Chapter Three, The Victim of Circumstance
Title: The Victim of Circumstance
Author: raining_slash
Beta: abundantfear
Rating: Overall, R.
Pairing: H/D
Spoilers: All books, including DH.
Warnings: Slash, Violence, Sexual Situations and Language.
Summary: WIP. Post DH. Novel-length. Nineteen years is a long time. What happened between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and Albus Severus Potter’s first day of school?
Disclaimer & Author’s Notes: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and places in this fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. This story has been cross-posted because I’m an internet whore.
Previous Chapter
THE VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE
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Author’s Note: I am very sorry that this chapter is late, but my beta was in a car accident and I refused to post it until she was well and could beta it.
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“Each mind fabricates itself. We sense its limits for we have made them.” - Rainer Maria Rilke
Chapter Three: Secrets Should Be Secret
164 days after the Battle of Hogwarts
Harry let out another exasperated sigh and stared longingly at the pumpkin scones that Kreacher had just brought out from the kitchen. They were deliciously aromatic and he really wanted to reach out and grab one, but the seriousness of his current situation stopped him.
“So,” said Hermione, pacing up and down in front of Harry. He had begun a steady sink into the couch the moment they’d gotten back from the Ministry, and Hermione had pushed him down into it and proceeded to interrogate him. “So let me get this straight. You have been secretly going to see Malfoy for months now? Because you - and I quote - “feel sorry for him”?”
Harry glanced over at Ron, but didn’t catch his eye. The red-head sat sullenly and silently in the corner and Harry was thankful for Ginny’s absence - she was eating dinner at The Burrow. The siblings were more similar than Harry had the guts to admit in front of either of them, and he believed their reactions would be very similar.
“You know I feel sorry for him,” Harry offered by way of explanation. “Why do you think I testified at his trial?”
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t understand what I’m getting at. It’s not so very strange that you would feel pity for him, or that you would perhaps go and check in on him on occasion.”
Ron’s face scrunched into a disgusted scowl. He had been doing that on and off since Harry had walked out of the grate at the Ministry of Magic. Apparently Percy had seen Harry go through the Azkaban grate, and had mentioned it to Ron. Ron had told Hermione who had investigated the situation, eventually discovering the truth.
“What’s strange Harry,” Hermione continued, “is that you didn’t tell us. Or even Ginny. It makes me suspicious.”
Harry’s brow furrowed and he stared up at her indignantly. “Suspicious?” Of all the things Harry had expected Hermione to say, that wasn’t one of them. What was suspicious about it?
“Yes!” declared Hermione. “Suspicious! Because why would you want to keep it a secret? I doubt you were ashamed, that’s not your style-”
“I didn’t tell you,” Harry spoke up, aggravation filling his voice, “because I knew you would over-react like this!”
A voice deep inside Harry said this was not entirely true. But it seemed like a reasonable enough excuse and Harry quickly attempted to convince himself of its veracity.
“That’s not fair,” said Hermione. “We don’t always agree with each other, but we’ve always been supportive.”
This was also, not entirely true. But he thought better than to comment on it now. He was feeling far too defensive and it would only make the circumstances worse.
“You would’ve … you would’ve tried to talk me out of it!” said Harry stubbornly and he stood up and paced by the window. “And I notice you aren’t being very supportive now.”
Hermione sighed and she finally sat down across from where he’d just been. “We’re just worried, okay? We’d rather you didn’t get mixed up with him or his family.”
“I get it,” said Harry. “I know you mean well, but you’ve just got to trust me, okay? Surely I’m not the only one who cares about what happens to him deep down?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Sure. Deep down I care. Deep, deep down … in a well … under a rock.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. Partly because Harry was sure that Hermione would care if she had seen Draco the way Harry had. With all his walls broken down and barely a shell of a person left. And partly because Hermione was, generally speaking, a compassionate person.
“All we do is make small talk,” Harry said in a pacifying voice. “It’s just to give him a break. I won’t keep it a secret anymore. I’ll tell Ginny later tonight-”
“Do not tell Ginny!”
Hermione and Harry both snapped their heads around to Ron, who had gone bright red in the face. “Don’t. Tell. Her. She hates him. Hates his father in particular. Do you forget what that bastard did to her?”
“Of course not!” Harry ran his hands through his hair as he thought of the way Ginny’s eyes narrowed nastily whenever the name ‘Malfoy’ was mentioned. Harry understood - but Draco was not Lucius.
“Well, just don’t see him anymore,” said Ron, rather shrilly, pushing his hands through the air in a smothering motion, “and then we won’t tell her anything, and everything will go back to normal and we’ll never talk about it again.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but he caught Hermione’s eye. She was shaking her head furiously at him. So Harry turned to Ron and nodded his head in agreement. But it was all for show. There was no way that Harry would stop seeing Draco. Every time the thought even crossed his mind, Harry would see Draco curled in a ball on the ground. His black and white prison robes covered in filth, his thin body shaking madly and his eyes full of torment. That image had etched itself into his brain. It, much like Draco, would not be ignored.
Hermione spent the rest of the evening giving him significant looks. But Ron seemed determined to ignore the fact that Draco Malfoy had once again become a part of their lives. Harry spoke very little to either, and instead wondered intently, how on Earth he was going to be able to see Draco without them knowing now. The psych evaluation was on Boxing Day.
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It was Christmas Eve when Harry wrote the letter. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it. He doubted any of them would even read it. But maybe … maybe one of them would. Maybe one of them would care. Harry had never thought he’d care. But obviously he did. The war had changed him in ways he didn’t completely understand yet. And that scared him a little.
So he sat at his desk in the study whilst Hermione and Ron had breakfast, and he wrote a letter to the only blood relatives he had.
Dear Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley,
I’m sure you’ve gathered by this stage, that the war is over. For good. And I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I shall never return to Privet Drive uninvited. But I thought it was important that I make sure you’re all alright, and to let you know that I am alright. If you ever need anything, you may write to me at the address on this envelope. Don’t worry, no more owls.
Hoping you all have a good Christmas,
Harry
It was simple and casual, and perhaps a little politer than necessary, but Harry folded the letter and put it in an envelope anyway, carefully printing the address. He put a little stamp in the top, right hand corner.
He would stick to his word and not use an owl. Three such birds sat on a perch by the window, looking at him expectantly. Pigwidgeon twittered on his end of the perch, clearly hoping Harry would choose him to send the letter. Iome, Hermione’s barn owl, avoided Harry’s gaze. She didn’t like anyone using her but Hermione, and Hermione used her plenty. The last one, a large eagle owl with rather large talons and black feathers, stood on the perch with eyes of complete calm. He was Harry’s.
It had been hard to go back to the Owl Emporium, after what had happened to Hedwig. But it had needed to be done. The Auror Professors demanded that they all had owls, for a start. It was necessary for handing in assignments. So Harry had chosen the owl that had appeared the most self-dependent, and had left there quickly. He called him Mercury. Because the owl had eyes the exact colour of mercury poison - as Hermione had pointed out in distaste when he’d brought him home.
Harry stood and walked over to their perch. He held the letter out to Mercury who took it into his strong beak. He didn’t like letters strapped to his legs. Pig hooted disappointedly.
“Take it to the Post Office in Diagon Alley. I want it posted the muggle way.”
Harry opened the window and Mercury’s large wings expanded out as he soared out the window. Harry watched him fly off until he disappeared from view. He stood there, looking at the grey sky and letting the icy air fill the room until the door was swung open and Ron bounded in.
“I can’t believe we have class on Christmas Eve. It’s such bollocks.”
Harry shut the window. “Yeah, but only six months to go and we can start work.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Ron headed for the grate and picked up a fistful of Floo Powder. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, moving to join Ron. “I hope Professor Prachett is still sick. Old git.”
Ron snorted as he stepped into the grate and shouted, “The University of Camelot!” Harry followed after and soon they were walking the frosty campus, dodging other students as they made their way to the Auror Building.
Harry had asked, on his first day, if Camelot was named after the mythological city that had been destroyed centuries ago. He had been told, rather bemusedly that this was the ancient city and that it was never destroyed, just reclaimed. Which meant absolutely nothing to Harry, but he didn’t think it wise to question further. He was no longer a particularly curious being. That had died with the war.
Camelot was the only university in the United Kingdom, and there were only five world wide. One each in Poland, Egypt, Canada and Thailand. They were all at least the size of Hogwarts, teaching things from Auror Training to Dragon Taming, from Gringotts Banking to teaching.
It was a beautiful campus, even covered in snow. Medieval buildings as far as the eye could see, each with more history than some countries could boast. Harry would have liked to explore the campus, but he didn’t really have the time and so he had to make do with the Auror Building. It was a rather imposing tower-like structure, with each level representing the different subjects they studied. Potions, charms, defensive magicks, dark arts history, administration and offensive magicks.
As they approached the grey stone, Harry saw familiar faces standing outside, waiting to be allowed in.
“Hiya, Harry! And you too, Ron.” A bright-faced American girl with a fantastic ability for Charms approached them. “Goddamn Prachett’s being a prick. Won’t open the doors until nine o’clock. Which, you know would be fine, but for the fact he wants us here at eight thirty.”
“Idiot,” muttered Ron.
A few others that they had been friendly with over the last few months - most of them girls - came over to speak to them as well. When Ron and Harry had first started, no one could even look them in the eye. But eventually their peers had begun to see them as normal people, and excessive reverence was only shown to Harry on rare occasions now.
“Jayla, honey,” said a dark girl from South Africa with a knack for Veritaserum. “Please tell me you scored with that very fine piece of work over there.”
Jayla, the bright-faced American followed her friend’s eye line to a group of mainly guys, huddled in a group on the other side of the entrance. Harry knew who they were referring to. A young Italian man, with big chocolate brown eyes and a debonair air.
After all the females in their class had accepted the fact that both Harry and Ron were in perfectly happy relationships and weren’t interested in “branching out”, attention had quickly turned to Furio. Who was, apparently, “six feet of pure, unadulterated, European perfection”. Ron thought he was an idiot. Harry thought he had a nice Stupefy.
Jayla went a little red as she turned to the group. “Um … no I didn’t. And I don’t think any of us are. He’s, um, he’s gay. And I found that out the hard way.”
There was a collective sigh of disappointed from the girls, but Harry looked to Ron and Basim, a young Lebanese man with a killer Petrificus Totalus. Harry was much more interested in their reactions. Neither of them seemed particularly surprised or disgusted.
“Is that common in the wizarding world?” Harry asked Ron and Basim quietly as the girls talked about what exactly Jayla meant when she said, “the hard way”.
Ron shrugged. “I dunno. Whatever floats your boat.”
Basim leaned over. “There isn’t as much prejudice in the wizarding world,” he clarified in a slight Arabic accent, “between race and sexuality. It’s always been more about blood purity. Some pure-blood families don’t really like it, just because they’re not going to be producing kids then. But it’s not really a big deal. We have a rather large bi-sexual population, as a result.”
Harry nodded his head in understanding. It made sense. And as Harry thought about it, he remembered something that Dean Thomas, an old Hogwarts friend, had once said.
“I’m up against it for being black in the muggle world, and I’m up against it for being a muggle-born in the wizarding world.”
Harry looked over to Furio, curiously. He hadn’t met anyone that was gay before. Or maybe he just hadn’t known they were gay when he’d met them? Suddenly Furio met is gaze and looked at him rather intently. Harry smiled at him casually and turned back to Ron and Basim.
They talked Quidditch for a couple of minutes, willing the minutes away so they could get inside out of the frost and get the class over with. Harry had a N. E. W. T. Potions essay due soon that he was hoping to finish so he would have the rest of the week free to spend with Ginny. Potions was a subject he now found quite easy, thanks to his Auror classes which were much harder.
Harry was just thinking to himself that if Prachett didn’t open the door in one minute he was going to blast it down, when he heard his name mentioned by one of the girls. “What was that?” he asked, turning to face them.
“We were just saying,” said Jayla, looking highly amused, “that we should’ve known about Furio. He’s looking at you with a lot more interest than he ever showed us.”
The girls giggled and Ron and Basim looked behind them to Furio. Harry did not. Basim laughed, “They’re right. He’s being rather blatant actually.”
Harry’s defensive-humour immediately went up. “Well I am very good-looking. I don’t blame him.”
Ron snorted as Professor Prachett finally opened the great oak doors, his arrogant face in a smirk. They shuffled inside; shaking off snow from their clothes. And to Harry’s relief, no further mention of Furio was made. He gave him a wide berth all class.
They worked on making Apparating Draughts from natural supplies for if-and-when they are stranded without their wands. Prachett skulked around them making biting remarks about everybody’s work except Harry’s. This only annoyed Harry as he was quite clearly one of the weaker students when it came to Potions, and he did not appreciate the barefaced favouritism. Three hours later they were dismissed and Prachett gave them assignments for Christmas. Because he was a nice man like that.
As Harry and Ron trudged their way through the snow, heading for the Floo Hall to go home, Jayla called out to them, “Hey! Christmas party in my dorm tonight! Bring your girlfriends!”
“Oh good!” said Ron. “Hermione was talking about going to the Lovegoods. Now we’ve got an excuse to say no.”
Harry laughed as he grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder. He was pleased. He had no great desire to see Xenophilius, even if he was Luna’s father.
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Hermione was extremely peeved at having to cancel on the Lovegoods at such short notice. But as both Ron and Harry were keen to go to Jayla’s party, and neither Hermione nor Ginny liked the idea of them going to a girl’s party alone, she did not have much choice but to agree.
Ginny dressed Harry. Something Harry kind of annoyed and Ron found very amusing. Hermione, however, thought Harry looked much better than usual and brashly stated that he should let Ginny dress him all the time.
She’d put him in - what Harry considered to be far too tight - black trousers and black leather, shin high boots. This accompanied a plain white shirt and an earthy green robe-coat that buttoned down to his waist. She also made him wear contacts and ran this weird, white mousse through his hair. Ginny said he looked sexy. Harry thought he looked like a try-hard, wizard aristocrat. But he was, for some strange reason, particularly hot around the collar, and was eager to please her that night. So he suffered silently.
Ginny herself had gone to a lot of effort to impress their university friends. She was wearing skin tight brown leather pants and a yellow halter that made Ron scowl. Her brother had opened his mouth to protest but then Hermione had glided down the stairs looking very classy in a blue cocktail dress and he was silenced.
Ron wore an unmistakable smile of pride all the way to the Lady of Shallot dorm. They banged loudly on the front door. A pink-haired girl yanked the door open. The sound of music instantly pounded through their ears. They had obviously used a silencing charm around the dorm.
The girl didn’t even bother staying to see who they were; she just turned on her heel, a Firewhiskey in her hand. They cautiously stepped into a crowded hall that opened up to a crowded lounge on the left, and a crowded kitchen to the right. The place was half-heartedly decorated for Christmas, with a tree bedecked with beer cans to top it off. There was the stench of beer and Firewhiskey and a lot of smoke filling the air.
Hermione closed the door behind them as Harry’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for someone he and Ron knew. Harry was relieved to see that several guys were wearing similar clothes to him.
“ARGH! HARRY! RON! YOU CAME!”
Jayla came running up to them, clearly pissed. She threw her arms, very ungracefully around Harry and squeezed him tight. Harry laughed and patted her on the back. She let go and moved on to Ron, giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“So, introduce me to your bitches!” Jayla said loudly. Harry could feel Hermione flinch, but he turned to her and gave her a reassuring smile. It was just the way Jayla spoke, alcohol or not. She didn’t mean anything by it.
Harry introduced the girls and Jayla exclaimed loudly over Hermione’s dress and told Ginny that she was far too hot to be only seventeen. Jayla then left as quickly and as loudly as she had come.
“Well,” said Hermione, her eyebrows raised. “She seems nice.”
Hermione was then approached by a slight brunette girl who looked vaguely familiar to Harry. It turned out to be Mandy Brocklehurst, an old Arithmancy friend from Hogwarts, who Hermione quickly went off with to talk to. Ron went to get drinks for everybody and after that the night became a hectic blur.
The first one of them to get really drunk was Ron. The sign was when he started breaking out into the Chudley Cannons theme song when the clock struck twelve and they were all meant to be singing Jingle Bells. Harry knew he was drunk when he joined in.
Ginny was hit on by four guys, three of whom nearly wet themselves when she declared to them that Harry Potter was her boyfriend, and one of whom did actually wet himself. Hermione was hit on by five guys and one girl. Each time this happened, Hermione’s eyes would glow as she gently let them down. She was no longer the bushy haired, buck-toothed, unseen plain girl. She was a pretty young woman with intelligence colouring her eyes. And she was still pleasantly surprised when other people noticed.
Ron was impossible the whole night and insisted on doing everything loudly. Speaking singing, dancing, walking, drinking, singing, flirting, running, stripping and singing. Just to name a few. But Harry refused to try and stop him. They’d never had a real chance to unwind after the war.
Harry just kept drinking. And each time he did he forgot that much more. With each sip, went away a little bit of pain that had been there for so long now that Harry had forgotten that it wasn’t right. So Harry just kept on drinking that sweet release. It wasn’t long until Harry was so drunk he forgot that he was a horrible dancer and should never do it in public. He forgot that you never should never eat baked goods from strangers. He forgot that most girls don’t like the word “cunt” and that using it to describe someone isn’t very nice. He forgot that he should be offended when he’s called a “prick”, in retaliation.
But he mainly forgot that he had a girlfriend. And that he was not gay.
No, he most definitely was not thinking about how wrong anything he was doing was as he stood against the cold tile of the bathroom floor with his too tight black trousers bunched around his boots. He didn’t think about Ginny as Furio, the six foot pure, unadulterated, European perfection, took Harry’s cock into his mouth and sucked it so hard Harry lost his footing. He was not thinking about wars or Voldemort or Dumbledore or anything that caused him pain as he sat there, slumped against the wall with that Italian licking up all his come.
And when he pulled his pants back on and tripped down the stairs to find the other three waiting for him in the kitchen - Ron sporting a mysterious massive black eye - he didn’t think about obligation or responsibility.
Oh no. It was not until twelve thirty nine on Christmas Day, when he finally woke up and his head felt like it was splitting in half, did he realise that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
(())
Draco was fidgety. A sign of his nervousness. He really hoped that Potter didn’t bail on him. Draco’s feelings for Potter had changed from indifference into lukewarm acceptance, true, but if Potter didn’t show up Draco was more than willing to revert back to full blown hostility, let alone indifference.
Although Draco was pleased to be out of his cell again so soon after his last visitation. Waiting in the corridor of St. Mungo’s with a Dementor, the Azkaban warden and two correctional officers was not that much of an improvement. And the thought that kept crossing Draco’s mind was what if they decide I’m too crazy to be let out in eighteen months? What if they lock me up forever?
Some of Draco’s fears had been quailed though. Ebenezer Crick, his guard, had informed him that all he had to do was talk to this psychologist. Nothing else would happen. So at least Draco could stop thinking about electric-shock therapy - which he read about in his Muggle Studies textbook.
The door to the corridor was suddenly swung open and in walked Potter looking strangely ruffled. But Draco didn’t care what state he was in, as long as he was there. He smiled deeply at the stupid Gryffindork. Thankful that Potter had kept his word and come to the consultation, and mindful of the perfect brooch Potter had brought for him that was now sitting safely in his pocket.
Potter nodded his head in greeting. “So, are we doing this or what?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “In a hurry, Potter?”
Potter made no reply and Draco examined his companion more carefully. He looked run down, like he hadn’t had a decent sleep. And there was a strange vibe coming from him. Draco normally sensed calmness in Potter, but now there was something else. Something completely different. And then Draco knew what it was. His father had been emitting those vibes all last year. It was guilt.
Draco narrowed his eyes, suddenly very interested. “What did you do, Potter?”
Potter turned to him, his eyes wide. Draco smirked. He was right. “Don’t look so shocked. You’re rather transparent.”
Suddenly Potter’s face changed from shocked to questioning. “No. I’m not transparent at all. No one else has noticed …” Potter trailed off. Aware that he may be saying too much.
Draco’s curiosity peaked even more and he happily pushed the consultation from his mind. “What did you do? Wait! Let me guess.”
Potter’s countenance went sullen and his face clearly said, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you”. Draco opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off by the arrival of the psychologist. She was a petite woman with sandy blonde hair and lots of freckles. Draco frowned. He didn’t approve of freckles.
The warden approached her and they had a short word which Draco did not hear. She briefly glanced at Potter, then at him, and then she stepped over to her office door, holding it open for him.
“Right then,” she said, smiling. She was Irish. Draco didn’t approve of that either. “My name is Erin McAvoy. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Draco stood and Potter made to follow him, but Erin held up her hand. “No, no. It’s best if we’re alone.”
Potter shrugged his shoulders and went to sit down where Draco had just been. Draco made to protest but was cut short when Erin firmly pushed him inside and the scent of vanilla was suddenly in the air.
“Hey!” said Draco. “I want Potter in here too.”
She laughed a little and closed the door. “No, you don’t want him in here. Come on, take a seat.”
Draco crossed his arms as she gestured to a pair of couches by a window. The artificial sky outside was completely cloudless, and the sun sent rays of light dancing over her wooden desk and bookshelves. And even though it was fake, Draco contentedly moved towards the window. He hadn’t seen the sky like that in six months. And it was eerily calming. Draco felt his fears and anxiety wash away as he gazed out at the expansive blue.
“So,” he said. “How long am I allowed to stay here?”
(())
Harry sat in the corridor outside Erin McAvoy’s office for over an hour, dodging questions from the awe-struck and determined warden. His white moustache wiggled each time Harry offered him a satisfying answer. There weren’t many of those though, as Harry’s thoughts were rather crowded with full-blooded Italians, scarily insightful Slytherins and his own self-hatred.
Part of him wanted to tell Ginny everything. And another part of him knew that would be an incredibly stupid and pointless thing to do. He just had to come to terms with it, and try and move on. But each time he looked inside himself for an answer, he only found confusion.
Finally, when boredom was beginning to become a problem, Erin emerged from the office. Draco did not follow her and she closed the door behind her.
“So,” said the warden, his double chin wobbling away. “Can I take him back? He’s not going to off himself?”
Erin looked at him with vague distaste. “No. Not immediately anyway. But there are a couple of rather serious problems that we are going to need to sort out.”
“Post-traumatic stress?” Harry offered. It was an obvious conclusion.
“Yes,” said Erin. “But that’s hardly surprising considering what he’s gone through over these last three years. Especially at such a young age. And unfortunately, being in Azkaban is not helping anything.”
Harry nodded his head. The warden was nonplussed.
“But I suspect there’s something else,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s hard to tell at this stage.”
Harry shook his head. “What is it?”
“I believe that he may suffer from Histrionic Personality Disorder.”
Harry had never heard of such a thing, and apparently either had the warden. They wore mirrored faces of confusion.
Erin sighed, patiently. “In simple terms, it’s like narcissism except … well, worse. Histrionic personalities are highly manipulative. And they normally manipulate through sexual seduction.”
Harry stared at her blankly for a moment. And then said, “You think Draco has this?” He wondered vaguely if he’d ever been sexually manipulated by Draco.
“I think he had it. The post-traumatic stress and his current situation have suppressed it. But that doesn’t mean when he gets out, that he won’t go back to it.”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve known him for a long time-”
“You knew him when he was a child. But there was a while there when you didn’t see him a lot, huh? He told me.”
And Harry knew what she was implying. Harry had no idea what Draco had done for all those months, in order to stay alive.
(())
Author’s Notes: Thank you, AbundantFear, my darling beta who feeds me scones and tells me I’m wonderful. I’m very sorry that Cedric, your beloved Barina, has died. I am glad that your new car, Lancelot the Lanos, loves fifth gear so much.
Ahem.
--- LOLLIPOPS ---
Enjoy! And don’t forget to push the button and send me some freakin’ love!
Next Chapter
Author: raining_slash
Beta: abundantfear
Rating: Overall, R.
Pairing: H/D
Spoilers: All books, including DH.
Warnings: Slash, Violence, Sexual Situations and Language.
Summary: WIP. Post DH. Novel-length. Nineteen years is a long time. What happened between the end of the Battle of Hogwarts and Albus Severus Potter’s first day of school?
Disclaimer & Author’s Notes: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and places in this fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. This story has been cross-posted because I’m an internet whore.
Previous Chapter
THE VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE
(())
Author’s Note: I am very sorry that this chapter is late, but my beta was in a car accident and I refused to post it until she was well and could beta it.
(())
“Each mind fabricates itself. We sense its limits for we have made them.” - Rainer Maria Rilke
Chapter Three: Secrets Should Be Secret
164 days after the Battle of Hogwarts
Harry let out another exasperated sigh and stared longingly at the pumpkin scones that Kreacher had just brought out from the kitchen. They were deliciously aromatic and he really wanted to reach out and grab one, but the seriousness of his current situation stopped him.
“So,” said Hermione, pacing up and down in front of Harry. He had begun a steady sink into the couch the moment they’d gotten back from the Ministry, and Hermione had pushed him down into it and proceeded to interrogate him. “So let me get this straight. You have been secretly going to see Malfoy for months now? Because you - and I quote - “feel sorry for him”?”
Harry glanced over at Ron, but didn’t catch his eye. The red-head sat sullenly and silently in the corner and Harry was thankful for Ginny’s absence - she was eating dinner at The Burrow. The siblings were more similar than Harry had the guts to admit in front of either of them, and he believed their reactions would be very similar.
“You know I feel sorry for him,” Harry offered by way of explanation. “Why do you think I testified at his trial?”
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t understand what I’m getting at. It’s not so very strange that you would feel pity for him, or that you would perhaps go and check in on him on occasion.”
Ron’s face scrunched into a disgusted scowl. He had been doing that on and off since Harry had walked out of the grate at the Ministry of Magic. Apparently Percy had seen Harry go through the Azkaban grate, and had mentioned it to Ron. Ron had told Hermione who had investigated the situation, eventually discovering the truth.
“What’s strange Harry,” Hermione continued, “is that you didn’t tell us. Or even Ginny. It makes me suspicious.”
Harry’s brow furrowed and he stared up at her indignantly. “Suspicious?” Of all the things Harry had expected Hermione to say, that wasn’t one of them. What was suspicious about it?
“Yes!” declared Hermione. “Suspicious! Because why would you want to keep it a secret? I doubt you were ashamed, that’s not your style-”
“I didn’t tell you,” Harry spoke up, aggravation filling his voice, “because I knew you would over-react like this!”
A voice deep inside Harry said this was not entirely true. But it seemed like a reasonable enough excuse and Harry quickly attempted to convince himself of its veracity.
“That’s not fair,” said Hermione. “We don’t always agree with each other, but we’ve always been supportive.”
This was also, not entirely true. But he thought better than to comment on it now. He was feeling far too defensive and it would only make the circumstances worse.
“You would’ve … you would’ve tried to talk me out of it!” said Harry stubbornly and he stood up and paced by the window. “And I notice you aren’t being very supportive now.”
Hermione sighed and she finally sat down across from where he’d just been. “We’re just worried, okay? We’d rather you didn’t get mixed up with him or his family.”
“I get it,” said Harry. “I know you mean well, but you’ve just got to trust me, okay? Surely I’m not the only one who cares about what happens to him deep down?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Sure. Deep down I care. Deep, deep down … in a well … under a rock.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. Partly because Harry was sure that Hermione would care if she had seen Draco the way Harry had. With all his walls broken down and barely a shell of a person left. And partly because Hermione was, generally speaking, a compassionate person.
“All we do is make small talk,” Harry said in a pacifying voice. “It’s just to give him a break. I won’t keep it a secret anymore. I’ll tell Ginny later tonight-”
“Do not tell Ginny!”
Hermione and Harry both snapped their heads around to Ron, who had gone bright red in the face. “Don’t. Tell. Her. She hates him. Hates his father in particular. Do you forget what that bastard did to her?”
“Of course not!” Harry ran his hands through his hair as he thought of the way Ginny’s eyes narrowed nastily whenever the name ‘Malfoy’ was mentioned. Harry understood - but Draco was not Lucius.
“Well, just don’t see him anymore,” said Ron, rather shrilly, pushing his hands through the air in a smothering motion, “and then we won’t tell her anything, and everything will go back to normal and we’ll never talk about it again.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but he caught Hermione’s eye. She was shaking her head furiously at him. So Harry turned to Ron and nodded his head in agreement. But it was all for show. There was no way that Harry would stop seeing Draco. Every time the thought even crossed his mind, Harry would see Draco curled in a ball on the ground. His black and white prison robes covered in filth, his thin body shaking madly and his eyes full of torment. That image had etched itself into his brain. It, much like Draco, would not be ignored.
Hermione spent the rest of the evening giving him significant looks. But Ron seemed determined to ignore the fact that Draco Malfoy had once again become a part of their lives. Harry spoke very little to either, and instead wondered intently, how on Earth he was going to be able to see Draco without them knowing now. The psych evaluation was on Boxing Day.
(())
It was Christmas Eve when Harry wrote the letter. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it. He doubted any of them would even read it. But maybe … maybe one of them would. Maybe one of them would care. Harry had never thought he’d care. But obviously he did. The war had changed him in ways he didn’t completely understand yet. And that scared him a little.
So he sat at his desk in the study whilst Hermione and Ron had breakfast, and he wrote a letter to the only blood relatives he had.
Dear Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley,
I’m sure you’ve gathered by this stage, that the war is over. For good. And I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I shall never return to Privet Drive uninvited. But I thought it was important that I make sure you’re all alright, and to let you know that I am alright. If you ever need anything, you may write to me at the address on this envelope. Don’t worry, no more owls.
Hoping you all have a good Christmas,
Harry
It was simple and casual, and perhaps a little politer than necessary, but Harry folded the letter and put it in an envelope anyway, carefully printing the address. He put a little stamp in the top, right hand corner.
He would stick to his word and not use an owl. Three such birds sat on a perch by the window, looking at him expectantly. Pigwidgeon twittered on his end of the perch, clearly hoping Harry would choose him to send the letter. Iome, Hermione’s barn owl, avoided Harry’s gaze. She didn’t like anyone using her but Hermione, and Hermione used her plenty. The last one, a large eagle owl with rather large talons and black feathers, stood on the perch with eyes of complete calm. He was Harry’s.
It had been hard to go back to the Owl Emporium, after what had happened to Hedwig. But it had needed to be done. The Auror Professors demanded that they all had owls, for a start. It was necessary for handing in assignments. So Harry had chosen the owl that had appeared the most self-dependent, and had left there quickly. He called him Mercury. Because the owl had eyes the exact colour of mercury poison - as Hermione had pointed out in distaste when he’d brought him home.
Harry stood and walked over to their perch. He held the letter out to Mercury who took it into his strong beak. He didn’t like letters strapped to his legs. Pig hooted disappointedly.
“Take it to the Post Office in Diagon Alley. I want it posted the muggle way.”
Harry opened the window and Mercury’s large wings expanded out as he soared out the window. Harry watched him fly off until he disappeared from view. He stood there, looking at the grey sky and letting the icy air fill the room until the door was swung open and Ron bounded in.
“I can’t believe we have class on Christmas Eve. It’s such bollocks.”
Harry shut the window. “Yeah, but only six months to go and we can start work.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Ron headed for the grate and picked up a fistful of Floo Powder. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, moving to join Ron. “I hope Professor Prachett is still sick. Old git.”
Ron snorted as he stepped into the grate and shouted, “The University of Camelot!” Harry followed after and soon they were walking the frosty campus, dodging other students as they made their way to the Auror Building.
Harry had asked, on his first day, if Camelot was named after the mythological city that had been destroyed centuries ago. He had been told, rather bemusedly that this was the ancient city and that it was never destroyed, just reclaimed. Which meant absolutely nothing to Harry, but he didn’t think it wise to question further. He was no longer a particularly curious being. That had died with the war.
Camelot was the only university in the United Kingdom, and there were only five world wide. One each in Poland, Egypt, Canada and Thailand. They were all at least the size of Hogwarts, teaching things from Auror Training to Dragon Taming, from Gringotts Banking to teaching.
It was a beautiful campus, even covered in snow. Medieval buildings as far as the eye could see, each with more history than some countries could boast. Harry would have liked to explore the campus, but he didn’t really have the time and so he had to make do with the Auror Building. It was a rather imposing tower-like structure, with each level representing the different subjects they studied. Potions, charms, defensive magicks, dark arts history, administration and offensive magicks.
As they approached the grey stone, Harry saw familiar faces standing outside, waiting to be allowed in.
“Hiya, Harry! And you too, Ron.” A bright-faced American girl with a fantastic ability for Charms approached them. “Goddamn Prachett’s being a prick. Won’t open the doors until nine o’clock. Which, you know would be fine, but for the fact he wants us here at eight thirty.”
“Idiot,” muttered Ron.
A few others that they had been friendly with over the last few months - most of them girls - came over to speak to them as well. When Ron and Harry had first started, no one could even look them in the eye. But eventually their peers had begun to see them as normal people, and excessive reverence was only shown to Harry on rare occasions now.
“Jayla, honey,” said a dark girl from South Africa with a knack for Veritaserum. “Please tell me you scored with that very fine piece of work over there.”
Jayla, the bright-faced American followed her friend’s eye line to a group of mainly guys, huddled in a group on the other side of the entrance. Harry knew who they were referring to. A young Italian man, with big chocolate brown eyes and a debonair air.
After all the females in their class had accepted the fact that both Harry and Ron were in perfectly happy relationships and weren’t interested in “branching out”, attention had quickly turned to Furio. Who was, apparently, “six feet of pure, unadulterated, European perfection”. Ron thought he was an idiot. Harry thought he had a nice Stupefy.
Jayla went a little red as she turned to the group. “Um … no I didn’t. And I don’t think any of us are. He’s, um, he’s gay. And I found that out the hard way.”
There was a collective sigh of disappointed from the girls, but Harry looked to Ron and Basim, a young Lebanese man with a killer Petrificus Totalus. Harry was much more interested in their reactions. Neither of them seemed particularly surprised or disgusted.
“Is that common in the wizarding world?” Harry asked Ron and Basim quietly as the girls talked about what exactly Jayla meant when she said, “the hard way”.
Ron shrugged. “I dunno. Whatever floats your boat.”
Basim leaned over. “There isn’t as much prejudice in the wizarding world,” he clarified in a slight Arabic accent, “between race and sexuality. It’s always been more about blood purity. Some pure-blood families don’t really like it, just because they’re not going to be producing kids then. But it’s not really a big deal. We have a rather large bi-sexual population, as a result.”
Harry nodded his head in understanding. It made sense. And as Harry thought about it, he remembered something that Dean Thomas, an old Hogwarts friend, had once said.
“I’m up against it for being black in the muggle world, and I’m up against it for being a muggle-born in the wizarding world.”
Harry looked over to Furio, curiously. He hadn’t met anyone that was gay before. Or maybe he just hadn’t known they were gay when he’d met them? Suddenly Furio met is gaze and looked at him rather intently. Harry smiled at him casually and turned back to Ron and Basim.
They talked Quidditch for a couple of minutes, willing the minutes away so they could get inside out of the frost and get the class over with. Harry had a N. E. W. T. Potions essay due soon that he was hoping to finish so he would have the rest of the week free to spend with Ginny. Potions was a subject he now found quite easy, thanks to his Auror classes which were much harder.
Harry was just thinking to himself that if Prachett didn’t open the door in one minute he was going to blast it down, when he heard his name mentioned by one of the girls. “What was that?” he asked, turning to face them.
“We were just saying,” said Jayla, looking highly amused, “that we should’ve known about Furio. He’s looking at you with a lot more interest than he ever showed us.”
The girls giggled and Ron and Basim looked behind them to Furio. Harry did not. Basim laughed, “They’re right. He’s being rather blatant actually.”
Harry’s defensive-humour immediately went up. “Well I am very good-looking. I don’t blame him.”
Ron snorted as Professor Prachett finally opened the great oak doors, his arrogant face in a smirk. They shuffled inside; shaking off snow from their clothes. And to Harry’s relief, no further mention of Furio was made. He gave him a wide berth all class.
They worked on making Apparating Draughts from natural supplies for if-and-when they are stranded without their wands. Prachett skulked around them making biting remarks about everybody’s work except Harry’s. This only annoyed Harry as he was quite clearly one of the weaker students when it came to Potions, and he did not appreciate the barefaced favouritism. Three hours later they were dismissed and Prachett gave them assignments for Christmas. Because he was a nice man like that.
As Harry and Ron trudged their way through the snow, heading for the Floo Hall to go home, Jayla called out to them, “Hey! Christmas party in my dorm tonight! Bring your girlfriends!”
“Oh good!” said Ron. “Hermione was talking about going to the Lovegoods. Now we’ve got an excuse to say no.”
Harry laughed as he grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder. He was pleased. He had no great desire to see Xenophilius, even if he was Luna’s father.
(())
Hermione was extremely peeved at having to cancel on the Lovegoods at such short notice. But as both Ron and Harry were keen to go to Jayla’s party, and neither Hermione nor Ginny liked the idea of them going to a girl’s party alone, she did not have much choice but to agree.
Ginny dressed Harry. Something Harry kind of annoyed and Ron found very amusing. Hermione, however, thought Harry looked much better than usual and brashly stated that he should let Ginny dress him all the time.
She’d put him in - what Harry considered to be far too tight - black trousers and black leather, shin high boots. This accompanied a plain white shirt and an earthy green robe-coat that buttoned down to his waist. She also made him wear contacts and ran this weird, white mousse through his hair. Ginny said he looked sexy. Harry thought he looked like a try-hard, wizard aristocrat. But he was, for some strange reason, particularly hot around the collar, and was eager to please her that night. So he suffered silently.
Ginny herself had gone to a lot of effort to impress their university friends. She was wearing skin tight brown leather pants and a yellow halter that made Ron scowl. Her brother had opened his mouth to protest but then Hermione had glided down the stairs looking very classy in a blue cocktail dress and he was silenced.
Ron wore an unmistakable smile of pride all the way to the Lady of Shallot dorm. They banged loudly on the front door. A pink-haired girl yanked the door open. The sound of music instantly pounded through their ears. They had obviously used a silencing charm around the dorm.
The girl didn’t even bother staying to see who they were; she just turned on her heel, a Firewhiskey in her hand. They cautiously stepped into a crowded hall that opened up to a crowded lounge on the left, and a crowded kitchen to the right. The place was half-heartedly decorated for Christmas, with a tree bedecked with beer cans to top it off. There was the stench of beer and Firewhiskey and a lot of smoke filling the air.
Hermione closed the door behind them as Harry’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for someone he and Ron knew. Harry was relieved to see that several guys were wearing similar clothes to him.
“ARGH! HARRY! RON! YOU CAME!”
Jayla came running up to them, clearly pissed. She threw her arms, very ungracefully around Harry and squeezed him tight. Harry laughed and patted her on the back. She let go and moved on to Ron, giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“So, introduce me to your bitches!” Jayla said loudly. Harry could feel Hermione flinch, but he turned to her and gave her a reassuring smile. It was just the way Jayla spoke, alcohol or not. She didn’t mean anything by it.
Harry introduced the girls and Jayla exclaimed loudly over Hermione’s dress and told Ginny that she was far too hot to be only seventeen. Jayla then left as quickly and as loudly as she had come.
“Well,” said Hermione, her eyebrows raised. “She seems nice.”
Hermione was then approached by a slight brunette girl who looked vaguely familiar to Harry. It turned out to be Mandy Brocklehurst, an old Arithmancy friend from Hogwarts, who Hermione quickly went off with to talk to. Ron went to get drinks for everybody and after that the night became a hectic blur.
The first one of them to get really drunk was Ron. The sign was when he started breaking out into the Chudley Cannons theme song when the clock struck twelve and they were all meant to be singing Jingle Bells. Harry knew he was drunk when he joined in.
Ginny was hit on by four guys, three of whom nearly wet themselves when she declared to them that Harry Potter was her boyfriend, and one of whom did actually wet himself. Hermione was hit on by five guys and one girl. Each time this happened, Hermione’s eyes would glow as she gently let them down. She was no longer the bushy haired, buck-toothed, unseen plain girl. She was a pretty young woman with intelligence colouring her eyes. And she was still pleasantly surprised when other people noticed.
Ron was impossible the whole night and insisted on doing everything loudly. Speaking singing, dancing, walking, drinking, singing, flirting, running, stripping and singing. Just to name a few. But Harry refused to try and stop him. They’d never had a real chance to unwind after the war.
Harry just kept drinking. And each time he did he forgot that much more. With each sip, went away a little bit of pain that had been there for so long now that Harry had forgotten that it wasn’t right. So Harry just kept on drinking that sweet release. It wasn’t long until Harry was so drunk he forgot that he was a horrible dancer and should never do it in public. He forgot that you never should never eat baked goods from strangers. He forgot that most girls don’t like the word “cunt” and that using it to describe someone isn’t very nice. He forgot that he should be offended when he’s called a “prick”, in retaliation.
But he mainly forgot that he had a girlfriend. And that he was not gay.
No, he most definitely was not thinking about how wrong anything he was doing was as he stood against the cold tile of the bathroom floor with his too tight black trousers bunched around his boots. He didn’t think about Ginny as Furio, the six foot pure, unadulterated, European perfection, took Harry’s cock into his mouth and sucked it so hard Harry lost his footing. He was not thinking about wars or Voldemort or Dumbledore or anything that caused him pain as he sat there, slumped against the wall with that Italian licking up all his come.
And when he pulled his pants back on and tripped down the stairs to find the other three waiting for him in the kitchen - Ron sporting a mysterious massive black eye - he didn’t think about obligation or responsibility.
Oh no. It was not until twelve thirty nine on Christmas Day, when he finally woke up and his head felt like it was splitting in half, did he realise that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
(())
Draco was fidgety. A sign of his nervousness. He really hoped that Potter didn’t bail on him. Draco’s feelings for Potter had changed from indifference into lukewarm acceptance, true, but if Potter didn’t show up Draco was more than willing to revert back to full blown hostility, let alone indifference.
Although Draco was pleased to be out of his cell again so soon after his last visitation. Waiting in the corridor of St. Mungo’s with a Dementor, the Azkaban warden and two correctional officers was not that much of an improvement. And the thought that kept crossing Draco’s mind was what if they decide I’m too crazy to be let out in eighteen months? What if they lock me up forever?
Some of Draco’s fears had been quailed though. Ebenezer Crick, his guard, had informed him that all he had to do was talk to this psychologist. Nothing else would happen. So at least Draco could stop thinking about electric-shock therapy - which he read about in his Muggle Studies textbook.
The door to the corridor was suddenly swung open and in walked Potter looking strangely ruffled. But Draco didn’t care what state he was in, as long as he was there. He smiled deeply at the stupid Gryffindork. Thankful that Potter had kept his word and come to the consultation, and mindful of the perfect brooch Potter had brought for him that was now sitting safely in his pocket.
Potter nodded his head in greeting. “So, are we doing this or what?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “In a hurry, Potter?”
Potter made no reply and Draco examined his companion more carefully. He looked run down, like he hadn’t had a decent sleep. And there was a strange vibe coming from him. Draco normally sensed calmness in Potter, but now there was something else. Something completely different. And then Draco knew what it was. His father had been emitting those vibes all last year. It was guilt.
Draco narrowed his eyes, suddenly very interested. “What did you do, Potter?”
Potter turned to him, his eyes wide. Draco smirked. He was right. “Don’t look so shocked. You’re rather transparent.”
Suddenly Potter’s face changed from shocked to questioning. “No. I’m not transparent at all. No one else has noticed …” Potter trailed off. Aware that he may be saying too much.
Draco’s curiosity peaked even more and he happily pushed the consultation from his mind. “What did you do? Wait! Let me guess.”
Potter’s countenance went sullen and his face clearly said, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you”. Draco opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off by the arrival of the psychologist. She was a petite woman with sandy blonde hair and lots of freckles. Draco frowned. He didn’t approve of freckles.
The warden approached her and they had a short word which Draco did not hear. She briefly glanced at Potter, then at him, and then she stepped over to her office door, holding it open for him.
“Right then,” she said, smiling. She was Irish. Draco didn’t approve of that either. “My name is Erin McAvoy. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Draco stood and Potter made to follow him, but Erin held up her hand. “No, no. It’s best if we’re alone.”
Potter shrugged his shoulders and went to sit down where Draco had just been. Draco made to protest but was cut short when Erin firmly pushed him inside and the scent of vanilla was suddenly in the air.
“Hey!” said Draco. “I want Potter in here too.”
She laughed a little and closed the door. “No, you don’t want him in here. Come on, take a seat.”
Draco crossed his arms as she gestured to a pair of couches by a window. The artificial sky outside was completely cloudless, and the sun sent rays of light dancing over her wooden desk and bookshelves. And even though it was fake, Draco contentedly moved towards the window. He hadn’t seen the sky like that in six months. And it was eerily calming. Draco felt his fears and anxiety wash away as he gazed out at the expansive blue.
“So,” he said. “How long am I allowed to stay here?”
(())
Harry sat in the corridor outside Erin McAvoy’s office for over an hour, dodging questions from the awe-struck and determined warden. His white moustache wiggled each time Harry offered him a satisfying answer. There weren’t many of those though, as Harry’s thoughts were rather crowded with full-blooded Italians, scarily insightful Slytherins and his own self-hatred.
Part of him wanted to tell Ginny everything. And another part of him knew that would be an incredibly stupid and pointless thing to do. He just had to come to terms with it, and try and move on. But each time he looked inside himself for an answer, he only found confusion.
Finally, when boredom was beginning to become a problem, Erin emerged from the office. Draco did not follow her and she closed the door behind her.
“So,” said the warden, his double chin wobbling away. “Can I take him back? He’s not going to off himself?”
Erin looked at him with vague distaste. “No. Not immediately anyway. But there are a couple of rather serious problems that we are going to need to sort out.”
“Post-traumatic stress?” Harry offered. It was an obvious conclusion.
“Yes,” said Erin. “But that’s hardly surprising considering what he’s gone through over these last three years. Especially at such a young age. And unfortunately, being in Azkaban is not helping anything.”
Harry nodded his head. The warden was nonplussed.
“But I suspect there’s something else,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s hard to tell at this stage.”
Harry shook his head. “What is it?”
“I believe that he may suffer from Histrionic Personality Disorder.”
Harry had never heard of such a thing, and apparently either had the warden. They wore mirrored faces of confusion.
Erin sighed, patiently. “In simple terms, it’s like narcissism except … well, worse. Histrionic personalities are highly manipulative. And they normally manipulate through sexual seduction.”
Harry stared at her blankly for a moment. And then said, “You think Draco has this?” He wondered vaguely if he’d ever been sexually manipulated by Draco.
“I think he had it. The post-traumatic stress and his current situation have suppressed it. But that doesn’t mean when he gets out, that he won’t go back to it.”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve known him for a long time-”
“You knew him when he was a child. But there was a while there when you didn’t see him a lot, huh? He told me.”
And Harry knew what she was implying. Harry had no idea what Draco had done for all those months, in order to stay alive.
(())
Author’s Notes: Thank you, AbundantFear, my darling beta who feeds me scones and tells me I’m wonderful. I’m very sorry that Cedric, your beloved Barina, has died. I am glad that your new car, Lancelot the Lanos, loves fifth gear so much.
Ahem.
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