Fic: Unspoken (PG)
Author: nahara
Title: Unspoken
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG
Summary: When Draco asks Harry to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts and save the school from falling to ruin, little does he know that Harry will do more than save Hogwarts.
Warnings (if any): N/A
Total word count: 6,123
Original prompt request number: 137
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: I just hope everyone enjoys reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also a big - scratch that - HUGE thank you to my beta for being so speedy and muddling through my silly mistakes. It was a pleasure to work with you.
Beta(s): anthimaeria
Unspoken
Preface
Hogwarts was falling apart. Not due to the stately and atmospheric wear and tear common to old buildings, but in an altogether different, more dangerous way. It was falling apart from the inside. From the grounds Hogwarts looked much as it had always done; old stonework, various pointed towers, archways, courtyards. Hogwarts was a mad mashing of architecture, as though the wizard constructing it had been drunk on Firewhisky. However, the significant eroding could not be seen by the naked eye. The strong protective charms, put in place by the founders all those centuries ago, were disintegrating like chalk in water. Only since the death of Minerva McGonagall did all the Hogwarts professors notice the changes.
Headmistress McGonagall had died in her sleep a month into the new school year. She had lived to a grand old age, striding around the castle with keen eyes and a straight back, fighting-fit to the last. It came as quite a shock to the wizarding world when she went to bed one night and never opened her eyes again. It sent the steady rhythm of the school awry.
The Deputy Headmistress, Gertrude Marchgrove, was new to the school and timid to the point of ridiculousness. Jumping at any loud noise and terrified of the dark, even the teaching staff quickly grew exasperated by her hysterical nature and bouts of fainting. Marchgrove had been given the position due to high performance standards at the Ministry and it helped that she was a virtuoso in Ancient Runes.
When Minerva McGonagall died Marchgrove took over.
Or she would have if the school hadn’t rebelled. The Head’s Office refused all her nervous approaches. Everyone was shocked. The last time the gargoyle had declined access like this had been back during the war, during the nasty and thankfully short reign of Dolores Umbridge.
By then everyone had started to notice that Hogwarts was slowly unravelling with alarming steadiness. They needed a new and powerful Head, and they needed one fast…
Unspoken
“No. I refuse.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. You should be honoured,” stated the pompous voice of Vance Fowler-Tippin, Arithmancy professor. The nostrils of his narrow pointed nose flared with importance. “We have all decided you are the best man for the task.”
“All of us?” asked Professor Malfoy, his annoyance visible in every angle of his face. “Was I not allowed a say in the matter?” There was an uncomfortable silence in the Hogwarts staffroom. The ancient timepiece in the corner ticked away at an absurdly loud volume, counting out every awkward moment.
“This is important Draco, the school is… dying. We need a new Head to bond with Hogwarts.” Fowler-Tippin’s face was turning red.
“Bond…?” Draco thought this rather ironic. Since when did he bond with anything or anyone? It sounded as though Fowler-Tippin wanted him to give Hogwarts a hug and take it to Quidditch matches. It almost made him laugh. Almost.
“Someone powerful!” continued Fowler-Tippin while the other professors remained silent. It seemed to Malfoy that Vance had appointed himself spokesperson again.
“You are a clever wizard, Draco. You would do an excellent job. Everyone knows you should have gotten that Deputy Head position over Marchgrove.” This was stated by the young potions mistress, Mademoiselle Chevalier. Draco rather thought she had a crush on him. He sighed.
“I am perfectly happy with being Head of Slytherin; I do not need, or want, to be Head of Hogwarts.”
“What would you have us do, Draco?” asked the quiet voice of Neville Longbottom. “What do you suggest?”
Malfoy regarded Longbottom for a moment. They had never particularly got on, not even all these years later, but slowly they were gaining respect for each other as colleagues.
“How about I find a Head for Hogwarts?” A few curious looks were angled in his direction and a rousing snore from the sleeping Professor Binns.
“I don’t see why not,” began the short-sighted Muggle Studies teacher, whose name Draco could never remember. Everyone nodded their agreement. Fowler-Tippin spluttered.
“But… we have chosen you, Draco!”
“And I have declined.”
“Well, I never! At least there should be a back-up plan. If you can’t find a suitable witch or wizard for the position by the start of the Christmas holidays, you should take on the role yourself.”
“I have to agree with Vance,” Neville said, glancing almost apologetically at Malfoy. “It’s just too dangerous for Hogwarts to go on much longer without a Head.” There were murmurs of agreement and Vance’s face shone with triumph. Draco thought about hexing the man, or doing away with wands and just smacking him round that ugly, smug face.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But I have until the holiday.” With that he excused himself and marched out of the staffroom. The two gargoyles standing sentry leered at him.
“What’s eating you?”
“Bugger off,” Draco commented.
“Ohhh. I say! Did you hear that?” asked one gargoyle.
“I did!” replied the other.
“I would move, oh magical one, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m made of stone.” The two gargoyles’ raucous laughter followed Draco down the hall.
*
Draco had three days left before the Christmas break and he had no idea what to do. They needed someone powerful and yet most of the powerful witches and wizards already had good jobs. Who would quit their high-paying position to teach at a school? It didn’t stop Draco from trying but it didn’t stop the candidates from turning him down.
With great exasperation Draco left the confines of his office and mounted the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. During the day it was no use to anyone and Draco found it a perfectly quiet place for reflection, to be left alone. Even Peeves rarely came up there.
Swinging open the door at the top of the stairs Draco met an unpleasant sight. Three young boys were languishing in his quiet place, laughing and magically pelting each other with Every Flavour Beans. They wore the uniform black robes, knobbly knees on show with their red and gold ties askew.
It took a few moments for Draco’s presence to register with the boys. Slowly, one face, then another and then the last, was raised to meet the deadly scowl of Professor Malfoy. They all stood up at once, mortified at being caught. These first years had not been warned that this particular tower was the personal haunt of Professor Malfoy. Everyone else knew that and only dared go there when they had a class.
“Who gave you permission to be up here?” Draco snapped.
“Well… we… no one, sir,” replied a short and rather plump boy that Draco believed went by the name of Jeremiah. Or was it Jeremy?
“Detention. All three of you. Report to me after supper at seven and do not give me those faces. Ten points each from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight and off my tower!” The boys nodded with fervour and began to pick up the boxes of Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs.
“Leave the sweets. Yes, I said leave them. You didn’t think I’d allow you to keep them, did you? Now move.”
When the boys left, Draco sank to the ground with a sigh of exasperation, leaning his back against the stone wall. What was he to do?
Restless, Draco picked up one of little Chocolate Frog boxes. It had been ages since he’d eaten one. The box with its royal blue and bright gold reminded him suddenly of his childhood and of Hogwarts Express journeys. On a whim he stripped off the seal. Draco almost lost the frog as it jumped out of the packaging with alarming swiftness. He caught the frog with a deft hand and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.
Content on chewing the delicious chocolate and refusing to think of other matters, Draco reached inside the box and extracted the flimsy trading card displaying a famous wizard. He used to collect them and he wondered flippantly if perhaps he should take it up again.
Turning the card over, Draco nearly choked on the remainder of his frog. Looking slightly uncomfortable and smiling self-consciously was a wizard with scruffy dark hair, a pair of round glasses and, just visible, was a familiar scar on his forehead. Draco flipped the card over and read the profile.
Harry James Potter
“The Boy Who Lived”
Perhaps the most notorious wizard since Merlin, Harry Potter is famed for being the only person ever to have survived the Killing Curse. After the war, he worked as an Auror, and in 2017 became Head of the Auror Division. Despite years of valiant service, Harry Potter’s most celebrated achievement was the defeat of Lord Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998. Currently retired, Harry Potter is generally considered to be the most powerful wizard alive.
He enjoys flying and the colour red.
It was ridiculous. When exactly had Potter been put on a Frog card? It shouldn’t have surprised Draco, but it did. He read over the profile twice more before flipping the card over again to stare at his childhood nemesis. The portrait had probably been taken when Harry become Head of the Auror Division, in his mid thirties. He didn’t look much different than he had at school though; he still had that stupid expression and that messy hair.
Harry Potter is generally considered the most powerful wizard alive. Harry bloody Potter. Slowly an idea came to Draco, sitting there on the Astronomy tower, clutching the Chocolate Frog card. It was traitorous; a very bad idea. It was Draco’s last option.
*
The whole school was excited about the prospect of the Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts and becoming the new Head. Even the professors were atwitter with excitement.
“What a brilliant idea, Draco!” gushed Fowler-Tippin. “I would have suggested him myself, but alas-”
“He is so romantic; a truly tragic figure.” said Mademoiselle Chevalier dreamily, her eyes misting over.
The life of Harry Potter was common knowledge to wizarding society. Draco could hardly open The Daily Prophet without seeing some article on Potter and his family. Everyone knew that James Potter had taken after his father to become an Auror; Al Potter was the designer of the Stratosphere broom series (“used by all the best Quidditch players”); Lily was working her way up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and was the youngest member of the Wizengamot for a century.
At first he was exasperated with the amount of coverage given Harry and the other Potters, but Draco soon made a habit of flicking through the paper to see if they were mentioned. He felt rather like a voyeur following Harry’s every move and mood as told by the British wizarding media. Truth be told, he felt a pang of sympathy for Potter. Draco had had his own fair share of media attention during the divorce between himself and Astoria. The media interest had made the whole business all the more difficult and Scorpius had not coped well. Once the divorce was settled, Scorpius and his mother moved to France. Draco hadn’t been the most affectionate of fathers, he admitted that, but he often found himself missing his son’s caustic humour.
Like everyone else, Draco had been riveted by the tragedy that struck the Potter family five years ago. Harry and his wife Ginny had been caught in a crossfire of curses while apprehending a Dark wizard. Harry survived with a limp, but Ginny lost her life.
The wizarding world had gone into mourning, watching Harry’s every action and analysing it for signs of breakdown. Draco remembered the grim and sombre image of Harry on the cover of The Daily Prophet. He was wearing black mourning robes and his daughter hid her tears in his shoulder.
Perhaps for the first time ever, Draco felt real compassion for his school nemesis. It shocked him but he no longer detested Potter. He’d grown up.
*
“Malfoy.”
Draco nearly jumped a foot at the sound of Harry’s voice. He’d been standing in the dark and the cold for what felt like an hour, waiting for Harry to Apparate to Hogwarts’ front gate.
“Potter,” he bit out, unable to keep the resentment and annoyance from his voice. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. There was an awkward silence between the two as they stared at each other. By the light of the full moon, Draco took in the person that Harry Potter had become. A man of fifty-something, Harry’s famous black hair was going silver at the temples and his face was beginning to crease with worry lines from the tough life of an Auror.
“Come, Potter, no time to waste. You left me standing in the cold long enough.”
“Sorry, Malfoy.” Harry sighed. “Had a family issue to deal with.”
Draco grunted. To his embarrassment, he didn’t know how to treat this old enemy. They weren’t friends but they were no longer children. His own mother had saved Harry Potter’s life, for Merlin’s sake! He didn’t know what to do, so Draco reverted to being curt, just as he was with everyone else.
They walked up the slope to the giant front doors of Hogwarts. Despite the limp from his bad leg, Harry didn’t seem to have a problem keeping up with Draco’s brisk pace. In fact, Harry was quite trim for his age. Rather churlishly, Draco had hoped to find Potter balding and pot-bellied.
“I’ll take you to the Head’s office immediately. No point you unpacking if the gargoyle doesn’t let you in.”
Harry nodded. “That’s fine. Have you figured out why Hogwarts refused Marchgrove? It’s highly unusual.”
“Not really. Marchgrove may be an idiot, but she was still the Deputy Head.”
“Where is Marchgrove?”
“Licking her wounds, presumably. She’s terribly distressed that the school is refusing her as Headmistress. But everything distresses Professor Marchgrove. She fainted the other day at breakfast because she thought the house-elves were trying to poison her porridge.” Draco smiled grimly at the memory.
Harry bit back a chuckle. “Right. I’ll do some investigating. The Ministry has been breathing down my neck since I accepted the post. Something must be wrong if Hogwarts is having problems with its charm defences…”
Draco felt as though Potter was thinking aloud rather than holding a conversation with him, so he didn’t comment or interrupt the flow of words. When they rounded a corner to the corridor where the Head Office gargoyle resided, several of the professors were milling about, chatting in excited voices.
Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Is there some staff meeting that I was not made aware of?” Unfortunately, his dark sarcasm was lost on most of the professors who were far more interested in Potter.
“A pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter, sir!” cried Fowler-Tippin, proffering his hand for Harry to shake.
“Welcome.”
“Enchanté, Monsieur Potter.”
“Good to see you again, Harry,” said Neville, in amongst the star struck teachers.
“Hello Neville. It’s been a while,” Harry said with an awkward smile. Fame still didn’t suit him, Draco noticed.
“As fun as this gathering is,” began Draco, “Mister Potter really needs to get to work, so if you could all go about your business…” He was met with looks of annoyance and deflation, but Draco just raised a brow in response.
“Thanks,” Harry said when all the professors had left. Draco just nodded. “Well, let’s see if this works. What was the password again?”
“Bludgers.”
“Right. Sounds like McGonagall. She always liked Quidditch.” Harry walked to the stone gargoyle and was about to open his mouth when the gargoyle bowed low to him and stepped aside.
“Well, that answers that,” Draco said, and left Harry at the entrance alone.
*
No one was in the staffroom, or so Draco thought until he turned a corner and heard two familiar voices in the room beyond. He immediately recognised Potter and the soft, rather timid voice of Neville Longbottom. Something made Draco hesitate to move forward and make his presence known.
There was some laughter, and then:
“Hasn’t changed much in all these years, has he?” asked Potter. Draco knew who they were talking about. He felt himself go cold.
“Actually, I’ve found that his bark is worse than his bite. He’s mellowed.”
“Really?”
“He shows you a different face than to the rest of us.” A pause.
“Why?”
“Because. You’re Harry Potter. And he’s Draco Malfoy.”
Suddenly Draco didn’t want to be there anymore, didn’t want to listen. He left the staffroom and went up to the Astronomy Tower. He needed to be alone and think.
*
Potter had been at Hogwarts a week and it was obvious to everyone that the school was improving; everyone except Marchgrove, who took to ignoring the rest of the staff and started eating meals alone in her office. Draco liked that particular turn of events; he no longer had to hear her high pitch whine and the sudden thud of her falling to the floor in a faint. Potter was doing well.
The night was bitter, but Draco didn’t mind. He sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower in most weather conditions, watching the stars. After a while he noticed a black speck against the dark expanse of sky. As he watched it whizz by, he suddenly realised that it was a man on a broom. Draco recognised him: Harry Potter was out for a midnight fly.
Harry landed on the tower with little effort and Draco noticed he was using the latest broom designed by his son, the Stratosphere X80. Much to his annoyance, Draco found he was rather jealous, just has he had been about Harry’s Firebolt all those years ago.
“Hello, Malfoy. Mind if I sit for a moment?” Harry was already sitting down not far from Draco, so he guessed that Harry wasn’t looking for an answer. He didn’t really like others bothering him while he was taking some personal meditation time.
They were quiet for a while, both watching the sky. Draco guessed that Harry was happy to remain silent, that he didn’t want to talk about the school and its problems. Draco didn’t want to breach any personal boundaries to ask about Harry’s family, so he said nothing
“It’s good to be back,” Harry commented after a while.
“Mm. You must be glad to see Longbottom again,” Draco couldn’t help but say, voice verging on the sarcastic.
Harry gave him a quizzical and unreadable look that made Draco uncomfortable. It had been so easy to read Harry when they were younger. He used to wear his heart on his sleeve. That had been part of the fun in pestering him; Harry had always risen to the occasion. Now there wasn’t as much reaction, nothing Draco could decipher at any rate. The war, his experience as an Auror and losing his wife had all worked to change ‘The Boy Who Lived’. Draco was suddenly facing a man that he felt he should know and found someone else entirely. He wondered what Harry saw.
The conversation he'd overheard between Harry and Neville resurfaced once again in his mind. He had the sudden and childish urge to hurt Harry - just as he’d done when they were young.
“I have to leave,” Draco said in a sour tone of voice. He stood abruptly. The skin between Harry’s eyes wrinkled as though Harry was mildly confused at the tone and abruptness. But it soon cleared and he was nodding slowly. Harry stood and gripped his broom.
“Goodnight, Draco.”
It wasn’t until Harry was a tiny dot in the distant sky that he realised that for the first time he could remember, Harry had called him Draco. He smiled as he made his way down the steps of the Astronomy Tower.
*
Without either of the men discussing it, their night time chats on the Astronomy Tower became a regular occurrence. Mostly, they talked about nothing of consequence or didn’t talk at all. Occasionally they discussed Harry’s troubles with Hogwarts.
“Even though I’ve stabilised the school,” said Harry one night, “Hogwarts still needs lots of time and energy. It’s fixable, but the damage has been done. I have a long way to go yet.” His face was drawn and solemn.
Draco didn’t add much to these tower conversations, but he did notice that Harry always looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. Sometimes he wanted to ask Potter if he was sleeping at all but always caught himself before doing so.
“Why do you go flying at night?” Draco asked about a week and a half into their meetings. He tensed as he waited for the answer, wondering if he’d crossed the boundary they’d silently set for themselves. Harry was quiet for a moment, looking up into the black sky.
“Just... tired. Need to get away from it all for a while, you know?”
Draco nodded. That was his own reason for escaping to the Tower at night. It was strange that neither he nor Harry minded giving up some of that solitary time so that they could sit together. It had been a long time since Draco had done that with anyone.
“You brought Firewhisky?” asked Harry one evening, eyeing up the distinctively narrow bottle beside Draco.
“Yes,” said Draco, shrugging. He’d gotten the bottle off of Marchgrove. The silly Ancient Runes professor had been beside herself with anxiety that evening after receiving the bottle by owl.
“I don’t know who would think I’d drink this stuff,” she said. “Perfectly dreadful! Perhaps they mean to mock me? After all, I am not the Headmistress and have nothing to celebrate.” She sniffled. “Here, Professor Malfoy, you take the whisky. I am not an alcoholic.”
“And I am?” he’d asked, raising a brow at her retreating back.
Draco looked up from his memories to see Harry sitting down beside him. “Want some, Potter?”
“Go on then. It’s been a long while since I had any.”
Draco conjured up two tumblers and poured them each a generous helping. Harry took a huge gulp. His face scrunched up as though in serious pain and turned a bright shade of red. With little warning he opened his mouth and belched out a huge flame. Draco snorted.
“Steady, Potter. Don’t want our dear Headmaster to burn himself to death.” Harry scowled at Draco, just as he’d done in their childhood.
“Shut it, Malfoy.” Harry took a smaller, mouthful and soon he was asking for more. Both men were feeling rather warm despite the December night. Suddenly the topics they’d been avoiding became easier to talk about.
“Why did you become a teacher here? I didn’t know you liked Hogwarts that much... or Astronomy,” said Harry, looking intently at Draco.
“My father didn’t want me to do Astronomy. He would have preferred it if I had become Minister for Magic and made the Malfoy name respectable again.” Draco paused and looked into the vast, dark sky.
“But I like planets and stars and learning about other galaxies. We’re that small in the scheme of things. What does it all matter?”
“Because of infinite possibilities, the past is forgotten,” Harry said, knowing exactly what Draco’s thoughts were. Draco just shook his head, not able to say more.
“What about you? Why did you take on this position? Couldn’t be for the money. No one does this for the money.” Draco cackled, taking another sip of Firewhisky.
“Hogwarts was always more of a home to me than just a school. I couldn’t let it just die. I guess I wanted to feel I was doing something important again. My children don’t need me much these days, my godson is getting married soon, and I can’t be an Auror anymore, not with this injury...”
“Doesn’t seem to hold you up much,” ventured Draco, eyeing Harry’s recalcitrant knee.
“You’d be surprised,” said Harry with a scowl. “So, yeah, I wanted to feel needed again. I wanted to be of some value.”
Draco couldn’t help but think that maybe Harry hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought, he just hid it better. Draco himself hid enough to know when someone else was doing it.
“What about the Weasleys? Surely they need you...” Harry shrugged and slid down the wall a bit, slumped and eyeing the middle distance.
“Well, Ron and Hermione will always be there for me. I know that and they know that. I had to do this for me. I can talk to them when, and if, I need it. That’s what friends are for.”
The two wizards continued to talk, more open in those minutes than they had been with each other their entire lives. For Draco, it was exhilarating.
“I miss her, you know,” said Harry in a very small voice and his silvery breath was just noticeable in the dark. It took a moment for Draco to think of who Harry meant, but only a moment. Ginny.
“I miss her so much. My best friend, my childhood sweetheart, the mother of my children. I thought we’d always be together. Why did I have to lose someone else? My life seems to be measured by what I’ve lost.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t understand that kind of love. He’d never loved Astoria, not the way Harry had obviously adored Ginny. In the end that was what killed the marriage: Astoria wanted more than he did.
Neither of the men said anything else that night. Perhaps they knew they’d shared more than they could bear.
*
The children came back and filled the school with noise again. Draco didn’t know whether to be happy with the distraction, a distraction which meant he and Harry had stopped their chats. On the face of it they were just too busy with work and rambunctious, exasperating children to make meeting up feasible. However, Draco felt as though they were avoiding each other. They’d both shared too much, gotten too drunk. Draco found it hard to meet Harry in the eyes. So, Draco got on with his life as a professor at Hogwarts, teaching witches and wizards the names of stars and galaxies, which he knew they’d never remember. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered.
The sole excitement of that term happened on a bright and blustery January morning. Much to everyone’s surprise and awe, a phoenix was seen in the sky above Hogwarts. Hearing its beautiful song, students and professors alike shivered with eerie delight. It was the talk of the day; Fawkes had returned. Back from where exactly, no one knew - he hadn’t been seen since the days of Dumbledore. There was also no indication as to why he’d arrived, but he soon took up residence in the Head’s Office, presumably to support Harry.
During the spring term, Draco and Harry hardly said two words to each other. The only time they saw one another was during the staff meetings. Though still embarrassed by the whole drunken conversation on the Astronomy Tower, Draco was missing being able to talk to someone. As always, he only realised how much he enjoyed it when it was no longer there.
On more than one occasion, he found himself pulling out the Chocolate Frog card that had started everything. For some reason he hadn't thrown it away. He kept the thing in his robe pocket. It was always the same; a shy Harry staring back at him, as though embarrassed by Draco’s watching eyes. Draco knew he should just chuck the card in the fire, but never did.
One Saturday afternoon, when most of the students had trekked down to Hogsmeade, Draco decided he needed to see Harry in person. With only a vague thought of excuses, Draco made his way to the Head’s office, scowling.
“Nimbus 2000,” he barked at the gargoyle, which slunk aside to let Draco pass. Once he’d mounted the hidden staircase Draco knocked on the door but got no response. He tried again. Still nothing. Cautiously, he opened the door and looked in.
The office looked different than it had in McGonagall's day, and than it had when it was Dumbledore's. It looked like a mix between a Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and the Quidditch shed. A few top-class brooms were exhibited along the far wall; beside them was a giant foe-glass. On a shelf besides Harry’s desk were framed photographs of his family and friends, placed next to a little wrought iron cage where a golden snitch flew in circles.
Harry was sitting at his desk amid heaped piles of ancient books and yellowed parchments. He was fast asleep, head resting on an old tome as though it were a pillow. As Draco got closer he could even hear soft snoring. Draco shook his head. Now what was he supposed to do? He certainly didn’t want to wake the other man; Harry was as exhausted as ever.
“Come to moon over Potter, have we?” asked a cold voice from Draco’s left.
Glancing up, Draco scowled at the oily portrait of his old professor, Severus Snape. “Mooning? Don’t be ridiculous,” he said in a vicious whisper.
“I may be a portrait but I am not blind. You were mooning. I thought I’d taught you better than that, Malfoy.” Draco opened his mouth to fire back a snarky reply when a third voice entered the argument.
“Gentlemen, could you possibly desist from this discussion? I rather think Harry deserves a good rest.” Dumbledore’s portrait eyed Harry affectionately, his blue eyes bright and kind. Draco felt annoyed. Suddenly Dumbledore’s keen eyes met Draco’s; he froze. There was a hint of something in that gaze that made Draco take a step back; those eyes were far too knowing. He felt a shiver run through him.
“Let him know I stopped by,” Draco mumbled to his old Headmaster, before hurrying out the door, not daring to look back.
*
The rest of the term dragged on, slower than slow. Hogwarts was getting better every day. Often the students and the professors saw Harry wandering around the school grounds, making mysterious adjustments to the protective charms by swishing his wand or muttering to himself.
Draco never knew if Dumbledore had told Harry of his visit that Saturday afternoon. Harry hadn’t said anything and Draco was back to having a Frog card for company.
When Easter finally rolled round, the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh years were allowed to remain at the school for the sake of their exams. The rest of the student body was asked to leave, giving Hogwarts a little more time to recover without the restless energy and magical misfires of its younger students.
The first evening after Hogwarts broke up for the spring holiday, Draco climbed the Astronomy Tower steps to watch the sun set. He was happy to get his tower back and not have to worry about detentions or marking shoddy essays for a few weeks.
To his great surprise, when he opened the tower door and stepped out, there was someone already leaning against the wall facing the horizon. It was Harry.
Draco faltered for a moment, wondering what he should say. In the end he said nothing but walked forward to lean his elbows against the wall besides Harry. Neither said anything for a while, just watched as the sky darkened from deep burgundy to bruise-purple. At last all traces of the sun were swept from the sky and the stars began to shine.
“There is something very satisfying about having the time and the quiet to watch the sun set,” said Harry, turning to face Draco.
Draco just nodded and sat down. Not speaking, they watched the sky in companionable silence. The next thing Draco became aware of were the hands shaking him gently.
“Wha- ?” began Draco, blearily opening his eyes to find Harry standing above him.
“You’ll miss the sunrise if you keep sleeping,” Harry said with a smile in his voice. He’d been asleep? Draco tried to stand up but found his legs rather stiff from sleeping outside all night and from the cold dew that clung to his robes. After a few tentative stretches, Draco was finally limber enough to stand.
Was it really morning? Sure enough, coming in over the hills to the east was the purple wash of a new day. The two wizards stood side by side watching the sun arrive, just as they’d seen it leave all those hours before.
*
“Marchgrove did what?” asked Harry incredulously.
“I swear, she came out of her office and told me that I was swishing my robes far too loudly and asked if I’d mind desisting from this activity at once because she had a deathly headache thank you very much.”
Harry grinned and shook his head.
“I’m not sure,” Draco continued, deadpan, “but I think she is trying to seduce me.”
At that statement Harry let out a hideous snort of laughter.
Draco smiled slightly at having made Harry laugh. It was a nice feeling. It had been a long time since he’d had a friendship like this. Draco was happy that they’d managed to overcome the Firewhisky incident to be on speaking terms once again. If anything, they were now closer than before. They were able to joke and make fun of each other, but without any of their childhood cruelty.
“That woman is priceless,” wheezed Harry, attempting to keep his laughter in check.
“Duly noted. Hogwarts has an abundance of ridiculous professors. Fowler-Tippin for example...”
“Oh, Merlin, don’t even get me started.”
“Ah, do we not like having our arse kissed? Hm?”
Harry groaned.
Draco was unrelenting. “What of that charming young Potions Professor? I rather think she’s keen on you.”
“I hope not. She’s so...”
“French?” Draco supplied.
Harry glared at him good-naturedly.
“I heard her talking to one of the other professors the other day about how magnifique your eyes were.”
“She didn’t, did she?” asked Harry, his right hand massaging his temple. Draco nodded.
“Did you know that sonnets have been written about the colour of your eyes?”
“Shove off, Draco,” Harry said, rolling the eyes in question. Draco laughed.
“The moon is white, your eyes are green, you’re the most beautiful man I have ever seen!”
Harry snorted with laughter again, wiping his watery eyes. “That’s hideous!”
“I don’t know, I thought it had quite the ring about it.”
Harry just shook his head. They grew quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the silence. Draco was thinking of poetry. In truth he had never really given much thought to it before. The most he knew came from Astoria who had been an avid reader of that particular medium. Poetry: it made one think.
Into the darkening evening, Draco opened his mouth and began to quote an old verse. It was a poem that Astoria had often quoted to him but which he never understood, not until now.
“You and I-the only ones
In this growing world
Which comes forward through endless night
Attracted to the beacon of my words
For you.
Forevermore I’ll talk of light
Of a million blazing stars,
Yet there is an eternity on my tongue.
Circles. Infinite. Ceaseless.
My love unlike the dawn,
Will never rise,
You have left me (a star of only one)
To light the black
Alone.”
There was a deep, deep silence when Draco finished the poem. He glanced over at Harry who’d gone very still. He thought he spied a hint of a blush on the other man’s cheeks. He didn’t know what else to do, for what was left after all was said and done?
Slowly, Harry turned. He leaned forward and very gently touched his lips to Draco’s. He had warm and slightly rough lips. Draco tasted salt and yet there were no tears. It wasn’t the passionate kiss of young lovers; it was far too poignant and far too slow. Harry’s kiss was like words being whispered in Draco’s ears. Melancholy whispers that said thank you and I’m sorry. Goodbye.
Harry broke away first, his eyelids half closed. Face grim and sad, Harry bowed his head. He placed his cold hand over Draco’s and held it there. It was enough for Draco. He’d said something and Harry had not run away but accepted the poem for what it was. Harry had understood as Draco never had. He knew that Harry would always love Ginny and that he’d never quite get over her death. Yet with Harry’s hand over his Draco didn’t want for anything more.
Title: Unspoken
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG
Summary: When Draco asks Harry to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts and save the school from falling to ruin, little does he know that Harry will do more than save Hogwarts.
Warnings (if any): N/A
Total word count: 6,123
Original prompt request number: 137
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: I just hope everyone enjoys reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also a big - scratch that - HUGE thank you to my beta for being so speedy and muddling through my silly mistakes. It was a pleasure to work with you.
Beta(s): anthimaeria
Unspoken
Preface
Hogwarts was falling apart. Not due to the stately and atmospheric wear and tear common to old buildings, but in an altogether different, more dangerous way. It was falling apart from the inside. From the grounds Hogwarts looked much as it had always done; old stonework, various pointed towers, archways, courtyards. Hogwarts was a mad mashing of architecture, as though the wizard constructing it had been drunk on Firewhisky. However, the significant eroding could not be seen by the naked eye. The strong protective charms, put in place by the founders all those centuries ago, were disintegrating like chalk in water. Only since the death of Minerva McGonagall did all the Hogwarts professors notice the changes.
Headmistress McGonagall had died in her sleep a month into the new school year. She had lived to a grand old age, striding around the castle with keen eyes and a straight back, fighting-fit to the last. It came as quite a shock to the wizarding world when she went to bed one night and never opened her eyes again. It sent the steady rhythm of the school awry.
The Deputy Headmistress, Gertrude Marchgrove, was new to the school and timid to the point of ridiculousness. Jumping at any loud noise and terrified of the dark, even the teaching staff quickly grew exasperated by her hysterical nature and bouts of fainting. Marchgrove had been given the position due to high performance standards at the Ministry and it helped that she was a virtuoso in Ancient Runes.
When Minerva McGonagall died Marchgrove took over.
Or she would have if the school hadn’t rebelled. The Head’s Office refused all her nervous approaches. Everyone was shocked. The last time the gargoyle had declined access like this had been back during the war, during the nasty and thankfully short reign of Dolores Umbridge.
By then everyone had started to notice that Hogwarts was slowly unravelling with alarming steadiness. They needed a new and powerful Head, and they needed one fast…
Unspoken
“No. I refuse.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. You should be honoured,” stated the pompous voice of Vance Fowler-Tippin, Arithmancy professor. The nostrils of his narrow pointed nose flared with importance. “We have all decided you are the best man for the task.”
“All of us?” asked Professor Malfoy, his annoyance visible in every angle of his face. “Was I not allowed a say in the matter?” There was an uncomfortable silence in the Hogwarts staffroom. The ancient timepiece in the corner ticked away at an absurdly loud volume, counting out every awkward moment.
“This is important Draco, the school is… dying. We need a new Head to bond with Hogwarts.” Fowler-Tippin’s face was turning red.
“Bond…?” Draco thought this rather ironic. Since when did he bond with anything or anyone? It sounded as though Fowler-Tippin wanted him to give Hogwarts a hug and take it to Quidditch matches. It almost made him laugh. Almost.
“Someone powerful!” continued Fowler-Tippin while the other professors remained silent. It seemed to Malfoy that Vance had appointed himself spokesperson again.
“You are a clever wizard, Draco. You would do an excellent job. Everyone knows you should have gotten that Deputy Head position over Marchgrove.” This was stated by the young potions mistress, Mademoiselle Chevalier. Draco rather thought she had a crush on him. He sighed.
“I am perfectly happy with being Head of Slytherin; I do not need, or want, to be Head of Hogwarts.”
“What would you have us do, Draco?” asked the quiet voice of Neville Longbottom. “What do you suggest?”
Malfoy regarded Longbottom for a moment. They had never particularly got on, not even all these years later, but slowly they were gaining respect for each other as colleagues.
“How about I find a Head for Hogwarts?” A few curious looks were angled in his direction and a rousing snore from the sleeping Professor Binns.
“I don’t see why not,” began the short-sighted Muggle Studies teacher, whose name Draco could never remember. Everyone nodded their agreement. Fowler-Tippin spluttered.
“But… we have chosen you, Draco!”
“And I have declined.”
“Well, I never! At least there should be a back-up plan. If you can’t find a suitable witch or wizard for the position by the start of the Christmas holidays, you should take on the role yourself.”
“I have to agree with Vance,” Neville said, glancing almost apologetically at Malfoy. “It’s just too dangerous for Hogwarts to go on much longer without a Head.” There were murmurs of agreement and Vance’s face shone with triumph. Draco thought about hexing the man, or doing away with wands and just smacking him round that ugly, smug face.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But I have until the holiday.” With that he excused himself and marched out of the staffroom. The two gargoyles standing sentry leered at him.
“What’s eating you?”
“Bugger off,” Draco commented.
“Ohhh. I say! Did you hear that?” asked one gargoyle.
“I did!” replied the other.
“I would move, oh magical one, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m made of stone.” The two gargoyles’ raucous laughter followed Draco down the hall.
*
Draco had three days left before the Christmas break and he had no idea what to do. They needed someone powerful and yet most of the powerful witches and wizards already had good jobs. Who would quit their high-paying position to teach at a school? It didn’t stop Draco from trying but it didn’t stop the candidates from turning him down.
With great exasperation Draco left the confines of his office and mounted the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. During the day it was no use to anyone and Draco found it a perfectly quiet place for reflection, to be left alone. Even Peeves rarely came up there.
Swinging open the door at the top of the stairs Draco met an unpleasant sight. Three young boys were languishing in his quiet place, laughing and magically pelting each other with Every Flavour Beans. They wore the uniform black robes, knobbly knees on show with their red and gold ties askew.
It took a few moments for Draco’s presence to register with the boys. Slowly, one face, then another and then the last, was raised to meet the deadly scowl of Professor Malfoy. They all stood up at once, mortified at being caught. These first years had not been warned that this particular tower was the personal haunt of Professor Malfoy. Everyone else knew that and only dared go there when they had a class.
“Who gave you permission to be up here?” Draco snapped.
“Well… we… no one, sir,” replied a short and rather plump boy that Draco believed went by the name of Jeremiah. Or was it Jeremy?
“Detention. All three of you. Report to me after supper at seven and do not give me those faces. Ten points each from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight and off my tower!” The boys nodded with fervour and began to pick up the boxes of Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs.
“Leave the sweets. Yes, I said leave them. You didn’t think I’d allow you to keep them, did you? Now move.”
When the boys left, Draco sank to the ground with a sigh of exasperation, leaning his back against the stone wall. What was he to do?
Restless, Draco picked up one of little Chocolate Frog boxes. It had been ages since he’d eaten one. The box with its royal blue and bright gold reminded him suddenly of his childhood and of Hogwarts Express journeys. On a whim he stripped off the seal. Draco almost lost the frog as it jumped out of the packaging with alarming swiftness. He caught the frog with a deft hand and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth.
Content on chewing the delicious chocolate and refusing to think of other matters, Draco reached inside the box and extracted the flimsy trading card displaying a famous wizard. He used to collect them and he wondered flippantly if perhaps he should take it up again.
Turning the card over, Draco nearly choked on the remainder of his frog. Looking slightly uncomfortable and smiling self-consciously was a wizard with scruffy dark hair, a pair of round glasses and, just visible, was a familiar scar on his forehead. Draco flipped the card over and read the profile.
Harry James Potter
“The Boy Who Lived”
Perhaps the most notorious wizard since Merlin, Harry Potter is famed for being the only person ever to have survived the Killing Curse. After the war, he worked as an Auror, and in 2017 became Head of the Auror Division. Despite years of valiant service, Harry Potter’s most celebrated achievement was the defeat of Lord Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998. Currently retired, Harry Potter is generally considered to be the most powerful wizard alive.
He enjoys flying and the colour red.
It was ridiculous. When exactly had Potter been put on a Frog card? It shouldn’t have surprised Draco, but it did. He read over the profile twice more before flipping the card over again to stare at his childhood nemesis. The portrait had probably been taken when Harry become Head of the Auror Division, in his mid thirties. He didn’t look much different than he had at school though; he still had that stupid expression and that messy hair.
Harry Potter is generally considered the most powerful wizard alive. Harry bloody Potter. Slowly an idea came to Draco, sitting there on the Astronomy tower, clutching the Chocolate Frog card. It was traitorous; a very bad idea. It was Draco’s last option.
*
The whole school was excited about the prospect of the Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts and becoming the new Head. Even the professors were atwitter with excitement.
“What a brilliant idea, Draco!” gushed Fowler-Tippin. “I would have suggested him myself, but alas-”
“He is so romantic; a truly tragic figure.” said Mademoiselle Chevalier dreamily, her eyes misting over.
The life of Harry Potter was common knowledge to wizarding society. Draco could hardly open The Daily Prophet without seeing some article on Potter and his family. Everyone knew that James Potter had taken after his father to become an Auror; Al Potter was the designer of the Stratosphere broom series (“used by all the best Quidditch players”); Lily was working her way up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and was the youngest member of the Wizengamot for a century.
At first he was exasperated with the amount of coverage given Harry and the other Potters, but Draco soon made a habit of flicking through the paper to see if they were mentioned. He felt rather like a voyeur following Harry’s every move and mood as told by the British wizarding media. Truth be told, he felt a pang of sympathy for Potter. Draco had had his own fair share of media attention during the divorce between himself and Astoria. The media interest had made the whole business all the more difficult and Scorpius had not coped well. Once the divorce was settled, Scorpius and his mother moved to France. Draco hadn’t been the most affectionate of fathers, he admitted that, but he often found himself missing his son’s caustic humour.
Like everyone else, Draco had been riveted by the tragedy that struck the Potter family five years ago. Harry and his wife Ginny had been caught in a crossfire of curses while apprehending a Dark wizard. Harry survived with a limp, but Ginny lost her life.
The wizarding world had gone into mourning, watching Harry’s every action and analysing it for signs of breakdown. Draco remembered the grim and sombre image of Harry on the cover of The Daily Prophet. He was wearing black mourning robes and his daughter hid her tears in his shoulder.
Perhaps for the first time ever, Draco felt real compassion for his school nemesis. It shocked him but he no longer detested Potter. He’d grown up.
*
“Malfoy.”
Draco nearly jumped a foot at the sound of Harry’s voice. He’d been standing in the dark and the cold for what felt like an hour, waiting for Harry to Apparate to Hogwarts’ front gate.
“Potter,” he bit out, unable to keep the resentment and annoyance from his voice. He didn’t like to be kept waiting. There was an awkward silence between the two as they stared at each other. By the light of the full moon, Draco took in the person that Harry Potter had become. A man of fifty-something, Harry’s famous black hair was going silver at the temples and his face was beginning to crease with worry lines from the tough life of an Auror.
“Come, Potter, no time to waste. You left me standing in the cold long enough.”
“Sorry, Malfoy.” Harry sighed. “Had a family issue to deal with.”
Draco grunted. To his embarrassment, he didn’t know how to treat this old enemy. They weren’t friends but they were no longer children. His own mother had saved Harry Potter’s life, for Merlin’s sake! He didn’t know what to do, so Draco reverted to being curt, just as he was with everyone else.
They walked up the slope to the giant front doors of Hogwarts. Despite the limp from his bad leg, Harry didn’t seem to have a problem keeping up with Draco’s brisk pace. In fact, Harry was quite trim for his age. Rather churlishly, Draco had hoped to find Potter balding and pot-bellied.
“I’ll take you to the Head’s office immediately. No point you unpacking if the gargoyle doesn’t let you in.”
Harry nodded. “That’s fine. Have you figured out why Hogwarts refused Marchgrove? It’s highly unusual.”
“Not really. Marchgrove may be an idiot, but she was still the Deputy Head.”
“Where is Marchgrove?”
“Licking her wounds, presumably. She’s terribly distressed that the school is refusing her as Headmistress. But everything distresses Professor Marchgrove. She fainted the other day at breakfast because she thought the house-elves were trying to poison her porridge.” Draco smiled grimly at the memory.
Harry bit back a chuckle. “Right. I’ll do some investigating. The Ministry has been breathing down my neck since I accepted the post. Something must be wrong if Hogwarts is having problems with its charm defences…”
Draco felt as though Potter was thinking aloud rather than holding a conversation with him, so he didn’t comment or interrupt the flow of words. When they rounded a corner to the corridor where the Head Office gargoyle resided, several of the professors were milling about, chatting in excited voices.
Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Is there some staff meeting that I was not made aware of?” Unfortunately, his dark sarcasm was lost on most of the professors who were far more interested in Potter.
“A pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter, sir!” cried Fowler-Tippin, proffering his hand for Harry to shake.
“Welcome.”
“Enchanté, Monsieur Potter.”
“Good to see you again, Harry,” said Neville, in amongst the star struck teachers.
“Hello Neville. It’s been a while,” Harry said with an awkward smile. Fame still didn’t suit him, Draco noticed.
“As fun as this gathering is,” began Draco, “Mister Potter really needs to get to work, so if you could all go about your business…” He was met with looks of annoyance and deflation, but Draco just raised a brow in response.
“Thanks,” Harry said when all the professors had left. Draco just nodded. “Well, let’s see if this works. What was the password again?”
“Bludgers.”
“Right. Sounds like McGonagall. She always liked Quidditch.” Harry walked to the stone gargoyle and was about to open his mouth when the gargoyle bowed low to him and stepped aside.
“Well, that answers that,” Draco said, and left Harry at the entrance alone.
*
No one was in the staffroom, or so Draco thought until he turned a corner and heard two familiar voices in the room beyond. He immediately recognised Potter and the soft, rather timid voice of Neville Longbottom. Something made Draco hesitate to move forward and make his presence known.
There was some laughter, and then:
“Hasn’t changed much in all these years, has he?” asked Potter. Draco knew who they were talking about. He felt himself go cold.
“Actually, I’ve found that his bark is worse than his bite. He’s mellowed.”
“Really?”
“He shows you a different face than to the rest of us.” A pause.
“Why?”
“Because. You’re Harry Potter. And he’s Draco Malfoy.”
Suddenly Draco didn’t want to be there anymore, didn’t want to listen. He left the staffroom and went up to the Astronomy Tower. He needed to be alone and think.
*
Potter had been at Hogwarts a week and it was obvious to everyone that the school was improving; everyone except Marchgrove, who took to ignoring the rest of the staff and started eating meals alone in her office. Draco liked that particular turn of events; he no longer had to hear her high pitch whine and the sudden thud of her falling to the floor in a faint. Potter was doing well.
The night was bitter, but Draco didn’t mind. He sat at the top of the Astronomy Tower in most weather conditions, watching the stars. After a while he noticed a black speck against the dark expanse of sky. As he watched it whizz by, he suddenly realised that it was a man on a broom. Draco recognised him: Harry Potter was out for a midnight fly.
Harry landed on the tower with little effort and Draco noticed he was using the latest broom designed by his son, the Stratosphere X80. Much to his annoyance, Draco found he was rather jealous, just has he had been about Harry’s Firebolt all those years ago.
“Hello, Malfoy. Mind if I sit for a moment?” Harry was already sitting down not far from Draco, so he guessed that Harry wasn’t looking for an answer. He didn’t really like others bothering him while he was taking some personal meditation time.
They were quiet for a while, both watching the sky. Draco guessed that Harry was happy to remain silent, that he didn’t want to talk about the school and its problems. Draco didn’t want to breach any personal boundaries to ask about Harry’s family, so he said nothing
“It’s good to be back,” Harry commented after a while.
“Mm. You must be glad to see Longbottom again,” Draco couldn’t help but say, voice verging on the sarcastic.
Harry gave him a quizzical and unreadable look that made Draco uncomfortable. It had been so easy to read Harry when they were younger. He used to wear his heart on his sleeve. That had been part of the fun in pestering him; Harry had always risen to the occasion. Now there wasn’t as much reaction, nothing Draco could decipher at any rate. The war, his experience as an Auror and losing his wife had all worked to change ‘The Boy Who Lived’. Draco was suddenly facing a man that he felt he should know and found someone else entirely. He wondered what Harry saw.
The conversation he'd overheard between Harry and Neville resurfaced once again in his mind. He had the sudden and childish urge to hurt Harry - just as he’d done when they were young.
“I have to leave,” Draco said in a sour tone of voice. He stood abruptly. The skin between Harry’s eyes wrinkled as though Harry was mildly confused at the tone and abruptness. But it soon cleared and he was nodding slowly. Harry stood and gripped his broom.
“Goodnight, Draco.”
It wasn’t until Harry was a tiny dot in the distant sky that he realised that for the first time he could remember, Harry had called him Draco. He smiled as he made his way down the steps of the Astronomy Tower.
*
Without either of the men discussing it, their night time chats on the Astronomy Tower became a regular occurrence. Mostly, they talked about nothing of consequence or didn’t talk at all. Occasionally they discussed Harry’s troubles with Hogwarts.
“Even though I’ve stabilised the school,” said Harry one night, “Hogwarts still needs lots of time and energy. It’s fixable, but the damage has been done. I have a long way to go yet.” His face was drawn and solemn.
Draco didn’t add much to these tower conversations, but he did notice that Harry always looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes. Sometimes he wanted to ask Potter if he was sleeping at all but always caught himself before doing so.
“Why do you go flying at night?” Draco asked about a week and a half into their meetings. He tensed as he waited for the answer, wondering if he’d crossed the boundary they’d silently set for themselves. Harry was quiet for a moment, looking up into the black sky.
“Just... tired. Need to get away from it all for a while, you know?”
Draco nodded. That was his own reason for escaping to the Tower at night. It was strange that neither he nor Harry minded giving up some of that solitary time so that they could sit together. It had been a long time since Draco had done that with anyone.
“You brought Firewhisky?” asked Harry one evening, eyeing up the distinctively narrow bottle beside Draco.
“Yes,” said Draco, shrugging. He’d gotten the bottle off of Marchgrove. The silly Ancient Runes professor had been beside herself with anxiety that evening after receiving the bottle by owl.
“I don’t know who would think I’d drink this stuff,” she said. “Perfectly dreadful! Perhaps they mean to mock me? After all, I am not the Headmistress and have nothing to celebrate.” She sniffled. “Here, Professor Malfoy, you take the whisky. I am not an alcoholic.”
“And I am?” he’d asked, raising a brow at her retreating back.
Draco looked up from his memories to see Harry sitting down beside him. “Want some, Potter?”
“Go on then. It’s been a long while since I had any.”
Draco conjured up two tumblers and poured them each a generous helping. Harry took a huge gulp. His face scrunched up as though in serious pain and turned a bright shade of red. With little warning he opened his mouth and belched out a huge flame. Draco snorted.
“Steady, Potter. Don’t want our dear Headmaster to burn himself to death.” Harry scowled at Draco, just as he’d done in their childhood.
“Shut it, Malfoy.” Harry took a smaller, mouthful and soon he was asking for more. Both men were feeling rather warm despite the December night. Suddenly the topics they’d been avoiding became easier to talk about.
“Why did you become a teacher here? I didn’t know you liked Hogwarts that much... or Astronomy,” said Harry, looking intently at Draco.
“My father didn’t want me to do Astronomy. He would have preferred it if I had become Minister for Magic and made the Malfoy name respectable again.” Draco paused and looked into the vast, dark sky.
“But I like planets and stars and learning about other galaxies. We’re that small in the scheme of things. What does it all matter?”
“Because of infinite possibilities, the past is forgotten,” Harry said, knowing exactly what Draco’s thoughts were. Draco just shook his head, not able to say more.
“What about you? Why did you take on this position? Couldn’t be for the money. No one does this for the money.” Draco cackled, taking another sip of Firewhisky.
“Hogwarts was always more of a home to me than just a school. I couldn’t let it just die. I guess I wanted to feel I was doing something important again. My children don’t need me much these days, my godson is getting married soon, and I can’t be an Auror anymore, not with this injury...”
“Doesn’t seem to hold you up much,” ventured Draco, eyeing Harry’s recalcitrant knee.
“You’d be surprised,” said Harry with a scowl. “So, yeah, I wanted to feel needed again. I wanted to be of some value.”
Draco couldn’t help but think that maybe Harry hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought, he just hid it better. Draco himself hid enough to know when someone else was doing it.
“What about the Weasleys? Surely they need you...” Harry shrugged and slid down the wall a bit, slumped and eyeing the middle distance.
“Well, Ron and Hermione will always be there for me. I know that and they know that. I had to do this for me. I can talk to them when, and if, I need it. That’s what friends are for.”
The two wizards continued to talk, more open in those minutes than they had been with each other their entire lives. For Draco, it was exhilarating.
“I miss her, you know,” said Harry in a very small voice and his silvery breath was just noticeable in the dark. It took a moment for Draco to think of who Harry meant, but only a moment. Ginny.
“I miss her so much. My best friend, my childhood sweetheart, the mother of my children. I thought we’d always be together. Why did I have to lose someone else? My life seems to be measured by what I’ve lost.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t understand that kind of love. He’d never loved Astoria, not the way Harry had obviously adored Ginny. In the end that was what killed the marriage: Astoria wanted more than he did.
Neither of the men said anything else that night. Perhaps they knew they’d shared more than they could bear.
*
The children came back and filled the school with noise again. Draco didn’t know whether to be happy with the distraction, a distraction which meant he and Harry had stopped their chats. On the face of it they were just too busy with work and rambunctious, exasperating children to make meeting up feasible. However, Draco felt as though they were avoiding each other. They’d both shared too much, gotten too drunk. Draco found it hard to meet Harry in the eyes. So, Draco got on with his life as a professor at Hogwarts, teaching witches and wizards the names of stars and galaxies, which he knew they’d never remember. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered.
The sole excitement of that term happened on a bright and blustery January morning. Much to everyone’s surprise and awe, a phoenix was seen in the sky above Hogwarts. Hearing its beautiful song, students and professors alike shivered with eerie delight. It was the talk of the day; Fawkes had returned. Back from where exactly, no one knew - he hadn’t been seen since the days of Dumbledore. There was also no indication as to why he’d arrived, but he soon took up residence in the Head’s Office, presumably to support Harry.
During the spring term, Draco and Harry hardly said two words to each other. The only time they saw one another was during the staff meetings. Though still embarrassed by the whole drunken conversation on the Astronomy Tower, Draco was missing being able to talk to someone. As always, he only realised how much he enjoyed it when it was no longer there.
On more than one occasion, he found himself pulling out the Chocolate Frog card that had started everything. For some reason he hadn't thrown it away. He kept the thing in his robe pocket. It was always the same; a shy Harry staring back at him, as though embarrassed by Draco’s watching eyes. Draco knew he should just chuck the card in the fire, but never did.
One Saturday afternoon, when most of the students had trekked down to Hogsmeade, Draco decided he needed to see Harry in person. With only a vague thought of excuses, Draco made his way to the Head’s office, scowling.
“Nimbus 2000,” he barked at the gargoyle, which slunk aside to let Draco pass. Once he’d mounted the hidden staircase Draco knocked on the door but got no response. He tried again. Still nothing. Cautiously, he opened the door and looked in.
The office looked different than it had in McGonagall's day, and than it had when it was Dumbledore's. It looked like a mix between a Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and the Quidditch shed. A few top-class brooms were exhibited along the far wall; beside them was a giant foe-glass. On a shelf besides Harry’s desk were framed photographs of his family and friends, placed next to a little wrought iron cage where a golden snitch flew in circles.
Harry was sitting at his desk amid heaped piles of ancient books and yellowed parchments. He was fast asleep, head resting on an old tome as though it were a pillow. As Draco got closer he could even hear soft snoring. Draco shook his head. Now what was he supposed to do? He certainly didn’t want to wake the other man; Harry was as exhausted as ever.
“Come to moon over Potter, have we?” asked a cold voice from Draco’s left.
Glancing up, Draco scowled at the oily portrait of his old professor, Severus Snape. “Mooning? Don’t be ridiculous,” he said in a vicious whisper.
“I may be a portrait but I am not blind. You were mooning. I thought I’d taught you better than that, Malfoy.” Draco opened his mouth to fire back a snarky reply when a third voice entered the argument.
“Gentlemen, could you possibly desist from this discussion? I rather think Harry deserves a good rest.” Dumbledore’s portrait eyed Harry affectionately, his blue eyes bright and kind. Draco felt annoyed. Suddenly Dumbledore’s keen eyes met Draco’s; he froze. There was a hint of something in that gaze that made Draco take a step back; those eyes were far too knowing. He felt a shiver run through him.
“Let him know I stopped by,” Draco mumbled to his old Headmaster, before hurrying out the door, not daring to look back.
*
The rest of the term dragged on, slower than slow. Hogwarts was getting better every day. Often the students and the professors saw Harry wandering around the school grounds, making mysterious adjustments to the protective charms by swishing his wand or muttering to himself.
Draco never knew if Dumbledore had told Harry of his visit that Saturday afternoon. Harry hadn’t said anything and Draco was back to having a Frog card for company.
When Easter finally rolled round, the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh years were allowed to remain at the school for the sake of their exams. The rest of the student body was asked to leave, giving Hogwarts a little more time to recover without the restless energy and magical misfires of its younger students.
The first evening after Hogwarts broke up for the spring holiday, Draco climbed the Astronomy Tower steps to watch the sun set. He was happy to get his tower back and not have to worry about detentions or marking shoddy essays for a few weeks.
To his great surprise, when he opened the tower door and stepped out, there was someone already leaning against the wall facing the horizon. It was Harry.
Draco faltered for a moment, wondering what he should say. In the end he said nothing but walked forward to lean his elbows against the wall besides Harry. Neither said anything for a while, just watched as the sky darkened from deep burgundy to bruise-purple. At last all traces of the sun were swept from the sky and the stars began to shine.
“There is something very satisfying about having the time and the quiet to watch the sun set,” said Harry, turning to face Draco.
Draco just nodded and sat down. Not speaking, they watched the sky in companionable silence. The next thing Draco became aware of were the hands shaking him gently.
“Wha- ?” began Draco, blearily opening his eyes to find Harry standing above him.
“You’ll miss the sunrise if you keep sleeping,” Harry said with a smile in his voice. He’d been asleep? Draco tried to stand up but found his legs rather stiff from sleeping outside all night and from the cold dew that clung to his robes. After a few tentative stretches, Draco was finally limber enough to stand.
Was it really morning? Sure enough, coming in over the hills to the east was the purple wash of a new day. The two wizards stood side by side watching the sun arrive, just as they’d seen it leave all those hours before.
*
“Marchgrove did what?” asked Harry incredulously.
“I swear, she came out of her office and told me that I was swishing my robes far too loudly and asked if I’d mind desisting from this activity at once because she had a deathly headache thank you very much.”
Harry grinned and shook his head.
“I’m not sure,” Draco continued, deadpan, “but I think she is trying to seduce me.”
At that statement Harry let out a hideous snort of laughter.
Draco smiled slightly at having made Harry laugh. It was a nice feeling. It had been a long time since he’d had a friendship like this. Draco was happy that they’d managed to overcome the Firewhisky incident to be on speaking terms once again. If anything, they were now closer than before. They were able to joke and make fun of each other, but without any of their childhood cruelty.
“That woman is priceless,” wheezed Harry, attempting to keep his laughter in check.
“Duly noted. Hogwarts has an abundance of ridiculous professors. Fowler-Tippin for example...”
“Oh, Merlin, don’t even get me started.”
“Ah, do we not like having our arse kissed? Hm?”
Harry groaned.
Draco was unrelenting. “What of that charming young Potions Professor? I rather think she’s keen on you.”
“I hope not. She’s so...”
“French?” Draco supplied.
Harry glared at him good-naturedly.
“I heard her talking to one of the other professors the other day about how magnifique your eyes were.”
“She didn’t, did she?” asked Harry, his right hand massaging his temple. Draco nodded.
“Did you know that sonnets have been written about the colour of your eyes?”
“Shove off, Draco,” Harry said, rolling the eyes in question. Draco laughed.
“The moon is white, your eyes are green, you’re the most beautiful man I have ever seen!”
Harry snorted with laughter again, wiping his watery eyes. “That’s hideous!”
“I don’t know, I thought it had quite the ring about it.”
Harry just shook his head. They grew quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the silence. Draco was thinking of poetry. In truth he had never really given much thought to it before. The most he knew came from Astoria who had been an avid reader of that particular medium. Poetry: it made one think.
Into the darkening evening, Draco opened his mouth and began to quote an old verse. It was a poem that Astoria had often quoted to him but which he never understood, not until now.
“You and I-the only ones
In this growing world
Which comes forward through endless night
Attracted to the beacon of my words
For you.
Forevermore I’ll talk of light
Of a million blazing stars,
Yet there is an eternity on my tongue.
Circles. Infinite. Ceaseless.
My love unlike the dawn,
Will never rise,
You have left me (a star of only one)
To light the black
Alone.”
There was a deep, deep silence when Draco finished the poem. He glanced over at Harry who’d gone very still. He thought he spied a hint of a blush on the other man’s cheeks. He didn’t know what else to do, for what was left after all was said and done?
Slowly, Harry turned. He leaned forward and very gently touched his lips to Draco’s. He had warm and slightly rough lips. Draco tasted salt and yet there were no tears. It wasn’t the passionate kiss of young lovers; it was far too poignant and far too slow. Harry’s kiss was like words being whispered in Draco’s ears. Melancholy whispers that said thank you and I’m sorry. Goodbye.
Harry broke away first, his eyelids half closed. Face grim and sad, Harry bowed his head. He placed his cold hand over Draco’s and held it there. It was enough for Draco. He’d said something and Harry had not run away but accepted the poem for what it was. Harry had understood as Draco never had. He knew that Harry would always love Ginny and that he’d never quite get over her death. Yet with Harry’s hand over his Draco didn’t want for anything more.