Fic: When a Tree Dreams (5/9)
Jun. 1st, 2012 08:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmyTitle: When a Tree Dreams (5/9?)
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): ~27,000 (~5,000)
Warning(s): Mostly misery and friendships, not much HPDM until later chapters.
Betas:birdsofshore and evilgiraff
Chapter One
A/N: Things start to change a bit now, as Harry and Draco get to know each other a bit better. Thanks for the reviews and comments, It's good to know that someone's reading this! :)
<<Chapter Four
Chapter 5 - Not-quite Friends
"Kreacher, do you know if we have any marmal—" Harry broke off at the sight of Draco walking into the kitchen at breakfast. It had been a while since Draco had eaten in the kitchen.
"Minister Shacklebolt told me that he lifted the Taboo," said Draco softly, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes focused on some point over Harry's shoulder. Harry felt strangely awkward around Draco. Without the restrictions on their conversation, suddenly chasms of difference and uncertainty opened between them. Plus they had just shared some of the worst moments of their lives in front of each other and the world in general. What Harry needed was a bit of ordinary life, not more of the same battles and feelings. He acted accordingly.
"Do you want marmalade? I was just asking Kreacher if we had some," said Harry. Draco looked at him for a moment, then moved towards the table and sat down. Kreacher opened a cupboard and brought a jar of rich orange marmalade to the table. They sat companionably together, and ate breakfast.
After breakfast, instead of going their separate ways, Harry and Draco stayed in the kitchen. Kreacher disappeared upstairs with a giant feather duster, a look of eager anticipation on his ancient face. Harry filled the heavy kettle, and set it on the range. "Tea?" he asked, unhooking a mug from the dresser. Draco looked up, surprise on his face. He had been lost in this thoughts, idly tracing the grain in the wooden table. "Ok," he smiled.
In a few minutes, Harry had set a teapot, two mugs, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and some spoons on the table. He was glad that Kreacher wasn't there to do it, it made him feel a little more connected to the world, just making tea and then sitting down to enjoy it.
It was strange. They'd been sharing the house for a month now, but they weren't quite the same people they'd been at the start.
"I didn't realise you'd been... I didn't know what you'd..." Draco frowned, unable to express what he wanted to say. "What I mean is, you were really fighting the Dar– him, for years, weren't you?"
Harry sighed and nodded. So much for ordinary conversation. But then he thought of something which had occurred to him during Draco's trial. "So were you, weren't you? Maybe not a fight to the death," he smiled wryly, the words of the prophecy ringing in his ears, "but a fight to get free. A fight for your life."
Draco looked up at him, his eyes a piercing shock of grey. "No one's ever described it as that before," he said quietly, then looked down and blinked. "I think I was just scared. There was no plan. No desire to fight, just survive," he whispered.
There was a long silence. "We were just boys," said Harry in the end, a little anger creeping into his voice. "Neither of us should have had to do any of those things."
"Well it's over now. Thanks to you," said Draco. "Thank you," he added, sincerely.
Usually, Harry hated it when people thanked him for killing Voldemort, he hated being reduced down to that single moment in his life, but in Draco's case, he didn't mind: they had shared enough to know that both their lives were defined by more than Voldemort. And Harry had a fair idea of how much of a direct impact Voldemort's demise would have had on Draco's life. He simply nodded in acknowledgment, and poured himself another cup of tea.
They were disturbed by a tapping at the window. Two owls were outside: Harry recognised one as Pigwidgeon, tiny and fluffy and bouncing up and down. He smiled and let them in. Turning to Draco he said, a little sheepishly, "Er, today's actually... it's my birthday today." Draco put down his cup of tea, his eyes wide.
"Today?"
Harry nodded, then collected the letter and small parcel Pig was carrying, and the larger parcel from... ah, it was Hermes, Percy's owl. He couldn't help smiling as he recognised Hermione's handwriting on the letter Hermes had been carrying. He quickly found some scraps of toast for the owls, then headed back to the table carrying his presents. He was halfway to the table when there was a slight crash as Errol landed on the window sill, also bearing a gift. Harry made sure the old owl had some toast too, then sat down with his birthday pile. Draco looked uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know..."
Harry looked up, surprised. "Why should you know? I wasn't expecting a gift, or anything, so don't worry. It's not as if we're frien—" he cut off hastily at the look of hurt on Draco's face. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. We haven't been friends, in the past, and to be honest, I'm not sure what we are now. Housemates?" Harry stopped himself before he dug himself any deeper. Draco had sunk in on himself, and didn't look very happy. He remembered Draco, sitting in the moonlight, and he remembered how relieved he had been that Draco was free. He stopped, confused.
"Can we start again? I didn't mean..."
Draco looked up, but Harry could still see the hurt on his face. He took a deep breath, then nodded. "Happy Birthday, Harry," he said softly. "So what did you get?.
Harry would have preferred not to be opening his presents in this slightly strained atmosphere, but it was still better than so many of his birthdays before. It would just have to do. He picked up the letter from Hermione first.
Dear Harry,
Wishing you a very happy birthday. I'm sorry we can't be there with you, but I hope your present helps. Percy has been holding it for you, I hope you don't mind. We're doing ok, things are going a bit better with my parents and I think we may even be able to come home in the next month or so. Have a lovely day today, we'll be thinking of you.
Love from
Hermione
At the bottom was scrawled another note, from Ron.
Happy Birthday, mate. Guess which present's from me? Sorry not to be there in person to give it to you, but hopefully we'll see you soon.
Ron
Harry felt himself warm with pleasure at the snippets from his friends, and opened his presents from them. In a neatly wrapped parcel was a wooden frame containing a wizarding photo of him with Ron and Hermione. They were sitting together on a wall in Hogsmeade. It looked like it had been taken when they were in their sixth year. They were relaxed and laughing. Harry laughed too, when he saw photo-Ron sneak a little look at photo-Hermione. As he opened the other, much heavier and messier parcel, Draco leant forward to take the photo, waiting a moment for Harry pass it to him, and he sat back, eyes focused on it, his face unreadable. As Harry pulled out a bottle of firewhisky from a tangle of wrappings, obviously his gift from Ron, he caught sight of Draco's closed face, and regretted his earlier words. Deciding that the worst thing to do would be to mention it again, he put the bottle down and reached for his other gifts. Pigwidgeon had been carrying a small box from George. Inside was a selection of wizarding sweets, all Harry's favourites. It made him smile.
The other parcel contained a hamper of lovely home-made jams and chutneys, and a cake from Molly and Arthur. Their card was signed by all the Weasleys, including Ginny. It just said, simply, 'Happy Birthday Harry, and come back when you're ready. You're always welcome here.' Harry had to swallow down the lump in his throat. If Draco was a not-quite friend, the Weasleys were his not-quite family. He was touched by the ordinary nature of all his gifts. It was... it was just what he needed.
Draco was watching him thoughtfully. "These are your presents?" he asked. "All of them?"
Harry looked at the gifts spread out on the table and nodded. "They're perfect,' he whispered.
Draco sat back, looking puzzled. "You're not who I thought you were," he said. "You're... you don't actually want that much in life, do you?" Harry frowned as he tried to understand Draco's question. "I mean, if it were up to you, you'd drink tea and wash up, you're happy with jam as a birthday present and your favourite place appears to be an overgrown mess a garden. I just always thought you wanted... more in life."
Harry laughed, a short, bitter bark. "I've had more in life. Fame. Danger. Death. It wasn't fun, and you're right, it's not what I want. It never was."
He paused for a second before breaking out in a smile, "You're wrong about one thing though. That garden isn't my favourite place. I just prefer being outdoors to being inside," he cocked his head at Draco. "Would you like to see one of my favourite places?" he asked.
"Outside?" asked Draco.
Harry snorted. "Of course. But in Muggle London. So do you want to come? I was planning on going anyway."
Draco thought for a moment before answering. "Ok, yes, yes I'd like to join you. If you're sure."
Harry smiled in answer.
Half an hour later they were both walking, strides matching, heading towards Hampstead Heath. As they walked past the small car park and the old Lido, Harry could see Draco's curiosity growing. "It's an old Muggle park. Well it's not a park, well, not all of it, it's open land, with extra bits added on. We're going to Parliament Hill first, then through the Heath and up to Kenwood. You'll see, it's lovely."
They made their way across an expanse of grass scattered with dog walkers, and onto the foot of the hill, running track to their left, café to their right. They stepped off the path, and Harry nodded in the direction of the trees at the crest of the hill. Being outside with someone else for company on his birthday filled him with a bubbling energy. "Race you to the top?" he asked, and he had just enough time to see Draco's surprised look before he turned and started to run. One quick glance over his shoulder told him that Draco had followed, and they headed straight up, racing each other up the hill; laughter caught in gusts of wind, kites dipping above them. It was warm enough, but not sunny or bright. Collapsing at the top, they sat on a bench huffing and puffing while they got their breath back, each sure they had been first, and pointed out London landmarks to each other – as well as they could on the slightly cloudy day. Harry had got better at recognising the landmarks, and Draco knew quite a few too. "I have had some education, you know," he'd said, when Harry had expressed surprise at him being aware of anything in the Muggle world.
Harry and Draco talked as they made their way through long grass. They talked as if the taboo was still in place, as it was safer, easier to stay on topics with no link to their shared pasts. Harry told Draco of what he understood of the Muggle history of this part of London, and Draco told him about the different wizarding plants that grew in the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even this innocuous topic brought with it an awkward silence, as they both relived their memories of the Manor. Back under the shelter of trees, they found a hidden corner and shared Harry's chocolate frogs and Bertie Botts Beans, his sugar quills and his Fizzing Whizbees. They giggled and acted as if it were Harry's eighth birthday, not his eighteenth, as they chased hopping chocolate.
"This would not be the time to get caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy," said Harry, and although they had both been laughing, the mood changed and they quietened down.
"Still, no one saw us, and that was fun. I haven't chased a chocolate frog for years," Draco looked up grinning.
"You don't think we missed one, do you?" asked Harry, looking around him anxiously.
Draco shook his head. "I was counting them," he said, "they're all gone now." He leant forward. "Well all except–", and he leant forward. For a second, Harry thought he was going to touch him, but Draco just pointed at his face, "–this hideous smear of chocolate on your face." As Harry reached up to wipe it off as Draco continued. "You really are a messy eater, Harry." Harry looked affronted. "I have shared quite a few meals with you recently," Draco arched one brow, and Harry started laughing when he realised that Draco was not being entirely serious. Or he hoped he wasn't, anyway. He was relieved when Draco started laughing too.
They had been to the big house at Kenwood, past the Muggles having tea, and were now walking back along a dusty path, under the cover of trees. The day so far had been pleasant. Harry had never had a birthday like it, and he felt happy, contented. Even the threat of drizzle was not enough to dampen his spirits. They walked back via the Highgate Ponds. They paused by the men's pool. Despite the gathering clouds, there were still a few brave souls swimming. The pool was just a large pond, set to the side of the Heath. Draco looked down into the water and shuddered. "I bet there's mud down there." Below the water, everything was murky, the swimmers' bodies emerging naked from the surface.
Harry looked at the water with longing. He loved being outdoors, and he couldn't think of anything better then stripping off on a hot summer's day, and going for a swim in cool water that smelt of the earth and the living things all around it. When Harry looked up, Draco was blushing. It was then that he became aware of the men around them. One was watching them, his stare frank, his interest open. "Oh," said Harry, understanding, "time to move on, perhaps?" Draco nodded. Seeing the confident pose of the man watching, Harry suddenly felt very much like a boy amongst men, a little out of his depth. He felt uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He turned to Draco and attempted to lighten the mood. "That's what you get for being a pretty boy," he said teasingly, and Draco blushed again and pushed him away. Smiling at how easy it was to unsettle Draco, Harry led him away from the ponds and back down towards home.
oOo
After tea and cake they just about managed the bangers and mash Harry had requested Kreacher cook for his birthday, and settled in the drawing room with the bottle of firewhisky. It was a mild evening, but Harry lit a fire anyway, making sure the Floo was closed. He just wanted a quiet evening. Harry felt he needed to make amends for what he'd said to Draco earlier.
"Draco, about this morning, I—"
Draco shook his head. "You were just being honest. We may have been able to live together peacefully enough, but we hated each other for years. And so much has happened..." he shrugged.
"I don't, you know," said Harry after a moment, "hate you, that is. I haven't since sixth year, I think."
"Really? I don't hate you either, but," and here Draco paused and sighed loudly, "I did hate you especially much in sixth year." His hand moved to his chest, and he looked down as if surprised to see it there.
Harry cringed. He balled his hands into fists then forced them open again, rubbing them back and forth on the tops of his legs. "I'm sorry," he took a breath and swallowed, "I've wanted to say that for years. I'm sorry I hurt you."
Draco looked at him, his eyes heavy and focused. "You almost killed me," he said, icily. This was it, thought Harry, this was why they couldn't be friends. Or one of the reasons, anyway. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
"I was angry with you for a long time. You almost killed me, and yet you didn't appear to be in any trouble. Anyone else would have been expelled. And I wasn't exactly having a great time anyway, that year."
"I... I didn't know what that spell did, just that it was 'for enemies'. Using it was one of the most stupid things I've ever done. For what it's worth, as well as being sorry. I'm glad you're ok. I'm glad that you're here, now." Harry tried to show, somehow, with his eyes that he meant what he was saying. "I'm growing to like you, Draco, and I'd like it if we could at least try to be friends."
Draco still looked unsure. "I'm not as angry as I was, but I don't know how easy it would be for us to be friends. Don't forget, before you cast that cutting spell, I was trying to use the Cruciatus Curseon you," he cast his eyes down, unhappiness radiating out from him.
Harry stopped. He thought he understood now. "Draco. Draco, look at me," Draco looked up, and there were tears in the corner of his eyes, "You're right. There is a lot of history between us, and some of it is terrible. But if we want to be friends, why not?" He paused, struggling to find the words to convey what he wanted to say. "We can try to know each other a little better, and that might mean we can't avoid these things, but that we need to talk about them instead. Maybe one day you could... you could tell me about that year? If you want to, of course. I'd like to understand."
Draco looked at him, and Harry could suddenly clearly see the years of unhappiness etched on his face. Something opened, briefly, in his expression, but then it closed down again. Harry wanted to reach out, somehow, and touch Draco to reassure him, but he didn't. Instead, he sat back and sat, in silence, giving Draco the time he needed. If Draco wanted to talk, he could, but Harry didn't want to force him into it.
After a minute or two of awkward silence between them,Harry decided that the last thing Draco needed was him hovering, waiting for some kind of a response, so he went down to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of firewhisky that Ron had sent him. When he got back Draco still didn't look like he wanted to talk, so Harry poured them both a glass, then sat staring into the fire, taking little burning sips of his drink. He was lost in his thoughts when he became aware of Draco hesitantly pulling himself up in his chair. Harry turned his attention back to Draco, and waited, still not daring to say anything which might put him off; he was under the impression that the merest sound would have Draco darting out of the door.
Draco cleared his throat and looked up, and then away. "I think... I will tell you about it. I haven't really spoken to anyone about–" he stopped, and drank a little from his glass, gulping and grimacing all at once, then it down a little shakily, and it made a small ringing sound as he settled it on the small table. "I'm not sure where to start. I suppose..." he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin, this is difficult," he muttered. Harry remained silent, and Draco took a deep breath and began. "I idolised my father, for years. I wanted to be him. I know he never gave you any reason to like him, but as a boy I thought he was wonderful. He loved me so fiercely, when I did something well he would always reward me with something beautiful. He used to say 'Only the best for the best'," Draco smiled slightly at the memory. "After he went to Azkaban I suddenly had my chance to take his place, to make him proud. I willingly took the Mark—" and here, he suddenly pushed up his sleeve to show Harry, who recoiled despite himself: it was such an ugly thing on his pale skin, "—which hurt like fuck, by the way, and I should have known it was a bad idea but I was young and stupid," he spat the last word out, "and suddenly I discovered that being a Death Eater was not glamorous or powerful. It was awful. Everyone crawled round that maniac and there was no power, no glory. Only fear and terror. I was given an impossible mission and told if I failed my mother would die."
Draco pulled down his sleeve, then picked up his glass and took a sip of his drink. He sat a while, rubbing his arm before continuing.
"I was scared, and alone. You know what I did, how desperate I became. I could have killed your friend Weasley. And Katie Bell." Draco shot Harry a look full of self-disgust and confusion. "I don't know how you can even look at me, let alone sit with me or say we might be friends," he scowled and held his glass tightly in both hands. Harry somehow managed to stay in his chair, but he was shaking. Draco had done all those terrible things, but just looking at him, seeing that self-hatred, Harry still couldn't bring himself to hate him. What he felt instead was... complicated. He wasn't sure what to call it. Sadness, maybe.
"By the time I stood with Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, I was falling apart. Your... experiment with unknown spells cut me in more way than one, you know." Harry took a nervous sip of his firewhisky, uncomfortable at being reminded just what he had so thoughtlessly done to Draco. "It left me hating you for making me feel even more... disposable than I had been before. I didn't matter to anyone, except perhaps my mother." A single tear ran down Draco's face, and his voice was beginning to crack.
Harry cleared his throat. He was beginning to regret asking Draco to tell him about his sixth year. He hadn't realised that it would be so difficult. For him too. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.
Except this time, Draco looked up and wiped his face dry, then paused, his eyes fixed on Harry. "Thank you, that means a lot," he whispered. After a moment, he continued where he'd left off. "I'd already let Death Eaters into the school: in some twisted way I hoped it would bring me approval, success. I didn't think of what they would do to anyone. I had long taken every bit of... good inside me, every bit that cared what happened to other people, and I shut it away. I didn't need it, I couldn't survive if I even acknowledged it," he paused, looking haunted. "I didn't expect that filthy werewolf to come, he was... terrible... frightening.
Draco stared into the flames. "But I wasn't as strong as I thought. Faced with Dumbledore – even though I knew failure would mean the... end for my mother – I still couldn't do it. He'd had never done anything worse to me than award points to Gryffindor. I was weak, and Mother was the one who my weakness was going to harm, but I couldn't... If Snape hadn't, I don't know what would have happened to her. Or me." He stared, glumly, into his glass.
"And then last year... Last year was just one long lesson in how little I was needed, how little I mattered. Fear was just... it tainted everything. I almost stopped thinking entirely. It was only when I saw Crabbe fall, when the flames came for me, that I realised that I didn't want to give up, after all," he looked up at Harry again. "And then there you were," he whispered.
"I couldn't leave you to die," said Harry, and then he was silent. So many people had died that day.
Harry sat for a long moment, thinking and trying to really take in what Draco had told him. It was not a tale told lightly, or he suspected, to anyone else. When Harry finally spoke, it was with a mix of awe that Draco hadn't been completely crushed to madness by his experiences, and sadness that both their lives had been so blighted by Voldemort. "You– Thank you for being honest with me. I sometimes wonder what out lives would have been like without Voldemort."
Draco made a noise. "Well I'd probably still believe all that pureblood crap. One thing I've learnt is that it's all just blood. Anyone is capable of stupidity, or pride, or brilliance. No matter who your parents were," he paused, his dismissive tone turning more wistful as he continued. "Although at least I'd have somewhere I belong, something, no matter how ridiculous, to believe in." He took another sip of his drink and sighed.
"I'd still have my parents," whispered Harry, "and my godfather."
Draco stilled, and looked at him sadly. "Sometimes I almost forget that this started with you losing your parents," he murmured. "I'm sorry Harry, I know I feel I've lost my father in some ways, but I'm not sure that it compares to what happened to you."
Harry shook his head. "It's all important, Draco." He sat quietly for a minute, lost in his thoughts.
"May I ask you a question?" said Draco after a while. "I got the feeling that you were holding back, in front of the Wizengamot," Harry nodded, uncertain where this was going. "What really happened," whispered Draco, "in the Forest?"
Harry let out a huge exhale of breath and laughed, a little shakily. "Just a small question, then?" He looked at Draco carefully. He was sitting with his body drawn tight, as if trying to take up as little room as possible. His hair was bright in the firelight, but his skin was too pale, a waxy cast to it. He decided that as there wasn't anything Draco could do to hurt him now, he might as well trust him, a little bit. Draco had told him a dark truth. He had one he could tell in return.
"I um– well basically, Draco, I died, and saw all the people I knew in my life who'd died too," Harry said. He thought he'd just cut to the chase.
"You died?" said Draco, his mouth hanging open but sitting upright now. "You actually died?"
"Yes," nodded Harry, "and I knew that I was going to. I didn't know that I had a choice about coming back, though." Draco sat back and brought his hands to his mouth. He rubbed his chin.
"That's why you're the hero, not me," he looked up, "Seriously, you knew you were walking to your death? What... what was it like?"
"Well I had finally worked out that the only way to defeat Voldemort was to end the... connection between us," he pointed to his scar, "and the only way to do that was to die. So when he called, I came," Harry shuddered, remembering Voldemort's voice seeping into every corner of Hogwarts. "I saw my parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks. They... kept me company," he swallowed. "But when I actually died, there was nothing there, not really. I was waiting – it was like Kings Cross station, but empty and the train hadn't come yet. I spoke to Dumbledore," he added with a whisper.
"It was so quiet. And then I came back, and I left the peace so I could fight Voldemort." He paused, remembering the shock of coming back to consciousness, straight back into fear and fighting. "I haven't really found much peace since then. Emptiness, perhaps, but it's really not the same," he sighed. "It changed me – not physically, or anything like that. I just feel like I've started life again, and I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. To be honest I'm not sure what to do with my life now, having already seen it end," and now it was Harry's turn to break off and stare into the flickering flames, as if searching for answers. "I guess I just want to be ordinary and insignificant, and enjoy the clouds and the moon and the feeling of grass beneath my feet. Not while running or hiding, either. I need to feel part of the real world." Harry brought his glass to his lips, but realised it was empty. He stood up and picked up the bottle. "More?" he asked, holding it up to Draco, who mutely held his glass up for a refill.
When Harry sat down Draco held his glass up again. "To finding peace," he said, and they clinked glasses.
"I guess that makes two of us then," said Draco. "Lost, I mean," he was quiet for a moment. "Maybe we can be friends. If you want to, knowing what you do about my past."
Harry snorted. "If you don't mind the fact that I've been dead," he said, and smiled sadly, thinking of Ginny. "It does... unsettle some people." Draco shook his head. "Maybe we should just start afresh. I don't think we're quite the same people we were before."
They talked and drank, until a gentle lassitude fell upon them. Draco entertained Harry with tales of Slytherin politics over the years. Harry was having trouble keeping up. But the details didn't really matter. Their day caught up with them in the end, the gruelling pressures and stresses of the trials, their long walk, and the small unburdening of their souls. In the drowsy warmth of the fire-lit room, their speech slowed until they fell asleep together.
>>Chapter Six
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): ~27,000 (~5,000)
Warning(s): Mostly misery and friendships, not much HPDM until later chapters.
Betas:
birdsofshore and evilgiraffChapter One
A/N: Things start to change a bit now, as Harry and Draco get to know each other a bit better. Thanks for the reviews and comments, It's good to know that someone's reading this! :)
<<Chapter Four
Chapter 5 - Not-quite Friends
"Kreacher, do you know if we have any marmal—" Harry broke off at the sight of Draco walking into the kitchen at breakfast. It had been a while since Draco had eaten in the kitchen.
"Minister Shacklebolt told me that he lifted the Taboo," said Draco softly, shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes focused on some point over Harry's shoulder. Harry felt strangely awkward around Draco. Without the restrictions on their conversation, suddenly chasms of difference and uncertainty opened between them. Plus they had just shared some of the worst moments of their lives in front of each other and the world in general. What Harry needed was a bit of ordinary life, not more of the same battles and feelings. He acted accordingly.
"Do you want marmalade? I was just asking Kreacher if we had some," said Harry. Draco looked at him for a moment, then moved towards the table and sat down. Kreacher opened a cupboard and brought a jar of rich orange marmalade to the table. They sat companionably together, and ate breakfast.
After breakfast, instead of going their separate ways, Harry and Draco stayed in the kitchen. Kreacher disappeared upstairs with a giant feather duster, a look of eager anticipation on his ancient face. Harry filled the heavy kettle, and set it on the range. "Tea?" he asked, unhooking a mug from the dresser. Draco looked up, surprise on his face. He had been lost in this thoughts, idly tracing the grain in the wooden table. "Ok," he smiled.
In a few minutes, Harry had set a teapot, two mugs, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and some spoons on the table. He was glad that Kreacher wasn't there to do it, it made him feel a little more connected to the world, just making tea and then sitting down to enjoy it.
It was strange. They'd been sharing the house for a month now, but they weren't quite the same people they'd been at the start.
"I didn't realise you'd been... I didn't know what you'd..." Draco frowned, unable to express what he wanted to say. "What I mean is, you were really fighting the Dar– him, for years, weren't you?"
Harry sighed and nodded. So much for ordinary conversation. But then he thought of something which had occurred to him during Draco's trial. "So were you, weren't you? Maybe not a fight to the death," he smiled wryly, the words of the prophecy ringing in his ears, "but a fight to get free. A fight for your life."
Draco looked up at him, his eyes a piercing shock of grey. "No one's ever described it as that before," he said quietly, then looked down and blinked. "I think I was just scared. There was no plan. No desire to fight, just survive," he whispered.
There was a long silence. "We were just boys," said Harry in the end, a little anger creeping into his voice. "Neither of us should have had to do any of those things."
"Well it's over now. Thanks to you," said Draco. "Thank you," he added, sincerely.
Usually, Harry hated it when people thanked him for killing Voldemort, he hated being reduced down to that single moment in his life, but in Draco's case, he didn't mind: they had shared enough to know that both their lives were defined by more than Voldemort. And Harry had a fair idea of how much of a direct impact Voldemort's demise would have had on Draco's life. He simply nodded in acknowledgment, and poured himself another cup of tea.
They were disturbed by a tapping at the window. Two owls were outside: Harry recognised one as Pigwidgeon, tiny and fluffy and bouncing up and down. He smiled and let them in. Turning to Draco he said, a little sheepishly, "Er, today's actually... it's my birthday today." Draco put down his cup of tea, his eyes wide.
"Today?"
Harry nodded, then collected the letter and small parcel Pig was carrying, and the larger parcel from... ah, it was Hermes, Percy's owl. He couldn't help smiling as he recognised Hermione's handwriting on the letter Hermes had been carrying. He quickly found some scraps of toast for the owls, then headed back to the table carrying his presents. He was halfway to the table when there was a slight crash as Errol landed on the window sill, also bearing a gift. Harry made sure the old owl had some toast too, then sat down with his birthday pile. Draco looked uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know..."
Harry looked up, surprised. "Why should you know? I wasn't expecting a gift, or anything, so don't worry. It's not as if we're frien—" he cut off hastily at the look of hurt on Draco's face. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. We haven't been friends, in the past, and to be honest, I'm not sure what we are now. Housemates?" Harry stopped himself before he dug himself any deeper. Draco had sunk in on himself, and didn't look very happy. He remembered Draco, sitting in the moonlight, and he remembered how relieved he had been that Draco was free. He stopped, confused.
"Can we start again? I didn't mean..."
Draco looked up, but Harry could still see the hurt on his face. He took a deep breath, then nodded. "Happy Birthday, Harry," he said softly. "So what did you get?.
Harry would have preferred not to be opening his presents in this slightly strained atmosphere, but it was still better than so many of his birthdays before. It would just have to do. He picked up the letter from Hermione first.
Dear Harry,
Wishing you a very happy birthday. I'm sorry we can't be there with you, but I hope your present helps. Percy has been holding it for you, I hope you don't mind. We're doing ok, things are going a bit better with my parents and I think we may even be able to come home in the next month or so. Have a lovely day today, we'll be thinking of you.
Love from
Hermione
At the bottom was scrawled another note, from Ron.
Happy Birthday, mate. Guess which present's from me? Sorry not to be there in person to give it to you, but hopefully we'll see you soon.
Ron
Harry felt himself warm with pleasure at the snippets from his friends, and opened his presents from them. In a neatly wrapped parcel was a wooden frame containing a wizarding photo of him with Ron and Hermione. They were sitting together on a wall in Hogsmeade. It looked like it had been taken when they were in their sixth year. They were relaxed and laughing. Harry laughed too, when he saw photo-Ron sneak a little look at photo-Hermione. As he opened the other, much heavier and messier parcel, Draco leant forward to take the photo, waiting a moment for Harry pass it to him, and he sat back, eyes focused on it, his face unreadable. As Harry pulled out a bottle of firewhisky from a tangle of wrappings, obviously his gift from Ron, he caught sight of Draco's closed face, and regretted his earlier words. Deciding that the worst thing to do would be to mention it again, he put the bottle down and reached for his other gifts. Pigwidgeon had been carrying a small box from George. Inside was a selection of wizarding sweets, all Harry's favourites. It made him smile.
The other parcel contained a hamper of lovely home-made jams and chutneys, and a cake from Molly and Arthur. Their card was signed by all the Weasleys, including Ginny. It just said, simply, 'Happy Birthday Harry, and come back when you're ready. You're always welcome here.' Harry had to swallow down the lump in his throat. If Draco was a not-quite friend, the Weasleys were his not-quite family. He was touched by the ordinary nature of all his gifts. It was... it was just what he needed.
Draco was watching him thoughtfully. "These are your presents?" he asked. "All of them?"
Harry looked at the gifts spread out on the table and nodded. "They're perfect,' he whispered.
Draco sat back, looking puzzled. "You're not who I thought you were," he said. "You're... you don't actually want that much in life, do you?" Harry frowned as he tried to understand Draco's question. "I mean, if it were up to you, you'd drink tea and wash up, you're happy with jam as a birthday present and your favourite place appears to be an overgrown mess a garden. I just always thought you wanted... more in life."
Harry laughed, a short, bitter bark. "I've had more in life. Fame. Danger. Death. It wasn't fun, and you're right, it's not what I want. It never was."
He paused for a second before breaking out in a smile, "You're wrong about one thing though. That garden isn't my favourite place. I just prefer being outdoors to being inside," he cocked his head at Draco. "Would you like to see one of my favourite places?" he asked.
"Outside?" asked Draco.
Harry snorted. "Of course. But in Muggle London. So do you want to come? I was planning on going anyway."
Draco thought for a moment before answering. "Ok, yes, yes I'd like to join you. If you're sure."
Harry smiled in answer.
Half an hour later they were both walking, strides matching, heading towards Hampstead Heath. As they walked past the small car park and the old Lido, Harry could see Draco's curiosity growing. "It's an old Muggle park. Well it's not a park, well, not all of it, it's open land, with extra bits added on. We're going to Parliament Hill first, then through the Heath and up to Kenwood. You'll see, it's lovely."
They made their way across an expanse of grass scattered with dog walkers, and onto the foot of the hill, running track to their left, café to their right. They stepped off the path, and Harry nodded in the direction of the trees at the crest of the hill. Being outside with someone else for company on his birthday filled him with a bubbling energy. "Race you to the top?" he asked, and he had just enough time to see Draco's surprised look before he turned and started to run. One quick glance over his shoulder told him that Draco had followed, and they headed straight up, racing each other up the hill; laughter caught in gusts of wind, kites dipping above them. It was warm enough, but not sunny or bright. Collapsing at the top, they sat on a bench huffing and puffing while they got their breath back, each sure they had been first, and pointed out London landmarks to each other – as well as they could on the slightly cloudy day. Harry had got better at recognising the landmarks, and Draco knew quite a few too. "I have had some education, you know," he'd said, when Harry had expressed surprise at him being aware of anything in the Muggle world.
Harry and Draco talked as they made their way through long grass. They talked as if the taboo was still in place, as it was safer, easier to stay on topics with no link to their shared pasts. Harry told Draco of what he understood of the Muggle history of this part of London, and Draco told him about the different wizarding plants that grew in the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even this innocuous topic brought with it an awkward silence, as they both relived their memories of the Manor. Back under the shelter of trees, they found a hidden corner and shared Harry's chocolate frogs and Bertie Botts Beans, his sugar quills and his Fizzing Whizbees. They giggled and acted as if it were Harry's eighth birthday, not his eighteenth, as they chased hopping chocolate.
"This would not be the time to get caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy," said Harry, and although they had both been laughing, the mood changed and they quietened down.
"Still, no one saw us, and that was fun. I haven't chased a chocolate frog for years," Draco looked up grinning.
"You don't think we missed one, do you?" asked Harry, looking around him anxiously.
Draco shook his head. "I was counting them," he said, "they're all gone now." He leant forward. "Well all except–", and he leant forward. For a second, Harry thought he was going to touch him, but Draco just pointed at his face, "–this hideous smear of chocolate on your face." As Harry reached up to wipe it off as Draco continued. "You really are a messy eater, Harry." Harry looked affronted. "I have shared quite a few meals with you recently," Draco arched one brow, and Harry started laughing when he realised that Draco was not being entirely serious. Or he hoped he wasn't, anyway. He was relieved when Draco started laughing too.
They had been to the big house at Kenwood, past the Muggles having tea, and were now walking back along a dusty path, under the cover of trees. The day so far had been pleasant. Harry had never had a birthday like it, and he felt happy, contented. Even the threat of drizzle was not enough to dampen his spirits. They walked back via the Highgate Ponds. They paused by the men's pool. Despite the gathering clouds, there were still a few brave souls swimming. The pool was just a large pond, set to the side of the Heath. Draco looked down into the water and shuddered. "I bet there's mud down there." Below the water, everything was murky, the swimmers' bodies emerging naked from the surface.
Harry looked at the water with longing. He loved being outdoors, and he couldn't think of anything better then stripping off on a hot summer's day, and going for a swim in cool water that smelt of the earth and the living things all around it. When Harry looked up, Draco was blushing. It was then that he became aware of the men around them. One was watching them, his stare frank, his interest open. "Oh," said Harry, understanding, "time to move on, perhaps?" Draco nodded. Seeing the confident pose of the man watching, Harry suddenly felt very much like a boy amongst men, a little out of his depth. He felt uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He turned to Draco and attempted to lighten the mood. "That's what you get for being a pretty boy," he said teasingly, and Draco blushed again and pushed him away. Smiling at how easy it was to unsettle Draco, Harry led him away from the ponds and back down towards home.
After tea and cake they just about managed the bangers and mash Harry had requested Kreacher cook for his birthday, and settled in the drawing room with the bottle of firewhisky. It was a mild evening, but Harry lit a fire anyway, making sure the Floo was closed. He just wanted a quiet evening. Harry felt he needed to make amends for what he'd said to Draco earlier.
"Draco, about this morning, I—"
Draco shook his head. "You were just being honest. We may have been able to live together peacefully enough, but we hated each other for years. And so much has happened..." he shrugged.
"I don't, you know," said Harry after a moment, "hate you, that is. I haven't since sixth year, I think."
"Really? I don't hate you either, but," and here Draco paused and sighed loudly, "I did hate you especially much in sixth year." His hand moved to his chest, and he looked down as if surprised to see it there.
Harry cringed. He balled his hands into fists then forced them open again, rubbing them back and forth on the tops of his legs. "I'm sorry," he took a breath and swallowed, "I've wanted to say that for years. I'm sorry I hurt you."
Draco looked at him, his eyes heavy and focused. "You almost killed me," he said, icily. This was it, thought Harry, this was why they couldn't be friends. Or one of the reasons, anyway. "I'm sorry," he repeated.
"I was angry with you for a long time. You almost killed me, and yet you didn't appear to be in any trouble. Anyone else would have been expelled. And I wasn't exactly having a great time anyway, that year."
"I... I didn't know what that spell did, just that it was 'for enemies'. Using it was one of the most stupid things I've ever done. For what it's worth, as well as being sorry. I'm glad you're ok. I'm glad that you're here, now." Harry tried to show, somehow, with his eyes that he meant what he was saying. "I'm growing to like you, Draco, and I'd like it if we could at least try to be friends."
Draco still looked unsure. "I'm not as angry as I was, but I don't know how easy it would be for us to be friends. Don't forget, before you cast that cutting spell, I was trying to use the Cruciatus Curseon you," he cast his eyes down, unhappiness radiating out from him.
Harry stopped. He thought he understood now. "Draco. Draco, look at me," Draco looked up, and there were tears in the corner of his eyes, "You're right. There is a lot of history between us, and some of it is terrible. But if we want to be friends, why not?" He paused, struggling to find the words to convey what he wanted to say. "We can try to know each other a little better, and that might mean we can't avoid these things, but that we need to talk about them instead. Maybe one day you could... you could tell me about that year? If you want to, of course. I'd like to understand."
Draco looked at him, and Harry could suddenly clearly see the years of unhappiness etched on his face. Something opened, briefly, in his expression, but then it closed down again. Harry wanted to reach out, somehow, and touch Draco to reassure him, but he didn't. Instead, he sat back and sat, in silence, giving Draco the time he needed. If Draco wanted to talk, he could, but Harry didn't want to force him into it.
After a minute or two of awkward silence between them,Harry decided that the last thing Draco needed was him hovering, waiting for some kind of a response, so he went down to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of firewhisky that Ron had sent him. When he got back Draco still didn't look like he wanted to talk, so Harry poured them both a glass, then sat staring into the fire, taking little burning sips of his drink. He was lost in his thoughts when he became aware of Draco hesitantly pulling himself up in his chair. Harry turned his attention back to Draco, and waited, still not daring to say anything which might put him off; he was under the impression that the merest sound would have Draco darting out of the door.
Draco cleared his throat and looked up, and then away. "I think... I will tell you about it. I haven't really spoken to anyone about–" he stopped, and drank a little from his glass, gulping and grimacing all at once, then it down a little shakily, and it made a small ringing sound as he settled it on the small table. "I'm not sure where to start. I suppose..." he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin, this is difficult," he muttered. Harry remained silent, and Draco took a deep breath and began. "I idolised my father, for years. I wanted to be him. I know he never gave you any reason to like him, but as a boy I thought he was wonderful. He loved me so fiercely, when I did something well he would always reward me with something beautiful. He used to say 'Only the best for the best'," Draco smiled slightly at the memory. "After he went to Azkaban I suddenly had my chance to take his place, to make him proud. I willingly took the Mark—" and here, he suddenly pushed up his sleeve to show Harry, who recoiled despite himself: it was such an ugly thing on his pale skin, "—which hurt like fuck, by the way, and I should have known it was a bad idea but I was young and stupid," he spat the last word out, "and suddenly I discovered that being a Death Eater was not glamorous or powerful. It was awful. Everyone crawled round that maniac and there was no power, no glory. Only fear and terror. I was given an impossible mission and told if I failed my mother would die."
Draco pulled down his sleeve, then picked up his glass and took a sip of his drink. He sat a while, rubbing his arm before continuing.
"I was scared, and alone. You know what I did, how desperate I became. I could have killed your friend Weasley. And Katie Bell." Draco shot Harry a look full of self-disgust and confusion. "I don't know how you can even look at me, let alone sit with me or say we might be friends," he scowled and held his glass tightly in both hands. Harry somehow managed to stay in his chair, but he was shaking. Draco had done all those terrible things, but just looking at him, seeing that self-hatred, Harry still couldn't bring himself to hate him. What he felt instead was... complicated. He wasn't sure what to call it. Sadness, maybe.
"By the time I stood with Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower, I was falling apart. Your... experiment with unknown spells cut me in more way than one, you know." Harry took a nervous sip of his firewhisky, uncomfortable at being reminded just what he had so thoughtlessly done to Draco. "It left me hating you for making me feel even more... disposable than I had been before. I didn't matter to anyone, except perhaps my mother." A single tear ran down Draco's face, and his voice was beginning to crack.
Harry cleared his throat. He was beginning to regret asking Draco to tell him about his sixth year. He hadn't realised that it would be so difficult. For him too. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.
Except this time, Draco looked up and wiped his face dry, then paused, his eyes fixed on Harry. "Thank you, that means a lot," he whispered. After a moment, he continued where he'd left off. "I'd already let Death Eaters into the school: in some twisted way I hoped it would bring me approval, success. I didn't think of what they would do to anyone. I had long taken every bit of... good inside me, every bit that cared what happened to other people, and I shut it away. I didn't need it, I couldn't survive if I even acknowledged it," he paused, looking haunted. "I didn't expect that filthy werewolf to come, he was... terrible... frightening.
Draco stared into the flames. "But I wasn't as strong as I thought. Faced with Dumbledore – even though I knew failure would mean the... end for my mother – I still couldn't do it. He'd had never done anything worse to me than award points to Gryffindor. I was weak, and Mother was the one who my weakness was going to harm, but I couldn't... If Snape hadn't, I don't know what would have happened to her. Or me." He stared, glumly, into his glass.
"And then last year... Last year was just one long lesson in how little I was needed, how little I mattered. Fear was just... it tainted everything. I almost stopped thinking entirely. It was only when I saw Crabbe fall, when the flames came for me, that I realised that I didn't want to give up, after all," he looked up at Harry again. "And then there you were," he whispered.
"I couldn't leave you to die," said Harry, and then he was silent. So many people had died that day.
Harry sat for a long moment, thinking and trying to really take in what Draco had told him. It was not a tale told lightly, or he suspected, to anyone else. When Harry finally spoke, it was with a mix of awe that Draco hadn't been completely crushed to madness by his experiences, and sadness that both their lives had been so blighted by Voldemort. "You– Thank you for being honest with me. I sometimes wonder what out lives would have been like without Voldemort."
Draco made a noise. "Well I'd probably still believe all that pureblood crap. One thing I've learnt is that it's all just blood. Anyone is capable of stupidity, or pride, or brilliance. No matter who your parents were," he paused, his dismissive tone turning more wistful as he continued. "Although at least I'd have somewhere I belong, something, no matter how ridiculous, to believe in." He took another sip of his drink and sighed.
"I'd still have my parents," whispered Harry, "and my godfather."
Draco stilled, and looked at him sadly. "Sometimes I almost forget that this started with you losing your parents," he murmured. "I'm sorry Harry, I know I feel I've lost my father in some ways, but I'm not sure that it compares to what happened to you."
Harry shook his head. "It's all important, Draco." He sat quietly for a minute, lost in his thoughts.
"May I ask you a question?" said Draco after a while. "I got the feeling that you were holding back, in front of the Wizengamot," Harry nodded, uncertain where this was going. "What really happened," whispered Draco, "in the Forest?"
Harry let out a huge exhale of breath and laughed, a little shakily. "Just a small question, then?" He looked at Draco carefully. He was sitting with his body drawn tight, as if trying to take up as little room as possible. His hair was bright in the firelight, but his skin was too pale, a waxy cast to it. He decided that as there wasn't anything Draco could do to hurt him now, he might as well trust him, a little bit. Draco had told him a dark truth. He had one he could tell in return.
"I um– well basically, Draco, I died, and saw all the people I knew in my life who'd died too," Harry said. He thought he'd just cut to the chase.
"You died?" said Draco, his mouth hanging open but sitting upright now. "You actually died?"
"Yes," nodded Harry, "and I knew that I was going to. I didn't know that I had a choice about coming back, though." Draco sat back and brought his hands to his mouth. He rubbed his chin.
"That's why you're the hero, not me," he looked up, "Seriously, you knew you were walking to your death? What... what was it like?"
"Well I had finally worked out that the only way to defeat Voldemort was to end the... connection between us," he pointed to his scar, "and the only way to do that was to die. So when he called, I came," Harry shuddered, remembering Voldemort's voice seeping into every corner of Hogwarts. "I saw my parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks. They... kept me company," he swallowed. "But when I actually died, there was nothing there, not really. I was waiting – it was like Kings Cross station, but empty and the train hadn't come yet. I spoke to Dumbledore," he added with a whisper.
"It was so quiet. And then I came back, and I left the peace so I could fight Voldemort." He paused, remembering the shock of coming back to consciousness, straight back into fear and fighting. "I haven't really found much peace since then. Emptiness, perhaps, but it's really not the same," he sighed. "It changed me – not physically, or anything like that. I just feel like I've started life again, and I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing. To be honest I'm not sure what to do with my life now, having already seen it end," and now it was Harry's turn to break off and stare into the flickering flames, as if searching for answers. "I guess I just want to be ordinary and insignificant, and enjoy the clouds and the moon and the feeling of grass beneath my feet. Not while running or hiding, either. I need to feel part of the real world." Harry brought his glass to his lips, but realised it was empty. He stood up and picked up the bottle. "More?" he asked, holding it up to Draco, who mutely held his glass up for a refill.
When Harry sat down Draco held his glass up again. "To finding peace," he said, and they clinked glasses.
"I guess that makes two of us then," said Draco. "Lost, I mean," he was quiet for a moment. "Maybe we can be friends. If you want to, knowing what you do about my past."
Harry snorted. "If you don't mind the fact that I've been dead," he said, and smiled sadly, thinking of Ginny. "It does... unsettle some people." Draco shook his head. "Maybe we should just start afresh. I don't think we're quite the same people we were before."
They talked and drank, until a gentle lassitude fell upon them. Draco entertained Harry with tales of Slytherin politics over the years. Harry was having trouble keeping up. But the details didn't really matter. Their day caught up with them in the end, the gruelling pressures and stresses of the trials, their long walk, and the small unburdening of their souls. In the drowsy warmth of the fire-lit room, their speech slowed until they fell asleep together.
>>Chapter Six
