A Time Long Past [Harry/Draco standalone PG]
Title: A Time Long Past
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters used in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Post DH. Sometimes, things just need to come to a close.
A/N: Written for silverdragon87 as a present for betaing something else for me... a long time ago.
*
The bar was dark and quiet even as groups of little witches and wizards bustled through on their way to Diagon Alley. Tom stood at the counter, wiping out a dirty glass and blinking slowly as the door swung open and more people passed through.
A lone figure sat in a corner of the place, hidden by shadows and nursing a mug of firewhiskey. The figure seemed content to ignore the rest of the bar and Tom didn’t wander over to offer another drink, but remained at his counter, wiping down the same shiny spot.
It was a lazy afternoon outside, the London sky shrouded in grey fog that rolled in from the countryside. It wasn’t raining, but a light shower of mist seemed to dust everyone who stepped outside.
The door to the Leaky Cauldron squeaked open and another tall figure entered the bar. This one wore long, dark robes, and ignored Tom’s friendly wave. Instead, it pushed past the tables and chairs until it stopped before the other dark figure still sitting at the lone table in the corner.
There was a second’s pause in which both figures regarded the other and then the second slid into the empty chair across from the first.
The hood came off and a mess of dark hair fell down, slightly damp from the weather, hanging in the figures bright green eyes. Sighing, the man placed his elbows on the table and leaned back slightly, his eyes still examining the figure across from him.
“All right, Malfoy,” he said finally with a resigned sigh. “Why’d you want to meet?”
The second figure shifted and a flash of blond hair came into the light. His long fingers caressed the mug slowly, turning it in his hands.
“Six years and that’s the greeting I get?”
Harry sighed, raising a tired hand to his face. He was still wondering why he’d agreed in the first place.
When he’d gotten the owl from Malfoy asking to meet one on one, he’d been suspicious. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other. A lot had happened.
A silence hung between them for a minute, then Harry signaled Tom to bring him a drink and turned back to his companion.
“Why’d you want to meet?” he repeated. He wasn’t interested in small talk with Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t respond immediately, leaning back in his chair, the light flittering over his face. He looked older, and he’d finally grown into his body. His white-blond hair was short and Harry was sure he caught sight of a flash of green when he turned.
Typical, Harry thought, unimpressed. Still proud of his Slytherin heritage even after all that had happened.
“Okay,” Malfoy said after a minute. “I’ll tell you why we’re here.”
They were interrupted momentarily as Tom set down Harry’s drink and sent a curious glance between the two of them.
“Thanks, Tom,” Harry said softly, the hint of a warning lingering beyond the warm tone. Tom nodded quickly and left.
“Six years ago, Potter,” Malfoy started, “my family was ruined. The Dark Lord fell and we were left with nothing.”
Harry bit back the scathing reply he would have liked to throw at Malfoy about choosing the wrong side, but he reminded himself that they were no longer children fighting at Hogwarts.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I haven’t been around for the past six years. As soon as things cleared up, or maybe even before that, my mother and I left. We went to Italy and stayed with the Zabini family. They have a large vineyard there. My father left to ‘take care of business’ and never returned. My mother is still in Italy now.”
Harry listened quietly, searching for the reason as to why he was sitting in the little bar and listening to Malfoy’s life story. He had better things to do.
“And you came back,” Harry prompted, eager to get a move on.
Malfoy nodded slowly, his fingers tapping the edge of his mug. “I did come back. I spent most of my time in Italy wandering around the vineyards. It’s very beautiful. You should go sometime, Potter, if you can tear yourself away from the little wife.”
Harry glanced up but said nothing as Malfoy continued.
“I spent a lot of time wandering, and a lot of time thinking. I wasn’t doing much in Italy. I learned the language, learned a little about cooking from the Zabini’s. I watched Blaise meet a beautiful Italian girl and get married in the villa behind the house. They’ve been married two years. I don’t suppose you knew that, eh, Potter?”
Harry shook his head, glancing at the drink in front of him. He didn’t know much outside his own circle of friends. He never cared to find information about any of Malfoy’s lot. He only knew that Pansy Parkinson had married Theodore Nott in a very public ceremony covered by the Daily Prophet. He’d thought it odd at the time, considering how very attached she had been to Malfoy during their time at school.
“No, you wouldn’t care,” Malfoy said, sighing slightly as he leaned back in the chair. “You’re busy with little Weasley. How many kids do you have, Potter?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ignored Malfoy’s question. “So why did you come back?”
“Blaise and Sophia have a little daughter named Ambra. She’s very pretty and is learning both Italian and English. She’s just over a year old now.”
Harry sighed tiredly. He hadn’t come to listen to Malfoy’s recount of Zabini’s family.
“My mother is very insistent on having grandchildren, but I must disappoint her every time. It’s all right, though. She can share Ambra with Mrs. Zabini.” Malfoy paused, leaning forward on the table. “Tell me about your children, Potter. You and Weasley must have at least two by now.”
There was no way out of answering this time as Malfoy looked hard at Harry, waiting for his answer. In response, Harry merely looked away, glancing around the bar. He hoped to find Malfoy back in his shadow when he returned, but he was still there, waiting.
Sighing, Harry curled his fingers around the bottle in front of him. “I don’t have any kids. Ginny… She died a few years ago.”
“Not the war?” Malfoy asked, almost conversationally as though he’d expected something like this.
Harry shrugged. “After affects. Healers said something about lingering curses in her body.”
Malfoy nodded slowly. “You don’t seem upset.”
Here was the question. Harry had heard it a million times. Why wasn’t he more upset that Ginny had died? Didn’t he care? He’d been dating her, after all. Hadn’t he loved her? What about the family? What did they think about all of this?
“I had my time with Ginny. And I’m happy.”
Malfoy looked at him a second longer before reclining back again, his face falling back under the dark cover of the corner.
“Are you really happy?”
Frustrated, Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Malfoy, I came here like you wanted, now will you please tell me what the hell you want?”
If he could see Malfoy’s face, he might have seen the flicker of a familiar smirk flutter across it before it was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
“Looks like you’ve grown some balls since I’ve been away.”
Harry scowled. Malfoy still wasn’t answering his question. He waited a moment before standing up, pushing his chair away and preparing to leave.
Malfoy didn’t seem alarmed. In fact, he just leaned back, looking up at Harry as he grabbed his cloak angrily.
“Don’t go so soon, Potter. I haven’t finished my story.”
Harry paused, glaring at Malfoy. “I don’t know what you could possibly have to say that’s relevant as to why I had to waste my afternoon coming out to meet you.”
“You might be surprised,” Malfoy drawled slowly, his eyes still on Harry as he hesitated.
Harry knew he shouldn’t stay. He should go back to his flat and… and what? He had nothing to do. He had the afternoon off from the Ministry. It wasn’t like he had a girlfriend to go home to or even a cat. He hadn’t brought himself to get another owl after Hedwig’s death or any other pet. Hermione kept insisting that he should get an owl if not just for practical reasons. She even tried pushing a kitten on him just so he’d have someone to talk to.
“Do you have some pressing engagement?” Malfoy continued. “An awards ceremony of some sort to attend?”
Harry’s face transformed immediately into a scowl and he sat back down resolutely. “No, I don’t have an awards ceremony,” he snapped back, folding his arms across his chest.
“Then you’ve got all the time in the world.” Malfoy’s smile wasn’t exactly comforting, but it wasn’t his usual evil smirk either. Harry didn’t know whether to feel placated or to take his initial action and leave without a second glance.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” he said instead, sighing and waiting impatiently.
Malfoy took a moment to recline in the stiff chair. “I spent these past six years going from job to job, leaving when I felt it no longer interested me, when people asked too many questions, got too close. I wanted to leave all my past behind me when I left Britain. I thought that maybe, by leaving the country and going somewhere where they didn’t even speak English, I could escape it. I did, for a while. I distracted myself with girls, and parties, and alcohol. I reminded myself that dreary London was the downfall of it all.”
Malfoy paused, tapping his empty mug against the table.
Outside the little door to the bar, it had begun to rain. Big splashing drops hit the cobblestones and the few shoppers there were hurried to nearby overhangs.
“But sadly, there’s something about grey weather that’s always called to me. In Italy, the sun is always shining and everything is always golden-brown. It’s always warm and the women are dark-skinned. The ground is dry and grape vines twist up their posts, trying to reach the sun. But it doesn’t rain often. I found that I missed the rain.”
“So you came back for the weather?” Harry asked, annoyed at how long this seemingly pointless explanation was.
“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffed, tapping his mug again.
“Then why are we here?” he demanded. “Why did I have to come? To listen to your story about how Blaise Zabini is happily married and how you missed the rain?”
“It wasn’t the only thing I missed,” Malfoy amended softly.
Harry didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to this kind of Malfoy. Usually there were flying insults, flashing spells, and one ended up worse off. Harry liked to think Malfoy had always ended up worse off. Something must have really changed in the past six years that Harry wasn’t aware of. Of course, he would never find out since Malfoy wasn’t making any sense.
He just huffed instead, then, and sat back for what would inevitably be a long explanation.
“All right, then, Malfoy. Tell me what you missed. Tell me why you wanted me to come out here. Tell me why you haven’t said anything useful in the last half an hour.”
Malfoy paused, his mouth quirking into a smirk, so reminiscent of their Hogwarts days. “I thought you were an Auror now, Potter. Honestly, it should be quite obvious.”
Harry grumbled to himself. “Yes, I’m an Auror, but I’m off today.”
“And you’re not paranoid about lingering Death Eaters come to find you?” Draco drawled. “After all, how do you know that I don’t have some vicious plan waiting to be put into action and I was merely luring you here under the pretense of a friendly drink?”
Harry scoffed, but couldn’t help glancing surreptitiously around. Malfoy did make a good point. “I wouldn’t call this friendly,” he said instead.
Malfoy laughed quietly. “Perhaps not.”
Harry scowled. He hated that Malfoy could still get to him, even though he was acting completely civil.
“So?” he prompted impatiently, fingering the neck of his bottle.
“So, five years passed and my father didn’t return. My mother bought a little villa down in Italy and we managed to get most of our property back from England. The Aurors had seized most of it, but a few things were spared.”
Malfoy paused, removing his wand and casting a spell around himself. “A bit cold in here, isn’t it?”
Harry shrugged, not caring if it was cold. His eyes, however, were drawn to the wand Draco held in his hands. It wasn’t the same one Harry had used, not the Hawthorne wand that had worked for him and the link that had eventually brought everything down.
“Your wand,” he said slowly.
Malfoy glanced at it, a confused look on his face for a second, before replaced by realization. “Oh, yes. It had to be replaced about a year after you gave it back to me. I never quite regained its loyalty.”
Harry frowned. He didn’t know how he’d feel if he hadn’t gotten his old wand back. It had been like losing a part of himself.
“I’m…”
“Sorry?” Malfoy scoffed, tucking his wand away. “Yes. Sorry that you had to see me after all this time. I know how your life has gone, Potter. It’s not hard to guess. I imagine you’re living a nice life with the press kept at a safe distance.”
Harry couldn’t deny that. He tried his best to stay out of the public eye and kept to himself mostly. He had a comfortable life, though not admitting he wished he had something more at times.
“But that’s not the point,” Malfoy continued. “After my mother was settled in her house with the Zabini’s close by, I realize that Italy wasn’t the place for me. The women are beautiful and the men are handsome. Perhaps you didn’t know, Potter, but I’ve never been one to bind myself to one gender. It’s much too constricting only to sleep with women. They are very clingy.”
Harry had nothing to say. He’d never heard any whispers about sexuality while at school, but he had often been left out of that loop. No one had questioned him since he’d been with Ginny.
“But I always knew that England was my home. That isn’t why I’ve come back, and in fact, I don’t plan on staying. I’ve decided to move to France for a little while and see how I like it there. The French are an interesting type of people, don’t you think?”
“I-sure,” Harry agreed after a minute. He didn’t see what Malfoy was getting at exactly. “So you’re not staying here?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve come to see a few people, make a few checks, and then I’ve got a little chateau on a river down in France to attend to.” He paused, glancing out the door where the rain pounded harder than ever. “I hear it doesn’t rain that much in France either.”
“I’m one of the people you came to see?” Harry asked curiously.
“In some manner, yes,” Malfoy responded. “As I said, I did a lot of thinking while I was down in Italy, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I must rectify my mistakes.”
“Mistakes?”
“You never wondered, Potter, why I teased you so in school? Why I attacked you at every possible opportunity? Why I didn’t stop when I’d gone too far?”
Harry paused. He’d always thought it was because of his rejection of Malfoy’s hand that first year on the train.
Malfoy seemed to know what he was thinking as a smirk crept over his features and he sat back in his chair. “You didn’t. Understandable. I taunted you mercilessly and you didn’t stop to think why. You just fought back because it seemed to make sense to you.”
Harry admitted that that was probably true. He gave a small nod.
“So I’ve asked you here to explain something very simple. I don’t expect anything will come out of it besides a feeling of relief on my part.”
Harry was confused now. What could Malfoy have to explain to him?
“The reason I asked you here today wasn’t to explain my past, although it does help some. I came to tell you, Potter, that I like you. Not like as in I hope we can be acquaintances who don’t curse each other every time we cross on the street, although that wouldn’t be a bad settlement. I was attracted to you in school, and when you rejected my friendship, although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was angry because your rejection of friendship was a rejection of me. I’m sure this is a surprise to you, but I just feel as if I should tell you.”
Harry was in shock. He’d never expected to hear that Malfoy had liked him while in school, or even afterward. It was even more surprising coming from a Malfoy who hadn’t even raised a finger against him so far. He must have really changed during those years.
He stared at Malfoy, who merely sat back in his chair as though he did this sort of thing all the time.
“You wanted to tell me that you were attracted to me?” Harry finally choked out. He couldn’t believe it.
Malfoy shrugged. “Yes. I want you to understand why I did some of what I did. Of course, it doesn’t excuse anything, but that’s not the idea.”
“Did some psychiatrist tell you to do this?”
“Is that that Muggle Healer who tells you you’re crazy?” Malfoy asked curiously.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, they can help you.”
“Then no. This was all my idea.”
Harry sat back resolutely in his chair, still a little shocked. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that. Finally, he blinked and glanced at Malfoy, who was tapping his mug again.
“You like me.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes at the time Harry was taking to process this. “Correct, Potter. Now, I’ve said my peace and I don’t think I can stand sitting in this bar a minute longer. So I thank you for coming.” He stood up and Harry just sat there, in shock for a minute longer until Malfoy had walked away from the table.
Realizing Malfoy was gone, he scrambled up from his chair, throwing a few coins down on the table and hurrying after him.
“Malfoy, wait!” he called as he burst out the little tavern’s doors into the thundering rain. He caught sight of Malfoy’s retreating back down the cobblestone street and hurried after him.
“Malfoy,” he said as he reached him, throwing on his coat even though his robes were already soaked.
“Yes, Potter?” Malfoy asked as he walked idly down the street, seemingly unperturbed by the rain that cascaded down.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
Malfoy stopped walking, frowning at Harry. “What more did you want? Did you want me to apologize for every cruel thing I ever called you, ever spell I ever cast? To apologize for joining the wrong side? Don’t you think we’ve all been punished enough?”
“No,” Harry said quickly, then realized he didn’t know what he wanted Malfoy to do.
The rain was pouring steadily down and their clothes soaking more and more the longer they stood on the sidewalk.
“No what?” Malfoy sighed impatiently, glancing up at the darkened sky.
“I don’t know,” Harry said nervously. “You just, I mean, you just come here and tell me you like me and then walk away.”
Malfoy arched a slim eyebrow. “Did you expect me to jump you? To snog you senseless and tell you that you’re an idiot for picking Weasley? Did you expect me to drag you into the dingy bathroom and fuck you over a toilet? Come on, Potter. I do think I’m not as pedestrian as the Weasel.”
Harry was flushing but scowled at the reference to Ron. Maybe the old Malfoy was still in there somewhere.
“Of course I didn’t expect that, but you didn’t give me a chance to react.”
“I did,” Malfoy said calmly. “You said nothing. I surprised you, I know. I don’t expect anything, Potter. You’re free to go back to your little Ministry-approved life and catch more Death Eaters until your wall is covered in shiny plaques.”
Harry almost felt hurt by Malfoy’s remark. It wasn’t as though his life was perfect. He was only twenty-three, but it felt like he was being left behind by everyone around him.
Ron and Hermione had married and were talking about having a baby. George had finally found a new partner for the shop and was slowly recovering from the loss of his brother. It helped that he’d married Alicia and she could help him through it. The rest of the Weasley’s were doing fine, excepting Ginny, whose death had been unexpected.
Harry knew he ought to be happy with his life considering he’d become an Auror just as he’d always wanted. It had always seemed lacking, though.
“Well, maybe, maybe I just needed to think about it.”
“Think about what?” Malfoy asked casually, wiping water off his dripping sleeve. It was useless as the rain just came down harder. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“I know.” Harry scowled. He was doing a bad job trying to figure this out.
Malfoy sighed and gave Harry an impatient look. “Come on, Potter, I have other people I need to see before I leave.”
Harry fidgeted. “Can’t you just give me a minute?”
Malfoy looked annoyed but crossed his arms and fell silent as Harry stood in the rain, chewing on his bottom lip and thinking.
“Malfoy,” he said finally, feeling butterflies fluttering in his stomach, clawing their way up his throat as he shifted his weight nervously. “I-”
“You what?” Malfoy prompted, dropping his arms and shivering slightly as the cold started to get to him.
Harry took a step forward, his eyes darting nervously from his hands to Malfoy’s chest and up to his face. The same cool grey eyes watched him calmly as he bit back his fears and leaned forward, his eyes closing as he brushed his lips against Malfoy’s.
It was nothing more than a simple kiss and Harry held his breath as his lips pressed against Malfoy’s. He could feel the cold rain dripping down his face, but Malfoy’s lips were warm and he only let out a breath when he pulled back.
Malfoy was watching him carefully as he moved back, letting the rain pour a curtain between them.
“You that,” Malfoy said finally.
Harry nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I just, I wanted to know.”
Malfoy was silent for a minute. “And what did you learn?”
Harry paused. “I don’t know.”
There was a pause and then Malfoy cleared his throat. “Well, Potter. I did what I came here to do. Thank you for listening.”
Harry didn’t know what to do as Malfoy turned away to leave.
“Malfoy,” he said tentatively. “If you’re ever back in London, you know, I’m around.”
Malfoy glanced back, a hint of a real smile gracing his face. “I have a feeling I’ll be back,” he said finally. “After all, this is where I belong.”
Then he turned and walked down the street, turning and vanishing at the corner. Harry remained standing in the pouring rain for a moment, then smiled to himself and turned, Disapparating in a crack and leaving only the dreary London street behind.
**
FIN
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters used in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Post DH. Sometimes, things just need to come to a close.
A/N: Written for silverdragon87 as a present for betaing something else for me... a long time ago.
*
The bar was dark and quiet even as groups of little witches and wizards bustled through on their way to Diagon Alley. Tom stood at the counter, wiping out a dirty glass and blinking slowly as the door swung open and more people passed through.
A lone figure sat in a corner of the place, hidden by shadows and nursing a mug of firewhiskey. The figure seemed content to ignore the rest of the bar and Tom didn’t wander over to offer another drink, but remained at his counter, wiping down the same shiny spot.
It was a lazy afternoon outside, the London sky shrouded in grey fog that rolled in from the countryside. It wasn’t raining, but a light shower of mist seemed to dust everyone who stepped outside.
The door to the Leaky Cauldron squeaked open and another tall figure entered the bar. This one wore long, dark robes, and ignored Tom’s friendly wave. Instead, it pushed past the tables and chairs until it stopped before the other dark figure still sitting at the lone table in the corner.
There was a second’s pause in which both figures regarded the other and then the second slid into the empty chair across from the first.
The hood came off and a mess of dark hair fell down, slightly damp from the weather, hanging in the figures bright green eyes. Sighing, the man placed his elbows on the table and leaned back slightly, his eyes still examining the figure across from him.
“All right, Malfoy,” he said finally with a resigned sigh. “Why’d you want to meet?”
The second figure shifted and a flash of blond hair came into the light. His long fingers caressed the mug slowly, turning it in his hands.
“Six years and that’s the greeting I get?”
Harry sighed, raising a tired hand to his face. He was still wondering why he’d agreed in the first place.
When he’d gotten the owl from Malfoy asking to meet one on one, he’d been suspicious. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other. A lot had happened.
A silence hung between them for a minute, then Harry signaled Tom to bring him a drink and turned back to his companion.
“Why’d you want to meet?” he repeated. He wasn’t interested in small talk with Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t respond immediately, leaning back in his chair, the light flittering over his face. He looked older, and he’d finally grown into his body. His white-blond hair was short and Harry was sure he caught sight of a flash of green when he turned.
Typical, Harry thought, unimpressed. Still proud of his Slytherin heritage even after all that had happened.
“Okay,” Malfoy said after a minute. “I’ll tell you why we’re here.”
They were interrupted momentarily as Tom set down Harry’s drink and sent a curious glance between the two of them.
“Thanks, Tom,” Harry said softly, the hint of a warning lingering beyond the warm tone. Tom nodded quickly and left.
“Six years ago, Potter,” Malfoy started, “my family was ruined. The Dark Lord fell and we were left with nothing.”
Harry bit back the scathing reply he would have liked to throw at Malfoy about choosing the wrong side, but he reminded himself that they were no longer children fighting at Hogwarts.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I haven’t been around for the past six years. As soon as things cleared up, or maybe even before that, my mother and I left. We went to Italy and stayed with the Zabini family. They have a large vineyard there. My father left to ‘take care of business’ and never returned. My mother is still in Italy now.”
Harry listened quietly, searching for the reason as to why he was sitting in the little bar and listening to Malfoy’s life story. He had better things to do.
“And you came back,” Harry prompted, eager to get a move on.
Malfoy nodded slowly, his fingers tapping the edge of his mug. “I did come back. I spent most of my time in Italy wandering around the vineyards. It’s very beautiful. You should go sometime, Potter, if you can tear yourself away from the little wife.”
Harry glanced up but said nothing as Malfoy continued.
“I spent a lot of time wandering, and a lot of time thinking. I wasn’t doing much in Italy. I learned the language, learned a little about cooking from the Zabini’s. I watched Blaise meet a beautiful Italian girl and get married in the villa behind the house. They’ve been married two years. I don’t suppose you knew that, eh, Potter?”
Harry shook his head, glancing at the drink in front of him. He didn’t know much outside his own circle of friends. He never cared to find information about any of Malfoy’s lot. He only knew that Pansy Parkinson had married Theodore Nott in a very public ceremony covered by the Daily Prophet. He’d thought it odd at the time, considering how very attached she had been to Malfoy during their time at school.
“No, you wouldn’t care,” Malfoy said, sighing slightly as he leaned back in the chair. “You’re busy with little Weasley. How many kids do you have, Potter?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ignored Malfoy’s question. “So why did you come back?”
“Blaise and Sophia have a little daughter named Ambra. She’s very pretty and is learning both Italian and English. She’s just over a year old now.”
Harry sighed tiredly. He hadn’t come to listen to Malfoy’s recount of Zabini’s family.
“My mother is very insistent on having grandchildren, but I must disappoint her every time. It’s all right, though. She can share Ambra with Mrs. Zabini.” Malfoy paused, leaning forward on the table. “Tell me about your children, Potter. You and Weasley must have at least two by now.”
There was no way out of answering this time as Malfoy looked hard at Harry, waiting for his answer. In response, Harry merely looked away, glancing around the bar. He hoped to find Malfoy back in his shadow when he returned, but he was still there, waiting.
Sighing, Harry curled his fingers around the bottle in front of him. “I don’t have any kids. Ginny… She died a few years ago.”
“Not the war?” Malfoy asked, almost conversationally as though he’d expected something like this.
Harry shrugged. “After affects. Healers said something about lingering curses in her body.”
Malfoy nodded slowly. “You don’t seem upset.”
Here was the question. Harry had heard it a million times. Why wasn’t he more upset that Ginny had died? Didn’t he care? He’d been dating her, after all. Hadn’t he loved her? What about the family? What did they think about all of this?
“I had my time with Ginny. And I’m happy.”
Malfoy looked at him a second longer before reclining back again, his face falling back under the dark cover of the corner.
“Are you really happy?”
Frustrated, Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Malfoy, I came here like you wanted, now will you please tell me what the hell you want?”
If he could see Malfoy’s face, he might have seen the flicker of a familiar smirk flutter across it before it was gone, swallowed by the shadows.
“Looks like you’ve grown some balls since I’ve been away.”
Harry scowled. Malfoy still wasn’t answering his question. He waited a moment before standing up, pushing his chair away and preparing to leave.
Malfoy didn’t seem alarmed. In fact, he just leaned back, looking up at Harry as he grabbed his cloak angrily.
“Don’t go so soon, Potter. I haven’t finished my story.”
Harry paused, glaring at Malfoy. “I don’t know what you could possibly have to say that’s relevant as to why I had to waste my afternoon coming out to meet you.”
“You might be surprised,” Malfoy drawled slowly, his eyes still on Harry as he hesitated.
Harry knew he shouldn’t stay. He should go back to his flat and… and what? He had nothing to do. He had the afternoon off from the Ministry. It wasn’t like he had a girlfriend to go home to or even a cat. He hadn’t brought himself to get another owl after Hedwig’s death or any other pet. Hermione kept insisting that he should get an owl if not just for practical reasons. She even tried pushing a kitten on him just so he’d have someone to talk to.
“Do you have some pressing engagement?” Malfoy continued. “An awards ceremony of some sort to attend?”
Harry’s face transformed immediately into a scowl and he sat back down resolutely. “No, I don’t have an awards ceremony,” he snapped back, folding his arms across his chest.
“Then you’ve got all the time in the world.” Malfoy’s smile wasn’t exactly comforting, but it wasn’t his usual evil smirk either. Harry didn’t know whether to feel placated or to take his initial action and leave without a second glance.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” he said instead, sighing and waiting impatiently.
Malfoy took a moment to recline in the stiff chair. “I spent these past six years going from job to job, leaving when I felt it no longer interested me, when people asked too many questions, got too close. I wanted to leave all my past behind me when I left Britain. I thought that maybe, by leaving the country and going somewhere where they didn’t even speak English, I could escape it. I did, for a while. I distracted myself with girls, and parties, and alcohol. I reminded myself that dreary London was the downfall of it all.”
Malfoy paused, tapping his empty mug against the table.
Outside the little door to the bar, it had begun to rain. Big splashing drops hit the cobblestones and the few shoppers there were hurried to nearby overhangs.
“But sadly, there’s something about grey weather that’s always called to me. In Italy, the sun is always shining and everything is always golden-brown. It’s always warm and the women are dark-skinned. The ground is dry and grape vines twist up their posts, trying to reach the sun. But it doesn’t rain often. I found that I missed the rain.”
“So you came back for the weather?” Harry asked, annoyed at how long this seemingly pointless explanation was.
“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffed, tapping his mug again.
“Then why are we here?” he demanded. “Why did I have to come? To listen to your story about how Blaise Zabini is happily married and how you missed the rain?”
“It wasn’t the only thing I missed,” Malfoy amended softly.
Harry didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to this kind of Malfoy. Usually there were flying insults, flashing spells, and one ended up worse off. Harry liked to think Malfoy had always ended up worse off. Something must have really changed in the past six years that Harry wasn’t aware of. Of course, he would never find out since Malfoy wasn’t making any sense.
He just huffed instead, then, and sat back for what would inevitably be a long explanation.
“All right, then, Malfoy. Tell me what you missed. Tell me why you wanted me to come out here. Tell me why you haven’t said anything useful in the last half an hour.”
Malfoy paused, his mouth quirking into a smirk, so reminiscent of their Hogwarts days. “I thought you were an Auror now, Potter. Honestly, it should be quite obvious.”
Harry grumbled to himself. “Yes, I’m an Auror, but I’m off today.”
“And you’re not paranoid about lingering Death Eaters come to find you?” Draco drawled. “After all, how do you know that I don’t have some vicious plan waiting to be put into action and I was merely luring you here under the pretense of a friendly drink?”
Harry scoffed, but couldn’t help glancing surreptitiously around. Malfoy did make a good point. “I wouldn’t call this friendly,” he said instead.
Malfoy laughed quietly. “Perhaps not.”
Harry scowled. He hated that Malfoy could still get to him, even though he was acting completely civil.
“So?” he prompted impatiently, fingering the neck of his bottle.
“So, five years passed and my father didn’t return. My mother bought a little villa down in Italy and we managed to get most of our property back from England. The Aurors had seized most of it, but a few things were spared.”
Malfoy paused, removing his wand and casting a spell around himself. “A bit cold in here, isn’t it?”
Harry shrugged, not caring if it was cold. His eyes, however, were drawn to the wand Draco held in his hands. It wasn’t the same one Harry had used, not the Hawthorne wand that had worked for him and the link that had eventually brought everything down.
“Your wand,” he said slowly.
Malfoy glanced at it, a confused look on his face for a second, before replaced by realization. “Oh, yes. It had to be replaced about a year after you gave it back to me. I never quite regained its loyalty.”
Harry frowned. He didn’t know how he’d feel if he hadn’t gotten his old wand back. It had been like losing a part of himself.
“I’m…”
“Sorry?” Malfoy scoffed, tucking his wand away. “Yes. Sorry that you had to see me after all this time. I know how your life has gone, Potter. It’s not hard to guess. I imagine you’re living a nice life with the press kept at a safe distance.”
Harry couldn’t deny that. He tried his best to stay out of the public eye and kept to himself mostly. He had a comfortable life, though not admitting he wished he had something more at times.
“But that’s not the point,” Malfoy continued. “After my mother was settled in her house with the Zabini’s close by, I realize that Italy wasn’t the place for me. The women are beautiful and the men are handsome. Perhaps you didn’t know, Potter, but I’ve never been one to bind myself to one gender. It’s much too constricting only to sleep with women. They are very clingy.”
Harry had nothing to say. He’d never heard any whispers about sexuality while at school, but he had often been left out of that loop. No one had questioned him since he’d been with Ginny.
“But I always knew that England was my home. That isn’t why I’ve come back, and in fact, I don’t plan on staying. I’ve decided to move to France for a little while and see how I like it there. The French are an interesting type of people, don’t you think?”
“I-sure,” Harry agreed after a minute. He didn’t see what Malfoy was getting at exactly. “So you’re not staying here?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve come to see a few people, make a few checks, and then I’ve got a little chateau on a river down in France to attend to.” He paused, glancing out the door where the rain pounded harder than ever. “I hear it doesn’t rain that much in France either.”
“I’m one of the people you came to see?” Harry asked curiously.
“In some manner, yes,” Malfoy responded. “As I said, I did a lot of thinking while I was down in Italy, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I must rectify my mistakes.”
“Mistakes?”
“You never wondered, Potter, why I teased you so in school? Why I attacked you at every possible opportunity? Why I didn’t stop when I’d gone too far?”
Harry paused. He’d always thought it was because of his rejection of Malfoy’s hand that first year on the train.
Malfoy seemed to know what he was thinking as a smirk crept over his features and he sat back in his chair. “You didn’t. Understandable. I taunted you mercilessly and you didn’t stop to think why. You just fought back because it seemed to make sense to you.”
Harry admitted that that was probably true. He gave a small nod.
“So I’ve asked you here to explain something very simple. I don’t expect anything will come out of it besides a feeling of relief on my part.”
Harry was confused now. What could Malfoy have to explain to him?
“The reason I asked you here today wasn’t to explain my past, although it does help some. I came to tell you, Potter, that I like you. Not like as in I hope we can be acquaintances who don’t curse each other every time we cross on the street, although that wouldn’t be a bad settlement. I was attracted to you in school, and when you rejected my friendship, although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was angry because your rejection of friendship was a rejection of me. I’m sure this is a surprise to you, but I just feel as if I should tell you.”
Harry was in shock. He’d never expected to hear that Malfoy had liked him while in school, or even afterward. It was even more surprising coming from a Malfoy who hadn’t even raised a finger against him so far. He must have really changed during those years.
He stared at Malfoy, who merely sat back in his chair as though he did this sort of thing all the time.
“You wanted to tell me that you were attracted to me?” Harry finally choked out. He couldn’t believe it.
Malfoy shrugged. “Yes. I want you to understand why I did some of what I did. Of course, it doesn’t excuse anything, but that’s not the idea.”
“Did some psychiatrist tell you to do this?”
“Is that that Muggle Healer who tells you you’re crazy?” Malfoy asked curiously.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, they can help you.”
“Then no. This was all my idea.”
Harry sat back resolutely in his chair, still a little shocked. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that. Finally, he blinked and glanced at Malfoy, who was tapping his mug again.
“You like me.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes at the time Harry was taking to process this. “Correct, Potter. Now, I’ve said my peace and I don’t think I can stand sitting in this bar a minute longer. So I thank you for coming.” He stood up and Harry just sat there, in shock for a minute longer until Malfoy had walked away from the table.
Realizing Malfoy was gone, he scrambled up from his chair, throwing a few coins down on the table and hurrying after him.
“Malfoy, wait!” he called as he burst out the little tavern’s doors into the thundering rain. He caught sight of Malfoy’s retreating back down the cobblestone street and hurried after him.
“Malfoy,” he said as he reached him, throwing on his coat even though his robes were already soaked.
“Yes, Potter?” Malfoy asked as he walked idly down the street, seemingly unperturbed by the rain that cascaded down.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
Malfoy stopped walking, frowning at Harry. “What more did you want? Did you want me to apologize for every cruel thing I ever called you, ever spell I ever cast? To apologize for joining the wrong side? Don’t you think we’ve all been punished enough?”
“No,” Harry said quickly, then realized he didn’t know what he wanted Malfoy to do.
The rain was pouring steadily down and their clothes soaking more and more the longer they stood on the sidewalk.
“No what?” Malfoy sighed impatiently, glancing up at the darkened sky.
“I don’t know,” Harry said nervously. “You just, I mean, you just come here and tell me you like me and then walk away.”
Malfoy arched a slim eyebrow. “Did you expect me to jump you? To snog you senseless and tell you that you’re an idiot for picking Weasley? Did you expect me to drag you into the dingy bathroom and fuck you over a toilet? Come on, Potter. I do think I’m not as pedestrian as the Weasel.”
Harry was flushing but scowled at the reference to Ron. Maybe the old Malfoy was still in there somewhere.
“Of course I didn’t expect that, but you didn’t give me a chance to react.”
“I did,” Malfoy said calmly. “You said nothing. I surprised you, I know. I don’t expect anything, Potter. You’re free to go back to your little Ministry-approved life and catch more Death Eaters until your wall is covered in shiny plaques.”
Harry almost felt hurt by Malfoy’s remark. It wasn’t as though his life was perfect. He was only twenty-three, but it felt like he was being left behind by everyone around him.
Ron and Hermione had married and were talking about having a baby. George had finally found a new partner for the shop and was slowly recovering from the loss of his brother. It helped that he’d married Alicia and she could help him through it. The rest of the Weasley’s were doing fine, excepting Ginny, whose death had been unexpected.
Harry knew he ought to be happy with his life considering he’d become an Auror just as he’d always wanted. It had always seemed lacking, though.
“Well, maybe, maybe I just needed to think about it.”
“Think about what?” Malfoy asked casually, wiping water off his dripping sleeve. It was useless as the rain just came down harder. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“I know.” Harry scowled. He was doing a bad job trying to figure this out.
Malfoy sighed and gave Harry an impatient look. “Come on, Potter, I have other people I need to see before I leave.”
Harry fidgeted. “Can’t you just give me a minute?”
Malfoy looked annoyed but crossed his arms and fell silent as Harry stood in the rain, chewing on his bottom lip and thinking.
“Malfoy,” he said finally, feeling butterflies fluttering in his stomach, clawing their way up his throat as he shifted his weight nervously. “I-”
“You what?” Malfoy prompted, dropping his arms and shivering slightly as the cold started to get to him.
Harry took a step forward, his eyes darting nervously from his hands to Malfoy’s chest and up to his face. The same cool grey eyes watched him calmly as he bit back his fears and leaned forward, his eyes closing as he brushed his lips against Malfoy’s.
It was nothing more than a simple kiss and Harry held his breath as his lips pressed against Malfoy’s. He could feel the cold rain dripping down his face, but Malfoy’s lips were warm and he only let out a breath when he pulled back.
Malfoy was watching him carefully as he moved back, letting the rain pour a curtain between them.
“You that,” Malfoy said finally.
Harry nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I just, I wanted to know.”
Malfoy was silent for a minute. “And what did you learn?”
Harry paused. “I don’t know.”
There was a pause and then Malfoy cleared his throat. “Well, Potter. I did what I came here to do. Thank you for listening.”
Harry didn’t know what to do as Malfoy turned away to leave.
“Malfoy,” he said tentatively. “If you’re ever back in London, you know, I’m around.”
Malfoy glanced back, a hint of a real smile gracing his face. “I have a feeling I’ll be back,” he said finally. “After all, this is where I belong.”
Then he turned and walked down the street, turning and vanishing at the corner. Harry remained standing in the pouring rain for a moment, then smiled to himself and turned, Disapparating in a crack and leaving only the dreary London street behind.
**
FIN