured him pouring brightly coloured potions into other brightly coloured potions, and centrifuging things. He pictured Malfoy in a laboratory, smelling like chemicals, maybe wearing a white coat, his slender, clever hands doing intricate, clever things with test tubes and phials.
Sometimes Harry imagined latex gloves and wondered whether they used them in the wizarding world at all. He sort of hoped they did.
Malfoy didn’t fight like Ron or George, rushing in and reacting to things. Harry felt like he could practically see Malfoy thinking, see him forcing himself forward. But Malfoy did go forward―he used a lot of defensive spells and waited for openings; sometimes he waited too long, but when he acted, he no longer hesitated. He was fast and single-minded and really, sort of savage, and each time, Harry would begin to worry he’d go too far, before Malfoy pulled back again.
Harry himself wasn’t actually at his peak. His focus seemed to be split.
It should have looked incongruous, Draco Malfoy being brave, but somehow, it really wasn’t. When Harry thought about it later, he realized that Malfoy had always put himself out there, at Hogwarts. Of course, Malfoy had only put himself out there when he’d thought there had been no risk to himself―he’d done that when he’d dressed as a Dementor to scare Harry; he’d done that when he’d swaggered up to Buckbeak. But Malfoy was sort of the same, now; he waited for his openings, and then he took them.
The only difference between now and then was Malfoy’s timing.
Malfoy would have had to go through pretty rigorous training to be a hit wizard. Harry remembered being surprised when he’d first heard Malfoy was in Specialist Ops; hit wizards needed to pass all the tests and training Aurors did and then some. He had thought SO must be pretty desperate for a potions expert.
Now Harry mostly just thought that Malfoy must have worked really hard.
Part of Auror training was fighting a hydra; it was one of the final tests. Of course, it wasn’t a real hydra. Those were rare; the hydra used in training was an illusion constructed some time in the 1970s. Illusions that complex were a lot of spell-work, and there was a fondness for the old beast anyway. It looked just a little like it was made out of clay, movements jerky like stop-motion animation, but it had still been tricky to defeat the simulation. The challenge was supposed to be about teamwork―fighting hydras took coordination.
The challenge was, naturally, all the heads. If you cut one off, two grew in its place. If you Killing Cursed a head, it fell off, and two grew in its place. If you killed a brain in any way, the head rotted, shrivelled in on itself, and fell off, and two grew in its place. In order to kill a hydra, you had to stab its heart, which was somewhere in its body, which was somewhere behind a writhing mass of heads. The idea was that enough people would distract the heads so that someone could move into the center; everyone would cover him until he could get to the heart.
It was going to be particularly difficult with this hydra, because someone had cast anti-Apparition wards on it.
Hydras were shaped kind of like Harry had always imagined brontosauruses. They had a big, long sloping tail, a big stocky body, and clumsy, flat-footed legs. Where a dinosaur’s long, slender neck should have been, there was―well, a lot of long slender necks. Hydras in legends could have a hundred, which meant they had survived many battles. Baby hydras were born with three.
This one had about thirty-five. Each head had a set of fangs about a foot long, protruding from pointy snouts a little like dragons' noses, with eyes set further back that bulged and seemed to suck you in, like tar pits. The heads were each about as long as Luna, and three times as wide. The hydra was covered in obsidian coloured scales.
Harry and the rest would not have stood a chance, if it hadn’t been for the trolls.
The gardens had been the first to be trampled by the hydra, and even though some of the gnomes tried to fight, mostly they were just throwing mud at the hydra’s thick long tail. They were also slinging mud at each other, and a lot of them were curled up crying.
But the hydra was headed for the little town―or rather great big town, filled with great big huts, that Hermione had encouraged the trolls to build. Before this, trolls had never had places to live; they were mostly nomads. Hermione was trying to teach them the benefits of civilization.
Beyond the troll village was the mushroom ring, where the fairies lived. The fairies themselves were whirling about in confusion. Harry wanted to remind them about the defensive spells he’d taught them, but he was a little busy at the time.
The trolls, though, had lumbered out of their huts, and were waving big sticks and clubs at the hydra heads. It was a bit of a trick to convince the trolls not to bash the heads, since that would only multiply the problem. It was also a bit of a trick to convince the trolls not to bash the heads of the humans trying to help them, but Hermione was doing a pretty good job instructing them.
As a hydra head dove toward one of the huts, a troll thundered over and began thwacking it, on the way knocking Neville to the ground. A second head twisted around to get at Neville as Neville scrambled to find his wand. Harry was too far away to help, and too close to the hydra to Apparate.
He wasn’t going to get there in time.
“Take that, and that, and that!” said Greg. Jumping in front of Neville, he had shot a fireball in the head’s eye. “Did you see?” he said excitedly to Neville. He probably didn’t notice who it was. “I’ll kill it!”
Neville got off the ground. “Let’s not kill it,” he suggested.
“Well, no,” said Greg. “I wasn’t going to.” Thoughtfully, he cast a fireball at the hydra’s other eye. “But that would mean more skulls.”
Feeling hot breath blast over his head, Harry whirled. He’d been watching Neville too long, and a hydra head was hanging directly over him. It’s big, black maw was opening, and Harry could smell the reek of flesh, dead fish, and blood―
Then there was a goat.
It was a silver goat―a Patronus, Harry eventually registered―and it was running straight into the hydra’s open mouth.
The head recoiled for a moment, shook itself, then focused back on Harry. Diving, it pushed right through the Patronus, which puffed into a silver cloud, but now Harry was ready.
“Pay attention!” the silver cloud bleated, and then disappeared.
It sort of sounded like Malfoy.
“Was that a Patronus?” Hermione asked. She was casting spells at another hydra head behind Harry, coming closer.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “They don’t really do much, though. Just confuse it for a little while.”
Hermione cast another spell. “We need a―”
“Watch out!” said Ron, and pulled her out of the way of another sinuously diving head.
“Ron!” she said, surprised. “Where did you come from?”
“From watching you.” Pressing up against her side, Ron cast a slashing hex at the head. “You think I'm letting you out of my sight?”
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione cast a nostril clogging spell at another head diving at Harry, and it was sort of like old times, Hermione and Ron shoulder to shoulder, and at his back.
Meanwhile, the fairies seemed to be rallying around Malfoy’s head. Harry wasn’t sure why they would listen to Malfoy, when they wouldn’t listen to him. Maybe it was that Malfoy had more patience, or was more organized. Maybe it was that Malfoy was better at planning out what to do than doing it, or maybe it had something to do with what Malfoy had said about identifying with fairies, and understanding where they came from.
Distracted, Harry tried to focus on the hydra head in front of him. He still couldn’t see a way to get to the heart.
“That was bloody awesome!” Ginny shouted overhead.
She was on a broom, flicking fireballs with her wand at the hydra. Greg was shooting them from the ground, while Ginny redirected them, like Bludgers. Harry had never really pictured Ginny as a Beater, but she seemed to be doing all right.
Angelina zoomed by on her own broom, crossing paths with Ginny, flicking another fireball with her wand.
It was turning into a game of Quidditch, basically. A game of fireball Quidditch, with fireball Quaffles and hydra eyes for hoops.
“Hey, Greg!” Ginny yelled. “Keep ‘em coming!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Greg shouted back, looking very pleased.
“I’ve got a plan!” said Ron, which was exactly what Harry had been waiting to hear. Instead of saying more, though, Ron moved over toward Malfoy.
Even though hydras had to be stabbed in the heart, Harry hadn’t really thought to bring something to stab it with. It wasn’t like they’d prepared for this contingency. Though Ginny, Angelina, and George had had the presence of mind to bring brooms, it wasn’t like they’d exactly dressed for the occasion.
Except Pansy.
Who for some reason had a katana.
Later, when Harry thought about it, he figured it wasn’t that weird that Pansy had a katana. There were all those ceramics on the mantel in Pansy’s parents’ house in Chelsea, the ones with the white backgrounds and delicate colour paintings, and now that he thought about it, there were weapons in black leather scabbards with tassels hanging above that shelf. He’d just thought it was some weird pure-blood thing, family heirlooms maybe, or antiques from a long journey. He hadn’t really thought of them as weapons.
It was Ron's plan, and Pansy’s sword, and Malfoy marshalling the fairies that spelled the hydra's doom. The hydra heads were mostly ignoring the fairies, who could still appear and disappear―they weren’t human, after all; it wasn’t the same as Apparition. Whoever had cast the wards hadn’t counted on that, and they hadn’t counted on the fact that Malfoy had brought the Aurors and hit wizards, and with them, there were enough people and trolls to distract the hydra heads for a little while.
In the end, it sounded like a very bad joke: how many fairies does it take to shove a sword through the thick hide of a hydra?
The answer was around forty or so.
As it turned out, a dead hydra was a lot like a dead basilisk, actually: it was big, messy, and smelly, and oily black blood was everywhere.
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione said, flying at him. “You were bloody brilliant! You were amazing!”
Ron caught her, a flurry of robes and wild, frizzy hair. “I keep trying to tell you that,” he said.
“Oh!” Hermione said, and kissed him.
Pansy was removing her katana from the carnage with a curled lip. “Daddy’s going to kill me.” Apathetically, she looked at the black goo oozing off her sword.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I was amazing?” Malfoy looked about like he had in the pumpkin patch when he’d been talking to Neville―that was, he was lit up with incandescent triumph, except that this particular triumph had a rather unhealthy dose of smugness. “Look!” he said, jerking down the neck of his robes. “I have battle wounds.”
Horrified, Harry rushed over.
Just under Malfoy’s collarbone was a thin, shallow scratch.
“I’m practically a martyr,” Malfoy said.
“Are you okay?” Harry didn’t care if it was just a little scrape. He wanted to touch Malfoy all over, to make sure he was all there.
“I don’t know.” Malfoy looked ecstatic. “I feel kind of woozy. St Mungo’s might need to . . . Actually.” He looked calculatingly at Harry. “Maybe all it really needs is a bandage.”
Malfoy was ridiculous, and Harry still wanted to touch him all over.
“I couldn’t possibly bandage it myself, though,” Malfoy went on. “My battle wound is in such an awkward place. Salve will need to be rubbed in of course. All over. Gently, though; I feel sort of faint. And then the dressing will need to be changed in an hour or so, and salve rubbed in again, of course, and―hey!” He glared at Pansy. “Why did you do that?”
Pansy’s wand was out, and Malfoy’s scratch was gone.
Pansy turned to Harry with disinterest. “He tried the salve thing on me when that hypogriff scratched him.”
Malfoy deflated a little.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Harry said, coming closer. “I could―”
“Can someone tell me,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, “how a hydra ended up in Sussex?”
Malfoy turned. “I think it might have been political,” he said.
“Oh?” Kingsley raised his brows, looking stern.
Walking through the mess of necks and heads toward Kingsley, Malfoy didn’t seem intimidated. Harry went with him. “The sanctuary is a contentious issue,” Malfoy said, and began explaining about Wang, Meagre, and the rest. Malfoy seemed to suspect former Death Eaters.
Kingsley nodded along. “All right,” he said, when Malfoy finished with his theories. “Tell me what happened here. From the beginning.”
Malfoy had been coming here for his night of volunteering, when he’d seen the hydra. It had already got through the protection wards that Ron had set around the sanctuary, which was one reason Malfoy thought the hydra had been sabotage. Then he described how he’d Apparated to his flat and called Harry on the Floo. “And then I called Hermione, and she rounded up the rest,” Malfoy said. “And then you.”
“I called Pansy and Greg,” Harry said.
Malfoy went very still. “You did?” he said, his voice low.
“I called Blaise,” Harry said, “but he was at a party.”
Nodding again, Kingsley asked a couple questions. He had been promoted to the head of Specialist Ops after the war, and Robards had been moved up to Head Auror. Harry didn’t really know what Kingsley thought of Malfoy, but Harry wanted to tell him how he’d fought. He managed to stop himself, but only just.
“Good job, Agent Malfoy,” Kingsley eventually said, and Malfoy preened. “Auror Potter,” Kingsley said, “good job.”
He moved off to question some of the other Aurors and hit wizards, and to try to figure out what happened. Harry watched him go.
“I won’t tell him how I had to save your life,” Malfoy said, still preening.
“Okay,” Harry said. “I won’t tell him that your Patronus is a goat.”
Malfoy lifted his nose. “Shacklebolt already knows.”
Harry would have moved closer again, only Neville came up just then, and said, “What’s he doing, exactly?”
Harry looked around. The trolls were putting thatched roofs back on their little huts, and the fairies were picking on the gnomes, who were trying to put their gardens to rights. Most of the humans were standing around talking―except for Greg, who was trying to saw off a hydra head.
“Er,” said Harry. “I think he wants to keep the skull.”
“But,” said Neville. “Why?”
Malfoy watched Greg for a moment. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said, which really meant he was going to go help him, because Greg was having a little trouble sawing through the spine with his rudimentary cutting spells.
“I’m not sure,” Harry said, in answer to Neville’s question.
They both watched Malfoy and Greg for a while.
“He saved my life,” Neville said finally.
“Yeah,” was all Harry said.
Neville didn’t take his eyes off Greg. “You should tell him he can use my maggot moss.”
“Er . . .” Harry pushed his glasses up. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it?”
Neville turned back to Harry. “It’ll rot the flesh right off. Give it a week, those skulls will be completely stripped.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Well―well, that’s good of you, Neville.”
Neville hesitated. “I’ll―I’ll give it to you, yeah? Then you can give it to him.”
“Sure,” Harry said.
“That was bracing,” Ginny said, landing right near Harry. Neville moved off to talk to Dean and Hannah.
“I guess you could say that,” Harry said.
“Good show.” Ginny slammed him on the back.
Harry laughed. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Good idea, those Cirrus 9000s.”
“Now, if only we could be as killer against the Magpies.”
Harry pushed his glasses up again. “You do know you’re kind of obsessed, right?”
“I’m not obsessed.” Ginny frowned magnificently. “It’s just bloody Morgan. We should have Angelina on the team. If we could just get past the Magpies Chasers, I could clean up with their stupid Seeker. I just―okay. I’m a little obsessed.”
She smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled at her until her smile faded, and she wasn’t looking at him any more. She was looking over his shoulder. Turning, Harry saw Neville laughing with Dean.
“Excuse me, Harry,” Ginny said. “I have a man to snog.”
Harry tugged his fringe. “I thought you and Dean broke up?”
“Yeah, but Harry,” Ginny said, “heroism gets me horny. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, and had to laugh a little, as Ginny swaggered over toward Dean.
“I’m rather tardy, I see,” a voice said behind Harry.
Harry turned. Neither of them were going to pretend that the tardiness wasn’t on purpose. “You could still help,” Harry pointed out. “There’s a lot of clean up.”
Blaise glanced over to Ginny, who was tugging Dean’s elbow. “My window of opportunity appears to be closing,” he said. “Closing . . . shut.”
Ginny was kissing Dean.
“There’s plenty of opportunity,” Harry went on. “If you don’t like a mess, there’s PR, like Hermione said. Malfoy thinks this was a political maneuver. We could use a good spin on it.”
“You really are a lot like Draco.” Blaise looked apologetic. “He’s very persistent.”
Harry grinned. “His Patronus is a goat.”
“Really?” Blaise’s brows rose. “I suppose that makes sense.” Tilting his head, he watched Harry for a little while. “Aren’t you disappointed in me?”
Harry shrugged. “I’ve decided to stop worrying about why people do the things they do, and just focus on what they do.”
Blaise looked thoughtful. “Interesting.”
“I’ll be disappointed, though,” Harry said, “if you don’t come to the pub with us.”
Blaise looked a little humbled, and for once, it didn’t seem to be a part of the mask he wore, but something he really felt. “I believe I can work it into my schedule,” he said. “If you want me.”
“Sure,” Harry said. “Everyone's invited. Except the trolls.”
“I should imagine Hermione might object to not inviting trolls,” Blaise pointed out.
Harry looked around for Hermione. “I don't think she will,” he said.
Over a pile of hydra guts, Hermione was snogging Ron quite senseless.
*
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
11 November, 2004
“Hey Potter,” Malfoy said, stepping onto the lift at the Ministry.
“What’s wrong?” Harry said.
“What?” Malfoy pushed back his hair. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Right.”
Malfoy turned back to look at the lift doors. “I was rotten at Occlumency.”
“Me too,” Harry said.
Malfoy chewed the inside of his cheek. “Not because I wasn’t good at it, though.”
Harry pushed his glasses up. “You do realize what you just said makes no sense.”
The lift dinged, and they stepped out. “I was good at Occlumency,” Malfoy said, “but everything was always there to read right on my face.”
Harry could feel his lips twitching into a smile. They kept doing that, lately. “So,” he said, as they walked by the Fountain of the Brethren. “What’s wrong?”
“Pansy’s coming.”
“That’s . . . that’s good, right?” Stopping by the Fountain, Harry frowned. “You guys made up.” Finally, he didn’t add.
Malfoy smiled faintly, as if he could hear it regardless. “Yes, we made up.”
“Why, exactly?”
“Why did we make up?” Malfoy’s smile became more definite. “Because we were dancing and―and we used to have to. Dance together. And when we did, we’d be so angry that our parents were making us that . . . that it actually was all right, dancing with her. I haven’t danced with Pansy since we were sixteen.”
“But you looked really good.”
Malfoy’s smile was teasing. “Thanks, Potter.”
“I mean, Pansy looked good too. I mean,” Harry said weakly, “the dancing looked good. It was good.”
Malfoy’s smile was smirking, now. “Yes, Potter, but did you think it was good?”
“Whatever, Malfoy.” Harry would’ve punched him on the arm, if he were Ron.
“It’s Hermione,” Malfoy said.
“What?”
“She’s―I invited her. I mean, she usually comes on Thursdays. When we’re not . . . she usually comes.”
Malfoy meant he didn’t know if Hermione would still come, now that Pansy was coming too.
“I don’t want her not to come,” Malfoy said, after a long moment.
Malfoy just sounded so―Pansy had said it once; he sounded earnest, and Harry realized he wanted Malfoy to have what he wanted, and that it wasn’t just for Pansy’s and Hermione’s sake. He wondered how much had happened―how much Pansy and Greg and Crabbe and even Blaise had done―out of a deep and fundamental need to not let Draco Malfoy be disappointed.
Harry would have wondered where that deep and fundamental need came from―after all, Malfoy wasn’t god-like like Dumbledore or even awe-inspiring, like Voldemort―but the question, at its heart, would have been dishonest. People didn’t want to disappoint Malfoy because they looked at him, saw what Harry was seeing now, and couldn’t help themselves.
“I can’t say it’ll be all right,” Harry said at last.
Malfoy brushed the hair out of his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, last time. With Neville.”
“It was, though,” Harry said. “I said it would be all right, and I had no way of knowing. You were right.”
“No.”
They could stand and argue this all day, but Harry wasn’t going to.
Malfoy was looking down, chewing his cheek, hair falling across his brow again. In moments like this, Harry could smell him, but he still couldn't figure out whether Malfoy ever wore cologne or not. Mostly, he just smelled clean.
“Why did you go into the Forbidden Forest?” Malfoy looked up.
Harry knew what he was talking about, despite the sudden change of subject, but he said, “What?” anyway, just to buy time.
“When Voldemort,” the name was still a struggle for Malfoy to say, “asked you to be brought to him. You went. Why?”
Harry didn’t think that Malfoy was asking him the same question Theodore Nott had, about how Voldemort died. Even if he was, Harry didn’t really feel like explaining Horcruxes just then. “I had to,” was all he said.
It seemed to be the answer Malfoy was looking for. He nodded. “I said you do the things you do because you think everything’s going to be okay,” he said, “but you don’t. Do you.” It was not a question. He held Harry’s eyes. “You have no idea what’s going to happen. You just do what you do because―because it’s the best thing to do. You always do your best.”
“Not always.” Malfoy was just staring at him, and Harry couldn’t quite figure out whether he approved or not. “But . . . I try,” he said at last.
Malfoy’s eyes drifted from Harry’s own―down to Harry’s neck. His mouth―or possibly his chin. They’d done that before. They’d been doing it more and more, lately.
Harry thought then that Malfoy did approve, after all, and that if his eyes drifted that way again, something was going to happen.
Something might happen now.
Harry licked his lips. “Malfoy―”
Malfoy drew in a noisy breath of air. “Except in potions.”
Harry forgot what he had been about to say. “What?”
Malfoy wasn’t looking at him. “You tried your best, except in potions. You were absolutely, without a doubt, atrocious.”
“Except when I was cheating,” Harry pointed out. “I did my very best at that.”
Malfoy looked at him again then, his little smile starting at the corner of his mouth. “Tosh, Potter. You probably stumbled on that book by luck.”
“Well.” Harry tried to put his nose in the air, like Malfoy. “But once I found it, I did my very best to be a fraud.”
Malfoy’s smile widened. “I believe your efforts in that direction have mostly proven unsuccessful.”
Harry brought his nose down. “Honestly, I didn’t try as hard as I could have to be a charlatan.”
Malfoy laughed. It was a dry, husky sound that seemed to fill the Atrium, or Harry’s ears at least, and Harry’s chest went tight. “Come on, Potter. Let’s go get a pint.”
“All right,” Harry said.
*
When Harry and Malfoy got to the pub, Pansy was already sitting at a table. Hermione arrived ten minutes later.
Malfoy lurched out of his chair in his Malfoy-ish way, and took Hermione’s coat. Harry didn’t know when Hermione had started letting Malfoy take her coat without even making a fuss about it. It didn’t seem very Hermione, but Malfoy seemed to like doing things like that.
“I’m glad you could join us,” Pansy said. “It’s always interesting to see Draco all aflutter.”
“How are you, Hermione?” Harry said, because even if Pansy was being a git, Malfoy was agitated, a bit, and Hermione had on her big doe eyes.
“Oh, I’m―I’m doing all right,” Hermione said. “How are you, Harry?”
“Great,” Harry said. “We closed a case today.”
“That’s nice.” Hermione wasn’t paying much attention. Sitting down, she turned to Pansy nervously. “And―and Pansy, how are you?”
“Between bouts of detachment and dispassion, I’ve been experiencing dullness.” Pansy looked at her nails. “Is this normal?”
“Pansy used up a month’s worth of energy on Phoenix Day,” Malfoy said in an encouraging way.
“You should see me at Christmas,” Pansy said.
“Oh. Er.” Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “Do you dance at Christmas?”
“No.” Pansy lost interest in her nails. “I lose the will to live.”
“I thought―I thought you danced beautifully with Draco.” Hermione went to tuck her hair again and found that it was already tucked. “At Luna’s, I mean. I mean―you looked lovely.”
Slowly, Pansy lifted her eyes. “And you danced with Theodore Nott.”
There was a big long silence. Harry thought of a thousand things to say―is that what they’re calling it?; I danced with Blaise; Malfoy looked good too; Hermione doesn’t like Teddy like that; and, Hermione, I’m almost ninety percent certain Pansy didn’t have sex with Ron in the pumpkin patch, so you can rest assured―
But none of them seemed right.
And so the silence stretched, and Harry couldn’t see Malfoy’s hands. He thought that he might be holding onto Pansy’s leg, when Hermione burst out, “Ron told me what you said.”
Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Did he.”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “and I want to say―I want to say thank you, and you’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You told me―you told me something once; I mean, about yourself, and you said you thought I’d understand, and I thought I did, but I didn’t really, and―and maybe I still don’t. In fact I’m certain I still don’t, but I judged you on it, and thought it meant that I knew who you were and how you would act, and I―I wasn’t fair to you, and―and I’m sorry.”
“You people say you’re sorry a lot,” Pansy said.
Malfoy didn’t really move, but Harry could tell for certain, now; his hand was on Pansy’s leg.
Pansy blinked. “I forgive you.”
“Oh,” said Hermione, with her shining eyes, “I’m―I’m so glad. I hope―I hope we can . . . we can be friends.”
Harry wasn’t sure what Pansy had said to Ron. He was fairly certain she hadn’t apologized or admitted to wronging Hermione, or anything like that; it just wasn’t Pansy. Maybe she’d told Ron it wasn’t worth it, or to go back to his girlfriend. Maybe she had just helped Ron see it wasn’t over yet with Hermione. Whatever it was, Harry thought that Pansy had probably done it for Malfoy, not Hermione or Ron at all.
Under the table, Malfoy let Pansy go.
“You know, Hermione,” Pansy said after a moment, “the world isn’t a fair place.”
“I know.” Hermione tucked her hair again. “But that doesn’t mean that I should treat you unfairly.”
Pansy just kept look at her with her black and lazy eyes. “It doesn’t mean that you should treat me fairly, either.”
“But . . .” Hermione looked a little helpless. “I want to.”
Raising a slow brow, Pansy said, “Is the idea that I’ll reciprocate?”
Hermione shook her head. “That isn’t it at all.”
Pansy’s brow stayed up. “Then why bother?”
Malfoy’s hand was tight around his fizzy water.
“Oh!” Hermione looked surprised. “Because―because I’ll feel so much better.”
“You are a bizarre and incomprehensible creature. Don’t get your shorts in a twist, Draco.” Pansy rolled her eyes without even looking at him, then said, “I won’t do anything with Ronald.”
“I,” said Hermione. “Thank you.”
“Unlike you, I expect something in return. In return, you won’t suspect that either of us are doing anything, and so everything will be pleasant. Everything will be convenient, because that’s the way I want it.”
“I want it that way, too.” Hermione smiled.
“Watch out,” Harry said. “Now that you’re best friends and everything, all Hermione’s going to want to talk about is hair, make-up, and boys.”
“That’s all right.” Pansy looked bored. “That’s all Draco ever talks about.”
“You never talk to me about boys,” Hermione said, hurt.
“Would you like me to?” Malfoy leered.
“I want to hear Malfoy talk about make-up.” Harry smirked at him. “Greg told me how you wanted an earring in fourth year.”
Pink with embarrassment, Malfoy muttered, “That little traitor.”
Harry leered in lieu of Malfoy. “I think you’d look dashing with an earring.”
Malfoy looked away. “You’re spending too much time around Blaise.”
“You’re spending too much time around Greg,” Pansy told Harry. “I see he’s taken my place as your informant on Draco.”
“You all can inform on Malfoy any time you want,” Harry said magnanimously.
Malfoy looked sad. “No one ever informs on Potter.”
“Poor Draco,” Hermione said. “It’s okay. I’ll inform on Harry, if you like.”
Malfoy perked up. “Will you?”
“Hermione,” Harry said.
“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, looking brave. “Someone has to. Did you know, Harry didn’t even know what a Portkey was until fourth year?”
Harry put his hand over his face. He could feel himself turning red. “How was I supposed to know?”
“Potter,” Malfoy said, sounding utterly delighted, “there are these things called books. They have words. I highly recommend you try one.”
Harry groaned.
“He didn’t know what a Pensieve was until fourth year either,” said Hermione.
Harry glared at her. “I wasn’t raised in the wizarding world!”
“Right,” Hermione said, happily, “because my parents are so magical.”
“Well,” said Harry, “you could have told me about Portkeys and Pensieves, only maybe you missed the ‘p’ section of reciting Hogwarts: A History.”
“To think that I wasted all that time telling stories of Draco’s dungarees,” Pansy said.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Malfoy’s dungarees. Let’s go back to those.”
“Here’s another thing about Harry,” said Hermione. “He never listened when his friends tried to give him information, or suggested that maybe he should pay attention in class.”
Malfoy was nodding. “He was just bragging a little while ago about what a miserable little cheat he was in potions.”
“Hey!” Harry couldn’t help feeling betrayed. “That’s not what I―I wasn’t bragging. We were . . .”
Malfoy beamed at him. “We were what, Potter?” he said sweetly.
“Teasing,” Harry said.
Malfoy blinked his eyes, and his lashes were blonde and very long, sweeping low. “Is that what we were doing,” he murmured.
“Honestly,” Hermione went on, “I don’t think Harry even knew what the Wizengamot was before fifth year.”
“I like you,” Pansy said.
“Fifth year,” Harry said, “when I was put on trial.”
Pansy turned to Malfoy. “I like her.”
“I was attacked by Dementors,” Harry said. “I had to cast a Patronus.”
“Yes, yes,” said Pansy. “Your life was very hard, and you’re a hero. Now, Hermione, tell us. Did you have to explain the birds and the bees to Harry, or did he have to figure it out on his own?”
Hermione slid sly eyes Harry’s way. “I didn’t have to explain the birds and the bees to him,” she said.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Thanks.”
“But I did have to explain the bees and the bees,” Hermione went on.
Harry put his hand over his face again. “Why?” he said. “Why, why?”
“That’s okay,” Malfoy told him soothingly. “I’ll explain the bees and the bees to you, if you’re still confused.”
Harry wanted to bat his eyelashes and say something very clever and―and teasing, the way Malfoy just had, except that he couldn’t; he was too embarrassed. “I don’t understand why I’m even friends with you people,” he moaned.
“I’ve been working on a theory,” Pansy said, “and now I believe I have enough proof: it’s because we all had miserable childhoods. Now, Hermione,” she said, turning to her, “tell us all about your childhood. Leave out none of the gory details.”
“I didn’t have a bad childhood,” Hermione said.
“But your parents were―”
Harry waited. He was sure Malfoy waited; even Hermione probably waited, but none of them should have, because there wasn’t even a pause, and Pansy went right on talking as though she never could have said anything worse than:
“-dentists. Of course you had a terrible childhood.”
“Well.” Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let me tell you all about this horrible, Muggle thing called orthodontics.”
* * *
17 November, 2004
“Potter!”
Harry dropped his fork. He’d just sat down to dinner alone in Grimmauld Place. It was where he usually ate, when he wasn’t with Ron and Hermione, or at the Burrow, or at the pub.
It was a Wednesday night, so there was no pub. Harry had just been trying to decide whether to fall asleep to the wireless after dinner or whether he was in the mood for a fly, when he heard his name.
Rushing over to the hearth, Harry dropped to his knees. “Malfoy?” he said stupidly, because of course it was Malfoy.
Just, Malfoy had never called him on the Floo before.
“Potter.” Malfoy’s face, green with Floo fire, looked panicked. “There’s a hydra. It’s in the sanctuary.”
Harry closed his eyes, then opened them. It was the half second he needed. “I’m coming. Have you got hold of Hermione?”
“I’m calling her next,” Malfoy said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“It’s a hydra,” Harry said. “We need more than just us three.”
“I know,” Malfoy said. “I’ll get Ron and Neville; Luna―”
“Remind Hermione about the coins,” said Harry. “She’ll get the rest. If you get Kingsley, I’ve got―I can get us more.”
“Right,” Malfoy said. “That’s good thinking. I’ll see you there.”
Malfoy started pulling out, and Harry flailed, just a little. “Malfoy.”
“Yeah?”
“You take care.”
“You too,” Malfoy said, and was gone.
Standing, Harry reached for a handful of powder above the hearth. “The first Number Three, Redcliffe Road,” he told the Floo, and put his head in.
When she answered the Floo, Pansy looked bored. When Harry explained the situation, Pansy looked bored. When Harry said, “Will you help?” Pansy looked bored, and said, “Why should I?”
“Because it’s Malfoy,” Harry said, “and Hermione’s sanctuary, and a hydra.”
“There is that,” Pansy said, looking still more bored.
“You said he was waiting for a chance to prove himself,” Harry said.
“This requires trousers.” Standing up, Pansy walked away from the hearth.
It might have meant she was coming. It also might have meant she was getting ready for bed. Harry really had no idea what Pansy’s pyjamas were like.
Harry grabbed another handful of powder. “Sixty-five Mindnar Row, High Dugon, Somersetshire.”
“Hey Harry,” Greg said, when he answered the Floo. “So, it’s good you’ve called.”
“Hi, Greg,” Harry said. “You wanna fight a hydra?”
“Huh?” Greg said.
“A hydra,” Harry said. “It’s sort of like a dragon. Except with a whole lot of heads.”
“I know what a hydra is.” Greg frowned. “I’m not stupid.”
“Sure,” said Harry. “So, you wanna fight it?”
“Look,” said Greg. “I’ve been thinking about that girl Weasley.”
“You could cast fireballs at it,” Harry said.
Greg was still frowning. “Won't people get mad?”
“I don't think anyone will get mad. I think people will be really happy actually. They'll probably think you're a hero.”
The frown was turning into a scowl, which was a little more promising. “What about being ethical?”
“Trust me, in this instance, it's totally ethical to do a whole bunch of unethical things, if they're all aimed at a hydra,” Harry said.
Greg was scowling even less. “Will there be a lot of gore?” he said.
“Oh,” said Harry, “I think there'll be gore everywhere.”
“Well,” Greg said, “okay.”
The next place Harry tried was a mansion in Greater Manchester. When he put his head into the Floo, he saw that there was a party going on. “Mrs Zabini?” he asked the woman who answered. She was very beautiful.
“Me?” The woman laughed, a tinkling sound. “I’m Miss Poole. Would you like to talk to Gloria? Of course you would. Everyone does.”
“Wait,” Harry said. “I want Blaise.”
The woman laughed again. “Of course you do,” she said. “Everyone does.” Then she wandered away, hips swaying in her silver gown.
When Blaise finally came up, he was holding a glass of champagne. “Why, Harry. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“It’s Hermione’s sanctuary,” Harry said. “It’s under attack.”
Blaise put down his champagne. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He truly did look sorry.
“It’s a hydra,” Harry said. “We’re going to fight it.”
“Ah,” said Blaise.
“Will you come?”
Blaise looked sad. “It’s a hydra,” he said, “so you need as many hands as possible.”
“Yeah. Will you come?”
Blaise looked sadder still. “I have a party, Harry.”
“I know,” said Harry. “I thought you might like to look very important, though.”
“Ah,” Blaise said again.
“Will you come?” Harry said again.
“You know I don’t like violence,” Blaise said, very gently.
“No,” said Harry. “I don’t.” Blaise raised his brows, and Harry said, “You seemed to like it quite a lot when you were talking to Ginny.”
“Yes, but I was speaking of very pleasant violence. You are speaking of painful violence. You’re also speaking of exertion. I only like very pleasant exertion, Harry.”
“Ginny might be there,” Harry said. “She gets hot for heroics. I should know.”
“Yes.” Blaise looked at him thoughtfully, still rather melancholy. “You’ve thought of ways to get to each of us, haven’t you?”
“What?”
“You’ve tried to understand what I think is important,” Blaise said, “and you’re attempting to manipulate me, using what I value.”
“I’m not attempting to manipulate you,” Harry said. “I need your help.”
“I admire the effort,” Blaise said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you’ve thought of me, in this hour of crisis. But Harry, I am an essentially selfish being. I’ve told you that. I’ve told Draco that. But neither of you cares to believe it, and so you don’t.”
“I don’t care if you’re selfish,” Harry said. “I don’t really care what the fuck you are. I just care if you help. Blaise,” he said, “help.”
Blaise just sighed. “I’ll think about it, Harry.”
Harry said okay.
*
Blaise didn’t come.
Malfoy, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Hannah Abbot, Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, Cho Chang, George and Angelina Weasley, Gregory Goyle, they all came.
Pansy Parkinson came in trousers.
They were soft and black and form fitting, and she wore a tunic over them, almost to her knees. It was red, and her hair was done up tight in a bun near the nape of her neck, and she was stunningly fast, dressed like that. Harry never thought she could be, she always seemed so lethargic, but when she was fighting her spells were sharp and quick, incisive, and Harry was just a little bit afraid of her.
Harry had never seen Draco Malfoy fight a battle. He wasn’t sure Malfoy had ever actually fought a battle. He had seen Hermione and Ron fight battles, and even though it had been well over five years, they were still stronger than a lot of the others. He had seen Neville and Luna fight, but it had been a while since he had trained Hannah, Dean, Padma, and Cho. It had, perhaps, been a bit too long, but they were good at hanging back. Even at his most modest, which Harry usually was without really trying, he couldn’t really deny that he was the best fighter they had there.
Malfoy, however, was not half bad.
Harry didn’t really think of him as a fighter, even though he was a hit wizard. When Harry pictured Malfoy at his job, he pictured him pouring brightly coloured potions into other brightly coloured potions, and centrifuging things. He pictured Malfoy in a laboratory, smelling like chemicals, maybe wearing a white coat, his slender, clever hands doing intricate, clever things with test tubes and phials.
Sometimes Harry imagined latex gloves and wondered whether they used them in the wizarding world at all. He sort of hoped they did.
Malfoy didn’t fight like Ron or George, rushing in and reacting to things. Harry felt like he could practically see Malfoy thinking, see him forcing himself forward. But Malfoy did go forward―he used a lot of defensive spells and waited for openings; sometimes he waited too long, but when he acted, he no longer hesitated. He was fast and single-minded and really, sort of savage, and each time, Harry would begin to worry he’d go too far, before Malfoy pulled back again.
Harry himself wasn’t actually at his peak. His focus seemed to be split.
It should have looked incongruous, Draco Malfoy being brave, but somehow, it really wasn’t. When Harry thought about it later, he realized that Malfoy had always put himself out there, at Hogwarts. Of course, Malfoy had only put himself out there when he’d thought there had been no risk to himself―he’d done that when he’d dressed as a Dementor to scare Harry; he’d done that when he’d swaggered up to Buckbeak. But Malfoy was sort of the same, now; he waited for his openings, and then he took them.
The only difference between now and then was Malfoy’s timing.
Malfoy would have had to go through pretty rigorous training to be a hit wizard. Harry remembered being surprised when he’d first heard Malfoy was in Specialist Ops; hit wizards needed to pass all the tests and training Aurors did and then some. He had thought SO must be pretty desperate for a potions expert.
Now Harry mostly just thought that Malfoy must have worked really hard.
Part of Auror training was fighting a hydra; it was one of the final tests. Of course, it wasn’t a real hydra. Those were rare; the hydra used in training was an illusion constructed some time in the 1970s. Illusions that complex were a lot of spell-work, and there was a fondness for the old beast anyway. It looked just a little like it was made out of clay, movements jerky like stop-motion animation, but it had still been tricky to defeat the simulation. The challenge was supposed to be about teamwork―fighting hydras took coordination.
The challenge was, naturally, all the heads. If you cut one off, two grew in its place. If you Killing Cursed a head, it fell off, and two grew in its place. If you killed a brain in any way, the head rotted, shrivelled in on itself, and fell off, and two grew in its place. In order to kill a hydra, you had to stab its heart, which was somewhere in its body, which was somewhere behind a writhing mass of heads. The idea was that enough people would distract the heads so that someone could move into the center; everyone would cover him until he could get to the heart.
It was going to be particularly difficult with this hydra, because someone had cast anti-Apparition wards on it.
Hydras were shaped kind of like Harry had always imagined brontosauruses. They had a big, long sloping tail, a big stocky body, and clumsy, flat-footed legs. Where a dinosaur’s long, slender neck should have been, there was―well, a lot of long slender necks. Hydras in legends could have a hundred, which meant they had survived many battles. Baby hydras were born with three.
This one had about thirty-five. Each head had a set of fangs about a foot long, protruding from pointy snouts a little like dragons' noses, with eyes set further back that bulged and seemed to suck you in, like tar pits. The heads were each about as long as Luna, and three times as wide. The hydra was covered in obsidian coloured scales.
Harry and the rest would not have stood a chance, if it hadn’t been for the trolls.
The gardens had been the first to be trampled by the hydra, and even though some of the gnomes tried to fight, mostly they were just throwing mud at the hydra’s thick long tail. They were also slinging mud at each other, and a lot of them were curled up crying.
But the hydra was headed for the little town―or rather great big town, filled with great big huts, that Hermione had encouraged the trolls to build. Before this, trolls had never had places to live; they were mostly nomads. Hermione was trying to teach them the benefits of civilization.
Beyond the troll village was the mushroom ring, where the fairies lived. The fairies themselves were whirling about in confusion. Harry wanted to remind them about the defensive spells he’d taught them, but he was a little busy at the time.
The trolls, though, had lumbered out of their huts, and were waving big sticks and clubs at the hydra heads. It was a bit of a trick to convince the trolls not to bash the heads, since that would only multiply the problem. It was also a bit of a trick to convince the trolls not to bash the heads of the humans trying to help them, but Hermione was doing a pretty good job instructing them.
As a hydra head dove toward one of the huts, a troll thundered over and began thwacking it, on the way knocking Neville to the ground. A second head twisted around to get at Neville as Neville scrambled to find his wand. Harry was too far away to help, and too close to the hydra to Apparate.
He wasn’t going to get there in time.
“Take that, and that, and that!” said Greg. Jumping in front of Neville, he had shot a fireball in the head’s eye. “Did you see?” he said excitedly to Neville. He probably didn’t notice who it was. “I’ll kill it!”
Neville got off the ground. “Let’s not kill it,” he suggested.
“Well, no,” said Greg. “I wasn’t going to.” Thoughtfully, he cast a fireball at the hydra’s other eye. “But that would mean more skulls.”
Feeling hot breath blast over his head, Harry whirled. He’d been watching Neville too long, and a hydra head was hanging directly over him. It’s big, black maw was opening, and Harry could smell the reek of flesh, dead fish, and blood―
Then there was a goat.
It was a silver goat―a Patronus, Harry eventually registered―and it was running straight into the hydra’s open mouth.
The head recoiled for a moment, shook itself, then focused back on Harry. Diving, it pushed right through the Patronus, which puffed into a silver cloud, but now Harry was ready.
“Pay attention!” the silver cloud bleated, and then disappeared.
It sort of sounded like Malfoy.
“Was that a Patronus?” Hermione asked. She was casting spells at another hydra head behind Harry, coming closer.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “They don’t really do much, though. Just confuse it for a little while.”
Hermione cast another spell. “We need a―”
“Watch out!” said Ron, and pulled her out of the way of another sinuously diving head.
“Ron!” she said, surprised. “Where did you come from?”
“From watching you.” Pressing up against her side, Ron cast a slashing hex at the head. “You think I'm letting you out of my sight?”
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione cast a nostril clogging spell at another head diving at Harry, and it was sort of like old times, Hermione and Ron shoulder to shoulder, and at his back.
Meanwhile, the fairies seemed to be rallying around Malfoy’s head. Harry wasn’t sure why they would listen to Malfoy, when they wouldn’t listen to him. Maybe it was that Malfoy had more patience, or was more organized. Maybe it was that Malfoy was better at planning out what to do than doing it, or maybe it had something to do with what Malfoy had said about identifying with fairies, and understanding where they came from.
Distracted, Harry tried to focus on the hydra head in front of him. He still couldn’t see a way to get to the heart.
“That was bloody awesome!” Ginny shouted overhead.
She was on a broom, flicking fireballs with her wand at the hydra. Greg was shooting them from the ground, while Ginny redirected them, like Bludgers. Harry had never really pictured Ginny as a Beater, but she seemed to be doing all right.
Angelina zoomed by on her own broom, crossing paths with Ginny, flicking another fireball with her wand.
It was turning into a game of Quidditch, basically. A game of fireball Quidditch, with fireball Quaffles and hydra eyes for hoops.
“Hey, Greg!” Ginny yelled. “Keep ‘em coming!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Greg shouted back, looking very pleased.
“I’ve got a plan!” said Ron, which was exactly what Harry had been waiting to hear. Instead of saying more, though, Ron moved over toward Malfoy.
Even though hydras had to be stabbed in the heart, Harry hadn’t really thought to bring something to stab it with. It wasn’t like they’d prepared for this contingency. Though Ginny, Angelina, and George had had the presence of mind to bring brooms, it wasn’t like they’d exactly dressed for the occasion.
Except Pansy.
Who for some reason had a katana.
Later, when Harry thought about it, he figured it wasn’t that weird that Pansy had a katana. There were all those ceramics on the mantel in Pansy’s parents’ house in Chelsea, the ones with the white backgrounds and delicate colour paintings, and now that he thought about it, there were weapons in black leather scabbards with tassels hanging above that shelf. He’d just thought it was some weird pure-blood thing, family heirlooms maybe, or antiques from a long journey. He hadn’t really thought of them as weapons.
It was Ron's plan, and Pansy’s sword, and Malfoy marshalling the fairies that spelled the hydra's doom. The hydra heads were mostly ignoring the fairies, who could still appear and disappear―they weren’t human, after all; it wasn’t the same as Apparition. Whoever had cast the wards hadn’t counted on that, and they hadn’t counted on the fact that Malfoy had brought the Aurors and hit wizards, and with them, there were enough people and trolls to distract the hydra heads for a little while.
In the end, it sounded like a very bad joke: how many fairies does it take to shove a sword through the thick hide of a hydra?
The answer was around forty or so.
As it turned out, a dead hydra was a lot like a dead basilisk, actually: it was big, messy, and smelly, and oily black blood was everywhere.
“Oh, Ron!” Hermione said, flying at him. “You were bloody brilliant! You were amazing!”
Ron caught her, a flurry of robes and wild, frizzy hair. “I keep trying to tell you that,” he said.
“Oh!” Hermione said, and kissed him.
Pansy was removing her katana from the carnage with a curled lip. “Daddy’s going to kill me.” Apathetically, she looked at the black goo oozing off her sword.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I was amazing?” Malfoy looked about like he had in the pumpkin patch when he’d been talking to Neville―that was, he was lit up with incandescent triumph, except that this particular triumph had a rather unhealthy dose of smugness. “Look!” he said, jerking down the neck of his robes. “I have battle wounds.”
Horrified, Harry rushed over.
Just under Malfoy’s collarbone was a thin, shallow scratch.
“I’m practically a martyr,” Malfoy said.
“Are you okay?” Harry didn’t care if it was just a little scrape. He wanted to touch Malfoy all over, to make sure he was all there.
“I don’t know.” Malfoy looked ecstatic. “I feel kind of woozy. St Mungo’s might need to . . . Actually.” He looked calculatingly at Harry. “Maybe all it really needs is a bandage.”
Malfoy was ridiculous, and Harry still wanted to touch him all over.
“I couldn’t possibly bandage it myself, though,” Malfoy went on. “My battle wound is in such an awkward place. Salve will need to be rubbed in of course. All over. Gently, though; I feel sort of faint. And then the dressing will need to be changed in an hour or so, and salve rubbed in again, of course, and―hey!” He glared at Pansy. “Why did you do that?”
Pansy’s wand was out, and Malfoy’s scratch was gone.
Pansy turned to Harry with disinterest. “He tried the salve thing on me when that hypogriff scratched him.”
Malfoy deflated a little.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Harry said, coming closer. “I could―”
“Can someone tell me,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, “how a hydra ended up in Sussex?”
Malfoy turned. “I think it might have been political,” he said.
“Oh?” Kingsley raised his brows, looking stern.
Walking through the mess of necks and heads toward Kingsley, Malfoy didn’t seem intimidated. Harry went with him. “The sanctuary is a contentious issue,” Malfoy said, and began explaining about Wang, Meagre, and the rest. Malfoy seemed to suspect former Death Eaters.
Kingsley nodded along. “All right,” he said, when Malfoy finished with his theories. “Tell me what happened here. From the beginning.”
Malfoy had been coming here for his night of volunteering, when he’d seen the hydra. It had already got through the protection wards that Ron had set around the sanctuary, which was one reason Malfoy thought the hydra had been sabotage. Then he described how he’d Apparated to his flat and called Harry on the Floo. “And then I called Hermione, and she rounded up the rest,” Malfoy said. “And then you.”
“I called Pansy and Greg,” Harry said.
Malfoy went very still. “You did?” he said, his voice low.
“I called Blaise,” Harry said, “but he was at a party.”
Nodding again, Kingsley asked a couple questions. He had been promoted to the head of Specialist Ops after the war, and Robards had been moved up to Head Auror. Harry didn’t really know what Kingsley thought of Malfoy, but Harry wanted to tell him how he’d fought. He managed to stop himself, but only just.
“Good job, Agent Malfoy,” Kingsley eventually said, and Malfoy preened. “Auror Potter,” Kingsley said, “good job.”
He moved off to question some of the other Aurors and hit wizards, and to try to figure out what happened. Harry watched him go.
“I won’t tell him how I had to save your life,” Malfoy said, still preening.
“Okay,” Harry said. “I won’t tell him that your Patronus is a goat.”
Malfoy lifted his nose. “Shacklebolt already knows.”
Harry would have moved closer again, only Neville came up just then, and said, “What’s he doing, exactly?”
Harry looked around. The trolls were putting thatched roofs back on their little huts, and the fairies were picking on the gnomes, who were trying to put their gardens to rights. Most of the humans were standing around talking―except for Greg, who was trying to saw off a hydra head.
“Er,” said Harry. “I think he wants to keep the skull.”
“But,” said Neville. “Why?”
Malfoy watched Greg for a moment. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said, which really meant he was going to go help him, because Greg was having a little trouble sawing through the spine with his rudimentary cutting spells.
“I’m not sure,” Harry said, in answer to Neville’s question.
They both watched Malfoy and Greg for a while.
“He saved my life,” Neville said finally.
“Yeah,” was all Harry said.
Neville didn’t take his eyes off Greg. “You should tell him he can use my maggot moss.”
“Er . . .” Harry pushed his glasses up. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it?”
Neville turned back to Harry. “It’ll rot the flesh right off. Give it a week, those skulls will be completely stripped.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “Well―well, that’s good of you, Neville.”
Neville hesitated. “I’ll―I’ll give it to you, yeah? Then you can give it to him.”
“Sure,” Harry said.
“That was bracing,” Ginny said, landing right near Harry. Neville moved off to talk to Dean and Hannah.
“I guess you could say that,” Harry said.
“Good show.” Ginny slammed him on the back.
Harry laughed. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Good idea, those Cirrus 9000s.”
“Now, if only we could be as killer against the Magpies.”
Harry pushed his glasses up again. “You do know you’re kind of obsessed, right?”
“I’m not obsessed.” Ginny frowned magnificently. “It’s just bloody Morgan. We should have Angelina on the team. If we could just get past the Magpies Chasers, I could clean up with their stupid Seeker. I just―okay. I’m a little obsessed.”
She smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled at her until her smile faded, and she wasn’t looking at him any more. She was looking over his shoulder. Turning, Harry saw Neville laughing with Dean.
“Excuse me, Harry,” Ginny said. “I have a man to snog.”
Harry tugged his fringe. “I thought you and Dean broke up?”
“Yeah, but Harry,” Ginny said, “heroism gets me horny. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, and had to laugh a little, as Ginny swaggered over toward Dean.
“I’m rather tardy, I see,” a voice said behind Harry.
Harry turned. Neither of them were going to pretend that the tardiness wasn’t on purpose. “You could still help,” Harry pointed out. “There’s a lot of clean up.”
Blaise glanced over to Ginny, who was tugging Dean’s elbow. “My window of opportunity appears to be closing,” he said. “Closing . . . shut.”
Ginny was kissing Dean.
“There’s plenty of opportunity,” Harry went on. “If you don’t like a mess, there’s PR, like Hermione said. Malfoy thinks this was a political maneuver. We could use a good spin on it.”
“You really are a lot like Draco.” Blaise looked apologetic. “He’s very persistent.”
Harry grinned. “His Patronus is a goat.”
“Really?” Blaise’s brows rose. “I suppose that makes sense.” Tilting his head, he watched Harry for a little while. “Aren’t you disappointed in me?”
Harry shrugged. “I’ve decided to stop worrying about why people do the things they do, and just focus on what they do.”
Blaise looked thoughtful. “Interesting.”
“I’ll be disappointed, though,” Harry said, “if you don’t come to the pub with us.”
Blaise looked a little humbled, and for once, it didn’t seem to be a part of the mask he wore, but something he really felt. “I believe I can work it into my schedule,” he said. “If you want me.”
“Sure,” Harry said. “Everyone's invited. Except the trolls.”
“I should imagine Hermione might object to not inviting trolls,” Blaise pointed out.
Harry looked around for Hermione. “I don't think she will,” he said.
Over a pile of hydra guts, Hermione was snogging Ron quite senseless.
*
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