[Harry Potter] And the Clock Keeps Ticking - Part 3/7
Title: And the Clock Keeps Ticking - Part 3/7
Author: nherizu
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco (main), Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah, Ginny/OMC.
Summary: Harry Potter knows three things. One, Voldemort can still cause chaos even after his death. Two, Draco Malfoy is one of the last two missing survivors. Three, Harry’s creepy dreams every night are the only key to finding Malfoy. And yet ... maybe Harry shouldn’t be so sure, for the truth about Malfoy is not what he thinks it is.
Warnings/Content Notes: (highlight for details): * Minor character death-despite whatever you may find later in the story, I really meant minor, so don’t worry *winks*. Add a few minor OCs, too, and repeated use of a strong potion (but only for pain relief).*
Word Count: 50,631
Author's Notes: See Part 1. :)
Part 1, Part 2.
And the Clock Keeps Ticking
Three
When Harry listlessly dragged himself home on Thursday afternoon after submitting a report to Robards, Ginny's owl was waiting for him on the kitchen table. Kreacher must have taken care of it like usual, for the tiny brown owl would have never flown back to its owner if Harry hadn't accepted the letter himself.
"How're you, Sarr?" Harry asked in passing as he untied the scroll from its leg. It nearly bit him, but Harry was used to it, so he resisted the urge to stick his tongue out childishly to show that he wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. As though it was possible, Sarr looked as if it wanted to roll its eyes. Harry scooted the white bowl where he stored some owl treats over and let Sarr collect them itself before it took off through the nearby window.
Shaking his head, Harry began to read the letter.
I heard from Ron you're looking for Malfoy privately. Tell me, Harry, is there any reason for this? Because if there is . . .
Harry sucked a deep breath upon reading the next sentence.
I think I know where you might find him.
Shakily putting the parchment on the table, Harry took a seat and tried to process this new piece of information.
Ginny was an archaeology student-her desire to be free and see the world had made her jump at Bill's offer when he had said that his friend, Neil Leppert, was searching for an assistant. Two years later, she was helping Neil researching magical prehistoric sites all over the country, while working on her degree. Which was why, if she said she knew where Malfoy was, could it be that she knew where the old and closed-from-public Malfoy family cemetery was? Did that mean Malfoy had really . . .
Crushing that thought, Harry rose to grab a quill and ink. He jotted down a short note on the back of Ginny's letter.
Can I meet you?
He sent Eli, his grey owl, to deliver the note to Ginny. He knew Ginny wouldn't be able to reply back fast enough, for who knew where she might be right now, probably digging some mysterious grave or buried under mountains of research parchment. Hence, Harry found himself restless, pacing in his kitchen and sensing all of his exhaustion withering away as the seconds ticked by.
Finally fed up, he Apparated to Wiltshire before his brain could supply a better suggestion than to go to Malfoy Manor.
Stumbling upon landing, Harry caught himself before he could touch the Auror wards around the gate. He spelled them down, mounted the gate and broke into a run once he stepped on the other side.
The image of Rowle writhing on the floor flashed through his mind, and Ginny's letter kept on popping up. Yet now that Harry thought about it again, Mrs Malfoy wouldn't have been able to bury Malfoy. When had she even managed to escape from the Aurors' observation? But then again, no one knew when Malfoy had died, so it wasn't impossible that Mrs Malfoy had found a way to bury Malfoy in their secret cemetery before she died in the Manor. Harry felt sick at the thought, wishing he could just forget all these things and continue his normal life as an incompetent Auror.
He slipped through another layer of wards and the front door, half-expecting Malfoy to shoo him away again with a disdainful glare, but there wasn't any sign of him. Harry tried to ignore the disappointment that was creeping stubbornly inside.
"Er, Malfoy?" he called out. There wasn't any answer, so Harry bit his lower lip and proceeded to cross the entrance hall. Somehow, traversing Malfoy Manor was no longer hard because of his memory of the war. It was hard because the longer Harry counted the time he spent thinking about Malfoy alone in this place, the more he was convinced Malfoy was indeed a ghost. Despite the fact that he wanted to think otherwise, despite all the odd characteristics that Malfoy had that the other ghosts didn't, it was getting harder and harder to believe that Malfoy was still alive. And Harry hated that feeling.
It might have been half an hour or more, but Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. The light from the sun slipping through the windows had started to darken. Maybe Malfoy was out somewhere, traumatizing Muggles by appearing out of nowhere and shouting 'boo' to children. Harry couldn't blame him if he wanted to relieve stress and go back to his old, dastardly self. It didn't mean Harry wouldn't give him hell if he found out Malfoy really did that, though.
Opening the window where he had last seen Malfoy, Harry perched himself on the sill and tried to empty his mind. Which was why he almost fell off the window when Malfoy emerged behind him, his cold presence bringing gooseflesh to the back of Harry's neck.
"Fucking hell," yelled Harry, jumping to his feet. "What're you doing?"
"I could ask the same of you," said Malfoy mockingly, "what are you doing in my house?"
"Searching for you, why else?" snapped Harry. When Malfoy merely raised his stupidly elegant eyebrow, Harry felt heat sneaking up his neck.
"Thrilled as I am to have the Golden Boy chasing after me, I would have thought you would at least clean yourself up a bit before coming here."
Glancing down at the wrinkled Auror robes that he had worn for the past three days, Harry scowled. He had only brought three sets of uniform for a two weeks mission, because that was what a Cleaning Charm was for, wasn't it? Now though, under Malfoy's scrutiny, he wished he had at least had a shower and changed his clothes. "I just came back from a long mission," he said, refusing to think why the hell he cared to explain.
"Ah, should I feel flattered that you chose to visit me first thing after you came home?"
"Whatever you think, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes, fighting back the flush that was threatening to come. Seeing the irritating smirk on Malfoy's lips, though, Harry's scowl deepened. Then he remembered that two weeks ago Malfoy had looked almost shattered at this same spot, but now he looked strangely . . . normal. Like nothing serious had happened to him through the years. It took Harry a little more time to remember how in sixth year Malfoy had more or less managed to cover his frustration in public. Harry wondered if Malfoy still could perfect that mask even after his dea . . .
Shaking himself, Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy.
"Cat got your tongue, Potter?"
"Where were you?" Harry asked. "I thought you weren't here."
Malfoy gave him a filthy look. "Not that it is any of your business, but I was in my parents' suites."
"Oh."
"I found a lot of my mother's books-a diary of some sorts and novels. Nothing really important that would catch your little friends' attention."
"Okay," Harry said. "Nice try, Malfoy, because it's so natural to remind people about how not important your discovery is."
"That's because you always assume I do something suspicious."
"I don't," Harry said, and added when Malfoy narrowed his eyes accusingly, "all right, maybe I do, but this makes you even more suspicious."
"If you're only here to satisfy your pathetic need to convict a dead ex-Death Eater, then why don't you go home?" said Malfoy, floating backward to press his back on the opposite wall and crossing his arms. "This is getting ludicrous, Potter. What do you want from me?"
"I-" Harry hesitated, not knowing what he wanted. "I saw how Rowle died . . ."
"Brilliant, that would make your fantasy about my death more vivid, wouldn't it?" Malfoy sneered.
"Fantasy?" Harry growled. "Where the fuck did you get you that from?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe from the fact that you're so obsessed about my death?" said Malfoy. "Besides, shouldn't you be celebrating the fact that one more Death Eater has been eliminated?"
"Fuck, Malfoy, I'm not here to celebrate or anything, he was the last Death Eater and-"
"-even more a reason to celebrate, isn't it?"
"-all I can think is just how I don't want you to-"
"-what, Potter? Don't want me to what?" asked Malfoy sharply.
Biting the inside of his lower lip, Harry curled his fingers into fists, breathing hard through his nose. He didn't even know what he didn't want Malfoy to, aside from maybe die. And maybe he was here to assure himself that Malfoy was still here, and hoping it wouldn't change even after he witnessed Rowle's death, after imagining how Malfoy probably died, too. After reading what Ginny's letter implied. But it wasn't something Harry could freely confess.
"Whatever, Malfoy," said Harry at last, taking a deep breath and letting his shoulders sag a little. "Didn't expect you'd understand anyway." He looked away from Malfoy's challenging eyes.
"That's rich, Potter," Malfoy snarled. "You came here strutting around like you own the bloody Manor and now you're talking as if I'm the one who should be more understanding?" He threw his hands up in a dramatic manner when Harry reluctantly glanced at him. "You're mental, I just have no other words."
"I'm not strutting around." Harry sighed. "Fine, I'm sorry for-I don't know-visiting you here? Making you think I want to take over the place? But I-"
"Don't make me laugh by acting like you care," said Malfoy, laughing dryly just to prove his point.
"I'm not," said Harry with a glare, "acting, that is."
Malfoy sniffed at that, staring into the dark hallway that seemed endless, appearing like a completely alive person and not at all a ghost. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as though he had forgotten that Harry was there, watching him closely like he had nothing better to do. Then Malfoy shook his head, throwing Harry an unreadable gaze. "I'm not going to humour you by taking part in whatever it is you're planning, Potter. But if you enjoy coming here that much, then be my guest, it's not as if your friends and yourself haven't snatched everything away from this place-from us already."
"Voldemort was the one who snatched everything away."
Malfoy gave a derisive laugh. Shaking his head again, his eyes somehow turned sorrowful, regretful, although Harry could have sworn there were many other emotions behind that dry smile. "He wasn't, because he was a destroyer. Don't you understand that, Potter?"
Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything to say. Malfoy shrugged, turning his gaze away.
"Do whatever you like," said Malfoy after a while. Before Harry could reply to that, though, he backed away farther, sinking into the wall and vanishing. Harry was left staring dumbly at the empty wall, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
He couldn't shake the image of Malfoy's sad eyes from his mind. Fuck.
Not wanting to spend more time trying to figure out what Malfoy meant and why Harry even wanted to understand, he rubbed his face and walked out of the Manor. It took him a pretty spectacular fall over a horse statue before he remembered to cast Lumos.
. .
. .
At Grimmauld Place, Ginny was waiting for him. She curled on the sofa near the hearth, skimming through a Quidditch magazine. Harry hadn't had a chance to speak before she sprung onto her feet and crushed him into a hug.
"It's been so long," she said with a laugh.
"Yeah," said Harry, feeling guilty that seeing her made him think about Malfoy even more. "Yeah, are you-er-well?"
Ginny released him, raising an eyebrow tauntingly. "You didn't seem to be interested in hearing about me in your letter, though. And Harry, ew, you need a shower."
Harry flushed. "Uh, yeah, been a long day. Should I . . ." He waved vaguely upstairs.
"Yes, you should. Take a nice shower, change your clothes and I'll be waiting here for you with tea."
"Okay," mumbled Harry. He was dying to know about Malfoy and he nearly asked Ginny to just get to the point, because he couldn't be arsed to care how he looked right now. But his respect for her stopped him. Ginny deserved the respect-she had been really nice even after their break up, when she had no reason to be. So Harry rushed upstairs and took a shower in record time, almost tripping as he put on his washed out blue jeans in haste.
Down in the kitchen, Ginny was nursing her tea, staring at him amusedly while Harry nervously dried his hair with a towel. He could feel the cold water dripping onto his shoulders, soaking his white t-shirt.
"Wow," Ginny said, "not even ten minutes, Harry. I doubt it was more than five."
"Ginny, I need to-"
"Tea, Harry," said Ginny, pushing a cup over the table. Harry reluctantly took a seat across from her and reached for the cup.
"Okay, so, Ginny, I need-"
"Tell me first what's so important about it that you've become this jittery."
Clenching his jaw, Harry resisted from lashing out at her. He was too tired for this. "It's one of my missions, Ginny."
"But you're doing this without Robards knowing, aren't you?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Hermione wants to know what's on your mind."
"Sure it's not just you?" snapped Harry. Upon Ginny's sceptical glare, Harry sighed, rubbing his nape. "Sorry, but this is important for me. Please?"
Ginny's eyes softened and she smiled slightly. "All right, so you want to be all mysterious right now. Reminding me of old days, you know? Only this time even Ron and Hermione don't know what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything," said Harry resignedly. "I only want to know where Malfoy is. Because Rowle is-the Death Eater I was supposed to capture for the last mission . . . he died."
Ginny didn't say anything, but her eyes had that shine Harry knew so well every time she was being sympathetic to Harry for being the bloody Chosen One.
"Harry, I still think you should tell Robards, or maybe I should. Because this is a big case, isn't it?"
"It is, but-"
"You have no idea how Hermione is going to react to this. She still thinks you shouldn't act by yourself, you know. I heard her having a row with Ron just last weekend."
"Yes, I know how she's going to react, but Ginny, I need your help," he tried again.
"Ugh. Fine, Harry." She sighed. "You should be glad I still haven't told anyone. What do you want to know?"
"Thank you, I appreciate it," said Harry. Ginny nodded and gave him the chance to continue. He took a moment to brace himself. "Did you . . . find Malfoy in the Malfoy cemetery?"
Ginny tilted her head, staring at Harry for far longer than necessary. Harry refused to back down from her stare.
"I know where that cemetery is," she said. "Neil has been there once ages ago because the Malfoys needed him to break some ancient cryptic codes. I was shown the codes and they were brilliant, I tell you," then she paused, narrowing her eyes. "But no, Harry, I don't think you'd find Malfoy there."
Releasing his breath, Harry felt his bones nearly melt in relief. Malfoy was not buried. He was not in the cemetery. Harry thought he could kiss even Kreacher right now.
"I don't think he died, if that's what you think," said Ginny again. "Why would you suspect he was buried?"
"I don't know. I mean," Harry said, wringing his hands vaguely, overwhelmed by that addition of information. Malfoy had not died. "I just thought since you're digging graves every day . . ."
"Harry, I do not dig graves every day. What do you think archaeologists are?" said Ginny, clearly offended. "Honestly!"
"You sounded like Hermione," Harry pointed out. "But where is he? In a hospital?"
"No," said Ginny, sounding bemused. "Why would you think he'd be in a hospital? Harry, you're acting weird!"
"Then where is he?" Harry almost lost his patience. If Malfoy wasn't dead, if he wasn't in a hospital either, then where the bloody hell was his body?
"Well, this is going to be shocking," said Ginny, suddenly forgetting about her anger and whispering with a scandalised tone. She bent lower over the table, motioning Harry to mirror her.
"What . . .?"
Ginny's eyes lit up. "Listen. You're not going to believe this."
. .
. .
Harry arrived in Callington early in the morning. Ginny had told him Neil's colleague's Floo address, which turned to be a B&B. The owner was a chubby, middle aged woman, whose brown curls were tied up in a low pony tail. She hugged him when Harry emerged from the hearth, telling him how much she was grateful for his heroism during the war. Harry had to endure forty-five long minutes of listening to her chatting about her daughters and sons and grandchildren, before he could extract himself from her. He made a mental note to take the risk of long distance Apparition next time.
Ginny had drawn him a map. But it wasn't that difficult to find his destination-it wasn't really far from the B&B. The building was modest and painted in beige, with a thatched roof. It had three stories, with rows of windows on the first and second floor, telling Harry that there were a number of small rooms. It had a nice garden, not too big but not too small-enough for children to play and run around without having to crash into something every five minutes. An old, rickety swing was placed under a balding tree, red leaves scattered around it.
Stepping up onto the front steps, Harry took a breath before knocking the door. There weren't any sounds from inside, so Harry tried harder. Before he finished knocking three times, though, a black-haired woman opened the door.
"Yes?" she asked. "How can I help you?"
"Er," said Harry, wiping his sweaty palms against his dark brown coat. "I'm here to meet someone."
"Who?" asked the woman again. Her blue eyes narrowed. "You're not saying one of our kids gave you trouble, are you?"
"Trouble?" asked Harry, baffled. He cleared his throat before continuing, "No, er, actually, I really am looking for someone. I'm Harry Potter." He offered his hand.
The woman took his hand. "Leah Hayton. Who are you looking for, Mr Potter? If you want to talk about adoption, I'm sorry to say but the head of this orphanage is currently on a trip."
"I'm not really here for adoption business, but I'm looking for a man. About your age, actually," said Harry.
Hayton wrinkled her forehead. "About my age? Then he must be our staff. We have three men helping us here every day, but today is Ian's turn."
"No, no, if he's really here, his name is Dra-"
"Oh, that's him!" Hayton waved ecstatically at someone behind Harry. Turning around, Harry couldn't believe what he saw.
It was unmistakably Draco Malfoy. But at the same time, he was not Draco Malfoy. Because Draco Malfoy wouldn't let his fringe loose and messy like that, wouldn't wear a washed out denim jacket on top of a black t-shirt that had seen better days, or trainers Harry was sure would have been white if the dirt hadn't been that thick. And more importantly, Draco Malfoy should not have been this-alive when his soul was out of his body.
Really, Harry had been sceptical the entire night when Ginny had told him about this. He couldn't counter her because if he did, he would have had to explain why he was so sure Malfoy wouldn't be walking around in a small Muggle town. In the end he came anyway, simply because he was curious. And because if he didn't at least try, that meant he was back to square one-not knowing whether Malfoy was alive or not. But he didn't expect to really find Malfoy here.
What was disconcerting, however, was the way Malfoy saw him as though Harry was of no significance in his life.
"Hey, Leah," said Malfoy, raising his hand in a careless wave.
"Ian, this is Mr Potter, and Mr Potter, this is Ian Raines," said Hayton. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, who are you looking for again?"
"Er-right," said Harry, unable to tear his gaze away from the flat look Malfoy-Raines gave him. "I'm actually . . . looking for him."
Raines raised that stupid Malfoy eyebrow at that.
"Oh, that's nice. Why don't you two come in, then?" Hayton said again, her tone was confused, but Harry couldn't care less.
"Looking for me?" Raines asked. "Come on then. We can talk anywhere but inside."
"Don't be ridiculous, it's getting cold outside!" Hayton chided. "I'll make you two tea."
"No, I'm not letting any of the kids eavesdrop on me again," said Raines, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
"Actually, it's fine, we can talk anywhere you like," said Harry hastily. Hayton huffed in annoyance.
"Fine, have at it."
"Great," said Raines.
"Thank you, Ms Hayton," said Harry.
"Don't mention it. And it's Leah, I kinda hate that surname, you know," Leah said hastily, then glared at Raines. "Don't blame me if you catch a cold again."
"Shut up, will you?" Raines said dismissively, giving Harry a side long glance before he turned around and gestured Harry to follow him.
"Um, all right, Leah, you can call me Harry, too, and I'm, um-"
"Yeah, sure, Harry, just follow him, he's a bit impatient," said Leah. Nodding at her, Harry couldn't help but notice the way she looked at Raines's retreating back. It was something like . . . worry?
Shaking his head, Harry turned and tried to focus on the man walking before him. They took the small path through the garden and rounded a corner. They were at the back of the orphanage building, and the wall there was completely plain aside from one bench strategically placed there against the wall. Raines sat on it, crossing his legs calmly. Harry shuffled his feet nervously, thinking about how to broach the delicate subject.
"The bench won't bite you," said Raines.
Harry couldn't resist it any longer.
"What's your plan, Malfoy? Why are you acting like a Muggle and pretending to be dead? Is it Voldemort's plan? Is that it? Is that why you're lying to me?"
Raines stared at him blankly, mouth slightly open. He looked genuinely like he had no idea what Harry was talking about, but Harry knew he should not trust this man that easily.
"Are you even talking in English?" Raines asked eventually. "What's Muggle? Vol-voldemort?"
"You can drop the act," said Harry, jaw clenched. "I can prove that you're Malfoy." He cut the distance, snatching Raines' left arm and rolling the jacket sleeve up.
"Hey," yelled Raines. Harry tuned him out, though, for the arm in his hand was clear from any Dark Marks.
". . . how?" asked Harry in shock. There was no way Malfoy could get rid of the Dark Mark. His ghost even said so himself. But again, there was a possibility that Malfoy's ghost lied to him. Nevertheless, if it was indeed Voldemort's plan, it was so unlikely of him. He wouldn't have let anyone get rid of the Mark-it was just not his style.
"Hello?" The arm in his hands was suddenly pulled back, leaving Harry to stare at his open palms stupidly. "Are you on something?"
"Uh-sorry," said Harry reluctantly. He took a step back and found Raines watching him funny. "I thought you were my-"
"Lover? Boyfriend?" offered Raines.
"Schoolmate, actually," corrected Harry with passion.
"Ah, but you were so excited," said Raines, shrugging. Harry watched him in silence as he pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from one of his many cargo pockets. "Want one?"
Shaking his head, Harry kept silent.
This man was not Malfoy-not Malfoy. He talked too casually, lacking the posh drawl Malfoy had patented. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag of it with practiced ease, and he was too Muggle, too expressionless and careless about everything. He was so many things that wasn't Malfoy, and yet . . . why would he look a lot like Malfoy? And did that mean Harry had to search again for Malfoy's body? Did that mean it was still possible that Malfoy was dead?
Fuck. Falling after getting your hopes up was the cruellest thing ever. Was this what Malfoy felt that day when he realised he was not a soul?
Harry wanted to laugh at himself. Of course not. Malfoy was hurt more because it was about him. And why would Harry feel hurt when it was only about Malfoy anyway?
"Cat got your tongue?" asked Raines, and Harry started. Raines was looking at him with calm eyes, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.
"You-but you sounded so much like him, saying that," said Harry, raking his fingers through his hair in distress.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" Raines laughed, but it was lacking of humour. It wasn't mocking either-just an empty string of laughter that made Harry uneasy. "Listen, plenty of people say that phrase. Not exactly a property of your boyfriend, is it?"
"I know," said Harry through gritted teeth. "It's just-you sound like him, look like him. But you're not him."
"Yeah?"
"I made a mistake, he's not-he's not like you. He's much, much more . . . "
"Attractive? Kind? Sexy?" asked Raines, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, good for him then."
Harry stared at Raines for a long minute, then he sighed, taking a seat on the bench and putting his head in his hands. "I don't know. I don't fucking know."
"Ah," there was the sound of Raines taking a long drag, "but how did you know about me?"
Harry looked up, meeting Raines's eyes as he blew the smoke. "My friend-she's an archaeologist, she was here during her research and saw you accidentally."
"Archaeologist?" Raines let out that empty laughter again. "Looking for Celliwig, was she?"
"Maybe," Harry said. "Maybe she was looking for something else, I didn't really ask."
"They believe in myths, that lot."
"Don't insult my friend-"
"Why?" asked Raines flatly. "Because I'll ruin your perfect boyfriend's image?"
Curling his fingers into fists, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know what, I-"
"Monica," said Raines suddenly, looking past Harry's shoulder. "Hey, why are you here?"
Irked, Harry turned to see who the hell had just interrupted him and found a small red-haired girl, maybe about five years old, hugging her tattered teddy bear and staring forlornly at Raines. She shifted to regard Harry, letting her curls sweep her tiny shoulders.
"Monica, you're not dressed enough to be out here." Raines pointed at Monica's frilly blue dress, which was a bit too short on her. "Let's get you back inside, shall we?"
Monica nodded, still watching Harry warily. Harry smiled awkwardly, but Monica only widened her eyes in fright and began to run.
"Aw, shit," said Raines.
"What? What happened?"
"Listen, I need to get back. She's afraid of strangers." Raines rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving where Monica ran off to.
"Why? Did something happen to her?"
"Don't assume every orphan has a tragic past worthy of a bloody novel," said Raines, shooting Harry a look. "That's rude. She's fine. Just a bit shy."
"Oh," said Harry. "Okay, sorry."
Raines shrugged, stepping on his cigarette butt. "Well, catch you later then. Or not."
"How long have you been working here?" Harry asked before Raines could spin on his heels.
"Huh? Why?"
"Just-have you been in Callington your whole life?"
Raines looked at him for a long time, his expression impassive and didn't give away anything Harry would like to read. When Raines finally talked, he gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Been in this building all my life, in fact."
"Oh."
"Wish you good luck finding your boyfriend then," said Raines, spinning around and waving carelessly at Harry.
"He's not my boyfriend," said Harry, annoyed, though he was a hundred percent sure Raines couldn't hear his mumble. Sighing, Harry scrubbed at his nape and forced himself not to crack his skull open by banging his head onto the wall. "Are the people with that face always annoying?" he muttered, knowing full well that one of those annoying people was someone he didn't really find annoying lately.
He was totally, totally fucked up.
. .
. .
"You look more awful than usual, Potter. Never knew it was possible."
Harry sat on the carpeted floor, watching Malfoy pacing around in the sunlit, wide hallway-his eyebrows high and his back straight-completely, effortlessly graceful. And that drawl . . . the annoying, lazy tone that grated on Harry's nerves, and the stare that screamed of disdain . . . those were all Malfoy. Malfoy who tried hard to be composed even when he was on the verge of breaking down, who loved his family and couldn't kill Dumbledore. Malfoy who looked more alive than Raines did even though he was only a ghost.
"Do you-have cousins or-family in Callington?" Harry asked.
"Callington?" Malfoy paused in his tracks, furrowing his brow. "No, I suppose not, although I can't really be sure. The Malfoy is an old family, we marry many other old pureblood families, it's not impossible that someone from a branch of the family lives there."
"Do the Malfoys never marry Muggles?"
"Why?" asked Malfoy sharply. "Is this a conversation to bring up about how we're a-"
"No, I'm only curious," said Harry quickly, and he didn't really care if his eyes looked like he was pleading. He was too tired, too weary about this whole thing. "I need to know."
Malfoy studied him, eyes narrowed and hands clasped behind his back. "Even if there was, they'd probably been erased from the family tree."
"So it's possible, if-say, you have a Muggle family?"
"Well, isn't my cousin Nymphadora Tonks enough of a proof for you? And don't forget, the Malfoys can even have werewolves as family!"
"Tonks is a Black and don't you dare-"
"My mother is a Black and she married a Malfoy. That's what a family tree is for, because the main family of Malfoy is extinct, Potter!"
Harry breathed hard, hands clenching on his thighs. "I-I don't mean to-" He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. "Fuck this."
"What the bleeding hell are you talking about?" Now even Malfoy sounded upset. "What're you trying to tell me?"
"Yesterday-I found someone who looked just like you," said Harry. "I-just-I mean, he was practically you, only he wasn't you!"
"What?" Malfoy bent down, forcing Harry to meet his eyes. "What?"
"I thought I could find your body in Callington, but no, it was just another person who looked just like your clone, and-"
"My body is in Callington?"
"No, didn't you listen to a word I said?" said Harry, desperate. "He was alive, and a Muggle, and he smoked, for fuck's sake-"
"A Muggle," Malfoy repeated, his forehead creased and his eyes seemed so far away, as if his mind was now running a mile per second. "Who looked like me."
"Yes, but it doesn't mean anything because-" Harry paused when he noticed Malfoy's eyes slowly turning back at him. "Does it mean something . . .?"
Malfoy didn't answer him for what seemed a very long time, before he straightened up, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I should tell you something, Potter."
"What?" asked Harry, suddenly breathless. His heart thumped so hard against his ribcage that it was almost painful.
"This-if what you said is true, then I think I know what that means." Malfoy looked straight at Harry. "But I need your word not to tell anyone."
. .
. .
Harry traced the page-pristine white with a hint of honeysuckle scent-and was sure his eyes were so big now as he read the elegant handwriting on it. The book was thin and beautifully crafted, with a grey cover and a silver ribbon attached to the binding. It looked just like what he could expect for Narcissa Malfoy's diary, but that wasn't what took his breath away.
It was the content-the step by step instruction on how to strip one's magic completely.
"Your mother tried to make you a Muggle," said Harry, still not believing what he read.
"Or a squib, because apparently, it was the only way to get rid of the Dark Mark."
"Because the curse-the Dark Mark-only ate magic-"
"-therefore I could be saved if I no longer had magic," finished Malfoy. "Or that's what my mother deduced."
"Isn't magic a core of wizards and witches? Wouldn't we die if we didn't have it anymore, like, like what would happen if I didn't give your wand back?"
"Of course not. This is different than with my wand, it's a ritual," said Malfoy. "It's invented to save, not to kill."
"Wow," Harry said in awe, yet he still wasn't really sure what to think. "So-so that makes you-"
"That's the tricky part, Potter," said Malfoy. "If the ritual succeeded, then my magic should have vanished entirely. But it seems like my mother failed, somehow, and so here I am."
"You're Malfoy's magic . . ."
"And memories, and probably a bit of his soul, too." Malfoy nodded. "Did this person you found in Callington remember anything about magic?"
"No, he seemed to have forgotten everything-he didn't have the Dark Mark either."
Malfoy nodded again. "That's what I think. My entire life consisted of magic ever since I could remember. If my mother stripped magic completely from my body and tried to make me a Muggle, it'd make me forget everything-and here, I-the magic-have all of Draco Malfoy's memories."
"But stripping one's magic doesn't have to take the memories, too, does it?"
"Mother probably wanted me to live, Potter," said Malfoy quietly, gazing at the huge four poster bed that stood coldly in Malfoy's parents' equally cold chamber. "Really live." He laughed bitterly. "Pathetic isn't it? We, with all of our Pureblood beliefs, in the end have to be Muggles in order to live?"
"But . . ." Harry shook his head, at a loss. "But still-how could your body end up in Callington? And this bloke-he said he's been in the orphanage all his life!"
"He probably lied," said Malfoy flatly. "Or he probably didn't, if what he meant by 'all his life' was the short span he lived since he woke up without memories."
"God, that's just so . . ." said Harry, shaking his head. "Are you sure this guy is you?"
Malfoy stared at him, chewing his lower lip. "No. This could be another false hope. I wasn't planning to make anything out of this information, but since you said you met someone who looked like me . . ."
"We should check," said Harry, advancing himself towards the startled Malfoy. "You can go, can't you? Let's see if this bloke really is you. You'll know yourself, right?"
"I should be able to recognise myself, yes," said Malfoy, looking uneasy at the short distance left between his face and Harry's. "I want to see him as well."
"Good," said Harry, nodding to himself. "Good, if it's you, then we might be able to bring you back to life."
"What?"
"You. Back to life."
"Potter, if that bloke is me, then I am alive."
"But he's not you!"
"That's the whole point. He needs to not be me, in order to keep on living," said Malfoy very slowly. "You don't understand this, do you?"
"No and I don't want to," snapped Harry. "Are you really fine with this? That you'll only be a piece of-magic, memories, soul, whatever? Don't you want to be the real Malfoy again?"
"Well yes, but if I'm the magic, then the real Draco Malfoy is out there, alive," shouted Malfoy. "I was supposed to vanish!"
"But do you really want that?" yelled Harry, grabbing Malfoy's shoulders, pushing him against the white wall. "Do you really want that?"
Malfoy opened his mouth and closed it again, blinking repeatedly and there was the wind swirling around them. His body was solid in Harry's hands, cold and rigid and weird, but it was Malfoy.
"That bloke is Ian Raines. He's an apathetic git who looks like he can't be arsed to comb his hair or have a bloody expression on his face. He isn't you, he isn't."
"Potter-"
"We'll prove if he really has your body, and we'll find a way to save you. Okay?" said Harry, tightening his grip on Malfoy's shoulders. "Okay?"
Malfoy stared at him in silence, his lips trembling so slightly. The wind brushed against Harry's skin gently, as if it was the reflection of Malfoy's own feelings inside-unsure, helpless, afraid. But in the end he quirked a small smile, calling back the wind into nothingness.
"You're one to talk about combing hair."
"At least I try," said Harry, "and he isn't me."
"He's not." Malfoy nodded.
"And the way he is now, he's not you either."
Malfoy didn't answer him, and Harry didn't expect him to. He rubbed his thumbs against Malfoy's shoulders for a second and then pulled away.
"We'll find a way," said Harry more to himself.
. .
Four
. .
Author: nherizu
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco (main), Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah, Ginny/OMC.
Summary: Harry Potter knows three things. One, Voldemort can still cause chaos even after his death. Two, Draco Malfoy is one of the last two missing survivors. Three, Harry’s creepy dreams every night are the only key to finding Malfoy. And yet ... maybe Harry shouldn’t be so sure, for the truth about Malfoy is not what he thinks it is.
Warnings/Content Notes: (highlight for details): * Minor character death-despite whatever you may find later in the story, I really meant minor, so don’t worry *winks*. Add a few minor OCs, too, and repeated use of a strong potion (but only for pain relief).*
Word Count: 50,631
Author's Notes: See Part 1. :)
Part 1, Part 2.
And the Clock Keeps Ticking
Three
When Harry listlessly dragged himself home on Thursday afternoon after submitting a report to Robards, Ginny's owl was waiting for him on the kitchen table. Kreacher must have taken care of it like usual, for the tiny brown owl would have never flown back to its owner if Harry hadn't accepted the letter himself.
"How're you, Sarr?" Harry asked in passing as he untied the scroll from its leg. It nearly bit him, but Harry was used to it, so he resisted the urge to stick his tongue out childishly to show that he wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. As though it was possible, Sarr looked as if it wanted to roll its eyes. Harry scooted the white bowl where he stored some owl treats over and let Sarr collect them itself before it took off through the nearby window.
Shaking his head, Harry began to read the letter.
I heard from Ron you're looking for Malfoy privately. Tell me, Harry, is there any reason for this? Because if there is . . .
Harry sucked a deep breath upon reading the next sentence.
I think I know where you might find him.
Shakily putting the parchment on the table, Harry took a seat and tried to process this new piece of information.
Ginny was an archaeology student-her desire to be free and see the world had made her jump at Bill's offer when he had said that his friend, Neil Leppert, was searching for an assistant. Two years later, she was helping Neil researching magical prehistoric sites all over the country, while working on her degree. Which was why, if she said she knew where Malfoy was, could it be that she knew where the old and closed-from-public Malfoy family cemetery was? Did that mean Malfoy had really . . .
Crushing that thought, Harry rose to grab a quill and ink. He jotted down a short note on the back of Ginny's letter.
Can I meet you?
He sent Eli, his grey owl, to deliver the note to Ginny. He knew Ginny wouldn't be able to reply back fast enough, for who knew where she might be right now, probably digging some mysterious grave or buried under mountains of research parchment. Hence, Harry found himself restless, pacing in his kitchen and sensing all of his exhaustion withering away as the seconds ticked by.
Finally fed up, he Apparated to Wiltshire before his brain could supply a better suggestion than to go to Malfoy Manor.
Stumbling upon landing, Harry caught himself before he could touch the Auror wards around the gate. He spelled them down, mounted the gate and broke into a run once he stepped on the other side.
The image of Rowle writhing on the floor flashed through his mind, and Ginny's letter kept on popping up. Yet now that Harry thought about it again, Mrs Malfoy wouldn't have been able to bury Malfoy. When had she even managed to escape from the Aurors' observation? But then again, no one knew when Malfoy had died, so it wasn't impossible that Mrs Malfoy had found a way to bury Malfoy in their secret cemetery before she died in the Manor. Harry felt sick at the thought, wishing he could just forget all these things and continue his normal life as an incompetent Auror.
He slipped through another layer of wards and the front door, half-expecting Malfoy to shoo him away again with a disdainful glare, but there wasn't any sign of him. Harry tried to ignore the disappointment that was creeping stubbornly inside.
"Er, Malfoy?" he called out. There wasn't any answer, so Harry bit his lower lip and proceeded to cross the entrance hall. Somehow, traversing Malfoy Manor was no longer hard because of his memory of the war. It was hard because the longer Harry counted the time he spent thinking about Malfoy alone in this place, the more he was convinced Malfoy was indeed a ghost. Despite the fact that he wanted to think otherwise, despite all the odd characteristics that Malfoy had that the other ghosts didn't, it was getting harder and harder to believe that Malfoy was still alive. And Harry hated that feeling.
It might have been half an hour or more, but Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. The light from the sun slipping through the windows had started to darken. Maybe Malfoy was out somewhere, traumatizing Muggles by appearing out of nowhere and shouting 'boo' to children. Harry couldn't blame him if he wanted to relieve stress and go back to his old, dastardly self. It didn't mean Harry wouldn't give him hell if he found out Malfoy really did that, though.
Opening the window where he had last seen Malfoy, Harry perched himself on the sill and tried to empty his mind. Which was why he almost fell off the window when Malfoy emerged behind him, his cold presence bringing gooseflesh to the back of Harry's neck.
"Fucking hell," yelled Harry, jumping to his feet. "What're you doing?"
"I could ask the same of you," said Malfoy mockingly, "what are you doing in my house?"
"Searching for you, why else?" snapped Harry. When Malfoy merely raised his stupidly elegant eyebrow, Harry felt heat sneaking up his neck.
"Thrilled as I am to have the Golden Boy chasing after me, I would have thought you would at least clean yourself up a bit before coming here."
Glancing down at the wrinkled Auror robes that he had worn for the past three days, Harry scowled. He had only brought three sets of uniform for a two weeks mission, because that was what a Cleaning Charm was for, wasn't it? Now though, under Malfoy's scrutiny, he wished he had at least had a shower and changed his clothes. "I just came back from a long mission," he said, refusing to think why the hell he cared to explain.
"Ah, should I feel flattered that you chose to visit me first thing after you came home?"
"Whatever you think, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes, fighting back the flush that was threatening to come. Seeing the irritating smirk on Malfoy's lips, though, Harry's scowl deepened. Then he remembered that two weeks ago Malfoy had looked almost shattered at this same spot, but now he looked strangely . . . normal. Like nothing serious had happened to him through the years. It took Harry a little more time to remember how in sixth year Malfoy had more or less managed to cover his frustration in public. Harry wondered if Malfoy still could perfect that mask even after his dea . . .
Shaking himself, Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy.
"Cat got your tongue, Potter?"
"Where were you?" Harry asked. "I thought you weren't here."
Malfoy gave him a filthy look. "Not that it is any of your business, but I was in my parents' suites."
"Oh."
"I found a lot of my mother's books-a diary of some sorts and novels. Nothing really important that would catch your little friends' attention."
"Okay," Harry said. "Nice try, Malfoy, because it's so natural to remind people about how not important your discovery is."
"That's because you always assume I do something suspicious."
"I don't," Harry said, and added when Malfoy narrowed his eyes accusingly, "all right, maybe I do, but this makes you even more suspicious."
"If you're only here to satisfy your pathetic need to convict a dead ex-Death Eater, then why don't you go home?" said Malfoy, floating backward to press his back on the opposite wall and crossing his arms. "This is getting ludicrous, Potter. What do you want from me?"
"I-" Harry hesitated, not knowing what he wanted. "I saw how Rowle died . . ."
"Brilliant, that would make your fantasy about my death more vivid, wouldn't it?" Malfoy sneered.
"Fantasy?" Harry growled. "Where the fuck did you get you that from?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe from the fact that you're so obsessed about my death?" said Malfoy. "Besides, shouldn't you be celebrating the fact that one more Death Eater has been eliminated?"
"Fuck, Malfoy, I'm not here to celebrate or anything, he was the last Death Eater and-"
"-even more a reason to celebrate, isn't it?"
"-all I can think is just how I don't want you to-"
"-what, Potter? Don't want me to what?" asked Malfoy sharply.
Biting the inside of his lower lip, Harry curled his fingers into fists, breathing hard through his nose. He didn't even know what he didn't want Malfoy to, aside from maybe die. And maybe he was here to assure himself that Malfoy was still here, and hoping it wouldn't change even after he witnessed Rowle's death, after imagining how Malfoy probably died, too. After reading what Ginny's letter implied. But it wasn't something Harry could freely confess.
"Whatever, Malfoy," said Harry at last, taking a deep breath and letting his shoulders sag a little. "Didn't expect you'd understand anyway." He looked away from Malfoy's challenging eyes.
"That's rich, Potter," Malfoy snarled. "You came here strutting around like you own the bloody Manor and now you're talking as if I'm the one who should be more understanding?" He threw his hands up in a dramatic manner when Harry reluctantly glanced at him. "You're mental, I just have no other words."
"I'm not strutting around." Harry sighed. "Fine, I'm sorry for-I don't know-visiting you here? Making you think I want to take over the place? But I-"
"Don't make me laugh by acting like you care," said Malfoy, laughing dryly just to prove his point.
"I'm not," said Harry with a glare, "acting, that is."
Malfoy sniffed at that, staring into the dark hallway that seemed endless, appearing like a completely alive person and not at all a ghost. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as though he had forgotten that Harry was there, watching him closely like he had nothing better to do. Then Malfoy shook his head, throwing Harry an unreadable gaze. "I'm not going to humour you by taking part in whatever it is you're planning, Potter. But if you enjoy coming here that much, then be my guest, it's not as if your friends and yourself haven't snatched everything away from this place-from us already."
"Voldemort was the one who snatched everything away."
Malfoy gave a derisive laugh. Shaking his head again, his eyes somehow turned sorrowful, regretful, although Harry could have sworn there were many other emotions behind that dry smile. "He wasn't, because he was a destroyer. Don't you understand that, Potter?"
Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything to say. Malfoy shrugged, turning his gaze away.
"Do whatever you like," said Malfoy after a while. Before Harry could reply to that, though, he backed away farther, sinking into the wall and vanishing. Harry was left staring dumbly at the empty wall, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
He couldn't shake the image of Malfoy's sad eyes from his mind. Fuck.
Not wanting to spend more time trying to figure out what Malfoy meant and why Harry even wanted to understand, he rubbed his face and walked out of the Manor. It took him a pretty spectacular fall over a horse statue before he remembered to cast Lumos.
. .
. .
At Grimmauld Place, Ginny was waiting for him. She curled on the sofa near the hearth, skimming through a Quidditch magazine. Harry hadn't had a chance to speak before she sprung onto her feet and crushed him into a hug.
"It's been so long," she said with a laugh.
"Yeah," said Harry, feeling guilty that seeing her made him think about Malfoy even more. "Yeah, are you-er-well?"
Ginny released him, raising an eyebrow tauntingly. "You didn't seem to be interested in hearing about me in your letter, though. And Harry, ew, you need a shower."
Harry flushed. "Uh, yeah, been a long day. Should I . . ." He waved vaguely upstairs.
"Yes, you should. Take a nice shower, change your clothes and I'll be waiting here for you with tea."
"Okay," mumbled Harry. He was dying to know about Malfoy and he nearly asked Ginny to just get to the point, because he couldn't be arsed to care how he looked right now. But his respect for her stopped him. Ginny deserved the respect-she had been really nice even after their break up, when she had no reason to be. So Harry rushed upstairs and took a shower in record time, almost tripping as he put on his washed out blue jeans in haste.
Down in the kitchen, Ginny was nursing her tea, staring at him amusedly while Harry nervously dried his hair with a towel. He could feel the cold water dripping onto his shoulders, soaking his white t-shirt.
"Wow," Ginny said, "not even ten minutes, Harry. I doubt it was more than five."
"Ginny, I need to-"
"Tea, Harry," said Ginny, pushing a cup over the table. Harry reluctantly took a seat across from her and reached for the cup.
"Okay, so, Ginny, I need-"
"Tell me first what's so important about it that you've become this jittery."
Clenching his jaw, Harry resisted from lashing out at her. He was too tired for this. "It's one of my missions, Ginny."
"But you're doing this without Robards knowing, aren't you?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Hermione wants to know what's on your mind."
"Sure it's not just you?" snapped Harry. Upon Ginny's sceptical glare, Harry sighed, rubbing his nape. "Sorry, but this is important for me. Please?"
Ginny's eyes softened and she smiled slightly. "All right, so you want to be all mysterious right now. Reminding me of old days, you know? Only this time even Ron and Hermione don't know what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything," said Harry resignedly. "I only want to know where Malfoy is. Because Rowle is-the Death Eater I was supposed to capture for the last mission . . . he died."
Ginny didn't say anything, but her eyes had that shine Harry knew so well every time she was being sympathetic to Harry for being the bloody Chosen One.
"Harry, I still think you should tell Robards, or maybe I should. Because this is a big case, isn't it?"
"It is, but-"
"You have no idea how Hermione is going to react to this. She still thinks you shouldn't act by yourself, you know. I heard her having a row with Ron just last weekend."
"Yes, I know how she's going to react, but Ginny, I need your help," he tried again.
"Ugh. Fine, Harry." She sighed. "You should be glad I still haven't told anyone. What do you want to know?"
"Thank you, I appreciate it," said Harry. Ginny nodded and gave him the chance to continue. He took a moment to brace himself. "Did you . . . find Malfoy in the Malfoy cemetery?"
Ginny tilted her head, staring at Harry for far longer than necessary. Harry refused to back down from her stare.
"I know where that cemetery is," she said. "Neil has been there once ages ago because the Malfoys needed him to break some ancient cryptic codes. I was shown the codes and they were brilliant, I tell you," then she paused, narrowing her eyes. "But no, Harry, I don't think you'd find Malfoy there."
Releasing his breath, Harry felt his bones nearly melt in relief. Malfoy was not buried. He was not in the cemetery. Harry thought he could kiss even Kreacher right now.
"I don't think he died, if that's what you think," said Ginny again. "Why would you suspect he was buried?"
"I don't know. I mean," Harry said, wringing his hands vaguely, overwhelmed by that addition of information. Malfoy had not died. "I just thought since you're digging graves every day . . ."
"Harry, I do not dig graves every day. What do you think archaeologists are?" said Ginny, clearly offended. "Honestly!"
"You sounded like Hermione," Harry pointed out. "But where is he? In a hospital?"
"No," said Ginny, sounding bemused. "Why would you think he'd be in a hospital? Harry, you're acting weird!"
"Then where is he?" Harry almost lost his patience. If Malfoy wasn't dead, if he wasn't in a hospital either, then where the bloody hell was his body?
"Well, this is going to be shocking," said Ginny, suddenly forgetting about her anger and whispering with a scandalised tone. She bent lower over the table, motioning Harry to mirror her.
"What . . .?"
Ginny's eyes lit up. "Listen. You're not going to believe this."
. .
. .
Harry arrived in Callington early in the morning. Ginny had told him Neil's colleague's Floo address, which turned to be a B&B. The owner was a chubby, middle aged woman, whose brown curls were tied up in a low pony tail. She hugged him when Harry emerged from the hearth, telling him how much she was grateful for his heroism during the war. Harry had to endure forty-five long minutes of listening to her chatting about her daughters and sons and grandchildren, before he could extract himself from her. He made a mental note to take the risk of long distance Apparition next time.
Ginny had drawn him a map. But it wasn't that difficult to find his destination-it wasn't really far from the B&B. The building was modest and painted in beige, with a thatched roof. It had three stories, with rows of windows on the first and second floor, telling Harry that there were a number of small rooms. It had a nice garden, not too big but not too small-enough for children to play and run around without having to crash into something every five minutes. An old, rickety swing was placed under a balding tree, red leaves scattered around it.
Stepping up onto the front steps, Harry took a breath before knocking the door. There weren't any sounds from inside, so Harry tried harder. Before he finished knocking three times, though, a black-haired woman opened the door.
"Yes?" she asked. "How can I help you?"
"Er," said Harry, wiping his sweaty palms against his dark brown coat. "I'm here to meet someone."
"Who?" asked the woman again. Her blue eyes narrowed. "You're not saying one of our kids gave you trouble, are you?"
"Trouble?" asked Harry, baffled. He cleared his throat before continuing, "No, er, actually, I really am looking for someone. I'm Harry Potter." He offered his hand.
The woman took his hand. "Leah Hayton. Who are you looking for, Mr Potter? If you want to talk about adoption, I'm sorry to say but the head of this orphanage is currently on a trip."
"I'm not really here for adoption business, but I'm looking for a man. About your age, actually," said Harry.
Hayton wrinkled her forehead. "About my age? Then he must be our staff. We have three men helping us here every day, but today is Ian's turn."
"No, no, if he's really here, his name is Dra-"
"Oh, that's him!" Hayton waved ecstatically at someone behind Harry. Turning around, Harry couldn't believe what he saw.
It was unmistakably Draco Malfoy. But at the same time, he was not Draco Malfoy. Because Draco Malfoy wouldn't let his fringe loose and messy like that, wouldn't wear a washed out denim jacket on top of a black t-shirt that had seen better days, or trainers Harry was sure would have been white if the dirt hadn't been that thick. And more importantly, Draco Malfoy should not have been this-alive when his soul was out of his body.
Really, Harry had been sceptical the entire night when Ginny had told him about this. He couldn't counter her because if he did, he would have had to explain why he was so sure Malfoy wouldn't be walking around in a small Muggle town. In the end he came anyway, simply because he was curious. And because if he didn't at least try, that meant he was back to square one-not knowing whether Malfoy was alive or not. But he didn't expect to really find Malfoy here.
What was disconcerting, however, was the way Malfoy saw him as though Harry was of no significance in his life.
"Hey, Leah," said Malfoy, raising his hand in a careless wave.
"Ian, this is Mr Potter, and Mr Potter, this is Ian Raines," said Hayton. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, who are you looking for again?"
"Er-right," said Harry, unable to tear his gaze away from the flat look Malfoy-Raines gave him. "I'm actually . . . looking for him."
Raines raised that stupid Malfoy eyebrow at that.
"Oh, that's nice. Why don't you two come in, then?" Hayton said again, her tone was confused, but Harry couldn't care less.
"Looking for me?" Raines asked. "Come on then. We can talk anywhere but inside."
"Don't be ridiculous, it's getting cold outside!" Hayton chided. "I'll make you two tea."
"No, I'm not letting any of the kids eavesdrop on me again," said Raines, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
"Actually, it's fine, we can talk anywhere you like," said Harry hastily. Hayton huffed in annoyance.
"Fine, have at it."
"Great," said Raines.
"Thank you, Ms Hayton," said Harry.
"Don't mention it. And it's Leah, I kinda hate that surname, you know," Leah said hastily, then glared at Raines. "Don't blame me if you catch a cold again."
"Shut up, will you?" Raines said dismissively, giving Harry a side long glance before he turned around and gestured Harry to follow him.
"Um, all right, Leah, you can call me Harry, too, and I'm, um-"
"Yeah, sure, Harry, just follow him, he's a bit impatient," said Leah. Nodding at her, Harry couldn't help but notice the way she looked at Raines's retreating back. It was something like . . . worry?
Shaking his head, Harry turned and tried to focus on the man walking before him. They took the small path through the garden and rounded a corner. They were at the back of the orphanage building, and the wall there was completely plain aside from one bench strategically placed there against the wall. Raines sat on it, crossing his legs calmly. Harry shuffled his feet nervously, thinking about how to broach the delicate subject.
"The bench won't bite you," said Raines.
Harry couldn't resist it any longer.
"What's your plan, Malfoy? Why are you acting like a Muggle and pretending to be dead? Is it Voldemort's plan? Is that it? Is that why you're lying to me?"
Raines stared at him blankly, mouth slightly open. He looked genuinely like he had no idea what Harry was talking about, but Harry knew he should not trust this man that easily.
"Are you even talking in English?" Raines asked eventually. "What's Muggle? Vol-voldemort?"
"You can drop the act," said Harry, jaw clenched. "I can prove that you're Malfoy." He cut the distance, snatching Raines' left arm and rolling the jacket sleeve up.
"Hey," yelled Raines. Harry tuned him out, though, for the arm in his hand was clear from any Dark Marks.
". . . how?" asked Harry in shock. There was no way Malfoy could get rid of the Dark Mark. His ghost even said so himself. But again, there was a possibility that Malfoy's ghost lied to him. Nevertheless, if it was indeed Voldemort's plan, it was so unlikely of him. He wouldn't have let anyone get rid of the Mark-it was just not his style.
"Hello?" The arm in his hands was suddenly pulled back, leaving Harry to stare at his open palms stupidly. "Are you on something?"
"Uh-sorry," said Harry reluctantly. He took a step back and found Raines watching him funny. "I thought you were my-"
"Lover? Boyfriend?" offered Raines.
"Schoolmate, actually," corrected Harry with passion.
"Ah, but you were so excited," said Raines, shrugging. Harry watched him in silence as he pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from one of his many cargo pockets. "Want one?"
Shaking his head, Harry kept silent.
This man was not Malfoy-not Malfoy. He talked too casually, lacking the posh drawl Malfoy had patented. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag of it with practiced ease, and he was too Muggle, too expressionless and careless about everything. He was so many things that wasn't Malfoy, and yet . . . why would he look a lot like Malfoy? And did that mean Harry had to search again for Malfoy's body? Did that mean it was still possible that Malfoy was dead?
Fuck. Falling after getting your hopes up was the cruellest thing ever. Was this what Malfoy felt that day when he realised he was not a soul?
Harry wanted to laugh at himself. Of course not. Malfoy was hurt more because it was about him. And why would Harry feel hurt when it was only about Malfoy anyway?
"Cat got your tongue?" asked Raines, and Harry started. Raines was looking at him with calm eyes, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.
"You-but you sounded so much like him, saying that," said Harry, raking his fingers through his hair in distress.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" Raines laughed, but it was lacking of humour. It wasn't mocking either-just an empty string of laughter that made Harry uneasy. "Listen, plenty of people say that phrase. Not exactly a property of your boyfriend, is it?"
"I know," said Harry through gritted teeth. "It's just-you sound like him, look like him. But you're not him."
"Yeah?"
"I made a mistake, he's not-he's not like you. He's much, much more . . . "
"Attractive? Kind? Sexy?" asked Raines, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, good for him then."
Harry stared at Raines for a long minute, then he sighed, taking a seat on the bench and putting his head in his hands. "I don't know. I don't fucking know."
"Ah," there was the sound of Raines taking a long drag, "but how did you know about me?"
Harry looked up, meeting Raines's eyes as he blew the smoke. "My friend-she's an archaeologist, she was here during her research and saw you accidentally."
"Archaeologist?" Raines let out that empty laughter again. "Looking for Celliwig, was she?"
"Maybe," Harry said. "Maybe she was looking for something else, I didn't really ask."
"They believe in myths, that lot."
"Don't insult my friend-"
"Why?" asked Raines flatly. "Because I'll ruin your perfect boyfriend's image?"
Curling his fingers into fists, Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know what, I-"
"Monica," said Raines suddenly, looking past Harry's shoulder. "Hey, why are you here?"
Irked, Harry turned to see who the hell had just interrupted him and found a small red-haired girl, maybe about five years old, hugging her tattered teddy bear and staring forlornly at Raines. She shifted to regard Harry, letting her curls sweep her tiny shoulders.
"Monica, you're not dressed enough to be out here." Raines pointed at Monica's frilly blue dress, which was a bit too short on her. "Let's get you back inside, shall we?"
Monica nodded, still watching Harry warily. Harry smiled awkwardly, but Monica only widened her eyes in fright and began to run.
"Aw, shit," said Raines.
"What? What happened?"
"Listen, I need to get back. She's afraid of strangers." Raines rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving where Monica ran off to.
"Why? Did something happen to her?"
"Don't assume every orphan has a tragic past worthy of a bloody novel," said Raines, shooting Harry a look. "That's rude. She's fine. Just a bit shy."
"Oh," said Harry. "Okay, sorry."
Raines shrugged, stepping on his cigarette butt. "Well, catch you later then. Or not."
"How long have you been working here?" Harry asked before Raines could spin on his heels.
"Huh? Why?"
"Just-have you been in Callington your whole life?"
Raines looked at him for a long time, his expression impassive and didn't give away anything Harry would like to read. When Raines finally talked, he gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Been in this building all my life, in fact."
"Oh."
"Wish you good luck finding your boyfriend then," said Raines, spinning around and waving carelessly at Harry.
"He's not my boyfriend," said Harry, annoyed, though he was a hundred percent sure Raines couldn't hear his mumble. Sighing, Harry scrubbed at his nape and forced himself not to crack his skull open by banging his head onto the wall. "Are the people with that face always annoying?" he muttered, knowing full well that one of those annoying people was someone he didn't really find annoying lately.
He was totally, totally fucked up.
. .
. .
"You look more awful than usual, Potter. Never knew it was possible."
Harry sat on the carpeted floor, watching Malfoy pacing around in the sunlit, wide hallway-his eyebrows high and his back straight-completely, effortlessly graceful. And that drawl . . . the annoying, lazy tone that grated on Harry's nerves, and the stare that screamed of disdain . . . those were all Malfoy. Malfoy who tried hard to be composed even when he was on the verge of breaking down, who loved his family and couldn't kill Dumbledore. Malfoy who looked more alive than Raines did even though he was only a ghost.
"Do you-have cousins or-family in Callington?" Harry asked.
"Callington?" Malfoy paused in his tracks, furrowing his brow. "No, I suppose not, although I can't really be sure. The Malfoy is an old family, we marry many other old pureblood families, it's not impossible that someone from a branch of the family lives there."
"Do the Malfoys never marry Muggles?"
"Why?" asked Malfoy sharply. "Is this a conversation to bring up about how we're a-"
"No, I'm only curious," said Harry quickly, and he didn't really care if his eyes looked like he was pleading. He was too tired, too weary about this whole thing. "I need to know."
Malfoy studied him, eyes narrowed and hands clasped behind his back. "Even if there was, they'd probably been erased from the family tree."
"So it's possible, if-say, you have a Muggle family?"
"Well, isn't my cousin Nymphadora Tonks enough of a proof for you? And don't forget, the Malfoys can even have werewolves as family!"
"Tonks is a Black and don't you dare-"
"My mother is a Black and she married a Malfoy. That's what a family tree is for, because the main family of Malfoy is extinct, Potter!"
Harry breathed hard, hands clenching on his thighs. "I-I don't mean to-" He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. "Fuck this."
"What the bleeding hell are you talking about?" Now even Malfoy sounded upset. "What're you trying to tell me?"
"Yesterday-I found someone who looked just like you," said Harry. "I-just-I mean, he was practically you, only he wasn't you!"
"What?" Malfoy bent down, forcing Harry to meet his eyes. "What?"
"I thought I could find your body in Callington, but no, it was just another person who looked just like your clone, and-"
"My body is in Callington?"
"No, didn't you listen to a word I said?" said Harry, desperate. "He was alive, and a Muggle, and he smoked, for fuck's sake-"
"A Muggle," Malfoy repeated, his forehead creased and his eyes seemed so far away, as if his mind was now running a mile per second. "Who looked like me."
"Yes, but it doesn't mean anything because-" Harry paused when he noticed Malfoy's eyes slowly turning back at him. "Does it mean something . . .?"
Malfoy didn't answer him for what seemed a very long time, before he straightened up, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I should tell you something, Potter."
"What?" asked Harry, suddenly breathless. His heart thumped so hard against his ribcage that it was almost painful.
"This-if what you said is true, then I think I know what that means." Malfoy looked straight at Harry. "But I need your word not to tell anyone."
. .
. .
Harry traced the page-pristine white with a hint of honeysuckle scent-and was sure his eyes were so big now as he read the elegant handwriting on it. The book was thin and beautifully crafted, with a grey cover and a silver ribbon attached to the binding. It looked just like what he could expect for Narcissa Malfoy's diary, but that wasn't what took his breath away.
It was the content-the step by step instruction on how to strip one's magic completely.
"Your mother tried to make you a Muggle," said Harry, still not believing what he read.
"Or a squib, because apparently, it was the only way to get rid of the Dark Mark."
"Because the curse-the Dark Mark-only ate magic-"
"-therefore I could be saved if I no longer had magic," finished Malfoy. "Or that's what my mother deduced."
"Isn't magic a core of wizards and witches? Wouldn't we die if we didn't have it anymore, like, like what would happen if I didn't give your wand back?"
"Of course not. This is different than with my wand, it's a ritual," said Malfoy. "It's invented to save, not to kill."
"Wow," Harry said in awe, yet he still wasn't really sure what to think. "So-so that makes you-"
"That's the tricky part, Potter," said Malfoy. "If the ritual succeeded, then my magic should have vanished entirely. But it seems like my mother failed, somehow, and so here I am."
"You're Malfoy's magic . . ."
"And memories, and probably a bit of his soul, too." Malfoy nodded. "Did this person you found in Callington remember anything about magic?"
"No, he seemed to have forgotten everything-he didn't have the Dark Mark either."
Malfoy nodded again. "That's what I think. My entire life consisted of magic ever since I could remember. If my mother stripped magic completely from my body and tried to make me a Muggle, it'd make me forget everything-and here, I-the magic-have all of Draco Malfoy's memories."
"But stripping one's magic doesn't have to take the memories, too, does it?"
"Mother probably wanted me to live, Potter," said Malfoy quietly, gazing at the huge four poster bed that stood coldly in Malfoy's parents' equally cold chamber. "Really live." He laughed bitterly. "Pathetic isn't it? We, with all of our Pureblood beliefs, in the end have to be Muggles in order to live?"
"But . . ." Harry shook his head, at a loss. "But still-how could your body end up in Callington? And this bloke-he said he's been in the orphanage all his life!"
"He probably lied," said Malfoy flatly. "Or he probably didn't, if what he meant by 'all his life' was the short span he lived since he woke up without memories."
"God, that's just so . . ." said Harry, shaking his head. "Are you sure this guy is you?"
Malfoy stared at him, chewing his lower lip. "No. This could be another false hope. I wasn't planning to make anything out of this information, but since you said you met someone who looked like me . . ."
"We should check," said Harry, advancing himself towards the startled Malfoy. "You can go, can't you? Let's see if this bloke really is you. You'll know yourself, right?"
"I should be able to recognise myself, yes," said Malfoy, looking uneasy at the short distance left between his face and Harry's. "I want to see him as well."
"Good," said Harry, nodding to himself. "Good, if it's you, then we might be able to bring you back to life."
"What?"
"You. Back to life."
"Potter, if that bloke is me, then I am alive."
"But he's not you!"
"That's the whole point. He needs to not be me, in order to keep on living," said Malfoy very slowly. "You don't understand this, do you?"
"No and I don't want to," snapped Harry. "Are you really fine with this? That you'll only be a piece of-magic, memories, soul, whatever? Don't you want to be the real Malfoy again?"
"Well yes, but if I'm the magic, then the real Draco Malfoy is out there, alive," shouted Malfoy. "I was supposed to vanish!"
"But do you really want that?" yelled Harry, grabbing Malfoy's shoulders, pushing him against the white wall. "Do you really want that?"
Malfoy opened his mouth and closed it again, blinking repeatedly and there was the wind swirling around them. His body was solid in Harry's hands, cold and rigid and weird, but it was Malfoy.
"That bloke is Ian Raines. He's an apathetic git who looks like he can't be arsed to comb his hair or have a bloody expression on his face. He isn't you, he isn't."
"Potter-"
"We'll prove if he really has your body, and we'll find a way to save you. Okay?" said Harry, tightening his grip on Malfoy's shoulders. "Okay?"
Malfoy stared at him in silence, his lips trembling so slightly. The wind brushed against Harry's skin gently, as if it was the reflection of Malfoy's own feelings inside-unsure, helpless, afraid. But in the end he quirked a small smile, calling back the wind into nothingness.
"You're one to talk about combing hair."
"At least I try," said Harry, "and he isn't me."
"He's not." Malfoy nodded.
"And the way he is now, he's not you either."
Malfoy didn't answer him, and Harry didn't expect him to. He rubbed his thumbs against Malfoy's shoulders for a second and then pulled away.
"We'll find a way," said Harry more to himself.
. .
Four
. .