Losing Harry Chapter 15
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Fifteen
Rating: PG
Warnings: eventual strong language, mild violence, scenes of a sexual nature
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Written: 15 September 2009
Notes: It’s a future fic. Much thanks to cymonie for beta-ing this!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
--
Christmas with Malfoy was…interesting.
Harry arrived at Malfoy’s house, dressed in what he considered to be adequate for Christmas tea - no Weasley knit jumpers, of course. He knocked and the moment Malfoy opened the door, Harry was engulfed in the tantalising aromas wafting through, carrying the strong burst of rich cooked ham, subtle hints of sharp spices, and the lingering mid-tones of fresh pine. Malfoy smiled as he maneuvered his crutches and pulled the door open, nodding Harry inside to the sitting room. They stood for a moment, Malfoy closing the door against the chilly winter wind while Harry hung his coat on a hook inside.
“So glad you made it,” Malfoy said, still smiling.
“Er, yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Harry responded, attempting a return smile. He felt distinctly awkward, sharing a holiday with the same boy who had once hated him. Malfoy, however, was all cheer and merriment as he turned back toward the kitchen.
“You cooked?” Harry asked, following him.
“Well, it’s nothing much.” Malfoy looked around the kitchen from the doorway. “I sat on a stool to do a lot of it, but it’s only a few dishes.” He shrugged.
“You didn’t have to… I mean…” Harry stuttered.
“Of course I didn’t have to,” Malfoy replied. “Now, come in. Have some cider,” he continued, gesturing into the kitchen.
“Did Landon leave for hospital already?” Harry asked as he crossed the threshold.
“He did.”
“And he knows I’m here?” Harry pressed on, watching Malfoy carefully.
“He suspects as much,” Malfoy replied, pulling out the two chairs at the small kitchen table.
“But Matthew,” Harry stated to protest.
“No, I don’t want to hear it.” Malfoy shook his head, one hand held up in refusal while he balanced on his opposite crutch. “It’s Christmas. We all have the right to be happy on Christmas.”
Harry frowned, wondering whose happiness, exactly, Malfoy was referring to, but he nodded anyway and Malfoy motioned to the crystal glasses of cider on the table. He took one and Harry the other.
“Happy Christmas, James.” Malfoy smiled, raising his glass.
“Happy Christmas, Matthew.” Harry shifted as Malfoy’s gaze remained steadfastly on him.
After a few swallows of cider, and help from Harry getting the ham out of the oven, they finally took their seats at the table laid out with its holiday spread. Christmas candles lit the whole room, complemented by hollies, wreaths, and tinsel. It was nothing quite like the wonder of magic decorations, especially like those that had covered the whole of Grimmauld Place inside and out on the first year all three children had been away at Hogwarts and come home. But it did bring Harry back to his own childhood, full of long gazes at the neighbours’ homes, the lit-up trees in the windows and the lights along their roofs. He smiled, glancing around the room. He loved being a wizard, but there were still things in the Muggle world that could fill him with a different kind of magic.
“I hope you like it,” Malfoy said as he tucked into the ham and potatoes on his plate. Harry looked over at him and it was obvious that Malfoy had been watching Harry, a sense of pride and pleasantness on his face. The meal was delicious, all the more so because he knew Malfoy had worked the long Muggle way to make it for them. Though Harry hadn’t enjoyed cooking as a child because of the chore it had been, he also recognised now that something of the art of meals and the love poured into them was lost when it was as simple as a few wand flicks.
“I want you to see the garden out back,” Malfoy said over his peas.
“Garden? It’s winter!” Harry responded, mouth half full of potatoes. He swallowed quickly as Malfoy spoke.
“I’ve got a winter garden.” Malfoy smiled, impressed with himself.
“How did you know you could garden?” Harry asked curiously. For the first time he began to wonder what it had been like the first few days or weeks after Malfoy had lost his memories.
“I didn’t. I was just sitting in the garden out back one day, the second week I was here, I think. I was taking some sun, and I started digging around with the small hand trowel. I removed the ugly looking plants and soon Landon was buying me seeds and small plant samples. They’re beautiful,” Malfoy paused, “but it’s the science of it that intrigues me.”
“Science?” Harry frowned, looking up from his ham.
“Yeah, you should know all about the land you’re using and the plants you want to grow. High water or low water, dry or wet climate, direct sunlight or shade plants. And which plants will help the others grow and which will hinder them.”
The candles in the room flickered with the incoming draft from the sitting room window. The sun was beginning its evening descent.
“I had no idea,” Harry responded, eyebrows raised.
“Most people don’t, but it’s fascinating, especially when you read the experiments in cross-pollination and the invention of new plant types. What I really like is the plant life chemical theory…”
Harry listened as Malfoy expounded upon the ideas and theories he had read involving the DNA make-up of plants, and the scientists who had practically invented a new species with their experimentation. Apparently Malfoy’d had a lot of time for reading in the past few months. And it certainly sounded a lot more like science, recipes, and formulas rather than leaves, flowers, and dirt. Harry didn’t know much about it, but found it enjoyable to listen to Malfoy speak on his new passion while the two of them ate their Christmas meal. After some time Malfoy asked, “So, where are your children spending their Christmas? At school?”
“With their mum, I imagine,” Harry said, dismay layering his voice.
Malfoy nodded. “How many children have you got?”
“I have three.”
“Tell me about them,” Malfoy requested, his expression open and eager as he moved the remaining peas around on his plate.
Harry hesitated, unsure about how much of himself he could continue to share with Malfoy. Nevertheless, his mind was far ahead, filling his head with images of his children.
“Well, first there’s James,” Harry began slowly, as if he needed to talk about them, rather than because Malfoy needed the information.
“James?” Malfoy repeated.
“Er, James junior. He’s fifteen.” Malfoy nodded with interest. “Then Al, who’s fourteen. He looks a lot like me.” Harry smiled, forgetting his company for a moment. “And last, my little Lily. She’s twelve.” Harry continued to smile as he thought of his teenagers, their holidays, and the excitement that always filled the air when they opened their Christmas gifts, paper and bows flying through the air, holiday music pouring over the air from the WWN.
“They must miss you,” Malfoy said, his gaze long across the table.
“Yeah…”
It was quiet for a moment and Harry noticed that Malfoy had finished his meal and was sitting with one elbow on the table, his chin propped in his hand as he gazed at Harry as though he could see the same fond images playing through Harry’s head.
Harry cleared his throat and looked away, into the sitting room and toward the window, where the sunset was causing a soft glow to linger in the dimness of the next room.
“I don’t recall seeing your children out and about over the summer, though,” Malfoy began. “Did they not stay with you before going back to school?”
“Well, I, er… I’ve only been living here since the school year started.”
“Ah, a recent split?” Malfoy inquired, gazing up through his eyelashes.
“N-no…” Harry said slowly, swallowing with effort.
“It’s okay,” Malfoy cut in. “I’d rather not talk about any unpleasant topics on Christmas Day. So, tell me more about your work instead. You’ve never been very clear about it, but the other day you mentioned that you protect people?”
Harry began to explain in the best Muggle terms he could, what his job was. But he could tell Malfoy was still confused. There wasn’t really a Muggle job he could liken to his own that would incorporate all the various aspects.
“And you work for the government?” Malfoy asked, frowning.
“Well, sort of. For one branch.”
“But I’ve never even heard of it before. It sounds a lot like one of those Secret Intelligence Service agents…” Malfoy scratched at his hair, then pushed his plate away from himself, waiting for Harry’s response.
“I guess it’s something like that.” Harry shrugged.
“I suppose it’s good to know that I have a neighbour so high up in power,” Malfoy mused.
“By the way, I wanted to ask you something,” Harry said, knowing that despite it being Christmas Day, he really couldn’t consider himself off duty. There was still much work to be done.
“Sure, anything.” Malfoy grinned.
“The other day, when I, er, helped you out, when you were attacked…?” Harry began.
“Ah, I think that was a bit of an exaggeration on my part. I can’t imagine why anyone would have attacked me in my own home, with my nurse right there, too,” Malfoy replied uneasily.
“What do you remember about that day? Do you know who the man was?”
“It’s funny, actually. I don’t remember much. I know what Landon told me. And I have these vague notions about what I saw or experienced, but it’s like my mind blocked it off, or I somehow misplaced those memories. Except for the nightmare. I remember that.” Malfoy seemed uncomfortable and Harry pressed on.
“What has Landon told you? What do you think you remember?”
“Well, the man was some acquaintance who stopped by for a visit. And we had some kind of misunderstanding, and then I did that whole fainting thing,” Malfoy said quickly, as if embarrassed by it, “and the other man was upset and left, thinking Landon would take care of it, and then suddenly you were there. And Landon said you knew how to revive me with a special medicine he didn’t have access to. Must have been something only secret government agents have, right?” Malfoy offered a half-smile.
“Er, y-yeah. So you don’t remember what the man looked like, or why he was upset?”
“N-no. I remember he was tall. But when I try to picture his face,” Malfoy paused as if he were doing so, “I just get a lot of dark blurs and fuzz.”
Harry thought to himself for a moment, and then tried once more. “You don’t remember ever meeting this man before? Maybe Landon called him by name or mentioned something else about him?”
Malfoy frowned, thinking, then said, “No. But I think Landon might have referred to him as a colleague once. I’m not sure.”
“Colleague? At the hospital?” Harry perked up. A lead at last.
“I…I guess so. Is this some kind of interrogation? Are you on duty, investigating or something?” Malfoy asked, eyes narrowed.
“N-no.” Harry shook his head. “Sorry, it just… It bothers me, you know?” He thought quickly to defend his over-inquisitiveness. “Why would someone attack you? Especially in your own home, in broad daylight. I just, you know, keep thinking about it. I mean, what if they come back?”
Malfoy smiled at him, his expression warm and affected. “Well, I live with a nurse and luckily I’ve got you just around the corner to protect me.” He reached across the table and patted Harry’s hand. “I’m glad you’re so concerned for me. But as I understand it, it was all a big misunderstanding. Attack is such a strong word, really.”
Harry frowned and looked away, wondering how much of Malfoy’s words had been directly fed to him by Landon. As he thought, his eyes caught hold of the wreath that hung near the door and he studied it for a moment. It looked as if it were freshly cut from a tree, and the room smelled as though it had been, too. Harry wondered if Malfoy had made it himself.
“Matthew?” Harry asked, slowly dragging his eyes away from the wreath.
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?” Harry inquired, considering him. Malfoy blinked, but his face remained opened, if also thoughtful.
“Yes. Right now I am,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
Harry shrugged. “Just wondering.” He pushed his fork around on his plate, but he had finished eating nearly twenty minutes ago.
“Are you happy?” Malfoy returned.
Harry frowned. He thought of Grimmauld Place, of all the Weasleys and Potters gathered there, of their many Christmas traditions, and then he gazed at the man sitting across from him, the empty plates on the small table and the glasses of cider. He lowered his eyebrows in thought but answered, “Actually, right now, I am.”
Malfoy smiled then, practically beaming. He slowly moved to stand with the aid of his crutches, and when they were situated with the cuffs on his forearms, he reached out for Harry’s hand, encouraging him to stand and follow. Malfoy led the way to the back door, which Harry held open for him, and they moved onto the porch where the side of the house just barely blocked the biting winter wind. They could see their breath on the air as they sat together on the wicker outdoor sofa. A blanket was there, presumably for such chilly occasions.
When they were finally settled, Malfoy’s crutches on the porch floor, Harry looked out over the back garden and was in awe of the beautiful winter wonderland he saw there. There were no flowers, naturally, but instead many different kinds of trees. Some were small, young trees, while two were obviously much older, standing guard at the corners. Bushes thrived despite the cold, as well. And a light dusting of snow blanketed the ground, creating a deep contrast of green and white. Sitting there, Harry never would have guessed he was in the middle of modern civilisation. It felt much more like the mountains or the countryside.
“It’s amazing,” Harry said, reaching for the blanket Malfoy had tucked over his legs. The wind was mostly blocked, but the air was still cold.
“Thanks.” Malfoy grinned. At that, he scooted closer to Harry until their arms were touching. It made the blanket fit over their legs better, but Harry wasn’t sure that that had actually been factored into Malfoy’s reasoning.
Harry began to wonder about that as they sat together in the crisp silence of that Christmas evening. Malfoy had been a happily married man just eight months ago. He’d had a wife, and he had always dated girls as far as Harry knew. Then again, what did Harry really know about Malfoy? But here was Matthew Greyson, clearly interested in men, with no particular leanings toward women. Harry wondered briefly if it were part of the hex damage he had received, or if there had been these kinds of secrets Malfoy had harboured even in his teenage life. Or maybe…
Harry shook his head. It wasn’t the type of thing he was good at working out. Maybe Malfoy had never cared about gender. For Harry’s part, he’d never really considered what or whom Malfoy cared for, and really had no reason to. Though he was beginning to wonder what he should do in such situations where he found a very open, genuine Malfoy cosied up to him in what could prove to be a rather intimate moment.
Harry had a wife, after all. And Malfoy was a bloke. And they used to be enemies.
But if it could get him closer to Malfoy, if it could gain him Matthew’s trust and unquestionable devotion, it just might be useful.
“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asked. He shifted and his leg brushed along Harry’s, under the blanket, and then rested there.
“Erm, nothing. Just taking in the scenery. Enjoying Christmas,” Harry replied, smiling as he looked over at Malfoy. The gesture was mirrored and Malfoy scooted down in the seat, letting his head rest on Harry’s shoulder. His blond hair was still darker than Harry had remembered it in school, and shorter, too, but it had grown out a bit in the past couple of months.
“Do you wonder what you did last year for Christmas?” Harry inquired.
“Actually, no, I hadn’t thought of that,” Malfoy mused. “Hm…”
“You’re not always wondering what life was like before?”
“I guess I’ve always seen it as my second chance, you know?” Malfoy said, speaking out into the air with his head still against Harry’s shoulder. “Start new, start fresh, do things right.”
“What makes you think you did things wrong?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. I just can’t imagine going back to a life I don’t remember. What would be the point? There would be nothing but expectations that I would be doomed to fail. Here, I can just be me - whoever ‘me’ is. And if I do get my memories back some day - well, then I would have reason to live my old life again, right?”
“But-” Harry argued.
“No, please, can we not talk about this tonight? Nothing unpleasant on Christmas Day, remember? Let’s just enjoy it,” Malfoy urged. He emphasised his point by reaching for Harry’s hand and intertwining their fingers, squeezing meaningfully.
Harry felt frozen for a moment. No one aside from Ginny or his children had held his hand for years.
“We can think about it later. I promise I’ll discuss it with you tomorrow,” Malfoy continued.
“What about at midnight?” Harry asked, joking uneasily.
Malfoy laughed, then quickly turned and kissed Harry’s cheek. It happened so fast that Harry wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. Malfoy was again gazing out at the garden, his fingers between Harry’s, his arm and leg touching Harry’s own, and the skin on Harry’s cheek still tingling.
And then Harry thought of Ginny, imagined her going to bed alone on Christmas night, imagined her with her special Christmas dressing gown, and her favorite holiday songs lulling her to sleep from the wireless. He imagined her thinking of Harry, longing for him. Maybe writing him letters, even if they kept getting returned. Or maybe going to his office every day, badgering his colleagues for more information. He thought of her seeing the children off to school again for the new year, and her standing alone on the platform, waving goodbye to them.
He closed his eyes, preparing to feel the severe ache pulse through his heart.
Instead, he felt Malfoy’s fingers rubbing gently against his own.
Next: Chapter 16
Chapter: Fifteen
Rating: PG
Warnings: eventual strong language, mild violence, scenes of a sexual nature
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Written: 15 September 2009
Notes: It’s a future fic. Much thanks to cymonie for beta-ing this!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
--
Christmas with Malfoy was…interesting.
Harry arrived at Malfoy’s house, dressed in what he considered to be adequate for Christmas tea - no Weasley knit jumpers, of course. He knocked and the moment Malfoy opened the door, Harry was engulfed in the tantalising aromas wafting through, carrying the strong burst of rich cooked ham, subtle hints of sharp spices, and the lingering mid-tones of fresh pine. Malfoy smiled as he maneuvered his crutches and pulled the door open, nodding Harry inside to the sitting room. They stood for a moment, Malfoy closing the door against the chilly winter wind while Harry hung his coat on a hook inside.
“So glad you made it,” Malfoy said, still smiling.
“Er, yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Harry responded, attempting a return smile. He felt distinctly awkward, sharing a holiday with the same boy who had once hated him. Malfoy, however, was all cheer and merriment as he turned back toward the kitchen.
“You cooked?” Harry asked, following him.
“Well, it’s nothing much.” Malfoy looked around the kitchen from the doorway. “I sat on a stool to do a lot of it, but it’s only a few dishes.” He shrugged.
“You didn’t have to… I mean…” Harry stuttered.
“Of course I didn’t have to,” Malfoy replied. “Now, come in. Have some cider,” he continued, gesturing into the kitchen.
“Did Landon leave for hospital already?” Harry asked as he crossed the threshold.
“He did.”
“And he knows I’m here?” Harry pressed on, watching Malfoy carefully.
“He suspects as much,” Malfoy replied, pulling out the two chairs at the small kitchen table.
“But Matthew,” Harry stated to protest.
“No, I don’t want to hear it.” Malfoy shook his head, one hand held up in refusal while he balanced on his opposite crutch. “It’s Christmas. We all have the right to be happy on Christmas.”
Harry frowned, wondering whose happiness, exactly, Malfoy was referring to, but he nodded anyway and Malfoy motioned to the crystal glasses of cider on the table. He took one and Harry the other.
“Happy Christmas, James.” Malfoy smiled, raising his glass.
“Happy Christmas, Matthew.” Harry shifted as Malfoy’s gaze remained steadfastly on him.
After a few swallows of cider, and help from Harry getting the ham out of the oven, they finally took their seats at the table laid out with its holiday spread. Christmas candles lit the whole room, complemented by hollies, wreaths, and tinsel. It was nothing quite like the wonder of magic decorations, especially like those that had covered the whole of Grimmauld Place inside and out on the first year all three children had been away at Hogwarts and come home. But it did bring Harry back to his own childhood, full of long gazes at the neighbours’ homes, the lit-up trees in the windows and the lights along their roofs. He smiled, glancing around the room. He loved being a wizard, but there were still things in the Muggle world that could fill him with a different kind of magic.
“I hope you like it,” Malfoy said as he tucked into the ham and potatoes on his plate. Harry looked over at him and it was obvious that Malfoy had been watching Harry, a sense of pride and pleasantness on his face. The meal was delicious, all the more so because he knew Malfoy had worked the long Muggle way to make it for them. Though Harry hadn’t enjoyed cooking as a child because of the chore it had been, he also recognised now that something of the art of meals and the love poured into them was lost when it was as simple as a few wand flicks.
“I want you to see the garden out back,” Malfoy said over his peas.
“Garden? It’s winter!” Harry responded, mouth half full of potatoes. He swallowed quickly as Malfoy spoke.
“I’ve got a winter garden.” Malfoy smiled, impressed with himself.
“How did you know you could garden?” Harry asked curiously. For the first time he began to wonder what it had been like the first few days or weeks after Malfoy had lost his memories.
“I didn’t. I was just sitting in the garden out back one day, the second week I was here, I think. I was taking some sun, and I started digging around with the small hand trowel. I removed the ugly looking plants and soon Landon was buying me seeds and small plant samples. They’re beautiful,” Malfoy paused, “but it’s the science of it that intrigues me.”
“Science?” Harry frowned, looking up from his ham.
“Yeah, you should know all about the land you’re using and the plants you want to grow. High water or low water, dry or wet climate, direct sunlight or shade plants. And which plants will help the others grow and which will hinder them.”
The candles in the room flickered with the incoming draft from the sitting room window. The sun was beginning its evening descent.
“I had no idea,” Harry responded, eyebrows raised.
“Most people don’t, but it’s fascinating, especially when you read the experiments in cross-pollination and the invention of new plant types. What I really like is the plant life chemical theory…”
Harry listened as Malfoy expounded upon the ideas and theories he had read involving the DNA make-up of plants, and the scientists who had practically invented a new species with their experimentation. Apparently Malfoy’d had a lot of time for reading in the past few months. And it certainly sounded a lot more like science, recipes, and formulas rather than leaves, flowers, and dirt. Harry didn’t know much about it, but found it enjoyable to listen to Malfoy speak on his new passion while the two of them ate their Christmas meal. After some time Malfoy asked, “So, where are your children spending their Christmas? At school?”
“With their mum, I imagine,” Harry said, dismay layering his voice.
Malfoy nodded. “How many children have you got?”
“I have three.”
“Tell me about them,” Malfoy requested, his expression open and eager as he moved the remaining peas around on his plate.
Harry hesitated, unsure about how much of himself he could continue to share with Malfoy. Nevertheless, his mind was far ahead, filling his head with images of his children.
“Well, first there’s James,” Harry began slowly, as if he needed to talk about them, rather than because Malfoy needed the information.
“James?” Malfoy repeated.
“Er, James junior. He’s fifteen.” Malfoy nodded with interest. “Then Al, who’s fourteen. He looks a lot like me.” Harry smiled, forgetting his company for a moment. “And last, my little Lily. She’s twelve.” Harry continued to smile as he thought of his teenagers, their holidays, and the excitement that always filled the air when they opened their Christmas gifts, paper and bows flying through the air, holiday music pouring over the air from the WWN.
“They must miss you,” Malfoy said, his gaze long across the table.
“Yeah…”
It was quiet for a moment and Harry noticed that Malfoy had finished his meal and was sitting with one elbow on the table, his chin propped in his hand as he gazed at Harry as though he could see the same fond images playing through Harry’s head.
Harry cleared his throat and looked away, into the sitting room and toward the window, where the sunset was causing a soft glow to linger in the dimness of the next room.
“I don’t recall seeing your children out and about over the summer, though,” Malfoy began. “Did they not stay with you before going back to school?”
“Well, I, er… I’ve only been living here since the school year started.”
“Ah, a recent split?” Malfoy inquired, gazing up through his eyelashes.
“N-no…” Harry said slowly, swallowing with effort.
“It’s okay,” Malfoy cut in. “I’d rather not talk about any unpleasant topics on Christmas Day. So, tell me more about your work instead. You’ve never been very clear about it, but the other day you mentioned that you protect people?”
Harry began to explain in the best Muggle terms he could, what his job was. But he could tell Malfoy was still confused. There wasn’t really a Muggle job he could liken to his own that would incorporate all the various aspects.
“And you work for the government?” Malfoy asked, frowning.
“Well, sort of. For one branch.”
“But I’ve never even heard of it before. It sounds a lot like one of those Secret Intelligence Service agents…” Malfoy scratched at his hair, then pushed his plate away from himself, waiting for Harry’s response.
“I guess it’s something like that.” Harry shrugged.
“I suppose it’s good to know that I have a neighbour so high up in power,” Malfoy mused.
“By the way, I wanted to ask you something,” Harry said, knowing that despite it being Christmas Day, he really couldn’t consider himself off duty. There was still much work to be done.
“Sure, anything.” Malfoy grinned.
“The other day, when I, er, helped you out, when you were attacked…?” Harry began.
“Ah, I think that was a bit of an exaggeration on my part. I can’t imagine why anyone would have attacked me in my own home, with my nurse right there, too,” Malfoy replied uneasily.
“What do you remember about that day? Do you know who the man was?”
“It’s funny, actually. I don’t remember much. I know what Landon told me. And I have these vague notions about what I saw or experienced, but it’s like my mind blocked it off, or I somehow misplaced those memories. Except for the nightmare. I remember that.” Malfoy seemed uncomfortable and Harry pressed on.
“What has Landon told you? What do you think you remember?”
“Well, the man was some acquaintance who stopped by for a visit. And we had some kind of misunderstanding, and then I did that whole fainting thing,” Malfoy said quickly, as if embarrassed by it, “and the other man was upset and left, thinking Landon would take care of it, and then suddenly you were there. And Landon said you knew how to revive me with a special medicine he didn’t have access to. Must have been something only secret government agents have, right?” Malfoy offered a half-smile.
“Er, y-yeah. So you don’t remember what the man looked like, or why he was upset?”
“N-no. I remember he was tall. But when I try to picture his face,” Malfoy paused as if he were doing so, “I just get a lot of dark blurs and fuzz.”
Harry thought to himself for a moment, and then tried once more. “You don’t remember ever meeting this man before? Maybe Landon called him by name or mentioned something else about him?”
Malfoy frowned, thinking, then said, “No. But I think Landon might have referred to him as a colleague once. I’m not sure.”
“Colleague? At the hospital?” Harry perked up. A lead at last.
“I…I guess so. Is this some kind of interrogation? Are you on duty, investigating or something?” Malfoy asked, eyes narrowed.
“N-no.” Harry shook his head. “Sorry, it just… It bothers me, you know?” He thought quickly to defend his over-inquisitiveness. “Why would someone attack you? Especially in your own home, in broad daylight. I just, you know, keep thinking about it. I mean, what if they come back?”
Malfoy smiled at him, his expression warm and affected. “Well, I live with a nurse and luckily I’ve got you just around the corner to protect me.” He reached across the table and patted Harry’s hand. “I’m glad you’re so concerned for me. But as I understand it, it was all a big misunderstanding. Attack is such a strong word, really.”
Harry frowned and looked away, wondering how much of Malfoy’s words had been directly fed to him by Landon. As he thought, his eyes caught hold of the wreath that hung near the door and he studied it for a moment. It looked as if it were freshly cut from a tree, and the room smelled as though it had been, too. Harry wondered if Malfoy had made it himself.
“Matthew?” Harry asked, slowly dragging his eyes away from the wreath.
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?” Harry inquired, considering him. Malfoy blinked, but his face remained opened, if also thoughtful.
“Yes. Right now I am,” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
Harry shrugged. “Just wondering.” He pushed his fork around on his plate, but he had finished eating nearly twenty minutes ago.
“Are you happy?” Malfoy returned.
Harry frowned. He thought of Grimmauld Place, of all the Weasleys and Potters gathered there, of their many Christmas traditions, and then he gazed at the man sitting across from him, the empty plates on the small table and the glasses of cider. He lowered his eyebrows in thought but answered, “Actually, right now, I am.”
Malfoy smiled then, practically beaming. He slowly moved to stand with the aid of his crutches, and when they were situated with the cuffs on his forearms, he reached out for Harry’s hand, encouraging him to stand and follow. Malfoy led the way to the back door, which Harry held open for him, and they moved onto the porch where the side of the house just barely blocked the biting winter wind. They could see their breath on the air as they sat together on the wicker outdoor sofa. A blanket was there, presumably for such chilly occasions.
When they were finally settled, Malfoy’s crutches on the porch floor, Harry looked out over the back garden and was in awe of the beautiful winter wonderland he saw there. There were no flowers, naturally, but instead many different kinds of trees. Some were small, young trees, while two were obviously much older, standing guard at the corners. Bushes thrived despite the cold, as well. And a light dusting of snow blanketed the ground, creating a deep contrast of green and white. Sitting there, Harry never would have guessed he was in the middle of modern civilisation. It felt much more like the mountains or the countryside.
“It’s amazing,” Harry said, reaching for the blanket Malfoy had tucked over his legs. The wind was mostly blocked, but the air was still cold.
“Thanks.” Malfoy grinned. At that, he scooted closer to Harry until their arms were touching. It made the blanket fit over their legs better, but Harry wasn’t sure that that had actually been factored into Malfoy’s reasoning.
Harry began to wonder about that as they sat together in the crisp silence of that Christmas evening. Malfoy had been a happily married man just eight months ago. He’d had a wife, and he had always dated girls as far as Harry knew. Then again, what did Harry really know about Malfoy? But here was Matthew Greyson, clearly interested in men, with no particular leanings toward women. Harry wondered briefly if it were part of the hex damage he had received, or if there had been these kinds of secrets Malfoy had harboured even in his teenage life. Or maybe…
Harry shook his head. It wasn’t the type of thing he was good at working out. Maybe Malfoy had never cared about gender. For Harry’s part, he’d never really considered what or whom Malfoy cared for, and really had no reason to. Though he was beginning to wonder what he should do in such situations where he found a very open, genuine Malfoy cosied up to him in what could prove to be a rather intimate moment.
Harry had a wife, after all. And Malfoy was a bloke. And they used to be enemies.
But if it could get him closer to Malfoy, if it could gain him Matthew’s trust and unquestionable devotion, it just might be useful.
“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asked. He shifted and his leg brushed along Harry’s, under the blanket, and then rested there.
“Erm, nothing. Just taking in the scenery. Enjoying Christmas,” Harry replied, smiling as he looked over at Malfoy. The gesture was mirrored and Malfoy scooted down in the seat, letting his head rest on Harry’s shoulder. His blond hair was still darker than Harry had remembered it in school, and shorter, too, but it had grown out a bit in the past couple of months.
“Do you wonder what you did last year for Christmas?” Harry inquired.
“Actually, no, I hadn’t thought of that,” Malfoy mused. “Hm…”
“You’re not always wondering what life was like before?”
“I guess I’ve always seen it as my second chance, you know?” Malfoy said, speaking out into the air with his head still against Harry’s shoulder. “Start new, start fresh, do things right.”
“What makes you think you did things wrong?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. I just can’t imagine going back to a life I don’t remember. What would be the point? There would be nothing but expectations that I would be doomed to fail. Here, I can just be me - whoever ‘me’ is. And if I do get my memories back some day - well, then I would have reason to live my old life again, right?”
“But-” Harry argued.
“No, please, can we not talk about this tonight? Nothing unpleasant on Christmas Day, remember? Let’s just enjoy it,” Malfoy urged. He emphasised his point by reaching for Harry’s hand and intertwining their fingers, squeezing meaningfully.
Harry felt frozen for a moment. No one aside from Ginny or his children had held his hand for years.
“We can think about it later. I promise I’ll discuss it with you tomorrow,” Malfoy continued.
“What about at midnight?” Harry asked, joking uneasily.
Malfoy laughed, then quickly turned and kissed Harry’s cheek. It happened so fast that Harry wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. Malfoy was again gazing out at the garden, his fingers between Harry’s, his arm and leg touching Harry’s own, and the skin on Harry’s cheek still tingling.
And then Harry thought of Ginny, imagined her going to bed alone on Christmas night, imagined her with her special Christmas dressing gown, and her favorite holiday songs lulling her to sleep from the wireless. He imagined her thinking of Harry, longing for him. Maybe writing him letters, even if they kept getting returned. Or maybe going to his office every day, badgering his colleagues for more information. He thought of her seeing the children off to school again for the new year, and her standing alone on the platform, waving goodbye to them.
He closed his eyes, preparing to feel the severe ache pulse through his heart.
Instead, he felt Malfoy’s fingers rubbing gently against his own.
Next: Chapter 16