Chapter Four, 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
(())
“Honesty is a good thing, but it is not profitable to its possessor unless it is kept under control.” - Don Marquis
Chapter Four: Age of Reason
300 days after the Battle of Hogwarts
“So it’s completely turned off now?” Draco glanced over to the artificial sky outside the window. It did feel different now. More artificial and less soothing. Though the light still skimmed across the office walls, bouncing off the bookshelves. Draco liked this room.
“Yes,” Erin confirmed, a notepad in her lap and a self-writing quill hovering over it. “You don’t need the Calming Sky anymore. These last few months have been good. You’ve made very encouraging progress.”
“So I’m no longer suicidal or sexually manipulating?” Draco asked with sarcasm layering his voice.
Erin smiled patiently. “Your post-traumatic stress has dissipated to acceptable levels. And as for the Histrionic Personality Disorder … well, I think you need to accept the fact that it may always be a part of your life. But understand; it doesn’t define you.”
Draco had been seeing Erin McAvoy for just over five months now. He had forgiven her for being Irish and no longer gazed disapprovingly at her freckles. And although it had been hard to open up to her at first, Draco had found that it was good to talk to someone about his feelings. And soon, after his sessions with her, he began to notice a generally improved outlook on his life. But the idea that he would always have a personality disorder labeling him - like he didn’t have enough of those - was rather unnerving.
“Ninety-five percent of the population is neurotic, Draco,” Erin explained. “It’s just about learning to control our neuroticism, so that it doesn’t affect our ability to function in society. That is all we are aiming to do here. You needn’t feel like a freak,” Erin smirked at Draco. He had taken to calling himself “The Freak”, of late.
“It is likely,” Erin said, as her quill dashed across the notepad, “that you will always be a slightly manipulative person. And be a little on the narcissistic side. And it is likely that you will use your sexuality where you can, to better your circumstances. But this does not make you a bad person. It is no different than a shrewd person, using their intelligence and connections to further themselves. It is completely normal to be completely abnormal.”
Erin had been saying similar things to him for some time now. But it still hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Draco still felt the need to be vindicated for his past actions somehow, without being labeled “histrionic”.
“Last session,” Erin began, her brown eyes attentive, “we spoke a bit about the war. And you began to tell me something, but then you got uncomfortable and stopped. Do you remember this?”
Draco avoided her gaze. He’d been wondering if she was going to bring that up. “Vaguely,” Draco curtly replied. His countenance instantly changed and he became closed up, a cloudy look on his face.
“Would you like to talk about it now?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Images flashed through Draco’s mind. Images of darkness and humiliation. Draco imagined telling her about it. But he couldn’t find the words to even describe it. And as the full memory of it came to the surface of his mind, so real that he could hear voices, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it away. He wasn’t ready for that yet.
“No,” he muttered, his breathing becoming heavy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” said Erin. She always accepted things. She never pushed him. “Okay then. Why don’t we talk about your parents? Last session you said you were having dreams about them.”
Draco sighed, relieved that the subject was changed. “I was. I am.”
“Do you want to tell me about the dreams?”
Draco told her about some of his dreams, not all of them. Never all of them. His father always said that no one should know everything about you. And Draco believed that. He didn’t trust Erin. He liked her, more than he would ever admit to any breathing person. And he respected her. But he didn’t trust that if someone offered her enough money or if someone high up in the Ministry asked her about him, that she wouldn’t spill her guts. Draco had always been like that though. He never trusted anyone.
Draco was now almost halfway through his sentence. And whilst the last ten months had felt like the longest of his life, there was still a real sense of relief in the knowledge that the end was near. Because sometimes he felt so idle that the seconds went by at a snails pace and he was certain that he would be near death before he was finally released and got to drink Firewhiskey again.
There were other things that made prison life unbearable too. The hygiene was one. Although Draco showered once every twelve hours, he still never felt quite as clean as when he had used his own products. Draco was also only allowed to have his hair cut every six months. As his hair naturally grew extremely fast, this meant that Draco’s hair was constantly threatening to hit his shoulders, and just before it would, he’d be allowed to cut it. The only way to avoid the long hair was to have his head shaved. But Draco had decided that a Woodstock look was decidedly better than a Skinhead one, and had declined the barber’s offer.
“Happy nineteenth birthday for Sunday,” Erin said to Draco as they began to wrap the session up. “I won’t see you ‘til after, so I thought I should say something now.”
“Thanks,” said Draco, his voice neither pleased nor hateful, but rather just polite.
“You have a visitation then with Harry Potter, right?”
Draco cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You told me in our first session, that you had hated each other for years. Do you still feel that way?”
“No,” replied Draco, not even having to think about it. His feelings for Potter were becoming increasingly and undoubtedly confusing - no doubt due to that lingering desire to distrust anything that he wasn’t. But whatever his feelings were, they weren’t ones of hate.
“Would you say that you and he are friends?”
This time Draco did think. Four months ago, even with everything that Potter had done for him, he would have said no. But the only people he saw more of than Potter, was Erin and Ebenezer. Potter came to all Draco’s visitations, he often escorted Draco to his “freak sessions” early in order to talk beforehand for an hour or so, and he had successfully charmed both Ebenezer and the Azkaban warden so that he could came and visit Draco off the book at times other than what was allotted. All up, in the last four months, Potter had visited Draco at least once a week. At first, Draco had got the impression that Potter was just trying to avoid certain people in his life, but now Draco wasn’t so sure.
Draco never really fought with Potter anymore, though they occasionally had arguments when they were playing card games or chess and Draco would cheat when he saw he was losing. But most of the time, they had each other in hysterics. Or rather, Draco had Potter in hysterics with all his impersonations, and his perspectives on many of the events involving Potter in the first five years of Hogwarts; which were apparently highly inaccurate. But it made Potter laugh, so Draco would make each incident as ridiculous as possible. And as Draco thought about that - that fact that he wanted to make Potter laugh, he realised that he did like him.
“Yes,” Draco answered, a little bewilderment in his voice. “Yes, we are friends.”
Erin smiled deeply at him. “Good. I’m glad. You deserve to have good friends.”
Draco raised his eyebrows. “Do I?”
Erin got that look on her face that Draco was very familiar with, it meant a new topic for interrogation. Draco looked up at the round clock on her back wall above her desk and gestured to it with a nod.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Time’s up. Best be going. Got an incarceration to get to.”
She giggled at him as he stood to leave. He took a deep breath, knowing there was a Dementor waiting for him on the other side of the door.
“Draco?” Erin called to him as he went to turn the door handle. He turned around to face her. “You do deserve it,” she said a little breathlessly. “You deserve his friendship.”
For the first time since he’d been seeing her, he smiled at her. Not sneered or smirked. But smiled. And he could see her melting under it and then he had her and he knew it. It hadn’t happened because he’d forced her into it, or because he’d tricked her into it. He had done it just being him. It was the most satisfied he’d felt since the day he’d won - not bought - his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.
(())
Steady, even little breaths in the corner let Harry know that Teddy was asleep. Finally. Because that kid had a set of pipes on him that made Harry think that maybe Teddy did have some werewolf in him after all. It certainly didn’t make crash-studying very easy. All of Hermione’s stupid notes didn’t make it very easy either. Harry briefly glanced at a bit of parchment that was covered in Hermione’s teeny writing. It was, according to the heading, a rough layout of the properties of the Philosopher’s Stone.
Hermione, in cahoots with Professor McGonagall, was writing a non-fiction book called Harry Potter and the Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort. Harry thought the title could use a little work, but Hermione had told him, through a defensive facial expression, that the title had been worked on as it had previously been The Boy Who Lived’s Grand Defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, with the Assistance of Albus Dumbledore and Many Other People That Sacrificed Themselves for The Boy Who Lived’s Victory.
Harry didn’t really like the idea of there being a book. But if Hermione didn’t do it, Rita Skeeter was going to. She’d been trying to get a court order passed to get the rights. Harry knew whose version he’d prefer, so he was letting it go.
He sighed and pulled out one of his Auror Training textbooks, Aurors in the Wilderness: Because It WILL Happen by Barnaby French. Harry wasn’t quite sure why he was bothering to study so much. Kingsley Shacklebolt had told both him and Ron, in no uncertain terms, that as long as they passed their practical Auror exams, they would go straight into the Ministry. Just completing the theory Auror exams and the appropriate N. E. W. Ts was apparently acceptable for both of them. Ron had taken this to heart and hadn’t opened a book for two months. They would both be able to pass the practical work. Harry was the best, and Ron was one of the best, in the class. But Harry felt this great urge to do really well, on his theory as well as his practical. It was like he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, expecting him to do well because he’s The Chosen One. Harry did not crave fame or attention, but he’d like avoid public criticisms if he could.
He poured over the book, taking notes and then rewriting them, trying to lock all the information into his brain. As he was just finishing up, and ready to move on to Camouflage like You Mean It by Butterfly Beechester, his eagle owl came swooping into the study through the open window. The weather had been sweet and warm, so Harry had left it open all day. Now, at a little after lunch, the sun was showing off in full bloom.
Mercury dropped a letter from his beak and soundlessly moved to the owl ledge where only Pig was, taking a rare and joyous nap. Mercury lapped up some water from his tray as Harry looked down at the letter. He knew who it was from. Ginny always replied quickly, even if he did not.
He opened the letter and read:
Dear Harry,
Oh my God! Fleur’s pregnant? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? I just sent Bill a massive letter, including a list of boy and girl names that Luna and I came up with in Charms. Although, I don’t know how much good Luna’s are going to be to them, if you get what I mean.
Okay, so I’m in Potions right now and Slughorn is being totally oppressive. I’m not paying attention because we’re just making Sleeping Draughts. He thinks they’re going to be on the exams, to you know, throw us off ‘cause no one would have prepared for such an easy potion.
Whatever Horace. I’ll fake a cramp when I finish this letter so I can go to the Owlery.
Quidditch is brilliant - thanks for asking - because we are brilliant and won the cup! As you knew we would! And guess what? There was a scout there! And she was totally freaky but she asked me if I’d be interested in considering playing for the Holyhead Harpies! I nearly had a coronary. That would just be the best thing, hey? I would still have time to go to Camelot and do Journalism. But don’t tell mum. You know how she feels about jobs that don’t involve desks.
Later to- damn it. Bloody Slughorn. I have to go now. I think he might’ve just Legilimens’d me? The bastard. But I love you so much and I miss you like you wouldn’t believe and I cannot wait to see you and show you just how much I miss you but I have to go! Argh! ALRIGHT HORACE. I KNOW. I HAVE BEEN MAKING SLEEPING DRAUGHTS FOR SEVERAL YEARS NOW YOU OVERGROWN TESTICLE.
Love your sweet-tempered, loving and angelic girlfriend,
Ginny
Harry smiled as he thought of Ginny. She really was great. And it was moments like this when what he had done to her came flooding back into his consciousness, and he felt completely awful.
Harry hadn’t been able to look Furio in the eye ever since that Christmas Eve party and part of Harry had even hoped that Furio had been too drunk to remember. But when Harry looked back on that night, he couldn’t remember seeing Furio drinking at any stage. All the same, Furio had made no acknowledgement of what had happened, and from what Harry could tell, he hadn’t told anyone else. None of it really made sense to Harry, but he didn’t really want to think about it too much. Especially as he had made the decision to tell Ginny when she got back from school. He would be thinking about it plenty then. He just couldn’t take lying to her anymore.
Harry was pulled from his reverie as Teddy began to stir. Teddy called out for Harry in a very sleepy, sulky voice. Except Teddy wasn’t even two yet so it sounded like, “Hawie”, more than “Harry”. But Harry was still immensely chuffed, that his name was in this little boy’s vocabulary. Harry wished he was able to baby-sit him more.
Harry scooped the currently green-haired boy up, and prepared to go out. He had to pick up the first part of Draco’s birthday present from Diagon Alley, and he’d promised George he would take Teddy into see him at the joke shop.
If Harry, ever for a moment, forgot about the war, all he had to do was look at George. It was strewn across his face like a horrible painting. Harry had lost so many people, but he still had his closest confidants. The three people that mattered most to him in the world. And he was thankful for that everyday. But George … he had lost half of himself. How do you put yourself back together, when some of the puzzle pieces are missing?
Still, George took it each day at a time. And none of the Weasley’s ever left him on his own. One of them was always in the shop with George. That day it was Charlie. They played with Teddy in the shop and customer after customer cooed after him, telling him how clever he was for changing his hair colour and the shape of his nose all the time. And when George joked that Teddy was the best salesmen he ever had, it was almost as if Fred was still there, and not buried in the grounds of Hogwarts. Almost.
(())
The next day, Harry began his Auror examinations. The first of which was brewing a Sleeping Draught from limited, on hand ingredients. Harry instantly thought of Ginny and her tirade on Slughorn, and for a moment he was comforted. But then he thought of Furio being only three tables down from him and he completely lost concentration. His potion wasn’t completely ruined, though it was likely to only put already tired people to sleep.
Harry went into a self-loathing, mental rant wondering what the hell was wrong with him and why he ever let a stranger do that to him. In a public place. With his girlfriend - his perfect, sweet, beautiful girlfriend only metres away.
Even when Ron showed up with a massive grin on his face, and showed Harry three brand new Chocolate Frog Cards, with his, Ron’s and Hermione’s face on them, Harry remained unmoved.
Ron continued to brandish them under his nose, exclaiming over how pretty Hermione looked and that it really was quite a good photo of them to, though he was sure he never waved at anyone so stupidly.
Harry turned and snapped at Ron, “I don’t fucking care about any Chocolate Frog Cards!”
And when Ron looked at him, hurt covering his features, Harry broke a little and his face crumpled as he tried really hard not to cry. “I’m sorry, Ron,” he squeezed out.
Ron’s face changed to understanding. “It’s okay, we all have our moments.”
Harry nodded his head and looked away. He watched the Transfigurations Teachers to-be on the lawn opposite the Auror Building. They were turning trees into seeds and back again. The sounds of their spellcasting were drowning out the screaming of Harry’s heart, but not the dull ache.
(())
Harry waited in the hall of Azkaban, outside the visitation room. The warden stood at the end of the hall, turning all Dementors and correctional officers away. Harry was feeling slightly giddy. Such a rare emotion in him of late. He welcomed its presence.
He had been in a dark mood since his snipe at Ron, and had been unable to get out of it. But when he woke up today and remembered what he was doing, he suddenly felt better. He thought the feeling might have been redemption.
Eventually, Harry heard the sound of footsteps and light conversation, and then Draco and Ebenezer came into view. Draco smiled at Harry in that honest and open way that he had been doing lately. Harry found it annoying because it was contagious and he could not help but smile like that back. Though on this day, Harry smiled back even brighter than Draco had.
“Got me a good present I hope,” Draco said. “Otherwise I think I’ll reconsider these little meetings.”
Harry laughed. “It’s in the room on the table,” said Harry nodding his head toward the visitation room. “But seriously for a sec, I kind of organised something else for you too. It was a right pain and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it happen again but-”
“Christ Potter,” Draco exclaimed, looking excited. “What did you get me? Rent boys?”
Harry laughed again and so did Ebenezer, standing off to the side a little. And then suddenly Harry stopped. “Wait. Don’t you mean rent girls?”
“You got me hookers?!”
“What? No! Shit, Malfoy,” said Harry, moving toward the door. “Just look, will you.” Harry swung the door open and Draco walked towards it, his face full of humour. When he looked inside, it was immediately stripped.
Standing inside, wrapped in a tight embrace was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They were completely ragged looking. The signs of the constant presence of Dementors in their lives were well and truly present. They were gripping each other with severe force, like they hoped that they could permanently imprint each other’s forms on to themselves. Then finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they spotted their son, watching them with a face of so many different emotions trying to break through, that it looked blank.
“Mummy?” Draco said, in the softest, most heartbreaking voice Harry had ever heard him use.
Narcissa open her arms wide and let out devastating cry as she jostled towards her son who met her halfway. They clenched each other tight and Lucius, weeping, moved forward and wrapped them both up.
Harry felt like a horrible intruder as he watched this sight. He tore his eyes away and closed the door as quietly as he could. He stepped away and stood by Ebenezer who sported a knowing smile.
Harry felt a little foolish. He wasn’t completely sure what he had been expecting the Malfoys’ reactions to be to their reunion, but that hadn’t been it. But as he thought about it, he realised that it could have been no other way. Narcissa and Lucius have been food for Dementors for ten months, with human contact being limited to their guard. And Draco, Draco was just a kid, under it all. Even though he was now nineteen. Of course it would be like this.
Harry suddenly wondered if he had done the right thing. He had just wanted to help Draco. Make him feel better. Harry could only imagine the torture of knowing that your family was so close to you, yet completely unattainable.
Harry had always lamented not knowing his parents, but sometimes he felt grateful that they had died before he could remember them. Sometimes, he thought it could have been worse, if he had known what he would have been missing. If he had completely understood what had been taken away from him.
Harry was lost in his thoughts for some time before the warden whistled from his post, and then began walking towards them with two Dementors in tow. It had been twenty minutes. That was the most time that they could possibly give them. Lucius and Narcissa were not meant to leave their cells, after all. They had to be taken back.
Harry took a deep breath and headed for the door. He knocked briefly before carefully opening it.
They were all sitting atop the table. Draco was in the middle, being held from either side by his parents. All their pale faces were streaked with tears. Lucius’s and Draco’s grey eyes were shining and Narcissa’s blue ones were red. They were not talking.
“I-” Harry gulped. Lucius turned his head to him, but the others remained the same. “I’m sorry.” Harry looked pleadingly at Lucius. “You have to go back now. I’m sorry.”
Narcissa let out a sob and pulled Draco to her even tighter. But Lucius looked past Harry to the warden and Dementors. Ever the dignified one, he slowly pulled himself away, knowing there was no use in fighting. He kissed his son on the forehead, and then peeled Narcissa off him. “Come Cissy,” he said softly, calmly.
Harry was relieved when she obeyed. Narcissa feasted on the sight of her son as she was led away from him. She was so full of pain, she could not speak. Lucius did though. “We love you, Draco.”
Then they were gone. Draco stood, looking out the door where the warden and the Dementors had led his mother and father away. He was mute and still. Harry felt like crying, it was all so wretched.
Harry didn’t think that he could convince the warden to this again. Had he just flaunted what Draco was never going to have, in his face? He could not speak for shame. Then Harry noticed that Draco had Harry’s birthday gift in his lap. It gave him the courage to speak. “I’m so, so sorry Draco …” he said quietly. Feeling rude for speaking in a place where such a thing had just transpired.
Draco turned to Harry. Then he stood and Harry pictured Draco smacking him over the head with his gift. But Draco’s expression wasn’t aggressive, nor was it one Harry actually recognised. Draco moved forward to Harry and Harry flinched, anticipating the thumping he was about to receive. But Draco did not hit him. Instead, he bunched the front of Harry’s robes into a fist with his spare hand, lent forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s in a chaste kiss.
Harry froze in shock. In that fleeting moment Harry could feel the softness of Draco’s lips, the wetness of his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes, and something began to almost … bloom inside Harry, before Draco had moved away and followed Ebenezer back to his cell.
Harry ran his fingers over his lips, his head full of strange thoughts of Draco Malfoy.
(())
Author’s Notes: Thank you AbundantFear, my beta. Especially for all the Psychobabble.
--- AN APPLE FOR PENNY ---
Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. More coming soon!
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
(())
“Honesty is a good thing, but it is not profitable to its possessor unless it is kept under control.” - Don Marquis
Chapter Four: Age of Reason
300 days after the Battle of Hogwarts
“So it’s completely turned off now?” Draco glanced over to the artificial sky outside the window. It did feel different now. More artificial and less soothing. Though the light still skimmed across the office walls, bouncing off the bookshelves. Draco liked this room.
“Yes,” Erin confirmed, a notepad in her lap and a self-writing quill hovering over it. “You don’t need the Calming Sky anymore. These last few months have been good. You’ve made very encouraging progress.”
“So I’m no longer suicidal or sexually manipulating?” Draco asked with sarcasm layering his voice.
Erin smiled patiently. “Your post-traumatic stress has dissipated to acceptable levels. And as for the Histrionic Personality Disorder … well, I think you need to accept the fact that it may always be a part of your life. But understand; it doesn’t define you.”
Draco had been seeing Erin McAvoy for just over five months now. He had forgiven her for being Irish and no longer gazed disapprovingly at her freckles. And although it had been hard to open up to her at first, Draco had found that it was good to talk to someone about his feelings. And soon, after his sessions with her, he began to notice a generally improved outlook on his life. But the idea that he would always have a personality disorder labeling him - like he didn’t have enough of those - was rather unnerving.
“Ninety-five percent of the population is neurotic, Draco,” Erin explained. “It’s just about learning to control our neuroticism, so that it doesn’t affect our ability to function in society. That is all we are aiming to do here. You needn’t feel like a freak,” Erin smirked at Draco. He had taken to calling himself “The Freak”, of late.
“It is likely,” Erin said, as her quill dashed across the notepad, “that you will always be a slightly manipulative person. And be a little on the narcissistic side. And it is likely that you will use your sexuality where you can, to better your circumstances. But this does not make you a bad person. It is no different than a shrewd person, using their intelligence and connections to further themselves. It is completely normal to be completely abnormal.”
Erin had been saying similar things to him for some time now. But it still hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Draco still felt the need to be vindicated for his past actions somehow, without being labeled “histrionic”.
“Last session,” Erin began, her brown eyes attentive, “we spoke a bit about the war. And you began to tell me something, but then you got uncomfortable and stopped. Do you remember this?”
Draco avoided her gaze. He’d been wondering if she was going to bring that up. “Vaguely,” Draco curtly replied. His countenance instantly changed and he became closed up, a cloudy look on his face.
“Would you like to talk about it now?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Images flashed through Draco’s mind. Images of darkness and humiliation. Draco imagined telling her about it. But he couldn’t find the words to even describe it. And as the full memory of it came to the surface of his mind, so real that he could hear voices, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it away. He wasn’t ready for that yet.
“No,” he muttered, his breathing becoming heavy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” said Erin. She always accepted things. She never pushed him. “Okay then. Why don’t we talk about your parents? Last session you said you were having dreams about them.”
Draco sighed, relieved that the subject was changed. “I was. I am.”
“Do you want to tell me about the dreams?”
Draco told her about some of his dreams, not all of them. Never all of them. His father always said that no one should know everything about you. And Draco believed that. He didn’t trust Erin. He liked her, more than he would ever admit to any breathing person. And he respected her. But he didn’t trust that if someone offered her enough money or if someone high up in the Ministry asked her about him, that she wouldn’t spill her guts. Draco had always been like that though. He never trusted anyone.
Draco was now almost halfway through his sentence. And whilst the last ten months had felt like the longest of his life, there was still a real sense of relief in the knowledge that the end was near. Because sometimes he felt so idle that the seconds went by at a snails pace and he was certain that he would be near death before he was finally released and got to drink Firewhiskey again.
There were other things that made prison life unbearable too. The hygiene was one. Although Draco showered once every twelve hours, he still never felt quite as clean as when he had used his own products. Draco was also only allowed to have his hair cut every six months. As his hair naturally grew extremely fast, this meant that Draco’s hair was constantly threatening to hit his shoulders, and just before it would, he’d be allowed to cut it. The only way to avoid the long hair was to have his head shaved. But Draco had decided that a Woodstock look was decidedly better than a Skinhead one, and had declined the barber’s offer.
“Happy nineteenth birthday for Sunday,” Erin said to Draco as they began to wrap the session up. “I won’t see you ‘til after, so I thought I should say something now.”
“Thanks,” said Draco, his voice neither pleased nor hateful, but rather just polite.
“You have a visitation then with Harry Potter, right?”
Draco cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“You told me in our first session, that you had hated each other for years. Do you still feel that way?”
“No,” replied Draco, not even having to think about it. His feelings for Potter were becoming increasingly and undoubtedly confusing - no doubt due to that lingering desire to distrust anything that he wasn’t. But whatever his feelings were, they weren’t ones of hate.
“Would you say that you and he are friends?”
This time Draco did think. Four months ago, even with everything that Potter had done for him, he would have said no. But the only people he saw more of than Potter, was Erin and Ebenezer. Potter came to all Draco’s visitations, he often escorted Draco to his “freak sessions” early in order to talk beforehand for an hour or so, and he had successfully charmed both Ebenezer and the Azkaban warden so that he could came and visit Draco off the book at times other than what was allotted. All up, in the last four months, Potter had visited Draco at least once a week. At first, Draco had got the impression that Potter was just trying to avoid certain people in his life, but now Draco wasn’t so sure.
Draco never really fought with Potter anymore, though they occasionally had arguments when they were playing card games or chess and Draco would cheat when he saw he was losing. But most of the time, they had each other in hysterics. Or rather, Draco had Potter in hysterics with all his impersonations, and his perspectives on many of the events involving Potter in the first five years of Hogwarts; which were apparently highly inaccurate. But it made Potter laugh, so Draco would make each incident as ridiculous as possible. And as Draco thought about that - that fact that he wanted to make Potter laugh, he realised that he did like him.
“Yes,” Draco answered, a little bewilderment in his voice. “Yes, we are friends.”
Erin smiled deeply at him. “Good. I’m glad. You deserve to have good friends.”
Draco raised his eyebrows. “Do I?”
Erin got that look on her face that Draco was very familiar with, it meant a new topic for interrogation. Draco looked up at the round clock on her back wall above her desk and gestured to it with a nod.
“Oh, well,” he said. “Time’s up. Best be going. Got an incarceration to get to.”
She giggled at him as he stood to leave. He took a deep breath, knowing there was a Dementor waiting for him on the other side of the door.
“Draco?” Erin called to him as he went to turn the door handle. He turned around to face her. “You do deserve it,” she said a little breathlessly. “You deserve his friendship.”
For the first time since he’d been seeing her, he smiled at her. Not sneered or smirked. But smiled. And he could see her melting under it and then he had her and he knew it. It hadn’t happened because he’d forced her into it, or because he’d tricked her into it. He had done it just being him. It was the most satisfied he’d felt since the day he’d won - not bought - his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team.
(())
Steady, even little breaths in the corner let Harry know that Teddy was asleep. Finally. Because that kid had a set of pipes on him that made Harry think that maybe Teddy did have some werewolf in him after all. It certainly didn’t make crash-studying very easy. All of Hermione’s stupid notes didn’t make it very easy either. Harry briefly glanced at a bit of parchment that was covered in Hermione’s teeny writing. It was, according to the heading, a rough layout of the properties of the Philosopher’s Stone.
Hermione, in cahoots with Professor McGonagall, was writing a non-fiction book called Harry Potter and the Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort. Harry thought the title could use a little work, but Hermione had told him, through a defensive facial expression, that the title had been worked on as it had previously been The Boy Who Lived’s Grand Defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, with the Assistance of Albus Dumbledore and Many Other People That Sacrificed Themselves for The Boy Who Lived’s Victory.
Harry didn’t really like the idea of there being a book. But if Hermione didn’t do it, Rita Skeeter was going to. She’d been trying to get a court order passed to get the rights. Harry knew whose version he’d prefer, so he was letting it go.
He sighed and pulled out one of his Auror Training textbooks, Aurors in the Wilderness: Because It WILL Happen by Barnaby French. Harry wasn’t quite sure why he was bothering to study so much. Kingsley Shacklebolt had told both him and Ron, in no uncertain terms, that as long as they passed their practical Auror exams, they would go straight into the Ministry. Just completing the theory Auror exams and the appropriate N. E. W. Ts was apparently acceptable for both of them. Ron had taken this to heart and hadn’t opened a book for two months. They would both be able to pass the practical work. Harry was the best, and Ron was one of the best, in the class. But Harry felt this great urge to do really well, on his theory as well as his practical. It was like he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, expecting him to do well because he’s The Chosen One. Harry did not crave fame or attention, but he’d like avoid public criticisms if he could.
He poured over the book, taking notes and then rewriting them, trying to lock all the information into his brain. As he was just finishing up, and ready to move on to Camouflage like You Mean It by Butterfly Beechester, his eagle owl came swooping into the study through the open window. The weather had been sweet and warm, so Harry had left it open all day. Now, at a little after lunch, the sun was showing off in full bloom.
Mercury dropped a letter from his beak and soundlessly moved to the owl ledge where only Pig was, taking a rare and joyous nap. Mercury lapped up some water from his tray as Harry looked down at the letter. He knew who it was from. Ginny always replied quickly, even if he did not.
He opened the letter and read:
Dear Harry,
Oh my God! Fleur’s pregnant? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? I just sent Bill a massive letter, including a list of boy and girl names that Luna and I came up with in Charms. Although, I don’t know how much good Luna’s are going to be to them, if you get what I mean.
Okay, so I’m in Potions right now and Slughorn is being totally oppressive. I’m not paying attention because we’re just making Sleeping Draughts. He thinks they’re going to be on the exams, to you know, throw us off ‘cause no one would have prepared for such an easy potion.
Whatever Horace. I’ll fake a cramp when I finish this letter so I can go to the Owlery.
Quidditch is brilliant - thanks for asking - because we are brilliant and won the cup! As you knew we would! And guess what? There was a scout there! And she was totally freaky but she asked me if I’d be interested in considering playing for the Holyhead Harpies! I nearly had a coronary. That would just be the best thing, hey? I would still have time to go to Camelot and do Journalism. But don’t tell mum. You know how she feels about jobs that don’t involve desks.
Later to- damn it. Bloody Slughorn. I have to go now. I think he might’ve just Legilimens’d me? The bastard. But I love you so much and I miss you like you wouldn’t believe and I cannot wait to see you and show you just how much I miss you but I have to go! Argh! ALRIGHT HORACE. I KNOW. I HAVE BEEN MAKING SLEEPING DRAUGHTS FOR SEVERAL YEARS NOW YOU OVERGROWN TESTICLE.
Love your sweet-tempered, loving and angelic girlfriend,
Ginny
Harry smiled as he thought of Ginny. She really was great. And it was moments like this when what he had done to her came flooding back into his consciousness, and he felt completely awful.
Harry hadn’t been able to look Furio in the eye ever since that Christmas Eve party and part of Harry had even hoped that Furio had been too drunk to remember. But when Harry looked back on that night, he couldn’t remember seeing Furio drinking at any stage. All the same, Furio had made no acknowledgement of what had happened, and from what Harry could tell, he hadn’t told anyone else. None of it really made sense to Harry, but he didn’t really want to think about it too much. Especially as he had made the decision to tell Ginny when she got back from school. He would be thinking about it plenty then. He just couldn’t take lying to her anymore.
Harry was pulled from his reverie as Teddy began to stir. Teddy called out for Harry in a very sleepy, sulky voice. Except Teddy wasn’t even two yet so it sounded like, “Hawie”, more than “Harry”. But Harry was still immensely chuffed, that his name was in this little boy’s vocabulary. Harry wished he was able to baby-sit him more.
Harry scooped the currently green-haired boy up, and prepared to go out. He had to pick up the first part of Draco’s birthday present from Diagon Alley, and he’d promised George he would take Teddy into see him at the joke shop.
If Harry, ever for a moment, forgot about the war, all he had to do was look at George. It was strewn across his face like a horrible painting. Harry had lost so many people, but he still had his closest confidants. The three people that mattered most to him in the world. And he was thankful for that everyday. But George … he had lost half of himself. How do you put yourself back together, when some of the puzzle pieces are missing?
Still, George took it each day at a time. And none of the Weasley’s ever left him on his own. One of them was always in the shop with George. That day it was Charlie. They played with Teddy in the shop and customer after customer cooed after him, telling him how clever he was for changing his hair colour and the shape of his nose all the time. And when George joked that Teddy was the best salesmen he ever had, it was almost as if Fred was still there, and not buried in the grounds of Hogwarts. Almost.
(())
The next day, Harry began his Auror examinations. The first of which was brewing a Sleeping Draught from limited, on hand ingredients. Harry instantly thought of Ginny and her tirade on Slughorn, and for a moment he was comforted. But then he thought of Furio being only three tables down from him and he completely lost concentration. His potion wasn’t completely ruined, though it was likely to only put already tired people to sleep.
Harry went into a self-loathing, mental rant wondering what the hell was wrong with him and why he ever let a stranger do that to him. In a public place. With his girlfriend - his perfect, sweet, beautiful girlfriend only metres away.
Even when Ron showed up with a massive grin on his face, and showed Harry three brand new Chocolate Frog Cards, with his, Ron’s and Hermione’s face on them, Harry remained unmoved.
Ron continued to brandish them under his nose, exclaiming over how pretty Hermione looked and that it really was quite a good photo of them to, though he was sure he never waved at anyone so stupidly.
Harry turned and snapped at Ron, “I don’t fucking care about any Chocolate Frog Cards!”
And when Ron looked at him, hurt covering his features, Harry broke a little and his face crumpled as he tried really hard not to cry. “I’m sorry, Ron,” he squeezed out.
Ron’s face changed to understanding. “It’s okay, we all have our moments.”
Harry nodded his head and looked away. He watched the Transfigurations Teachers to-be on the lawn opposite the Auror Building. They were turning trees into seeds and back again. The sounds of their spellcasting were drowning out the screaming of Harry’s heart, but not the dull ache.
(())
Harry waited in the hall of Azkaban, outside the visitation room. The warden stood at the end of the hall, turning all Dementors and correctional officers away. Harry was feeling slightly giddy. Such a rare emotion in him of late. He welcomed its presence.
He had been in a dark mood since his snipe at Ron, and had been unable to get out of it. But when he woke up today and remembered what he was doing, he suddenly felt better. He thought the feeling might have been redemption.
Eventually, Harry heard the sound of footsteps and light conversation, and then Draco and Ebenezer came into view. Draco smiled at Harry in that honest and open way that he had been doing lately. Harry found it annoying because it was contagious and he could not help but smile like that back. Though on this day, Harry smiled back even brighter than Draco had.
“Got me a good present I hope,” Draco said. “Otherwise I think I’ll reconsider these little meetings.”
Harry laughed. “It’s in the room on the table,” said Harry nodding his head toward the visitation room. “But seriously for a sec, I kind of organised something else for you too. It was a right pain and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it happen again but-”
“Christ Potter,” Draco exclaimed, looking excited. “What did you get me? Rent boys?”
Harry laughed again and so did Ebenezer, standing off to the side a little. And then suddenly Harry stopped. “Wait. Don’t you mean rent girls?”
“You got me hookers?!”
“What? No! Shit, Malfoy,” said Harry, moving toward the door. “Just look, will you.” Harry swung the door open and Draco walked towards it, his face full of humour. When he looked inside, it was immediately stripped.
Standing inside, wrapped in a tight embrace was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They were completely ragged looking. The signs of the constant presence of Dementors in their lives were well and truly present. They were gripping each other with severe force, like they hoped that they could permanently imprint each other’s forms on to themselves. Then finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they spotted their son, watching them with a face of so many different emotions trying to break through, that it looked blank.
“Mummy?” Draco said, in the softest, most heartbreaking voice Harry had ever heard him use.
Narcissa open her arms wide and let out devastating cry as she jostled towards her son who met her halfway. They clenched each other tight and Lucius, weeping, moved forward and wrapped them both up.
Harry felt like a horrible intruder as he watched this sight. He tore his eyes away and closed the door as quietly as he could. He stepped away and stood by Ebenezer who sported a knowing smile.
Harry felt a little foolish. He wasn’t completely sure what he had been expecting the Malfoys’ reactions to be to their reunion, but that hadn’t been it. But as he thought about it, he realised that it could have been no other way. Narcissa and Lucius have been food for Dementors for ten months, with human contact being limited to their guard. And Draco, Draco was just a kid, under it all. Even though he was now nineteen. Of course it would be like this.
Harry suddenly wondered if he had done the right thing. He had just wanted to help Draco. Make him feel better. Harry could only imagine the torture of knowing that your family was so close to you, yet completely unattainable.
Harry had always lamented not knowing his parents, but sometimes he felt grateful that they had died before he could remember them. Sometimes, he thought it could have been worse, if he had known what he would have been missing. If he had completely understood what had been taken away from him.
Harry was lost in his thoughts for some time before the warden whistled from his post, and then began walking towards them with two Dementors in tow. It had been twenty minutes. That was the most time that they could possibly give them. Lucius and Narcissa were not meant to leave their cells, after all. They had to be taken back.
Harry took a deep breath and headed for the door. He knocked briefly before carefully opening it.
They were all sitting atop the table. Draco was in the middle, being held from either side by his parents. All their pale faces were streaked with tears. Lucius’s and Draco’s grey eyes were shining and Narcissa’s blue ones were red. They were not talking.
“I-” Harry gulped. Lucius turned his head to him, but the others remained the same. “I’m sorry.” Harry looked pleadingly at Lucius. “You have to go back now. I’m sorry.”
Narcissa let out a sob and pulled Draco to her even tighter. But Lucius looked past Harry to the warden and Dementors. Ever the dignified one, he slowly pulled himself away, knowing there was no use in fighting. He kissed his son on the forehead, and then peeled Narcissa off him. “Come Cissy,” he said softly, calmly.
Harry was relieved when she obeyed. Narcissa feasted on the sight of her son as she was led away from him. She was so full of pain, she could not speak. Lucius did though. “We love you, Draco.”
Then they were gone. Draco stood, looking out the door where the warden and the Dementors had led his mother and father away. He was mute and still. Harry felt like crying, it was all so wretched.
Harry didn’t think that he could convince the warden to this again. Had he just flaunted what Draco was never going to have, in his face? He could not speak for shame. Then Harry noticed that Draco had Harry’s birthday gift in his lap. It gave him the courage to speak. “I’m so, so sorry Draco …” he said quietly. Feeling rude for speaking in a place where such a thing had just transpired.
Draco turned to Harry. Then he stood and Harry pictured Draco smacking him over the head with his gift. But Draco’s expression wasn’t aggressive, nor was it one Harry actually recognised. Draco moved forward to Harry and Harry flinched, anticipating the thumping he was about to receive. But Draco did not hit him. Instead, he bunched the front of Harry’s robes into a fist with his spare hand, lent forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s in a chaste kiss.
Harry froze in shock. In that fleeting moment Harry could feel the softness of Draco’s lips, the wetness of his cheeks, the flutter of his eyelashes, and something began to almost … bloom inside Harry, before Draco had moved away and followed Ebenezer back to his cell.
Harry ran his fingers over his lips, his head full of strange thoughts of Draco Malfoy.
(())
Author’s Notes: Thank you AbundantFear, my beta. Especially for all the Psychobabble.
--- AN APPLE FOR PENNY ---
Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. More coming soon!
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