Fic: When a Tree Dreams (2/9)
May. 11th, 2012 08:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmyTitle: When a Tree Dreams (2/9?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
omi_ohmy
Summary: Directly after the war, Harry is left lost and full of questions about his life. Slowly over the summer, and with the help of friends, he works out what will make him happy - or even who. Angsty, eventual slash & romance, HPDM. Rated R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Pairings/Characters: HP/DM, RW/HG
Rating: R for later chapters (this chapter PG)
Word count (this chapter): ~9,300 (~5,300)
Warning(s): Mostly misery and friendships, not much HPDM until later chapters.
Betas:birdsofshore and evilgiraff
A/n: I started this a while back, and have written a fair bit now. Due to other commitments it has taken a bit longer than I'd planned to get it posted, but here it is: my first attempt at writing something longer. It's a gentle, slow-building fic, but heading to more slashy times by the end. It will be 9 or so chapters long, and updates every Friday (I hope!)
Chapter One
Chapter 2 - Difficult conversations
June
When Harry woke up, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. His glasses had half fallen from his nose, and as he pushed them back on the bedroom at Grimmauld Place came into focus. Sunlight was streaming in, dust motes dancing in its path. His mouth was dry, and despite the sun he shivered. Sitting up he saw that he had been lying on top of the bed fully-dressed, but that despite this, or maybe because of it, he felt cold. Fuzzy-headed, he made his way downstairs, and then down again to the kitchen. Memories reared up - cold and dreary days, a Christmas with everyone trying too hard. The kitchen was dark, lurking beneath the house, the sky visible only at strange angles through glass rippled with age. Kreacher stood on a low stool in front of the dull black range, stirring a huge pot with a wooden spoon. Whatever was in the pot smelled good, and Harry was suddenly all too aware that he'd only eaten an apple since the morning.
Harry stood in the doorway for a minute, unsure how to talk to Kreacher. This was an old house elf, nothing like Dobby. Dobby had been unique, he thought to himself. Harry took in a deep breath, his throat suddenly tight. He was proud of both of them, they'd both fought for him. And Hermione had been right about the house elves. She really had. Harry stepped into the room, and Kreacher immediately jumped down from his stool. Before Harry knew it, he was sitting at the table, a plateful of food in front of him. He ate greedily, eager to banish the hunger which reminded him of being lonely, friendless. Kreacher watched him with bright, appreciative eyes for a moment before going back to a range of kitchen-related tasks, the nature of which Harry couldn't quite fathom.
Finally full, Harry pushed back his plate. In an instant, Kreacher had whisked it away, it was clean, dried, and flying back towards a cupboard. Harry sat back and ran his hand over the table. The wood was soft and smooth, shiny with the wear of long use. He'd never really noticed that before. There was so much he hadn't noticed. How much of his life had he sleepwalked through?
"Kreacher, I … thank you for the food," he said, unsure about how he should talk to him.
"Kreacher is happy to be able to make food for his Master."
"Yes, well..." Harry paused, feeling awkward, "I know I'm your master but I'm not really used to all... to all this," he gestured around the room. "I've got a few questions, actually, Kreacher."
Kreacher seemed to shrink into himself slightly. Harry remembered the last time he'd questioned him and he felt regret at how harshly fear had cause him to be. At least now he would talk to Kreacher with a little more respect. He had no excuse not to.
Harry gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He began to talk to Kreacher, about what the house elf had been doing. His awkwardness fell away as genuine curiosity drove him to ask a wide range of questions. Some were answered eagerly, others Kreacher responded to with puzzled frustration or circular answers which told Harry nothing. Harry had been more aware than many about house elves, thanks to Hermione, SPEW, and Dobby. But he still lacked the knowledge that someone who'd grown up around them might have. He discovered that Kreacher, as the Black house elf, could pay for food and supplies from the Black vault. He was heartened to see that Kreacher had changed his views on Harry, and grateful for the food and welcome at Grimmauld Place. He was still, however, uncomfortable with the idea of owning another creature, of having someone servile who lived to cook, clean, meet his needs. It was all a little too close to home. After all, what else was his life at the Dursley's? He smiled wryly to himself. Aunt Petunia would have loved having a house elf. If it weren't for the whole weird-magical-creature thing, that is.
Over the next few days, Harry settled into a life, of sorts, at number twelve. He didn't want for food, and the place was clean if not cheerful. He did, however, want for company, and he often found himself wondering how Ron and Hermione were doing. Unlike his Summer imprisonments in Little Whinging, he was free to come and go as he chose. He still enjoyed an ice-cream, but there was no Fortescue's anymore, and besides he avoided Diagon Alley and the attention which followed him every where he went. Instead, he would head out into Muggle London. Harry enjoyed walking through the Heath, dripping cone in hand from the van by the Parliament Hill running track. He would climb the hill, licking away as he made his way to the trees. He would find a quiet corner and just sit, and be. He enjoyed watching people on their days out: couples and families, old men and dog walkers. He would soak up the sounds of laughter, the breeze in the trees, and – on warm days when he took his shoes off – the tickle of long grass underfoot. He could almost feel like a real person in those borrowed moments: just another man out for a walk.
At night, Harry would wrap himself up in the heavy eiderdown, its deep blue faded with age, and draw the curtains on his bed. He would try to pretend that he was back at Hogwarts, that Ron was just in the next bed, that he would wake up in the morning and wander down to breakfast with his friends at his side. The brief comfort he gained from this soon twisted into something more painful, his imaginings a poor substitute for real company. It often made things worse, and he'd either lie awake for hours, his heart racing, going over every cross word, every lost friend, the dead parading before him, or he'd find himself quietly weeping, crying himself to sleep.
When sleep came it was filled with more of the same. Recriminations hovered on the lips of friends and enemies alike. Harry didn't remember many of his dreams, but he knew that he awoke with his pillow wet with tears, his hands clenched tight and his voice raw.
Harry moved through the hours of each day, hollow-eyed but content to just be, to live without worrying about any one else's demands. He was a ghost in his own life, but at least it was quiet.
Waking up one morning, and unable to ignore the sensation of guilt twisting in his gut which was threatening to become a constant nagging pain, Harry was finally driven to do something about one of the many unravelled parts of his life. He packed up Malfoy's wand in the box he'd purchased especially for it, the shiny wood nestled in a rich green velvet which he'd somehow thought fitting.
It was early in the morning, the grass still wet with dew, when Harry Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. After spending what felt like an age deciding whether to owl or Floo first, he had chosen the option which would give him the benefit of an element of surprise; he hoped that he would be less likely to be turned away if he asked in person. An Auror met him almost immediately, and Harry had to find a way to explain his visit. He cast around for a suitable way of describing his intentions. In the end, he settled for 'returning something I borrowed.' The Auror looked closely at him, his eyes flicking up to his scar, then nodded. He warned Harry against using magic. Harry got the impression he was warning him against attacking the Malfoys.
"They haven't been tried yet," the Auror growled, "I'm just here to make sure that when they are, they turn up."
A house elf appeared at the gate and let him in, while the Auror stayed where he was, his expression grim. The house elf Apparated away again – it wouldn't be much of a surprise when he turned up, after all – and Harry made the slow walk up to the Manor by himself. By the time he'd arrived at the heavy carved doors, his shoes were damp and his cheeks were rosy from the brisk walk. He took a moment to collect himself, then knocked on the door.
The same house elf opened the door. Harry was ushered into a grand sitting room, yellow silk on the wall, handsome furniture dotted around, tall clear windows opening to a vista of grass and trees. Sitting daintily at the room's centre, like some eighteenth-century tableau, were the Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, with Lucius standing behind them. He even had his hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry was sure this arrangement was for his benefit, it looked so totally unnatural. He'd been hoping to have a quiet word with Draco, away from his parents, but it was obviously not going to happen now.
There was a moment where they remained unmoving, fixed in place, all three pairs of eyes on Harry. He shifted on his feet then gave an awkward little nod of his head. "I've just come here to, um, to thank you for helping me in the forest," he said, looking directly at Narcissa. The smallest of shifts around her eyes and a slight answering nod were his only acknowledgement. He grasped the thin box he held, his hands damp, "and I, er–"
He was cut off as Narcissa made a sudden hand gesture.
"Won't you sit down, Mr Potter? Would you like some tea?," she asked, and another house elf appeared, her rags at odds with the grand surroundings, bearing a silver tray holding a bone china tea set. Harry's face heated as he sat down. He nodded mutely, and soon found himself balancing the thinnest of cups on a saucer, trying hard not let it tremble. He was glad though, to have something to hide behind. Even if it was a fragile looking tea cup. The tea looked weak, watery. When he looked up, the elf was gone again.
He cast his eye back over the family before him, hoping for a cue as to what to do next. Now he could see that Lucius' hand was not resting on Draco, but digging into the flesh at his shoulder. Draco's face was drawn, pained, and his body was tilted subtly away from his father's. Harry was reminded of an animal, trapped in a corner. He looked away, ashamed for Draco, for seeing him so cowed; for all his mean taunting over the years Draco had always been defined by his pride.
A movement caught his attention, and he was just in time to see Lucius release Draco, who fell forward slightly as his father used more force than necessary. Draco righted himself immediately, his lips settled in a tight line as he stared at the intricately woven rug beneath him. Harry looked over to Narcissa, whose face was frozen, her polite mask somehow hardened into something much uglier.
"Lucius," she said, her tone icy. "Won't you join us?" She rested her hand on the seat beside her, a subtle gesture, but at the same time, a command.
He looked down at his wife with cold disdain. When he spoke, his words were clear, each distinctly formed and forcibly pronounced.
"I prefer to stand."
Narcissa turned to Harry. "I do apologise for my husband's manners, Mr Potter. He never did make the best choices," her words were said calmly enough, but the was no mistaking the bitterness in them. Harry was lucky that he hadn't yet had any tea: he might have had difficulty swallowing it without choking.
"My choices were mine to make. I stood by power. I only wanted the family to have the standing it deserves. I was protecting our heritage," Lucius said, his pride obviously still intact.
Narcissa laughed, the sound brittle and sharp, like broken glass.
"You still don't see it now, do you? Not even with Harry Potter sitting before you. We lost, Lucius," she said, her voice hard, tired.
Lucius held himself proudly. "Some people were just too weak to manage any power," he said, looking with contempt at his son as he spoke. Draco shifted, unhappily. Harry got the impression that it wasn't the first time he had witnessed his parents having this argument. "And besides, it may suit you now to claim your position was always on the side of light and rainbows and mud... Muggle borns," he corrected himself with a sneer, "but you sat at the table with the Dark Lord, just like the rest of us, Narcissa!" Lucius' eyes were burning now.
Harry was incredibly uncomfortable sitting there, listening to this pureblood crap after everything he'd been through. He tried to remind himself that he was here for a purpose, and that he did also owe a debt to Narcissa. But it was Lucius who made his face heat in anger, he pulse speed as he tried to contain how he felt. He didn't want to start shouting now, he had done enough fighting in his life.
Lucius took a step forward, his height in the room threatening. "And, my dear, if it wasn't for you being so soft on this sorry excuse for a son, things could have been different!" Lucius looked down at Draco, who had his head bowed. "Look at the snivelling wreck. Weak!" he barked, making Harry jump. "Weak and pathetic, not even man enough to meet my eye," he glared, but Draco did not move. "And as for you, Mr Potter, no I do not wish to sit and take tea with you!" Lucius swept his robes around him and stalked out of the room.
"Please Mr Potter, ignore him. Some of us have yet to learn some of the more important lessons from the... unfortunate incidents of the past year or so. More tea?"
Harry was shocked. He didn't know what was worse, Lucius being... well, himself, or Narcissa acting as if nothing was wrong. Draco meanwhile, looked like he was trying to twist in on himself. Harry felt a sharp twinge of sympathy.
Harry squirmed with discomfort. They sat in awkward silence, and he sipped his tea to avoid having to say anything. After a while though, it became unbearable.
"Er, Mrs Malfoy, I've also got some... some business with Draco," he faltered, looking up at Draco, hoping for some help. Draco however, was still avoiding his gaze. "Would it be possible to have a moment alone with him? If you don't mind, of course."
Narcissa looked across at her son, who was still acting as if there was no one else in the room. Or as if he was being crushed by something.
"Draco?" Narcissa asked, "Do you wish to have a private talk with Mr Potter? Would you like me to leave?" She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away.
He looked up at her, his face set in troubled, but determined, lines. "It's fine Mother, I will talk to Potter for a few minutes. You can go."
Narcissa looked a little stung at being dismissed, but stood to leave anyway. Harry felt compelled to stand too. She leant forward and took his hand for a second, saying "Thank you for coming," her words strangely bland after what Harry had just witnessed, before turning and walking to the a door at the back of the room. She paused, her hand on the knob. "Perhaps you can show Mr Potter out, when you're finished, Draco." She shifted her attention to Harry, "Mr Potter, I hope you don't think too badly of my family," she said softly, and left the room. Harry starred after her, unsure what to think.
"Oh, Potter, honestly, sit down," snapped Draco, sounding more like himself. Harry sat down and turned his attention back to Draco.
"What do you want? I assume that you've seen enough of my happy family."
Harry ignored Draco's caustic tone.
"I came to give you back this," said Harry, picking up the box beside him and handing it over. Draco carefully opened the box, and sat back when he saw his wand.
"Oh," he said. "I hoped to get this back, but I wasn't expecting... I thought it was going to end up in a museum, or something. I saw you with it. I heard that you killed... him... with it." He looked up. "I've got a new wand, you know," but his hand was stroking the wood and there was a soft smile on his face.
"It probably won't work for you, anyway," said Harry. "Since I disarmed you." He neglected to mention the Elder wand, still cautious about sharing details of how he'd defeated Voldemort, even with someone who'd been fairly instrumental in the whole thing.
Disappointment crossed Draco's face before he shut the box and shrugged. "I'll keep it anyway, it has sentimental value if nothing else," he looked up, "Thank you for returning it."
Harry nodded in response, and felt a small part of his burden lift.
There didn't seem to be anything else to say between them, as Harry had no idea what he could possibly say about Lucius and Narcissa, or the way Draco didn't seem to fit into his life either. Harry felt powerless. Draco led Harry back to the grand door at the front of the house. In a small corner near some stairs, Harry stopped Draco, having decided to say something, after all.
"Look, I'm not blind, I can see that things are... difficult for you here. We didn't go through everything just to be trapped, we're adults now and we deserve to have the freedom to live our own lives," he said with all the convictions of his own thoughts from the past few weeks since the war finished. Draco had stiffened as soon as Harry mentioned things being difficult. He grabbed Harry's hand off his arm and took a step back.
"Just leave me alone, Potter," he hissed. "It's my life and I don't need you meddling in it. For me, part of being an adult is my duty to my family. We don't all have the freedoms you do."
Harry wished, for the briefest of moments, that he did have a family to struggle against, that he wasn't so alone. But then he remembered Lucius, and shivered.
"Draco, please, listen. You don't have to live like this. You can always choose. You... you could leave," as Harry spoke, a plan began to form in his mind. Seeing Draco so crushed... he seemed almost as lost as Harry felt, in his own way.
"Leave? Leave?" Draco's voice began to rise, although he still kept it under restraint at all times. "You really have no idea," he laughed, bitterly. "Where would I go? I'd have nothing, nothing, without my parents," by the time he finished talking, his eyes were flashing and his breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.
Harry stepped round so he was directly facing Draco. He kept his voice as calm as he could, although there was a quiver to it anyway. "Draco – and I'm calling you that because it's your name, we're not at school and we're not boys any more – you could come to stay with me in London," Harry's eyes met Draco's. "I'm living in the Black house, number twelve Grimmauld Place. There are plenty of rooms – you would hardly see me."
Draco looked genuinely shocked. His mouth open and shut a few times before he managed to respond.
"Are you mad, Potter?" he asked, "Truly, you must be." He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He muttered something else about madness, then took Harry by the elbow and continued leading him out. When they got to the front door, Draco opened it and gestured out. "I trust you can make your way from here," he said, his words final, a clear dismissal.
Harry sighed. "I can. I take it you're not interested in my offer, then?"
Draco just shook his head again, pushed Harry out of the door, and shut it loudly behind him.
Harry sighed, then started on the long walk back to the main gate. He had returned the wand, as planned, but he was now disturbed by what he had seen. How could Draco live like that, suffocating under the weight of his parents' failures and blame? Harry kicked at the path, frustrated. There was nothing he could do now, so he just kept walking away. It still felt like he was abandoning Draco to his fate. Again. Just like he had when he'd seen Draco through Voldemort's eyes last year. Or maybe even before that. Harry walked faster, the rhythm of his feet helping to stamp down some of his guilt and helplessness. By the time he reached the gate, he was calm enough to Apparate home. His nose was also a little sunburnt, but he welcomed the sting, it felt like the least he deserved. He didn't see the Auror, but sensed that he was still nearby. Harry was glad not to have to talk to him again.
oOo
A restlessness took hold of Harry when he returned to Grimmauld Place. He was on edge, remembering Draco locked in his family's bitterness. But there was nothing more he could do, so Harry tried to focus on regaining a bit of the calm he had been carving out for himself.
Harry was relieved, at first, when he received an owl bearing a letter a few days later. When he opened it, however, he was disappointed to see that it was not the hoped-for letter from friends, but an official-sounding summons from Kingsley Shacklebolt. With nothing else planned for the day, Harry sent a brief reply saying that he could come and see Kingsley today, if he wished. While he waited for his own reply, he went to change his tatty t-shirt for a rather smarter one, and his faded old jeans for a pair of trousers. He only had a limited wardrobe - jeans, his trousers, a collection of t-shirts in various states of being worn-through, and a few zip-up tops and Weasley sweaters. He didn't have any wizarding gowns any more – they'd all been left behind when he went on the Horcrux search. This was the smartest he could get, not something he normally worried about, but picking up the parchment again, it was phrased so formally he felt he had to make an effort.
As soon as a reply came, letting Harry know that Kingsley was free all day, he set off for the Ministry. He preferred walking to using the Floo, although he did cast a light Disillusionment Charm, not feeling like being stared at or bothered by the curious, or worse, by 'fans'. It was why he usually avoided any area frequented by witches or wizards.
Wearing a badge stating 'Harry Potter to see Minister of Magic', Harry made his way to Kingsley's office, only asking for directions once or twice. It was strange to be back here with no real mission, but Harry appreciated the quieter pace. Sitting outside the office, he was aware of Kingsley's assistant watching him, even as she sorted through a pile of parchments. He sat back in a surprisingly comfortable chair and sipped the water she had given him when he arrived. He turned the glass round and round in his hands, trying to work out what Kingsley wanted.
It wasn't long before the door to Kingsley's office opened and he stepped out, a cautious smile on his face, "Harry, so good to see you. And thank you for coming in so quickly."
Harry walked into his office and waited to hear what Kingsley had to say, nervous in his uncertainty about why he was there.
"The thing is, Harry, we're going to be holding trials for Voldemort's supporters soon. You'll have to testify in several of the cases," Kinglsey paused before continuing in a much softer voice. "We're all so grateful for what you did, and now is the time to finish things off." His tone hated ended again as he continued, "We need your testimony to make sure the Death Eaters end up where they belong," and his face was grim.
Two thoughts immediately sprang to Harry's mind: one was the memory of Lucius holding Draco in a vice-like grip at Malfoy Manor a few days before; the other was a feeling of horror at the thought of Dementors at Azkaban. He asked about the Dementors first.
"The... the Dementors...?" he shuddered.
Kingsley fixed him with a knowing stare, then shook his head. "They're long gone, Harry, no one's getting the Kiss. And it might not make me popular with some, but I'm glad of it. Some things you don't wish on your worst enemies."
Harry let out some of his tension with an exhale of breath. He looked up at Kingsley.
"I think you should know, I er, I've been to Malfoy Manor recently."
Kingsley fixed him with a stern glance. "I know." Harry remembered the unsmiling Auror at the gate. Of course he knew. This explained why he was here, having this conversation. What might have happened if he hadn't mentioned it?
"Why on earth visit the Malfoys? Anyone else would probably have been turned away, you know."
Harry fiddled with the end of his sleeve. "It's complicated," he said, then paused. He stilled his hands and continued. "I did cover this in the debriefing, but I've been thinking about things and it just seems... more important now. Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. She helped save everybody, in a way," he then took a deep breath and told Kingsley about the forest, about Narcissa's lie to Voldemort at the crucial moment. Kingsley's face was grave as he sat, fingers steepled, nodding every now and again.
"I see, so you owe her a life debt."
Harry looked up sharply. He hadn't heard it described like that, but it made sense. "Yes, yes exactly that, a life debt."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, I owe Draco something too. We were captured, and taken to Malfoy Manor, did you know?"
Kingsley nodded and Harry felt foolish. Of course he knew, they'd debriefed him, and everyone else who was held there. Who survived the experience, of course. Harry shuddered.
"Well, then you know that Draco was asked to identify me, and he lied too."
Kingsley sat back, frowning.
Harry found himself continuing. He explained in more detail than he had before about how it was Malfoy's wand he used to defeat Voldemort, and that he had gone to Malfoy Manor to return it. He also found himself telling Kingsley, haltingly, about Dumbledore's death, and how Draco had lowered his wand.
When he finished talking, there was a long silence in the room.
"You haven't mentioned Lucius Malfoy," said Kingsley, his deep voice rumbling the name.
Harry twisted in his chair. "The best I can say about him is that he left the battle at Hogwarts," Harry shrugged, "In the end, I think his family were more important than Voldemort. He'd certainly fallen out of favour." His voice hardened as he continued, "But I think he's just a proud and cruel man."
Kingsley nodded slowly.
"Will it... change anything that I've visited them? It wasn't very pleasant, but I wanted to thank Narcissa. And I gave Draco back his wand too."
Kingsley looked a little startled at that last piece of information, but said nothing.
"So I hope it doesn't make things too... complicated for you that I've spoken to them. It wasn't exactly friendly, but no one threw any hexes."
Kinglsey looked troubled. "I think your testimony is more likely to make waves than whether or not you've spoken to them. Can I ask though, how did you leave things with them? Will they be able to claim you harassed them, for example?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I came, said thank you to Narcissa, listened to Lucius spout his usual crap, drank tea, then... then had a word with Draco and returned his wand," Harry sighed, for some reason not wanting to recount all the details their conversation. "He seemed very unhappy to me. If he... if he wanted to talk to me again, I would," Harry hadn't realised this until he said it, but as soon as he did the truth of the statement became clear.
"Talk... as friends?" asked Kingsley.
"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I probably won't speak to him again though. But you never know..." he trailed off, remembering the offer of help he'd extended to Draco. Quietly, he told Kingsley about the exchange he'd seen. And about his offer.
Kingsley sat, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin with his hand. It was so quiet in the room that Harry could hear the fine rasp of stubble.
"Well, Harry, you've certainly given me a lot to think about," he looked at Harry, his gaze direct and uncompromising. As he spoke, Harry got the impression that his words had been very carefully chosen.
"Now, the Malfoys, well I think that as long as you have no further contact with Lucius, it will be fine. Just for your own safety, Harry. As for Draco... if you have offered him your protection–", Harry made to interrupt Kingsley. It wasn't exactly his protection he had offered. More... somewhere to run to, but Kingsley was shaking his head, "–Yes, Harry, your protection. What else is a room in a safe house? Let alone the association with your name? But maybe he will need it." Kingsley broke off and shook his head. "His own father," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "I can't prevent you from seeing them or talking to him. Indeed, perhaps what we need is a world where you can talk to him " Kingsley sighed. "No more hatred. We've had enough to last us a few lifetimes. Just promise me you'll let me know if you see him again. I might be interested in talking to him – away from his father."
Harry found himself mulling over Kingsley's words. They talked, a little more lightly, for the next few minutes, then Harry left with the promise to contact Kingsley by owl, 'day or night,' if he heard from Draco.
Harry felt exhausted when he got back to Grimmauld Place. As he sat in the subterranean gloom of the kitchen to eat some soup – for once feeling no compunction about Kreacher cooking – his mind was whirling with competing thoughts and questions. Had he offered Draco protection? What was going to happen to the Death Eaters? How many trials would he have to speak at? He scowled into the shadows of the room, and pushed away what was left of his lunch. He had lost his appetite.
Harry left the murky kitchen, and went to sit in his overgrown garden, waiting until the sunshine of the day had warmed his skin. He pictured his worries floating away with the clouds, and listened to the noises of the city: cars and buses rumbling in the distance, the breeze in the trees and the odd brave bird marking its territory with song. It made him feel smaller, and for a short while, calmer too. His questions and doubts would still be waiting for him inside, but for now, this was enough.
>>Chapter 3
Author:
omi_ohmySummary: Directly after the war, Harry is left lost and full of questions about his life. Slowly over the summer, and with the help of friends, he works out what will make him happy - or even who. Angsty, eventual slash & romance, HPDM. Rated R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This fic was written for fun, not for profit.
Pairings/Characters: HP/DM, RW/HG
Rating: R for later chapters (this chapter PG)
Word count (this chapter): ~9,300 (~5,300)
Warning(s): Mostly misery and friendships, not much HPDM until later chapters.
Betas:
birdsofshore and evilgiraffA/n: I started this a while back, and have written a fair bit now. Due to other commitments it has taken a bit longer than I'd planned to get it posted, but here it is: my first attempt at writing something longer. It's a gentle, slow-building fic, but heading to more slashy times by the end. It will be 9 or so chapters long, and updates every Friday (I hope!)
Chapter One
Chapter 2 - Difficult conversations
June
When Harry woke up, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. His glasses had half fallen from his nose, and as he pushed them back on the bedroom at Grimmauld Place came into focus. Sunlight was streaming in, dust motes dancing in its path. His mouth was dry, and despite the sun he shivered. Sitting up he saw that he had been lying on top of the bed fully-dressed, but that despite this, or maybe because of it, he felt cold. Fuzzy-headed, he made his way downstairs, and then down again to the kitchen. Memories reared up - cold and dreary days, a Christmas with everyone trying too hard. The kitchen was dark, lurking beneath the house, the sky visible only at strange angles through glass rippled with age. Kreacher stood on a low stool in front of the dull black range, stirring a huge pot with a wooden spoon. Whatever was in the pot smelled good, and Harry was suddenly all too aware that he'd only eaten an apple since the morning.
Harry stood in the doorway for a minute, unsure how to talk to Kreacher. This was an old house elf, nothing like Dobby. Dobby had been unique, he thought to himself. Harry took in a deep breath, his throat suddenly tight. He was proud of both of them, they'd both fought for him. And Hermione had been right about the house elves. She really had. Harry stepped into the room, and Kreacher immediately jumped down from his stool. Before Harry knew it, he was sitting at the table, a plateful of food in front of him. He ate greedily, eager to banish the hunger which reminded him of being lonely, friendless. Kreacher watched him with bright, appreciative eyes for a moment before going back to a range of kitchen-related tasks, the nature of which Harry couldn't quite fathom.
Finally full, Harry pushed back his plate. In an instant, Kreacher had whisked it away, it was clean, dried, and flying back towards a cupboard. Harry sat back and ran his hand over the table. The wood was soft and smooth, shiny with the wear of long use. He'd never really noticed that before. There was so much he hadn't noticed. How much of his life had he sleepwalked through?
"Kreacher, I … thank you for the food," he said, unsure about how he should talk to him.
"Kreacher is happy to be able to make food for his Master."
"Yes, well..." Harry paused, feeling awkward, "I know I'm your master but I'm not really used to all... to all this," he gestured around the room. "I've got a few questions, actually, Kreacher."
Kreacher seemed to shrink into himself slightly. Harry remembered the last time he'd questioned him and he felt regret at how harshly fear had cause him to be. At least now he would talk to Kreacher with a little more respect. He had no excuse not to.
Harry gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He began to talk to Kreacher, about what the house elf had been doing. His awkwardness fell away as genuine curiosity drove him to ask a wide range of questions. Some were answered eagerly, others Kreacher responded to with puzzled frustration or circular answers which told Harry nothing. Harry had been more aware than many about house elves, thanks to Hermione, SPEW, and Dobby. But he still lacked the knowledge that someone who'd grown up around them might have. He discovered that Kreacher, as the Black house elf, could pay for food and supplies from the Black vault. He was heartened to see that Kreacher had changed his views on Harry, and grateful for the food and welcome at Grimmauld Place. He was still, however, uncomfortable with the idea of owning another creature, of having someone servile who lived to cook, clean, meet his needs. It was all a little too close to home. After all, what else was his life at the Dursley's? He smiled wryly to himself. Aunt Petunia would have loved having a house elf. If it weren't for the whole weird-magical-creature thing, that is.
Over the next few days, Harry settled into a life, of sorts, at number twelve. He didn't want for food, and the place was clean if not cheerful. He did, however, want for company, and he often found himself wondering how Ron and Hermione were doing. Unlike his Summer imprisonments in Little Whinging, he was free to come and go as he chose. He still enjoyed an ice-cream, but there was no Fortescue's anymore, and besides he avoided Diagon Alley and the attention which followed him every where he went. Instead, he would head out into Muggle London. Harry enjoyed walking through the Heath, dripping cone in hand from the van by the Parliament Hill running track. He would climb the hill, licking away as he made his way to the trees. He would find a quiet corner and just sit, and be. He enjoyed watching people on their days out: couples and families, old men and dog walkers. He would soak up the sounds of laughter, the breeze in the trees, and – on warm days when he took his shoes off – the tickle of long grass underfoot. He could almost feel like a real person in those borrowed moments: just another man out for a walk.
At night, Harry would wrap himself up in the heavy eiderdown, its deep blue faded with age, and draw the curtains on his bed. He would try to pretend that he was back at Hogwarts, that Ron was just in the next bed, that he would wake up in the morning and wander down to breakfast with his friends at his side. The brief comfort he gained from this soon twisted into something more painful, his imaginings a poor substitute for real company. It often made things worse, and he'd either lie awake for hours, his heart racing, going over every cross word, every lost friend, the dead parading before him, or he'd find himself quietly weeping, crying himself to sleep.
When sleep came it was filled with more of the same. Recriminations hovered on the lips of friends and enemies alike. Harry didn't remember many of his dreams, but he knew that he awoke with his pillow wet with tears, his hands clenched tight and his voice raw.
Harry moved through the hours of each day, hollow-eyed but content to just be, to live without worrying about any one else's demands. He was a ghost in his own life, but at least it was quiet.
Waking up one morning, and unable to ignore the sensation of guilt twisting in his gut which was threatening to become a constant nagging pain, Harry was finally driven to do something about one of the many unravelled parts of his life. He packed up Malfoy's wand in the box he'd purchased especially for it, the shiny wood nestled in a rich green velvet which he'd somehow thought fitting.
It was early in the morning, the grass still wet with dew, when Harry Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. After spending what felt like an age deciding whether to owl or Floo first, he had chosen the option which would give him the benefit of an element of surprise; he hoped that he would be less likely to be turned away if he asked in person. An Auror met him almost immediately, and Harry had to find a way to explain his visit. He cast around for a suitable way of describing his intentions. In the end, he settled for 'returning something I borrowed.' The Auror looked closely at him, his eyes flicking up to his scar, then nodded. He warned Harry against using magic. Harry got the impression he was warning him against attacking the Malfoys.
"They haven't been tried yet," the Auror growled, "I'm just here to make sure that when they are, they turn up."
A house elf appeared at the gate and let him in, while the Auror stayed where he was, his expression grim. The house elf Apparated away again – it wouldn't be much of a surprise when he turned up, after all – and Harry made the slow walk up to the Manor by himself. By the time he'd arrived at the heavy carved doors, his shoes were damp and his cheeks were rosy from the brisk walk. He took a moment to collect himself, then knocked on the door.
The same house elf opened the door. Harry was ushered into a grand sitting room, yellow silk on the wall, handsome furniture dotted around, tall clear windows opening to a vista of grass and trees. Sitting daintily at the room's centre, like some eighteenth-century tableau, were the Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, with Lucius standing behind them. He even had his hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry was sure this arrangement was for his benefit, it looked so totally unnatural. He'd been hoping to have a quiet word with Draco, away from his parents, but it was obviously not going to happen now.
There was a moment where they remained unmoving, fixed in place, all three pairs of eyes on Harry. He shifted on his feet then gave an awkward little nod of his head. "I've just come here to, um, to thank you for helping me in the forest," he said, looking directly at Narcissa. The smallest of shifts around her eyes and a slight answering nod were his only acknowledgement. He grasped the thin box he held, his hands damp, "and I, er–"
He was cut off as Narcissa made a sudden hand gesture.
"Won't you sit down, Mr Potter? Would you like some tea?," she asked, and another house elf appeared, her rags at odds with the grand surroundings, bearing a silver tray holding a bone china tea set. Harry's face heated as he sat down. He nodded mutely, and soon found himself balancing the thinnest of cups on a saucer, trying hard not let it tremble. He was glad though, to have something to hide behind. Even if it was a fragile looking tea cup. The tea looked weak, watery. When he looked up, the elf was gone again.
He cast his eye back over the family before him, hoping for a cue as to what to do next. Now he could see that Lucius' hand was not resting on Draco, but digging into the flesh at his shoulder. Draco's face was drawn, pained, and his body was tilted subtly away from his father's. Harry was reminded of an animal, trapped in a corner. He looked away, ashamed for Draco, for seeing him so cowed; for all his mean taunting over the years Draco had always been defined by his pride.
A movement caught his attention, and he was just in time to see Lucius release Draco, who fell forward slightly as his father used more force than necessary. Draco righted himself immediately, his lips settled in a tight line as he stared at the intricately woven rug beneath him. Harry looked over to Narcissa, whose face was frozen, her polite mask somehow hardened into something much uglier.
"Lucius," she said, her tone icy. "Won't you join us?" She rested her hand on the seat beside her, a subtle gesture, but at the same time, a command.
He looked down at his wife with cold disdain. When he spoke, his words were clear, each distinctly formed and forcibly pronounced.
"I prefer to stand."
Narcissa turned to Harry. "I do apologise for my husband's manners, Mr Potter. He never did make the best choices," her words were said calmly enough, but the was no mistaking the bitterness in them. Harry was lucky that he hadn't yet had any tea: he might have had difficulty swallowing it without choking.
"My choices were mine to make. I stood by power. I only wanted the family to have the standing it deserves. I was protecting our heritage," Lucius said, his pride obviously still intact.
Narcissa laughed, the sound brittle and sharp, like broken glass.
"You still don't see it now, do you? Not even with Harry Potter sitting before you. We lost, Lucius," she said, her voice hard, tired.
Lucius held himself proudly. "Some people were just too weak to manage any power," he said, looking with contempt at his son as he spoke. Draco shifted, unhappily. Harry got the impression that it wasn't the first time he had witnessed his parents having this argument. "And besides, it may suit you now to claim your position was always on the side of light and rainbows and mud... Muggle borns," he corrected himself with a sneer, "but you sat at the table with the Dark Lord, just like the rest of us, Narcissa!" Lucius' eyes were burning now.
Harry was incredibly uncomfortable sitting there, listening to this pureblood crap after everything he'd been through. He tried to remind himself that he was here for a purpose, and that he did also owe a debt to Narcissa. But it was Lucius who made his face heat in anger, he pulse speed as he tried to contain how he felt. He didn't want to start shouting now, he had done enough fighting in his life.
Lucius took a step forward, his height in the room threatening. "And, my dear, if it wasn't for you being so soft on this sorry excuse for a son, things could have been different!" Lucius looked down at Draco, who had his head bowed. "Look at the snivelling wreck. Weak!" he barked, making Harry jump. "Weak and pathetic, not even man enough to meet my eye," he glared, but Draco did not move. "And as for you, Mr Potter, no I do not wish to sit and take tea with you!" Lucius swept his robes around him and stalked out of the room.
"Please Mr Potter, ignore him. Some of us have yet to learn some of the more important lessons from the... unfortunate incidents of the past year or so. More tea?"
Harry was shocked. He didn't know what was worse, Lucius being... well, himself, or Narcissa acting as if nothing was wrong. Draco meanwhile, looked like he was trying to twist in on himself. Harry felt a sharp twinge of sympathy.
Harry squirmed with discomfort. They sat in awkward silence, and he sipped his tea to avoid having to say anything. After a while though, it became unbearable.
"Er, Mrs Malfoy, I've also got some... some business with Draco," he faltered, looking up at Draco, hoping for some help. Draco however, was still avoiding his gaze. "Would it be possible to have a moment alone with him? If you don't mind, of course."
Narcissa looked across at her son, who was still acting as if there was no one else in the room. Or as if he was being crushed by something.
"Draco?" Narcissa asked, "Do you wish to have a private talk with Mr Potter? Would you like me to leave?" She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away.
He looked up at her, his face set in troubled, but determined, lines. "It's fine Mother, I will talk to Potter for a few minutes. You can go."
Narcissa looked a little stung at being dismissed, but stood to leave anyway. Harry felt compelled to stand too. She leant forward and took his hand for a second, saying "Thank you for coming," her words strangely bland after what Harry had just witnessed, before turning and walking to the a door at the back of the room. She paused, her hand on the knob. "Perhaps you can show Mr Potter out, when you're finished, Draco." She shifted her attention to Harry, "Mr Potter, I hope you don't think too badly of my family," she said softly, and left the room. Harry starred after her, unsure what to think.
"Oh, Potter, honestly, sit down," snapped Draco, sounding more like himself. Harry sat down and turned his attention back to Draco.
"What do you want? I assume that you've seen enough of my happy family."
Harry ignored Draco's caustic tone.
"I came to give you back this," said Harry, picking up the box beside him and handing it over. Draco carefully opened the box, and sat back when he saw his wand.
"Oh," he said. "I hoped to get this back, but I wasn't expecting... I thought it was going to end up in a museum, or something. I saw you with it. I heard that you killed... him... with it." He looked up. "I've got a new wand, you know," but his hand was stroking the wood and there was a soft smile on his face.
"It probably won't work for you, anyway," said Harry. "Since I disarmed you." He neglected to mention the Elder wand, still cautious about sharing details of how he'd defeated Voldemort, even with someone who'd been fairly instrumental in the whole thing.
Disappointment crossed Draco's face before he shut the box and shrugged. "I'll keep it anyway, it has sentimental value if nothing else," he looked up, "Thank you for returning it."
Harry nodded in response, and felt a small part of his burden lift.
There didn't seem to be anything else to say between them, as Harry had no idea what he could possibly say about Lucius and Narcissa, or the way Draco didn't seem to fit into his life either. Harry felt powerless. Draco led Harry back to the grand door at the front of the house. In a small corner near some stairs, Harry stopped Draco, having decided to say something, after all.
"Look, I'm not blind, I can see that things are... difficult for you here. We didn't go through everything just to be trapped, we're adults now and we deserve to have the freedom to live our own lives," he said with all the convictions of his own thoughts from the past few weeks since the war finished. Draco had stiffened as soon as Harry mentioned things being difficult. He grabbed Harry's hand off his arm and took a step back.
"Just leave me alone, Potter," he hissed. "It's my life and I don't need you meddling in it. For me, part of being an adult is my duty to my family. We don't all have the freedoms you do."
Harry wished, for the briefest of moments, that he did have a family to struggle against, that he wasn't so alone. But then he remembered Lucius, and shivered.
"Draco, please, listen. You don't have to live like this. You can always choose. You... you could leave," as Harry spoke, a plan began to form in his mind. Seeing Draco so crushed... he seemed almost as lost as Harry felt, in his own way.
"Leave? Leave?" Draco's voice began to rise, although he still kept it under restraint at all times. "You really have no idea," he laughed, bitterly. "Where would I go? I'd have nothing, nothing, without my parents," by the time he finished talking, his eyes were flashing and his breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.
Harry stepped round so he was directly facing Draco. He kept his voice as calm as he could, although there was a quiver to it anyway. "Draco – and I'm calling you that because it's your name, we're not at school and we're not boys any more – you could come to stay with me in London," Harry's eyes met Draco's. "I'm living in the Black house, number twelve Grimmauld Place. There are plenty of rooms – you would hardly see me."
Draco looked genuinely shocked. His mouth open and shut a few times before he managed to respond.
"Are you mad, Potter?" he asked, "Truly, you must be." He paused for a minute, shaking his head. He muttered something else about madness, then took Harry by the elbow and continued leading him out. When they got to the front door, Draco opened it and gestured out. "I trust you can make your way from here," he said, his words final, a clear dismissal.
Harry sighed. "I can. I take it you're not interested in my offer, then?"
Draco just shook his head again, pushed Harry out of the door, and shut it loudly behind him.
Harry sighed, then started on the long walk back to the main gate. He had returned the wand, as planned, but he was now disturbed by what he had seen. How could Draco live like that, suffocating under the weight of his parents' failures and blame? Harry kicked at the path, frustrated. There was nothing he could do now, so he just kept walking away. It still felt like he was abandoning Draco to his fate. Again. Just like he had when he'd seen Draco through Voldemort's eyes last year. Or maybe even before that. Harry walked faster, the rhythm of his feet helping to stamp down some of his guilt and helplessness. By the time he reached the gate, he was calm enough to Apparate home. His nose was also a little sunburnt, but he welcomed the sting, it felt like the least he deserved. He didn't see the Auror, but sensed that he was still nearby. Harry was glad not to have to talk to him again.
A restlessness took hold of Harry when he returned to Grimmauld Place. He was on edge, remembering Draco locked in his family's bitterness. But there was nothing more he could do, so Harry tried to focus on regaining a bit of the calm he had been carving out for himself.
Harry was relieved, at first, when he received an owl bearing a letter a few days later. When he opened it, however, he was disappointed to see that it was not the hoped-for letter from friends, but an official-sounding summons from Kingsley Shacklebolt. With nothing else planned for the day, Harry sent a brief reply saying that he could come and see Kingsley today, if he wished. While he waited for his own reply, he went to change his tatty t-shirt for a rather smarter one, and his faded old jeans for a pair of trousers. He only had a limited wardrobe - jeans, his trousers, a collection of t-shirts in various states of being worn-through, and a few zip-up tops and Weasley sweaters. He didn't have any wizarding gowns any more – they'd all been left behind when he went on the Horcrux search. This was the smartest he could get, not something he normally worried about, but picking up the parchment again, it was phrased so formally he felt he had to make an effort.
As soon as a reply came, letting Harry know that Kingsley was free all day, he set off for the Ministry. He preferred walking to using the Floo, although he did cast a light Disillusionment Charm, not feeling like being stared at or bothered by the curious, or worse, by 'fans'. It was why he usually avoided any area frequented by witches or wizards.
Wearing a badge stating 'Harry Potter to see Minister of Magic', Harry made his way to Kingsley's office, only asking for directions once or twice. It was strange to be back here with no real mission, but Harry appreciated the quieter pace. Sitting outside the office, he was aware of Kingsley's assistant watching him, even as she sorted through a pile of parchments. He sat back in a surprisingly comfortable chair and sipped the water she had given him when he arrived. He turned the glass round and round in his hands, trying to work out what Kingsley wanted.
It wasn't long before the door to Kingsley's office opened and he stepped out, a cautious smile on his face, "Harry, so good to see you. And thank you for coming in so quickly."
Harry walked into his office and waited to hear what Kingsley had to say, nervous in his uncertainty about why he was there.
"The thing is, Harry, we're going to be holding trials for Voldemort's supporters soon. You'll have to testify in several of the cases," Kinglsey paused before continuing in a much softer voice. "We're all so grateful for what you did, and now is the time to finish things off." His tone hated ended again as he continued, "We need your testimony to make sure the Death Eaters end up where they belong," and his face was grim.
Two thoughts immediately sprang to Harry's mind: one was the memory of Lucius holding Draco in a vice-like grip at Malfoy Manor a few days before; the other was a feeling of horror at the thought of Dementors at Azkaban. He asked about the Dementors first.
"The... the Dementors...?" he shuddered.
Kingsley fixed him with a knowing stare, then shook his head. "They're long gone, Harry, no one's getting the Kiss. And it might not make me popular with some, but I'm glad of it. Some things you don't wish on your worst enemies."
Harry let out some of his tension with an exhale of breath. He looked up at Kingsley.
"I think you should know, I er, I've been to Malfoy Manor recently."
Kingsley fixed him with a stern glance. "I know." Harry remembered the unsmiling Auror at the gate. Of course he knew. This explained why he was here, having this conversation. What might have happened if he hadn't mentioned it?
"Why on earth visit the Malfoys? Anyone else would probably have been turned away, you know."
Harry fiddled with the end of his sleeve. "It's complicated," he said, then paused. He stilled his hands and continued. "I did cover this in the debriefing, but I've been thinking about things and it just seems... more important now. Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. She helped save everybody, in a way," he then took a deep breath and told Kingsley about the forest, about Narcissa's lie to Voldemort at the crucial moment. Kingsley's face was grave as he sat, fingers steepled, nodding every now and again.
"I see, so you owe her a life debt."
Harry looked up sharply. He hadn't heard it described like that, but it made sense. "Yes, yes exactly that, a life debt."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, I owe Draco something too. We were captured, and taken to Malfoy Manor, did you know?"
Kingsley nodded and Harry felt foolish. Of course he knew, they'd debriefed him, and everyone else who was held there. Who survived the experience, of course. Harry shuddered.
"Well, then you know that Draco was asked to identify me, and he lied too."
Kingsley sat back, frowning.
Harry found himself continuing. He explained in more detail than he had before about how it was Malfoy's wand he used to defeat Voldemort, and that he had gone to Malfoy Manor to return it. He also found himself telling Kingsley, haltingly, about Dumbledore's death, and how Draco had lowered his wand.
When he finished talking, there was a long silence in the room.
"You haven't mentioned Lucius Malfoy," said Kingsley, his deep voice rumbling the name.
Harry twisted in his chair. "The best I can say about him is that he left the battle at Hogwarts," Harry shrugged, "In the end, I think his family were more important than Voldemort. He'd certainly fallen out of favour." His voice hardened as he continued, "But I think he's just a proud and cruel man."
Kingsley nodded slowly.
"Will it... change anything that I've visited them? It wasn't very pleasant, but I wanted to thank Narcissa. And I gave Draco back his wand too."
Kingsley looked a little startled at that last piece of information, but said nothing.
"So I hope it doesn't make things too... complicated for you that I've spoken to them. It wasn't exactly friendly, but no one threw any hexes."
Kinglsey looked troubled. "I think your testimony is more likely to make waves than whether or not you've spoken to them. Can I ask though, how did you leave things with them? Will they be able to claim you harassed them, for example?"
Harry shook his head. "No, I came, said thank you to Narcissa, listened to Lucius spout his usual crap, drank tea, then... then had a word with Draco and returned his wand," Harry sighed, for some reason not wanting to recount all the details their conversation. "He seemed very unhappy to me. If he... if he wanted to talk to me again, I would," Harry hadn't realised this until he said it, but as soon as he did the truth of the statement became clear.
"Talk... as friends?" asked Kingsley.
"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I probably won't speak to him again though. But you never know..." he trailed off, remembering the offer of help he'd extended to Draco. Quietly, he told Kingsley about the exchange he'd seen. And about his offer.
Kingsley sat, absent-mindedly rubbing his chin with his hand. It was so quiet in the room that Harry could hear the fine rasp of stubble.
"Well, Harry, you've certainly given me a lot to think about," he looked at Harry, his gaze direct and uncompromising. As he spoke, Harry got the impression that his words had been very carefully chosen.
"Now, the Malfoys, well I think that as long as you have no further contact with Lucius, it will be fine. Just for your own safety, Harry. As for Draco... if you have offered him your protection–", Harry made to interrupt Kingsley. It wasn't exactly his protection he had offered. More... somewhere to run to, but Kingsley was shaking his head, "–Yes, Harry, your protection. What else is a room in a safe house? Let alone the association with your name? But maybe he will need it." Kingsley broke off and shook his head. "His own father," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "I can't prevent you from seeing them or talking to him. Indeed, perhaps what we need is a world where you can talk to him " Kingsley sighed. "No more hatred. We've had enough to last us a few lifetimes. Just promise me you'll let me know if you see him again. I might be interested in talking to him – away from his father."
Harry found himself mulling over Kingsley's words. They talked, a little more lightly, for the next few minutes, then Harry left with the promise to contact Kingsley by owl, 'day or night,' if he heard from Draco.
Harry felt exhausted when he got back to Grimmauld Place. As he sat in the subterranean gloom of the kitchen to eat some soup – for once feeling no compunction about Kreacher cooking – his mind was whirling with competing thoughts and questions. Had he offered Draco protection? What was going to happen to the Death Eaters? How many trials would he have to speak at? He scowled into the shadows of the room, and pushed away what was left of his lunch. He had lost his appetite.
Harry left the murky kitchen, and went to sit in his overgrown garden, waiting until the sunshine of the day had warmed his skin. He pictured his worries floating away with the clouds, and listened to the noises of the city: cars and buses rumbling in the distance, the breeze in the trees and the odd brave bird marking its territory with song. It made him feel smaller, and for a short while, calmer too. His questions and doubts would still be waiting for him inside, but for now, this was enough.
>>Chapter 3
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Date: 2012-05-11 02:14 pm (UTC)The pacing in general really works.
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Date: 2012-05-11 03:28 pm (UTC)Also, nice to know the pacing works – the first couple of chapters are quite slow, but things do get moving, eventually!
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Date: 2012-05-11 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-11 06:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 01:01 am (UTC)The way you wrote Kingsley was brilliantly he seems kind and compassionate.
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Date: 2012-05-13 09:11 am (UTC)Now what shall I do with Draco? Hmmmmm.....
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Date: 2012-05-19 07:59 am (UTC)Going to the next chapter now!
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Date: 2012-05-19 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-09 08:15 pm (UTC)