Say Good-bye to Yesterday(3/4)
Title: Say Good-bye To Yesterday (3/4)
Author: faynia
Giftee: sesheta_66
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, implied Harry/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,471
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has put forth a new program to retrain Death Eaters once the war is done, and Draco Malfoy is one of the many candidates. But how well can Harry cope with the task of keeping an eye on him?
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried to get in everything sesheta_66 asked for, especially plot! Lots and lots of plot. Hope you like it!
Beta'd by rakina, windout, and xos2ed
Part 1 | Part 2
The next afternoon Harry and Draco were heading into town. Draco found something to criticize every step of the way, but Harry chose to just ignore him. The weather was perfect and he wasn’t going to let Malfoy ruin it for him. It had been too long since he had been able to wander around the country just for the hell of it, and he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Every whining word,” Harry answered, not even bothering to look at the blond. He didn’t have to, he could feel the scowl directed at him.
Malfoy muttered something under his breath, and Harry found he didn’t care what the surly man had to say this time. He glanced up at the sky, spotting storm clouds in the distance. Their distance was the only comfort they gave Harry. A storm was the last thing he wanted to get stuck in with Malfoy. He blinked when suddenly Malfoy sped up in front of him.
“What are you doing?”
The blond threw a dirty look over his shoulder. “Getting this trip over with.”
Harry smirked and shook his head. Really, if Malfoy insisted on acting like a seven year old, he was going to be treated that way as well. He already had his two nieces to worry about. He didn’t need another child to add into the equation. “You do realize at the speed you’re walking you’ll be tired out before we’re even halfway there, right?”
Malfoy slowed down a fraction, letting Harry catch up to him. “Just how far are we going?”
“You’re finally asking?”
“Potter,” Malfoy snarled. “Just tell me how much further I’m going to be walking.”
Harry looked the man over with a frown. His cheeks were turning pink, and he suspected it was more from the sun than exertion, but it was the slight tremor in his frame that was bothersome. He wouldn’t point it out if Malfoy didn’t bring it up first.
“It’ll take another ten minutes or so.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Positive, once we get down this hill we’ll be in town.”
“Only you would voluntarily wish to stay here in sheep country, Potter.”
“I’m sorry if it isn’t up to your usual standards, Malfoy. Would you rather I had left you alone to starve?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Harry waited for the inevitable answer. The other man wasn’t stupid. He knew how the metal band on his wrist affected him. The piece of jewelry was reflecting the sun’s rays, making it shine and very hard to miss. He couldn’t wait until he could finally take it off.
“You couldn’t.”
Harry sighed. “No, I couldn’t.”
Malfoy fell silent much to Harry’s delight. The rest of the trip was spent walking in silence. Harry didn’t comment when Malfoy chose to stay close to his side.
The market square was fairly busy for a weekday. Harry glanced around at all the street vendors, taking in all the fresh produce. It once again struck him how long it had been since he had been here, and how much he missed it. There had been a reason for his move here, and this right here was one of them.
“Come on,” he muttered, gripping Malfoy’s elbow and steering him towards a fruit vendor. The woman manning the cart smiled in a friendly way as Harry browsed through the various types.
“Bananas.”
“What?” Harry glanced up to see Malfoy standing a few feet away, his gaze on the ground. “Bananas?”
“Yes.”
Harry shrugged, grabbing a bunch of them. They still had a bit of green to them, which suited him just fine. They would last longer. “Anything else?”
“Does she have any pears?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Harry laughed, picking up a melon and pressing it with his fingers to see if any of it was soft. His eyes flickered up to see the amusement of the vendor. He hated to admit that he was having a good time of this. Who knew picking out fruit would be safe common ground? Who knew Malfoy liked fruit? That thought almost made him snicker, but he managed to prevent himself from doing so. One of them had to remain sane-sounding.
“Don’t belittle me.”
Harry set the melon down and turned in confusion. “What?”
“I said, don’t belittle me, Potter. I’m not one of your nieces and I’m not an invalid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You'd better be,” Malfoy grumbled, pushing him aside so he was in front of the cart instead. Harry let him do as he wanted, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the square. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Malfoy would get uptight over being teased, but then, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. They just happened to be in the same house, by necessity.
Harry was still considering leaving once the house was sufficiently stocked with food. Malfoy could fend for himself. And if the worst came to the worst, well, Harry would know right away. He shivered, folding his arms across his chest. The wind was beginning to pick up, never a good sign. He cast his gaze heavenward only to see the blue sky from earlier was clouding over.
“Malfoy, did you get your pears?”
“Yes,” he said, holding out the plastic bag full of the fruit. Harry counted exactly five pears and kept that in mind for later. He didn’t know when or why he’d need to know what Malfoy’s favorite fruit was, but it certainly couldn’t hurt either.
Harry paid for the melon, bananas, and pears in a hurry. Malfoy stood off to the side, looking around him with feigned disinterest. Harry wondered if he had ever had to go shopping for food before in his life.
“A storm's coming,” he said after a few minutes, startling Harry completely. They were browsing some vegetables and Harry had been reaching for some summer peas when Malfoy had spoken.
“Want to head back?”
Malfoy shook his head, blond hair falling in a shambles over his face. “No.”
“All right.” And it was.
*****
Potter was laughing and spinning in a circle as they headed back up the hill towards the house. It had started pouring before they had left, and Draco couldn’t see what was so funny about it. He was drenched and miserable and wanted to be dry. Potter on the other hand looked like Christmas had come early. The other man was making it a point, he was sure, to jump in every puddle and get as muddy as possible.
Potter laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Join me, Draco.”
“I rather think not.” And since when was he Draco? He didn’t ask, but he was curious. Potter had been nothing but stand-offish with him since he had come back, and here he was holding out his hand with the expression of a kicked puppy, waiting for him to join in with puddle jumping.
“It’s fun though.”
“Potter, you’re a lunatic, did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Draco frowned and folded his arms across his chest. Gooseflesh was appearing up his arms and his vision was blurring. Why couldn’t Potter just stop acting stupid and hurry up? Thunder crackled in the distance, lightning splitting the sky.
“You’re filthy,” he pointed out, glaring at the mud on Potter’s khakis. The black-haired man didn’t seem overly concerned about his apparel and Draco supposed he wouldn’t have to. One wave of the bleeding wand and his clothes would be as good as new. Shame Draco couldn’t say the same about his own. The plastic bags bit into his hands, and it hurt more than normal because of the rain.
“And you’re wet.”
“Nutter,” Draco muttered, picking up the pace. His shoes squelched on the muddy road as he climbed the hill. He stumbled on a rock and slid backwards into something solid. He froze when hands settled on his waist stabilizing him. No one had touched him in so long, not even Ester had dared touch him and he leaned backwards craving more of it, but unable to say it in words. He hadn’t wanted to miss it, had tried to tell himself as he had watched Potter bathe his nieces the night before that he didn’t miss casual touches, or any touch at all.
“Are you all right?” Potter whispered, his voice low and right against his ear. Draco could only nod, both wishing and not wishing that Potter would remove his hands. “You certain?”
“Y-yes.”
Potter moved away with a softly whispered. “Prat.”
Draco couldn’t tell if he was actually swaying or not when Potter released him, but it didn’t matter because just as his vision blacked out he felt arms pick him up with a sure swiftness and he knew no more.
*****
Harry lay down on his bed, listening to the rain on the roof. The storm was raging around them outside, but Harry’s thoughts were internal. He hated himself. Why couldn’t he just continue hating Malfoy like he was supposed to? He wasn’t supposed to be amused when the blond got angry, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to find it heartbreaking the way Malfoy had snuggled in his arms like a small child. It had occurred to him that Malfoy wouldn’t be used to touch, but he hadn’t expected the needy reaction he had achieved.
Scrubbing his eyes, he pulled the top sheet over him, curling into a tight ball. He couldn’t explain why he had been trying to get Malfoy to loosen up, or why he’d even want the uptight prick to do so. Harry sighed, burrowing his head against the pillow, letting the rain lull him to sleep.
“Give me your hand.”
“Aw, Ginny, I’m tired.”
“Git.”
She grabbed his hand regardless and set it on her bulging stomach. Five months along, and Harry still found her absolutely gorgeous. He turned his head on the pillow to see her eyes dancing in the dim light of early morning. And then he felt it. A tiny movement beneath his wife’s skin that made his stomach flip.
“Is that?”
Ginny nodded, bringing up his hand and kissing the pads of his fingers. Harry let her do this, his eyes falling shut.
“I love you,” he murmured, into her soft hair.
“I know you do.”
Harry’s eyes shot open in shock. It wasn’t red hair anymore but blond, and he wasn’t smelling strawberries but honey and oatmeal. Malfoy’s eyes were soft as he stared at him, kissing the palm of Harry’s hand.
“What?” Harry croaked.
“Are you all right, Harry?”
“I-n-I--”
Malfoy sat up, the white bed sheet slipping off his bare chest, the picture of concern.
“Harry?” A cool hand settled on his forehead, feeling for fever.
“You’re not Ginny.”
“No.”
“I don’t--”
Soft lips pressed to his forehead and Harry shuddered, leaning into the caress. “Hush love, go back to sleep.”
“But you’re not-”
“Sleep,” Malfoy pressed, pushing Harry back against the bed with one hand. “Sleep.”
Harry was awake before he even realized it. He slipped out of bed silently, putting on his slippers. It was still dark but he couldn’t lie back down. What was the matter with him? Dreaming of Malfoy like that? It was disgusting and Merlin, Ginny!
He sat down hard, holding his stomach as it cramped painfully. How could he even subconsciously disregard her like that? He had to get out of there. Picking up his wand off the bedside table, he summoned his Auror robes and shoes, slipping them on. He stared at the open door, listening for any noises but nothing could be heard above the rain.
With a loud crack that shook the house, he Apparated to Ron and Hermione’s house, crashing onto their couch before he let himself cry.
*****
Ron rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he leaned over kissing her temple gently. He had to be in for work early that morning and he didn’t want to wake her up. Sitting up, he carefully moved from the bed to the closet, grabbing his work robe and a nice shirt. He wouldn’t be out in the field today because it was inspections. He just hoped Harry remembered that as well.
“You’re leaving?” Hermione mumbled, her eyes fluttering open. “It’s early.”
“Yeah, I know it is, but I’ll be back for lunch.”
She grinned sleepily. “You'd better be.”
Ron pressed his lips to hers in a slow, lingering kiss. He would have loved to have been able to stay in bed longer, but unfortunately for him he really did have to go to work or risk suspension.
“Have a good day,” Hermione’s drowsy call followed him out onto the landing. Ron smiled as he pulled on his robes, going down the stairs. It took him a few moments to realize just what was wrong when he got to the bottom. He moved into the living room, concern etched across his features. When had Harry shown up? It had to have been either very early this morning, or really late the night before. But that wasn’t what was bothering him the most. No, it was the dried tear tracks on the other man’s face that felt like a punch in the gut. Harry had been crying? He couldn’t even recall the last time he had seen that happen. Ages ago, not since-Ron frowned at his own thoughts.
“Harry.” He shook the shorter man, watching as green eyes slowly came into view. He could already see the beginnings of confusion take over Harry’s still sleep clouded mind, and helpfully supplied an answer for him.
“You’re on my couch, mate, what happened?”
“Your couch?”
“That’s right, my couch,” Ron repeated, helping Harry sit up. “Mind telling me why you’re on it? Not that I mind or anything, but we do have a guest room for a reason.”
Harry sank back against the couch blankly. If Ron didn’t know better, he’d say he was almost as depressed as when the accident happened.
“Harry?”
“I’m all right, Ron.”
“You were crying.”
“Hermione cries, does she get the second degree?”
“No, because normally I’m the cause of her crying, and if it’s not me she’s open about it. She knows she can ask for help and get it.” Ron sighed, sitting down next to his friend. “I thought you knew that too.” Harry flushed and Ron slung an arm over his shoulder, shaking him playfully. “So, what’s bothering you?”
“Not now, Ron. We have work in ten minutes.”
“Bloody hell, Harry. It’s inspection day, you aren’t planning on going like that.”
“Not without a freshening charm and a bite of toast.”
Ron rolled his eyes when Harry got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. He’d find a way to get Harry to talk to him. He just wasn’t sure how. Later, he’d ask Hermione for advice. She was good at this sort of thing.
*****
“Harry.”
He glanced up the stairs to where Hermione was standing with Ron behind her in a unified front. His eyes hardened and he shrugged on his jacket. If they thought they could prevent him from going out, they were sorely mistaken. His day at work had been complete shit, not only had he been dressed down for his sloppy appearance, he had also been put on probation, which just meant more office work. Sodding inspection days.
“I’m going out.”
“Harry, please.”
He buttoned up his jacket ignoring Hermione’s plea. “Oliver’s going with me. The mobile I gave him should be on.”
“Harry, listen to us.”
“I might be back tonight.” He shrugged, brushing back his black fringe. “See you.”
Ron gripped Hermione’s arm tightly in warning. This wasn’t the time to interfere. When Harry realized they weren't going to intervene he made his way towards the door. Part of him was frantically pleading with them to stop him from doing this, but another part of him was cheering at the victory no matter how pathetic it was.
They watched in silence as he exited through the front door.
“Mummy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Uncle Harry angry wif us?”
Hermione looked down at Brigit on the floor. Amanda was standing in the door to their bedroom, her thumb in her mouth. How long they had been there was uncertain, but it had been long enough. Tears were leaking down their cheeks and Ron went and picked up Amanda. Her arms went around his neck, and she burrowed her head against his neck.
Hermione knelt down on the carpeted landing, opening her arms wide and Brigit crawled over.
“Of course he isn’t, sweetie,” she crooned, stroking her hair.
“But he doesn’t want to come back.”
“Bridie’s right, he said it. Right, Daddy, you heard him too?”
Ron met Hermione’s worried eyes with defeat. They couldn’t lie to their children, but telling the truth would be devastating in its own right. No, it was best not to answer at all.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Ron told her instead.
“But Daddy!”
Ron glared at her sternly and he tried not to be affected by the quivering lower lip. He brought her into the bedroom, laying her on her bed, before sitting on the edge of it. Ron brushed some hair off her face, wondering how he had been so lucky to have such perceptive children. He loved them both dearly and only hoped he showed it enough.
Having a job that kept him away during the day had been cutting into the time he spent with his daughters, but they didn’t seem to mind being able to see him all weekend. He glanced up to see Hermione settling Brigit in her own bed, pulling the covers up nice and snug.
“He don’t hate us, do he?”
“No, love,” Ron murmured, kissing Amanda’s forehead. “He’s just confused. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine soon.”
“How can you know?”
Ron grinned. “Harry’s been my best friend since we were eleven. I know how he acts.”
Amanda considered this for a moment, before asking, “So, he should be good soon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amanda giggled sleepily, and Ron finished tucking her in after standing. He crossed the room, resting his hand on Hermione’s lower back as she finished speaking to Brigit. She jerked her head towards the hall and Ron followed the silent cue, crossing the room and exiting the room. He leaned against the railing, waiting for her to finish up and dim the lights. Hermione exited the room, jarring the door behind her. She came to stand next to him, resting her arms on the wooden railing with a sigh.
Ron wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him, burying his face in her frizzy hair, inhaling deeply.
“He’s hurting, Ron.”
“I know, but there’s really nothing we can do about it this time.”
“I wish there was.”
Ron squeezed her tightly, feeling her fingernails dig into his back. Whoever said she was unfeeling was so horribly wrong. She wasn’t a mechanical bookworm, only wrapped up in her books. She had feelings just like everyone. He was ashamed to think that he had once been that way as well. He felt her shiver, and knew she was crying. There was only one way to make this better, and he didn’t fancy it one bit. Pushing her away gently, he cupped her chin, tipping it up. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her lips, and then pulled back.
“I’ll be back,” he told her, gripping and releasing her hair as he thought about what he was about to do. At least there was no chance of getting hexed, he’d have the advantage. Lucky, lucky him.
*****
Draco heard the telltale pop of someone Apparating in, but he hadn’t expected to find the Weasel standing behind him.
“Weasley?”
“Malfoy, we need to talk.”
“How nice to see you, why don’t you come in?” Draco sneered. Damn him anyway. All he had wanted to do was have a good sulk, and now it was being ruined. He pursed his lips, staring up at the redhead.
Weasley snorted and crossed his arms across his chest.
“If you’ve come here to yell at me-“
“I haven’t.”
“I- you haven’t?” There was a surprise. He had been certain once he had woken up to Potter gone once again that one of his friends would appear to scold him for scaring him off. Apparently, he had thought wrong, and he didn’t like being wrong. It meant he didn’t know where he stood anymore. Draco didn’t want to look nervous, but he knew he had to be doing a shoddy job of it if Weasley could be looking at him sympathetically. That was the last thing he needed. Sympathy.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then what have you come here for?” Weasley sat on the piano bench, gripping the edge of it with a determined expression. Draco wondered if someone had put him up to this. Probably Granger, she’d be the one to insist Weasley come and check on him. “Listen, Weasley, I have other things I could be doing so-“
“Has Harry been around recently?”
He glowered. “If you must know, no.”
“I thought not.” Was that resignation? It couldn’t be. Draco tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, studying the heavy lines under Weasley’s eyes and the tremble to his arms. If he didn’t know better he’d say the red-haired man was sick, but no, it was exhaustion plain and simple. He bet it was Weasley’s brats that did it and the thought brightened Draco’s mood considerably. Children were exhausting creatures, or so his mother had told him when he was younger.
He glared, staring down his nose at the other man. “Get to the point, Weasley.”
“Harry almost lost his job yesterday because of you. He almost lost it two months ago because of you.”
“What are you talking about? Potter was always going to be an Auror, I bet he had Headmistress McGonagall write out his references and everything.”
“Regardless,” Weasley said, brushing aside his comments. Cerulean eyes bored into his head as if trying to make him think. That was a laugh. Draco knew he was at least ten times smarter than Weasley. “People, our superiors, are beginning to think Harry doesn’t deserve his position and that he got there through fame alone.”
“And this is my problem why?”
“Malfoy, Harry took you into his flat when he shouldn’t have. If he had been found out he would have been fired on the spot, no questions asked. Harry loves his job, and he was willing to risk it to make sure you didn’t die.”
“I still don’t see how this is my-“
“Use your head, Malfoy. No, on second thought, use your heart, I’m sure you have one in there somewhere.”
Draco snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Weasley if you’re trying to make me feel guilty it won’t work.” It wouldn’t because he wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t let it. He did not care that Potter could lose his job, and that it was his fault. Who cared? He didn’t.
“Nothing I say will get you to understand what Harry’s going through, will it?”
“Nope,” he agreed, examining his nails.
“I swear, Malfoy, if Harry ends up on my couch crying one more time I will kill you, without regard to Ministry laws or precautions. You’re still a Death Eater in the eyes of the community and if I were to kill you no one would care. Except Harry.”
“Only because of this bloody thing,” Draco growled, showing the metal bracelet on his wrist. “He as much as said he wouldn’t care what happened to me once they’re off.”
He was horrified to see Weasley smile. There was no other word to describe the terror he felt at the affectionate smile, clearly meant for the missing man. There should be no affection showing about something he said. None. Draco realized he might have been getting a bit too upset over this, but his head was aching and he just wanted a pear and cup of tea.
“If you really think that then I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Potter’s such a cry baby,” Draco muttered as Weasley walked around him. He flinched when the other man stiffened, freezing in place. And the weasel is a complete wanker, he added mentally, when the irate redhead turned on him. Well, at least he was going to get yelled at like he'd thought he would be.
“If you knew him at all, if you had even a shred of humanity, you would never say that again.”
Seething seemed to be the word Draco was thinking of when that red face got in his personal space. If Weasley started foaming at the mouth, he wouldn’t be surprised. He was fairly surprised Weasley wasn’t already hexing his balls off for saying such a horrible thing about Potter.
“Why?” he drawled, leaning back on the sofa with an air of nonchalance. He tried not to be interested, but failed. Potter had seemed to be more withdrawn and sulky than normal and it was grating on his nerves.
Weasley pulled back, anger still evident in his bright red cheeks, but he was also looking sad. Not defeated, just…melancholy. That was such a wholly unbelievable contrast that Draco wasn’t sure if he would even get an answer.
“It’s not for me to tell you.” Weasley’s answer was cryptic and the idea that he deserved to have answers withheld from him never passed his mind. There was something he was missing and no one seemed to want to tell him.
*****
There were some people you didn’t get in the way of when they were angry and Severus Snape was one of them. Like the Red Sea the crowds stilled and parted leaving a direct path to the bar in the back. Some people didn’t notice his formidable presence as he bore down on the bar, and some of those people really should have.
He went to the farthest stool with a grimace. How he let himself get into these messes he’d never know. With a sure jab, his intended target fell off the stool ungracefully, landing in a pile of tangled limbs on the floor. The filthy floor was disgusting and needed at least five scrubbings.
“Potter, get up.”
“You’re not my mum.”
“No, your ‘mum’ is dead and probably rolling in her grave right now. Now you will get off the floor immediately.”
“Sir.”
“Mr. Wood.” Snape nodded in Oliver’s direction. The brown-haired Quidditch player tipped his bottle in Snape’s direction, before casting a worried look down at Harry who was still on the floor. “For the love of Merlin,” Snape grumbled, bending over and picking Harry up by the collar. With hardly any effort, he lifted the short man off the ground and hauled him over his shoulder.
“Thank you for calling Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”
“No problem. I--”
“Put me down you bastard! Put me down right now!”
“No.”
Harry’s hands tightened into fists and he beat against Snape’s back, his arms flailing, the world swimming in front of his eyes. Snape jostled him as they made their way back through the crowd, Harry kicking and yelling to be put down, but no one made any move to stop the dark stranger from removing Harry from the club.
“If you vomit on me,” Snape said conversationally as they got out of the nightclub and into the night air. “You will have to buy me a new set of clothes and wash these by hand.”
Harry scowled and fell silent. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine, sir,” Harry spat, squeezing his eyes shut, groaning softly.
“Potter, I’m warning you.”
“I know!” Harry cried out as he was set on the ground. He staggered into the side of the building and stayed there, pressed against it as he regained his equilibrium. Snape let him stay there for a few moments, before pulling him against his side.
Harry clung desperately, fighting to stay standing when all he wanted to do was double over and throw up. He was certain Snape would be less than amused by that behavior. He was certain Snape was less than amused by this behavior. And Merlin, he bet Snape was going to bring him back to Ron and Hermione’s and not his own flat. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t let go of Snape or he’d be even worse off than he would be facing a sobriety potion and an angry, worried Hermione. He groaned when he felt the world press in against him as they Apparated out of the dingy back alley.
*****
Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall nervously. Ron would be home soon with Harry. They all needed to sit down and talk, but something told her this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. The twins were with Molly and Arthur for the afternoon, much to their joy. Molly didn’t even hesitate to take them in. Fred and George were there that afternoon as well, and Hermione could only spend a limited amount of worry on how her girls would be behaving when they got back. As much as she loved her brothers in law they were horrible influences, and she didn’t particularly want to hear from their preschool teacher that they had been pulling pranks.
The sound of the Floo activating made her tense. This was it. She felt guilty for waylaying Harry unexpectedly like this, but something had to be done. He wasn’t only upsetting them; he was upsetting her children, and more importantly, Draco. Her fingers clenched around her teacup as she thought about what had occurred the night before. She didn’t want to think about the state Severus had found Harry in, nor the conversation Ron had with Draco, but she had to. She was the only one to get all the stories and process them seamlessly and the results weren’t as startling as she would have expected them to be.
Harry.
She never would have thought that so many of her headaches would revolve around him, but there it was. Hermione loved him, she did, but there was only so much whining she could put up with, plus she had a medical interest in Draco and it was clear that his happiness was linked with Harry’s happiness. But what was making Harry so upset was something of a mystery to her. In her heart, she knew already what she was certain Harry would reveal to her today, but she still hoped she was wrong.
If she was right it meant Harry had never done as all the councilors he had seen had told him to do. It meant he hadn’t listened to his friends and family, and worse, not to himself. If only Harry knew how much his presence affected people.
“Hermione?”
“I’m in here, Ron!”
She waited for Ron to enter, trying to calm herself down. She was ashamed to realize she had lost her temper on her best friend the night before, she didn’t want to do the same now. Her main reason for doing it this way and not another was to prevent Harry from thinking they were ganging up on him. Hermione just wanted to know what was wrong, to have Harry express it so he could move beyond it. He had no idea what he was missing out on.
Harry came into the kitchen first, and Hermione smiled at him warmly. He looked on edge, and she really didn’t blame him. Normally when he came over the twins bowled him over before he even got to say hello, but now they were nowhere in sight.
“Sit down,” she encouraged, pushing out a chair next to her with her foot. Harry glanced at Ron nervously, before doing as he was told.
“What?”
Hermione grabbed one of his hands as Ron seated himself across from Harry. Harry licked his lips, staring between Ron and Hermione.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Hermione squeezed his hand with a sympathetic expression. She wondered what he was thinking, probably that they both had gone round the bend, but there was no helping that.
“We, Ron and I, want to talk to you.”
“About?”
Did he have to be so suspicious, Hermione thought, her other hand worriedly seeking out Ron’s beneath the table.
“You.”
Harry's expression went surly. “Why me?”
“Because we’re worried about you.”
“Oh, so you mean all that yelling last night was for no reason?”
“Harry,” Ron said his name with such authority that Harry almost looked betrayed. “You might be my best mate and all, but Hermione is my wife. And if you can’t respect her, I’m going to have to kick you out.”
“Fine.” Harry made to stand.
“I’ll also make you explain to the twins why their Uncle Harry won’t be able to see them for quite a long time.”
He sat again.
Hermione had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to subtle threats like that. “Harry, just tell us what’s the matter.”
“What makes you think something is the matter with me? Eh, Hermione?” Harry shot back, his arms folding across his chest.
“Harry, that’s not helping.”
“Maybe I don’t feel very helpful today.”
“You’re certainly feeling something though,” she muttered, thinking up a new way to get Harry to open his mouth and tell them what was disturbing him. “Ginny--”
“Don’t,” Harry said immediately, holding up a hand. “Just… please don’t.”
Hermione sighed heavily. So she had been thinking correctly then. “It’s the house, isn’t it?”
“I see her everywhere,” he croaked. Hermione let go of Ron’s hands, poured some peppermint tea into an empty cup, and then handed it to Harry. The green-eyed man took it with shaking hands, but didn’t drink any. “Every time I turn around she's there. I can’t sleep without escaping her.”
Hermione reached out, running a hand through his messy hair. “What happened?”
“I was dreaming.” Ron’s sharp intake of breath told her he knew where this was heading, just like she did. She was just amazed Harry still had yet to see the drawing on their refrigerator. “About Ginny,” he continued like he hadn’t noticed their reactions.
“And?”
“She was pregnant with Nathaniel, and Hermione, it was when we first felt him move. I could feel his foot against her skin, trace it even. He was right there.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but neither Ron nor Hermione dared to stop him now that he got started to point it out. He scrubbed his face, discarding his glasses on the table. “And then I don’t know what happened, but I closed my eyes and when I reopened them she wasn’t there anymore. Someone else was. There has got to be something wrong with me, guys! Why the hell else would I dream of Malfoy in my bed?”
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, her smile turning affectionate and knowing. “Was that all?”
“Was that all? Isn’t that enough?” he shouted. “Draco Malfoy has no place in my bed, even in my dreams!”
“Are you so sure of that?” The fact that it was Ron who spoke prevented Harry from speaking for a few moments. Hermione imagined that Harry was going into a bit of shock to hear Ron disagree with him like that. It certainly had surprised her to learn that her husband had gone and confronted Malfoy. The proposal that her Ron might be growing up filled her with hope that one day Harry might just do the same.
Harry’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he sank deeper into the wooden chair. “I loved Ginny.”
“Harry, you can love more than one person in a lifetime,” Hermione stated calmly. She watched as the idea settled in Harry’s mind and smiled at his hesitant grin. It was clear that it would take a bit more persuasion to get Harry around to her and Ron’s way of seeing things, but she had faith that it would happen given time. They had plenty of that. All this left Hermione feeling very satisfied, and she pushed the teacup towards Harry once more. “Drink your tea.”
Part 4
Author: faynia
Giftee: sesheta_66
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, implied Harry/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,471
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has put forth a new program to retrain Death Eaters once the war is done, and Draco Malfoy is one of the many candidates. But how well can Harry cope with the task of keeping an eye on him?
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried to get in everything sesheta_66 asked for, especially plot! Lots and lots of plot. Hope you like it!
Beta'd by rakina, windout, and xos2ed
Part 1 | Part 2
The next afternoon Harry and Draco were heading into town. Draco found something to criticize every step of the way, but Harry chose to just ignore him. The weather was perfect and he wasn’t going to let Malfoy ruin it for him. It had been too long since he had been able to wander around the country just for the hell of it, and he was going to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Every whining word,” Harry answered, not even bothering to look at the blond. He didn’t have to, he could feel the scowl directed at him.
Malfoy muttered something under his breath, and Harry found he didn’t care what the surly man had to say this time. He glanced up at the sky, spotting storm clouds in the distance. Their distance was the only comfort they gave Harry. A storm was the last thing he wanted to get stuck in with Malfoy. He blinked when suddenly Malfoy sped up in front of him.
“What are you doing?”
The blond threw a dirty look over his shoulder. “Getting this trip over with.”
Harry smirked and shook his head. Really, if Malfoy insisted on acting like a seven year old, he was going to be treated that way as well. He already had his two nieces to worry about. He didn’t need another child to add into the equation. “You do realize at the speed you’re walking you’ll be tired out before we’re even halfway there, right?”
Malfoy slowed down a fraction, letting Harry catch up to him. “Just how far are we going?”
“You’re finally asking?”
“Potter,” Malfoy snarled. “Just tell me how much further I’m going to be walking.”
Harry looked the man over with a frown. His cheeks were turning pink, and he suspected it was more from the sun than exertion, but it was the slight tremor in his frame that was bothersome. He wouldn’t point it out if Malfoy didn’t bring it up first.
“It’ll take another ten minutes or so.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Positive, once we get down this hill we’ll be in town.”
“Only you would voluntarily wish to stay here in sheep country, Potter.”
“I’m sorry if it isn’t up to your usual standards, Malfoy. Would you rather I had left you alone to starve?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Harry waited for the inevitable answer. The other man wasn’t stupid. He knew how the metal band on his wrist affected him. The piece of jewelry was reflecting the sun’s rays, making it shine and very hard to miss. He couldn’t wait until he could finally take it off.
“You couldn’t.”
Harry sighed. “No, I couldn’t.”
Malfoy fell silent much to Harry’s delight. The rest of the trip was spent walking in silence. Harry didn’t comment when Malfoy chose to stay close to his side.
The market square was fairly busy for a weekday. Harry glanced around at all the street vendors, taking in all the fresh produce. It once again struck him how long it had been since he had been here, and how much he missed it. There had been a reason for his move here, and this right here was one of them.
“Come on,” he muttered, gripping Malfoy’s elbow and steering him towards a fruit vendor. The woman manning the cart smiled in a friendly way as Harry browsed through the various types.
“Bananas.”
“What?” Harry glanced up to see Malfoy standing a few feet away, his gaze on the ground. “Bananas?”
“Yes.”
Harry shrugged, grabbing a bunch of them. They still had a bit of green to them, which suited him just fine. They would last longer. “Anything else?”
“Does she have any pears?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Harry laughed, picking up a melon and pressing it with his fingers to see if any of it was soft. His eyes flickered up to see the amusement of the vendor. He hated to admit that he was having a good time of this. Who knew picking out fruit would be safe common ground? Who knew Malfoy liked fruit? That thought almost made him snicker, but he managed to prevent himself from doing so. One of them had to remain sane-sounding.
“Don’t belittle me.”
Harry set the melon down and turned in confusion. “What?”
“I said, don’t belittle me, Potter. I’m not one of your nieces and I’m not an invalid.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You'd better be,” Malfoy grumbled, pushing him aside so he was in front of the cart instead. Harry let him do as he wanted, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of the square. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Malfoy would get uptight over being teased, but then, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything. They just happened to be in the same house, by necessity.
Harry was still considering leaving once the house was sufficiently stocked with food. Malfoy could fend for himself. And if the worst came to the worst, well, Harry would know right away. He shivered, folding his arms across his chest. The wind was beginning to pick up, never a good sign. He cast his gaze heavenward only to see the blue sky from earlier was clouding over.
“Malfoy, did you get your pears?”
“Yes,” he said, holding out the plastic bag full of the fruit. Harry counted exactly five pears and kept that in mind for later. He didn’t know when or why he’d need to know what Malfoy’s favorite fruit was, but it certainly couldn’t hurt either.
Harry paid for the melon, bananas, and pears in a hurry. Malfoy stood off to the side, looking around him with feigned disinterest. Harry wondered if he had ever had to go shopping for food before in his life.
“A storm's coming,” he said after a few minutes, startling Harry completely. They were browsing some vegetables and Harry had been reaching for some summer peas when Malfoy had spoken.
“Want to head back?”
Malfoy shook his head, blond hair falling in a shambles over his face. “No.”
“All right.” And it was.
*****
Potter was laughing and spinning in a circle as they headed back up the hill towards the house. It had started pouring before they had left, and Draco couldn’t see what was so funny about it. He was drenched and miserable and wanted to be dry. Potter on the other hand looked like Christmas had come early. The other man was making it a point, he was sure, to jump in every puddle and get as muddy as possible.
Potter laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Join me, Draco.”
“I rather think not.” And since when was he Draco? He didn’t ask, but he was curious. Potter had been nothing but stand-offish with him since he had come back, and here he was holding out his hand with the expression of a kicked puppy, waiting for him to join in with puddle jumping.
“It’s fun though.”
“Potter, you’re a lunatic, did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yes.”
Draco frowned and folded his arms across his chest. Gooseflesh was appearing up his arms and his vision was blurring. Why couldn’t Potter just stop acting stupid and hurry up? Thunder crackled in the distance, lightning splitting the sky.
“You’re filthy,” he pointed out, glaring at the mud on Potter’s khakis. The black-haired man didn’t seem overly concerned about his apparel and Draco supposed he wouldn’t have to. One wave of the bleeding wand and his clothes would be as good as new. Shame Draco couldn’t say the same about his own. The plastic bags bit into his hands, and it hurt more than normal because of the rain.
“And you’re wet.”
“Nutter,” Draco muttered, picking up the pace. His shoes squelched on the muddy road as he climbed the hill. He stumbled on a rock and slid backwards into something solid. He froze when hands settled on his waist stabilizing him. No one had touched him in so long, not even Ester had dared touch him and he leaned backwards craving more of it, but unable to say it in words. He hadn’t wanted to miss it, had tried to tell himself as he had watched Potter bathe his nieces the night before that he didn’t miss casual touches, or any touch at all.
“Are you all right?” Potter whispered, his voice low and right against his ear. Draco could only nod, both wishing and not wishing that Potter would remove his hands. “You certain?”
“Y-yes.”
Potter moved away with a softly whispered. “Prat.”
Draco couldn’t tell if he was actually swaying or not when Potter released him, but it didn’t matter because just as his vision blacked out he felt arms pick him up with a sure swiftness and he knew no more.
*****
Harry lay down on his bed, listening to the rain on the roof. The storm was raging around them outside, but Harry’s thoughts were internal. He hated himself. Why couldn’t he just continue hating Malfoy like he was supposed to? He wasn’t supposed to be amused when the blond got angry, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to find it heartbreaking the way Malfoy had snuggled in his arms like a small child. It had occurred to him that Malfoy wouldn’t be used to touch, but he hadn’t expected the needy reaction he had achieved.
Scrubbing his eyes, he pulled the top sheet over him, curling into a tight ball. He couldn’t explain why he had been trying to get Malfoy to loosen up, or why he’d even want the uptight prick to do so. Harry sighed, burrowing his head against the pillow, letting the rain lull him to sleep.
“Give me your hand.”
“Aw, Ginny, I’m tired.”
“Git.”
She grabbed his hand regardless and set it on her bulging stomach. Five months along, and Harry still found her absolutely gorgeous. He turned his head on the pillow to see her eyes dancing in the dim light of early morning. And then he felt it. A tiny movement beneath his wife’s skin that made his stomach flip.
“Is that?”
Ginny nodded, bringing up his hand and kissing the pads of his fingers. Harry let her do this, his eyes falling shut.
“I love you,” he murmured, into her soft hair.
“I know you do.”
Harry’s eyes shot open in shock. It wasn’t red hair anymore but blond, and he wasn’t smelling strawberries but honey and oatmeal. Malfoy’s eyes were soft as he stared at him, kissing the palm of Harry’s hand.
“What?” Harry croaked.
“Are you all right, Harry?”
“I-n-I--”
Malfoy sat up, the white bed sheet slipping off his bare chest, the picture of concern.
“Harry?” A cool hand settled on his forehead, feeling for fever.
“You’re not Ginny.”
“No.”
“I don’t--”
Soft lips pressed to his forehead and Harry shuddered, leaning into the caress. “Hush love, go back to sleep.”
“But you’re not-”
“Sleep,” Malfoy pressed, pushing Harry back against the bed with one hand. “Sleep.”
Harry was awake before he even realized it. He slipped out of bed silently, putting on his slippers. It was still dark but he couldn’t lie back down. What was the matter with him? Dreaming of Malfoy like that? It was disgusting and Merlin, Ginny!
He sat down hard, holding his stomach as it cramped painfully. How could he even subconsciously disregard her like that? He had to get out of there. Picking up his wand off the bedside table, he summoned his Auror robes and shoes, slipping them on. He stared at the open door, listening for any noises but nothing could be heard above the rain.
With a loud crack that shook the house, he Apparated to Ron and Hermione’s house, crashing onto their couch before he let himself cry.
*****
Ron rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he leaned over kissing her temple gently. He had to be in for work early that morning and he didn’t want to wake her up. Sitting up, he carefully moved from the bed to the closet, grabbing his work robe and a nice shirt. He wouldn’t be out in the field today because it was inspections. He just hoped Harry remembered that as well.
“You’re leaving?” Hermione mumbled, her eyes fluttering open. “It’s early.”
“Yeah, I know it is, but I’ll be back for lunch.”
She grinned sleepily. “You'd better be.”
Ron pressed his lips to hers in a slow, lingering kiss. He would have loved to have been able to stay in bed longer, but unfortunately for him he really did have to go to work or risk suspension.
“Have a good day,” Hermione’s drowsy call followed him out onto the landing. Ron smiled as he pulled on his robes, going down the stairs. It took him a few moments to realize just what was wrong when he got to the bottom. He moved into the living room, concern etched across his features. When had Harry shown up? It had to have been either very early this morning, or really late the night before. But that wasn’t what was bothering him the most. No, it was the dried tear tracks on the other man’s face that felt like a punch in the gut. Harry had been crying? He couldn’t even recall the last time he had seen that happen. Ages ago, not since-Ron frowned at his own thoughts.
“Harry.” He shook the shorter man, watching as green eyes slowly came into view. He could already see the beginnings of confusion take over Harry’s still sleep clouded mind, and helpfully supplied an answer for him.
“You’re on my couch, mate, what happened?”
“Your couch?”
“That’s right, my couch,” Ron repeated, helping Harry sit up. “Mind telling me why you’re on it? Not that I mind or anything, but we do have a guest room for a reason.”
Harry sank back against the couch blankly. If Ron didn’t know better, he’d say he was almost as depressed as when the accident happened.
“Harry?”
“I’m all right, Ron.”
“You were crying.”
“Hermione cries, does she get the second degree?”
“No, because normally I’m the cause of her crying, and if it’s not me she’s open about it. She knows she can ask for help and get it.” Ron sighed, sitting down next to his friend. “I thought you knew that too.” Harry flushed and Ron slung an arm over his shoulder, shaking him playfully. “So, what’s bothering you?”
“Not now, Ron. We have work in ten minutes.”
“Bloody hell, Harry. It’s inspection day, you aren’t planning on going like that.”
“Not without a freshening charm and a bite of toast.”
Ron rolled his eyes when Harry got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. He’d find a way to get Harry to talk to him. He just wasn’t sure how. Later, he’d ask Hermione for advice. She was good at this sort of thing.
*****
“Harry.”
He glanced up the stairs to where Hermione was standing with Ron behind her in a unified front. His eyes hardened and he shrugged on his jacket. If they thought they could prevent him from going out, they were sorely mistaken. His day at work had been complete shit, not only had he been dressed down for his sloppy appearance, he had also been put on probation, which just meant more office work. Sodding inspection days.
“I’m going out.”
“Harry, please.”
He buttoned up his jacket ignoring Hermione’s plea. “Oliver’s going with me. The mobile I gave him should be on.”
“Harry, listen to us.”
“I might be back tonight.” He shrugged, brushing back his black fringe. “See you.”
Ron gripped Hermione’s arm tightly in warning. This wasn’t the time to interfere. When Harry realized they weren't going to intervene he made his way towards the door. Part of him was frantically pleading with them to stop him from doing this, but another part of him was cheering at the victory no matter how pathetic it was.
They watched in silence as he exited through the front door.
“Mummy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Uncle Harry angry wif us?”
Hermione looked down at Brigit on the floor. Amanda was standing in the door to their bedroom, her thumb in her mouth. How long they had been there was uncertain, but it had been long enough. Tears were leaking down their cheeks and Ron went and picked up Amanda. Her arms went around his neck, and she burrowed her head against his neck.
Hermione knelt down on the carpeted landing, opening her arms wide and Brigit crawled over.
“Of course he isn’t, sweetie,” she crooned, stroking her hair.
“But he doesn’t want to come back.”
“Bridie’s right, he said it. Right, Daddy, you heard him too?”
Ron met Hermione’s worried eyes with defeat. They couldn’t lie to their children, but telling the truth would be devastating in its own right. No, it was best not to answer at all.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Ron told her instead.
“But Daddy!”
Ron glared at her sternly and he tried not to be affected by the quivering lower lip. He brought her into the bedroom, laying her on her bed, before sitting on the edge of it. Ron brushed some hair off her face, wondering how he had been so lucky to have such perceptive children. He loved them both dearly and only hoped he showed it enough.
Having a job that kept him away during the day had been cutting into the time he spent with his daughters, but they didn’t seem to mind being able to see him all weekend. He glanced up to see Hermione settling Brigit in her own bed, pulling the covers up nice and snug.
“He don’t hate us, do he?”
“No, love,” Ron murmured, kissing Amanda’s forehead. “He’s just confused. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine soon.”
“How can you know?”
Ron grinned. “Harry’s been my best friend since we were eleven. I know how he acts.”
Amanda considered this for a moment, before asking, “So, he should be good soon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amanda giggled sleepily, and Ron finished tucking her in after standing. He crossed the room, resting his hand on Hermione’s lower back as she finished speaking to Brigit. She jerked her head towards the hall and Ron followed the silent cue, crossing the room and exiting the room. He leaned against the railing, waiting for her to finish up and dim the lights. Hermione exited the room, jarring the door behind her. She came to stand next to him, resting her arms on the wooden railing with a sigh.
Ron wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him, burying his face in her frizzy hair, inhaling deeply.
“He’s hurting, Ron.”
“I know, but there’s really nothing we can do about it this time.”
“I wish there was.”
Ron squeezed her tightly, feeling her fingernails dig into his back. Whoever said she was unfeeling was so horribly wrong. She wasn’t a mechanical bookworm, only wrapped up in her books. She had feelings just like everyone. He was ashamed to think that he had once been that way as well. He felt her shiver, and knew she was crying. There was only one way to make this better, and he didn’t fancy it one bit. Pushing her away gently, he cupped her chin, tipping it up. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her lips, and then pulled back.
“I’ll be back,” he told her, gripping and releasing her hair as he thought about what he was about to do. At least there was no chance of getting hexed, he’d have the advantage. Lucky, lucky him.
*****
Draco heard the telltale pop of someone Apparating in, but he hadn’t expected to find the Weasel standing behind him.
“Weasley?”
“Malfoy, we need to talk.”
“How nice to see you, why don’t you come in?” Draco sneered. Damn him anyway. All he had wanted to do was have a good sulk, and now it was being ruined. He pursed his lips, staring up at the redhead.
Weasley snorted and crossed his arms across his chest.
“If you’ve come here to yell at me-“
“I haven’t.”
“I- you haven’t?” There was a surprise. He had been certain once he had woken up to Potter gone once again that one of his friends would appear to scold him for scaring him off. Apparently, he had thought wrong, and he didn’t like being wrong. It meant he didn’t know where he stood anymore. Draco didn’t want to look nervous, but he knew he had to be doing a shoddy job of it if Weasley could be looking at him sympathetically. That was the last thing he needed. Sympathy.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then what have you come here for?” Weasley sat on the piano bench, gripping the edge of it with a determined expression. Draco wondered if someone had put him up to this. Probably Granger, she’d be the one to insist Weasley come and check on him. “Listen, Weasley, I have other things I could be doing so-“
“Has Harry been around recently?”
He glowered. “If you must know, no.”
“I thought not.” Was that resignation? It couldn’t be. Draco tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, studying the heavy lines under Weasley’s eyes and the tremble to his arms. If he didn’t know better he’d say the red-haired man was sick, but no, it was exhaustion plain and simple. He bet it was Weasley’s brats that did it and the thought brightened Draco’s mood considerably. Children were exhausting creatures, or so his mother had told him when he was younger.
He glared, staring down his nose at the other man. “Get to the point, Weasley.”
“Harry almost lost his job yesterday because of you. He almost lost it two months ago because of you.”
“What are you talking about? Potter was always going to be an Auror, I bet he had Headmistress McGonagall write out his references and everything.”
“Regardless,” Weasley said, brushing aside his comments. Cerulean eyes bored into his head as if trying to make him think. That was a laugh. Draco knew he was at least ten times smarter than Weasley. “People, our superiors, are beginning to think Harry doesn’t deserve his position and that he got there through fame alone.”
“And this is my problem why?”
“Malfoy, Harry took you into his flat when he shouldn’t have. If he had been found out he would have been fired on the spot, no questions asked. Harry loves his job, and he was willing to risk it to make sure you didn’t die.”
“I still don’t see how this is my-“
“Use your head, Malfoy. No, on second thought, use your heart, I’m sure you have one in there somewhere.”
Draco snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Weasley if you’re trying to make me feel guilty it won’t work.” It wouldn’t because he wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t let it. He did not care that Potter could lose his job, and that it was his fault. Who cared? He didn’t.
“Nothing I say will get you to understand what Harry’s going through, will it?”
“Nope,” he agreed, examining his nails.
“I swear, Malfoy, if Harry ends up on my couch crying one more time I will kill you, without regard to Ministry laws or precautions. You’re still a Death Eater in the eyes of the community and if I were to kill you no one would care. Except Harry.”
“Only because of this bloody thing,” Draco growled, showing the metal bracelet on his wrist. “He as much as said he wouldn’t care what happened to me once they’re off.”
He was horrified to see Weasley smile. There was no other word to describe the terror he felt at the affectionate smile, clearly meant for the missing man. There should be no affection showing about something he said. None. Draco realized he might have been getting a bit too upset over this, but his head was aching and he just wanted a pear and cup of tea.
“If you really think that then I have nothing more to say to you.”
“Potter’s such a cry baby,” Draco muttered as Weasley walked around him. He flinched when the other man stiffened, freezing in place. And the weasel is a complete wanker, he added mentally, when the irate redhead turned on him. Well, at least he was going to get yelled at like he'd thought he would be.
“If you knew him at all, if you had even a shred of humanity, you would never say that again.”
Seething seemed to be the word Draco was thinking of when that red face got in his personal space. If Weasley started foaming at the mouth, he wouldn’t be surprised. He was fairly surprised Weasley wasn’t already hexing his balls off for saying such a horrible thing about Potter.
“Why?” he drawled, leaning back on the sofa with an air of nonchalance. He tried not to be interested, but failed. Potter had seemed to be more withdrawn and sulky than normal and it was grating on his nerves.
Weasley pulled back, anger still evident in his bright red cheeks, but he was also looking sad. Not defeated, just…melancholy. That was such a wholly unbelievable contrast that Draco wasn’t sure if he would even get an answer.
“It’s not for me to tell you.” Weasley’s answer was cryptic and the idea that he deserved to have answers withheld from him never passed his mind. There was something he was missing and no one seemed to want to tell him.
*****
There were some people you didn’t get in the way of when they were angry and Severus Snape was one of them. Like the Red Sea the crowds stilled and parted leaving a direct path to the bar in the back. Some people didn’t notice his formidable presence as he bore down on the bar, and some of those people really should have.
He went to the farthest stool with a grimace. How he let himself get into these messes he’d never know. With a sure jab, his intended target fell off the stool ungracefully, landing in a pile of tangled limbs on the floor. The filthy floor was disgusting and needed at least five scrubbings.
“Potter, get up.”
“You’re not my mum.”
“No, your ‘mum’ is dead and probably rolling in her grave right now. Now you will get off the floor immediately.”
“Sir.”
“Mr. Wood.” Snape nodded in Oliver’s direction. The brown-haired Quidditch player tipped his bottle in Snape’s direction, before casting a worried look down at Harry who was still on the floor. “For the love of Merlin,” Snape grumbled, bending over and picking Harry up by the collar. With hardly any effort, he lifted the short man off the ground and hauled him over his shoulder.
“Thank you for calling Mrs. Granger-Weasley.”
“No problem. I--”
“Put me down you bastard! Put me down right now!”
“No.”
Harry’s hands tightened into fists and he beat against Snape’s back, his arms flailing, the world swimming in front of his eyes. Snape jostled him as they made their way back through the crowd, Harry kicking and yelling to be put down, but no one made any move to stop the dark stranger from removing Harry from the club.
“If you vomit on me,” Snape said conversationally as they got out of the nightclub and into the night air. “You will have to buy me a new set of clothes and wash these by hand.”
Harry scowled and fell silent. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine, sir,” Harry spat, squeezing his eyes shut, groaning softly.
“Potter, I’m warning you.”
“I know!” Harry cried out as he was set on the ground. He staggered into the side of the building and stayed there, pressed against it as he regained his equilibrium. Snape let him stay there for a few moments, before pulling him against his side.
Harry clung desperately, fighting to stay standing when all he wanted to do was double over and throw up. He was certain Snape would be less than amused by that behavior. He was certain Snape was less than amused by this behavior. And Merlin, he bet Snape was going to bring him back to Ron and Hermione’s and not his own flat. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t let go of Snape or he’d be even worse off than he would be facing a sobriety potion and an angry, worried Hermione. He groaned when he felt the world press in against him as they Apparated out of the dingy back alley.
*****
Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall nervously. Ron would be home soon with Harry. They all needed to sit down and talk, but something told her this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. The twins were with Molly and Arthur for the afternoon, much to their joy. Molly didn’t even hesitate to take them in. Fred and George were there that afternoon as well, and Hermione could only spend a limited amount of worry on how her girls would be behaving when they got back. As much as she loved her brothers in law they were horrible influences, and she didn’t particularly want to hear from their preschool teacher that they had been pulling pranks.
The sound of the Floo activating made her tense. This was it. She felt guilty for waylaying Harry unexpectedly like this, but something had to be done. He wasn’t only upsetting them; he was upsetting her children, and more importantly, Draco. Her fingers clenched around her teacup as she thought about what had occurred the night before. She didn’t want to think about the state Severus had found Harry in, nor the conversation Ron had with Draco, but she had to. She was the only one to get all the stories and process them seamlessly and the results weren’t as startling as she would have expected them to be.
Harry.
She never would have thought that so many of her headaches would revolve around him, but there it was. Hermione loved him, she did, but there was only so much whining she could put up with, plus she had a medical interest in Draco and it was clear that his happiness was linked with Harry’s happiness. But what was making Harry so upset was something of a mystery to her. In her heart, she knew already what she was certain Harry would reveal to her today, but she still hoped she was wrong.
If she was right it meant Harry had never done as all the councilors he had seen had told him to do. It meant he hadn’t listened to his friends and family, and worse, not to himself. If only Harry knew how much his presence affected people.
“Hermione?”
“I’m in here, Ron!”
She waited for Ron to enter, trying to calm herself down. She was ashamed to realize she had lost her temper on her best friend the night before, she didn’t want to do the same now. Her main reason for doing it this way and not another was to prevent Harry from thinking they were ganging up on him. Hermione just wanted to know what was wrong, to have Harry express it so he could move beyond it. He had no idea what he was missing out on.
Harry came into the kitchen first, and Hermione smiled at him warmly. He looked on edge, and she really didn’t blame him. Normally when he came over the twins bowled him over before he even got to say hello, but now they were nowhere in sight.
“Sit down,” she encouraged, pushing out a chair next to her with her foot. Harry glanced at Ron nervously, before doing as he was told.
“What?”
Hermione grabbed one of his hands as Ron seated himself across from Harry. Harry licked his lips, staring between Ron and Hermione.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Hermione squeezed his hand with a sympathetic expression. She wondered what he was thinking, probably that they both had gone round the bend, but there was no helping that.
“We, Ron and I, want to talk to you.”
“About?”
Did he have to be so suspicious, Hermione thought, her other hand worriedly seeking out Ron’s beneath the table.
“You.”
Harry's expression went surly. “Why me?”
“Because we’re worried about you.”
“Oh, so you mean all that yelling last night was for no reason?”
“Harry,” Ron said his name with such authority that Harry almost looked betrayed. “You might be my best mate and all, but Hermione is my wife. And if you can’t respect her, I’m going to have to kick you out.”
“Fine.” Harry made to stand.
“I’ll also make you explain to the twins why their Uncle Harry won’t be able to see them for quite a long time.”
He sat again.
Hermione had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to subtle threats like that. “Harry, just tell us what’s the matter.”
“What makes you think something is the matter with me? Eh, Hermione?” Harry shot back, his arms folding across his chest.
“Harry, that’s not helping.”
“Maybe I don’t feel very helpful today.”
“You’re certainly feeling something though,” she muttered, thinking up a new way to get Harry to open his mouth and tell them what was disturbing him. “Ginny--”
“Don’t,” Harry said immediately, holding up a hand. “Just… please don’t.”
Hermione sighed heavily. So she had been thinking correctly then. “It’s the house, isn’t it?”
“I see her everywhere,” he croaked. Hermione let go of Ron’s hands, poured some peppermint tea into an empty cup, and then handed it to Harry. The green-eyed man took it with shaking hands, but didn’t drink any. “Every time I turn around she's there. I can’t sleep without escaping her.”
Hermione reached out, running a hand through his messy hair. “What happened?”
“I was dreaming.” Ron’s sharp intake of breath told her he knew where this was heading, just like she did. She was just amazed Harry still had yet to see the drawing on their refrigerator. “About Ginny,” he continued like he hadn’t noticed their reactions.
“And?”
“She was pregnant with Nathaniel, and Hermione, it was when we first felt him move. I could feel his foot against her skin, trace it even. He was right there.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but neither Ron nor Hermione dared to stop him now that he got started to point it out. He scrubbed his face, discarding his glasses on the table. “And then I don’t know what happened, but I closed my eyes and when I reopened them she wasn’t there anymore. Someone else was. There has got to be something wrong with me, guys! Why the hell else would I dream of Malfoy in my bed?”
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, her smile turning affectionate and knowing. “Was that all?”
“Was that all? Isn’t that enough?” he shouted. “Draco Malfoy has no place in my bed, even in my dreams!”
“Are you so sure of that?” The fact that it was Ron who spoke prevented Harry from speaking for a few moments. Hermione imagined that Harry was going into a bit of shock to hear Ron disagree with him like that. It certainly had surprised her to learn that her husband had gone and confronted Malfoy. The proposal that her Ron might be growing up filled her with hope that one day Harry might just do the same.
Harry’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he sank deeper into the wooden chair. “I loved Ginny.”
“Harry, you can love more than one person in a lifetime,” Hermione stated calmly. She watched as the idea settled in Harry’s mind and smiled at his hesitant grin. It was clear that it would take a bit more persuasion to get Harry around to her and Ron’s way of seeing things, but she had faith that it would happen given time. They had plenty of that. All this left Hermione feeling very satisfied, and she pushed the teacup towards Harry once more. “Drink your tea.”
Part 4