A Certain Kind of Memory, Chapter 1
Title: A Certain Kind of Memory, Chapter 1.
Author: jamie2109
Rating: NC-17 overall.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: This chapter - 6868
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I’m really just creating a ‘what if…?’ scenario and playing with them.
Summary: What would you do if you were given less than a year to live?
Warnings: Major Character Death.
Author’s Notes: The story is set some seven years after the end of the war. EWE, though, there is no DH epilogue in this story.
You will not see the character death in this story. It takes place outside the text, between chapter 16 and the Epilogue. If that makes it any easier to read, then please do so and be my guest. My hope was to make this quite an uplifting story of finding love where you least expect it and learning to appreciate the wonderful special moments we sometimes take for granted.
I have to say huge thanks to nocturnali and lusiology who slogged their way through this, doing an amazing job on the beta. And ms_mindfunk who tried but her computer decided to make it impossible. Any mistakes left are mine, because I cannot resist playing with it after they’re done.
Back to the Start
Bear in mind that you should conduct yourself in life as at a feast.
ATTRIBUTION: Epictetus, Roman (Greek-born)
slave & Stoic philosopher (55 AD - 135 AD)
As Harry stepped off the curb to cross the street, he gave only a cursory glance to the traffic; the restaurant he was approaching took up his attention. Mario’s. It was his favourite eating place; one of those places where the owners made one feel like part of the family. It had been open for decades and the original Mario had since passed away but his eldest son had decided to carry on the restaurant in his father’s name and, although he was called Giorgio, he insisted that in the restaurant he was Mario. He felt that for tradition there should always be a Mario at Mario’s.
Harry wasn’t about to complain. He’d not met the original Mario but since the war he’d eaten here a lot. At first it was because it was a Muggle restaurant where he could be himself and be unrecognised. It was somewhere to escape from the madness that seemed to happen most times he went out in public. It hadn’t taken long, though, for Harry to realise that he felt comfortable in this place and that Mario and the staff cared about him. He’d since spent many evenings sitting with them after they closed up for the night, listening to their stories about their families. After five years he felt like he knew Mario’s whole extended family - and Italians had big families.
So when thinking about what to do for his birthday this year, it seemed reasonable to choose this restaurant. In previous years he had kept to himself, not feeling comfortable asking his wizard friends to mix with his Muggle pseudo family, especially as many of them rarely ventured to the ‘other side’ as Blaise called it. In past years he’d usually had Kreacher prepare a meal for whoever of his friends decided to join him.
This year was different.
The boisterous noise from the interior of the restaurant that washed over him when he opened the door made him pause, uncertain of how he was going to be able to hide his news from them all. It still felt unreal to him. On one level, he knew that he was going to die. On another level, it was still all so unbelievable. Not that it was something he could forget. No, the thing lived in his head all the time; it was hardly something he could forget. He hated it; hated that after all the years of escaping Voldemort he was going to be killing himself in the end. Ironic would have been a perfect word for it had the very thought of the situation not made him weep.
Still, his decision had been made. He was not going to tell his friends anything. By the end, he’d have had enough time to get used to it and prepare, and they’d not have to waste a year of their lives feeling sad or angry or sorry for him or, worse, pity him.
What he wanted more than anything was to spend this year (if he had a year) really appreciating and loving his friends. Taking his time to really make sure that they knew how much he loved them. And he would lean on their happiness to build up his own when he became weak with regret and loss and longing, and needed support.
Just as he took a deep breath so he’d feel ready to face the crowd, the door was pulled all the way open and Mario dragged him inside.
“Harry, Harry, what for you stand outside the door? Come in, come in!” Mario’s large beefy hands (which could do the most delicate things with icing that Harry had ever seen) cupped Harry’s cheeks and looked at him, searchingly. “You all right?”
“Mario, Mario,” Harry replied, affecting an Italian accent and sporting a grin a mile wide. He really was glad to see Mario. “You would deny me the chance to inhale the aroma of the fine cuisine I expect to experience tonight?”
After another long look, Mario released him and presented him with a big smile. “You should come here every night so I can feed you up properly. You are too thin.” There was a seriousness under Mario’s smile that Harry couldn’t fail to notice. He knew he’d lost weight; it was what had sent him to the Healer in the first place. On his normally slight frame, the weight loss was even more noticeable. The Healer had said that this would stop, so he hoped to be able to put some of that weight back on. Apparently it would help later - though why that would matter by then Harry wasn’t sure.
He put a surprised looking smile on his face. Right now, Mario reminded him fondly of Mrs. Weasley, though she did not sport a mustache, nor was she a short fat Italian man. “I can eat quite a lot you know. I might eat all your profits,” he said, joking.
Mario affected hurt. “You’d put an old man out of business? With a family to feed, the bambinos to send to the expensive universities, and a mother-in-law to look after as well?” Mario’s hands were waving all over the place; Italians were wont to speak with their hands and it made Harry laugh. Mario was thirty-five and happily married to his childhood sweetheart, who was a very rich woman on her own merits and had no need of Mario’s money. Nor did his mother in law.
Mario broke into a matching laugh and he slapped Harry on the back. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” he said loudly as he pulled him through to the restaurant proper.
“Thanks, Mario. Any of my friends arrived yet?”
Mario shook his head. “No, you’re early tonight. I am looking forward to meeting more of your friends. I hear so much about them, now I get to see for myself if they are good for you.”
“Mario, you fuss over me too much, really,” Harry protested, though he felt oddly grateful that he had Mario there. Something told him over the next year he’d need a lot of support.
“Nonsense, you need someone to look after you.” Mario waved him away. “Until you find yourself a good man to settle down with, that is.”
Harry blushed. “I can still look after myself you know,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And whoever the bloke is that I settle down with.” In reality Harry knew there’d be no bloke to settle down with. Who in their right mind would get into a relationship with him now? And how could he get involved with someone, maybe fall in love, have them fall for him and then up and die on them? The sex wouldn’t go astray, mind, but a relationship? … No, it wasn’t fair.
Mario laughed at him. “I’m sure you would, Harry. Indulge me as a good friend and let me have some illusions. I am well aware that you are a very capable young man, but I like to think you need me for something, yes?”
“Of course, Mario,” Harry grinned. “I need you to feed me.”
They’d reached a set of tables near the back, which were nice and private, as Harry had requested, and Mario laughed and hugged Harry tightly. “I am so glad you chose to spend your birthday with us, Harry. You’ve become very much one of our family.”
Harry hugged him back, moved, and a little curious about all the affection. Mario was normally affectionate, but tonight it seemed different; more intense. It was almost as if Mario knew something. But there was no way he could know. Only two people in the world knew: himself and his Healer.
“You and Vanessa and the children are like my family, too, Mario,” Harry replied sincerely, moving out of the embrace eventually. “Along with Julian, Chris and Janet, I really feel like I’ve found a second family.” It made Harry wonder why he’d never bought the Weasleys here before, where they could meet Mario and the rest. Both his families together in one place would be great. Right then he made up his mind that at some point, very soon, he would do just that. Of course Ron and Ginny would be here tonight but the rest of them could all come at some later date.
Over Mario’s shoulder, Harry saw Julian wave to him. He was obviously busy with customers, and Harry knew he’d catch up with the young man later on. He waved back and sat down, Mario still fussing over the table ensuring that everything was in place. It was, as always, but that wasn’t why Harry liked this place so much, it was the atmosphere and people more than the food or the surrounds that made Harry feel comfortable. While Mario headed back to the kitchen, Harry poured himself some water and drank, taking in the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant while he waited for the rest of his guests.
Shortly, antipasto platters adorned the two tables and Harry picked at the food, selecting sun dried tomatoes and olives and a gorgeous spicy salami that burned hotly in his mouth. Janet stopped by and gave him a Happy Birthday hug and told him Chris, who was the restaurant’s kitchen hand, would be out later to see him. Harry would have loved Janet to sit down with him and have a chat but, as she was working, she couldn’t. She was a pretty blond with blue eyes and a killer grin. She also walked with a limp, the result of a car accident a few years ago, but she never let it stop her doing whatever she wanted. Harry admired her for that. Right now, apart from working here nights, Janet attended the local University and was taking flying lessons on the weekends to get her pilot’s license. The accident had put the stopper on any air force career she might have wanted, but she could still fly commercial planes, which was what she planned on doing. Before letting her get back to work, he made her agree to have at least one drink with him later. She told him he was a terrible charmer before turning back to her other customers.
Predictably, the first to arrive were Ron and Hermione. He didn’t think Hermione had ever been late for anything in her life. Harry was positive that as soon as her mum’s due date arrived, Hermione Jane Granger had decided that that was enough, thank-you-very-much and she needed to be born now because any time later was too late. It was a quality that had driven him mad in school, seeing as he was always rushing around everywhere and forever arriving late to class. Now, he appreciated it. He appreciated everything about his two best friends.
Ron still walked like he was a gangly teenager, albeit having developed a more assertive stride. He’d become an Auror, just as he’d wanted back in fourth year. Like they’d both wanted, though their working lives had taken different roads after the war. Ron had a certain confidence about him now and Harry thought that it was having Hermione in his life because she constantly enabled him to become the best he could be, by just expecting it. Ron had never really had anyone who just expected things from him. Hermione did. She could read him like a book and just about the whole Wizarding World knew how much Hermione loved books. After the war, Hermione had taken on the job of restocking the dilapidated public library on Diagon Alley. Many of the books had become damaged and almost beyond repair, but Hermione had researched - when did she not? - and found an old bookbinder living in Sussex who had retired almost fifty years earlier. She persuaded him to come back and help her restore the public Wizarding heritage and he had agreed, Now Hermione was becoming famous for her love of books, and old Wizarding families were coming forward with donations, helping her to build a really respectable Wizarding library.
Seeing Hermione reminded Harry of a few books he’d come across hidden in his parents vault at Gringotts. He’d wanted to hang on to them as part of his own history, but he’d have no need of them soon so she should have them. He made a mental note to send them to her tomorrow.
His friends’ smiles when they saw him gave his chest a twinge of regret. He still stuck by his original thought of not telling them, but he did feel some guilt. They were his best friends and he wasn’t going to tell them he was dying; it was only natural that he’d feel guilt over that.
“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Hermione squealed and threw her arms around him when he stood to greet them. The soft kiss she planted on his cheek made him smile. He had to treasure these memories now, each and every one of them.
“Come on, Hermione, you’ll choke the poor boy to death before I even get a chance to wish him Happy Birthday,” came Ron’s laughing voice over Hermione’s shoulder. She stepped back hushing Ron, though she blushed a bit.
“I don’t mind, I think I’d prefer to hug Hermione if it’s all the same to you, Ron,” Harry joked, reaching for Hermione again, who laughed and whacked his arm playfully.
“That’s my fiancé you’re talking about there,” Ron shot back, pretending anger. “Is there anything I should know about you two?”
“Oh yes, Ron, I drag him down amongst the darkest shelves of the library and shag him between Doris Blackby’s ‘How to Cure Genital Warts’ and Tobias Hartley’s ‘101 Ways to Please Your Man’. Hermione spoke with a completely deadpan look on her face.
For a moment Harry and Ron just stared at Hermione and then they all broke into laughter. Harry was laughing at the look on Hermione’s face but then Ron turned and gave Harry a gruff hug, wishing him Happy Birthday, thumping him on the back.
“Twenty five today, hey, Harry? You’ll have grey hair and a long beard before you know it,” Ron teased. Harry rolled his eyes because Ron had only been saying the same thing to him each year he’d had a birthday since the war ended. Once he’d asked Ron why he always said that, and Ron had replied that he’d never thought Harry would live longer than the war and now it made him feel good to be able to think of Harry in his dotage.
That was one more thing he’d not get to see: - Ron and himself in old age, still the best of friends. Sorry, Ron, he silently apologised.
“Well, don’t rush me there, mate,” Harry said aloud and laughing as best he could. “Besides, you’re older than me, you’ll get there first.”
Ron grinned and shot Hermione a loving look as they all sat down. “I have the love of a good woman to keep me young,” he said. “While you, you great ponce, would rather have a big fat c-”
“Ron!” Hermione interrupted loudly.
Harry near collapsed in laughter at the look on Ron’s face when he shot a glare at Hermione, only to find her indicating that he look around the room. When Ron did he saw that everyone had been watching them. Poor Ron, he blushed so deeply that Harry could barely tell the difference between his face and his hair. Harry found Ron’s mortification hilarious and, by the looks on the faces of some of the patrons, so did they.
Luckily for Ron, Luna and Daphne’s entrance diverted their attention. Every time Harry saw the two of them, he shook his head. Luna was still her delightfully eccentric self and dressed accordingly. Tonight’s ensemble consisted of a rainbow of coloured scarves that draped over a barely there strip of something across her chest, a short striped skirt and long pink stockings. She was certainly colourful. Actually she fitted in better in the Muggle world than she did in the Wizarding world. Dressing differently was nothing unusual here and no one gave her a second look.
Nor did anyone worry about Daphne, who was very severe in a black suit that looked like it had just been on a Ralph Lauren model. Daphne wore her hair short and slicked back and strode around like she owned the place. The two of them together though turned more than one head, especially since Luna decided to sprinkle everyone she passed on her way to the table, with something she said would banish the Nargles and stop them messing with the brain.
Their entrance had drawn Mario’s attention, Harry saw, and he caught Mario’s eye seeing the question in them. He shook his head in reply, indicating that Luna was harmless. Harry stood and watched their progress. It was an old saying that opposites attract, and in these two Harry found it the truth. Daphne put up with all Luna’s oddities; said she found them completely endearing. You only had to look into her eyes while she spoke of Luna and you could see that it was real.
Luna told Harry once that Daphne was one of those damaged souls that had lost its colour. She said that she had lots of colour and that was the way to make Daphne free of her sadness. Harry thought that Luna needed Daphne as much as Daphne needed Luna. They gravitated together. He’d seen it; even if they were at opposite ends of the room at a party or function, within minutes they’d be subconsciously edging their way into the middle where they’d stand together and draw something from each other. Often it was Daphne leaning in to whisper some words to Luna, whose face would light up, but sometimes it would be Luna who placed a hand on Daphne’s arm, kiss her cheek gently and lay her head on Daphne’s shoulder.
Harry wondered how two people so opposite in looks and temperament, seemed to need each other so much. He supposed it was love, but never having been in love he couldn’t see himself ever feeling like he needed anyone that much.
And now there wasn’t much chance of him falling in love was there? Not at this late stage and not in such a short space of time. That was one thing he’d never have the chance of doing.
He wondered, as he smiled at his new guests, if he should make a list of things he’d never get to do now.
“God, what does she look like?” Hermione whispered beside him, with an amused smile on her face. Hermione had long since moved past her initial dismissal of Luna and they were now fast friends. Even if, as Ron teased, she was dating a slimy snake.
It seemed to bring Harry back to the present and he blinked a little and smiled. “She looks like our Luna,” he said, happily.
Then Luna was in his arms, having lunged at him. “Harry Potter, Happy Birthday,” she cried, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “Whatever it is, Harry, it’s not going to be anything like you expect,” she said enigmatically. It spooked Harry a little, because that was twice tonight he felt like someone knew about his illness, which he knew was impossible. But Luna had always come out with these odd statements, saying that someone told her to pass the message on and she had no idea what it meant, either.
Eventually, he managed to smile and release her. “I’ll remember that, Luna, thanks.” He turned to Daphne, who was watching Luna with a puzzled expression, though she too knew this was nothing new. “Daphne,” he said, smiling.
“Harry. Happy Birthday,” she responded and held out her hand for him to shake. This was pretty normal as Daphne wasn’t one to show too much emotion in public. However, it was his birthday and he wanted a hug.
He pulled her in for a quick hug, and Daphne awkwardly hugged him back. “Thanks,” he said when he pulled back, smiling. “You found the place all right, obviously,” he said.
“Obviously,” she agreed, rolling her eyes at him and sitting down next to Ron, greeting both him and Hermione with a nod. Luna sat beside her.
Julian arrived to take their orders for drinks. After introductions, in which Luna asked Julian outright if he was gay and single and Harry blushed while Julian laughed, they ordered drinks.
When Julian left, after assuring Harry that he wasn’t embarrassed, Harry turned to Luna and gave her an exasperatedly amused stare.
“What?” she said. “How are you going to know if you don’t ask?”
“Julian is like family to me, I know he’s very straight and has a girlfriend, thanks Luna,” Harry laughed. How could he not be amused by Luna’s directness? And impressed by it?
“Oh, so that means you thought he was cute?” Hermione asked, teasing.
“No, that means I know him well,” Harry replied. Julian was cute though; he had to admit to having a preference for blonds. Not that he’d ever thought about anything with Julian, it was just easy to admit he was cute and then move on.
“Got a nice arse, though,” Daphne said, and Harry saw her watching Julian walking away. All five of them turned and watched then. Yeah, he concluded, Julian did have a nice arse.
“Speaking of arses,” Ron said. “Not that I think about blokes arses, mind, but Malfoy’s just walked in. I bet he’s one you’d like to -” But he broke off at a thump from Hermione, turning to glare at her. “What?”
“Do you have to be so crude?”
“I was just about to wonder why those two never got together…”
Harry ignored them and turned to see Draco Malfoy enter the restaurant. He had to admit Ron was right to wonder; he wondered himself sometimes. Draco Malfoy was still pointy and blond and still pretended he thought he was better than everyone else at times, but only at times. He was, however, extremely fit and gay and single. Some people automatically assumed that wherever two single gay blokes were, they simply had to hook up, and they’d both faced the not-so-subtle machinations of more than one of their friends who’d attempted to get them together.
But they’d talked about it before, and apart from the fact that they didn’t want to be seen as getting together because they were the only single gay blokes in their group, they both felt it would be too odd to be having a relationship with a friend. Complications always arose when friends dated and then split up. Harry knew himself too well and he had never managed to survive a relationship more than a few days, a week at most. What’s more, after all the years of disliking each other they’d finally come to a place where they knew each other’s problems, from Harry’s inability to sustain a relationship to Draco’s financial woes. Besides, according to Draco, he didn’t do relationships because they tended to get too emotional and messy and he’d rather have fewer complications in his life.
After the war, most of the Malfoy possessions had been lost, confiscated for ‘war reparations’ or so they said. Harry was of the opinion that the Ministry had taken the opportunity for a bit of revenge against Lucius Malfoy for all the years he’d bribed and blackmailed Ministry officials to get what he wanted. Not that Harry minded. Lucius still had his life, though it was spent in isolation in Azkaban. Narcissa lived with Andromeda now, so Draco still had both his parents alive at least. So many other people had died.
Unfortunately the fall out of the decline of the Malfoy name didn’t stop there. Draco found it hard to get a job. No one seemed prepared to hire an ex-would-be Death Eater with his name, no matter how good he was at Potions. When the Apothecary found a potion difficult to make or they were snowed under, they would send him their work and pay him for it, but they wouldn’t hire him permanently. What they paid was enough for Draco to live on. Just. He had a small flat in one of the lanes behind Diagon Alley, which he kept as neat as he was able, and he was very independent. Impressively, he wasn’t terribly bitter about losing everything, not after he’d come so close to losing his family and his life. It appeared to have helped him grow up.
Now, Harry smiled when Draco approached the table. He was dressed neatly, still very particular about his clothing. Even though he had no money to afford fashionable new clothes, he made sure that he spent time keeping what he did have well cared for. Even Muggle attire looked good on him, and Harry supposed it was lucky that the Muggle fashion was well worn clothing.
The smile on Draco’s face was warming, and Harry stood and held out his arms for a hug.
“Potter, you don’t look a day over thirty,” Draco joked when he pulled back. “You’d think by the time you’d reached the grand old age of twenty-five you’d have learnt to do something about that hair of yours.” It was an old joke by now.
“Watch who you’re calling old, Malfoy. You’re older than I am, and you’d think that once you’d reached the grand old age of twenty-five you’d have learnt to watch what comes out of your mouth,” Harry retorted, laughing.
“Oh, I have enough fun watching what goes in my mouth. I know perfectly well nothing comes out of it that I don’t want to, so choke on it, Potter.”
There was a casual flirty look in Draco’s eyes with that made Harry laugh at the obvious double meaning and he heard Ron in the background whinging to Hermione.
“And you’re worried about what I might say?” he complained.
Draco turned to the rest of the group, greeting them all in turn and they smiled at him. Luna passed him a glass of wine and Draco turned back to Harry and raised it. “Happy Birthday, Harry,”
“Thanks, Draco,” Harry replied softly, nodding at him. Draco winked at him and then turned to speak to Daphne about the product she used in her hair to get it slicked down that well.
Harry’s attention was dragged away by Hermione. “I’m glad you two never got together,” she said, quietly. “You’d both be killing each other in under a month.”
Harry laughed. “You think?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, brown curls bobbing lightly. “You’ve never lived with anyone before, your relationships have consisted of the odd snogging session here and there and, from what Ron tells me - and that’s not much, so don’t worry about him revealing any deep dark secrets - the occasional groping session or more in the back of a nightclub. You couldn’t have a proper relationship if you tried, Harry Potter.” Her voice was amused but Harry wondered if he were really that bad. Sure he could do it if he wanted to. Before. Not now he couldn’t. But before he could have, he was sure. He’d had visions of when he was older, sitting on a verandah overlooking a lake, on a late summer evening with that someone special, not needing to talk, just enjoying each other’s presence…
Not likely that’s going to happen now.
He remained silent, hoping that Hermione would change the subject but, alas, she was intent on telling him more. “He’s just as bad. He hates that he can’t afford anything nice, refuses to let any of us help him and therefore thinks he has nothing to offer anyone, which he conveniently hides by using the fact that he thinks all relationships are messy.”
“But he has lots to offer someone,” Harry protested quietly, noting that the rest of the group weren’t paying them any attention, fortunately.
“He doesn’t think so. To him, because he was brought up in a materialistic atmosphere, unless you can give your partner a comfortable home, nice clothes and a lot of material possessions, then you’re not worth much as a partner. He does know that there are more important things, it’s just hard to get that out of him - he’s a man and he needs to think he’ll be a good provider.”
“Since when did you do a psychological profile on Draco?” Harry asked, grinning, because Hermione was usually right.
“I’ve known him as long as you have, Harry, but more since I’ve had him come into the Library two days a week and help me sort through the books the Ministry recently released from Malfoy Manor. He’s the only one who understands a lot of them and so I can offer him a valid job for a little while.”
“I didn’t know they’d done that,” Harry said.
“Well, they only did it a couple of weeks ago; I thought Ron mentioned something to you.”
“I think I’ve been kind of preoccupied lately, sorry,” Harry said.
“Anything bothering you? I noticed that you’ve been a bit quiet recently.”
“Nothing’s bothering me, I’m fine,” Harry lied.
Just then Seamus, Pansy, Ginny, Blaise, Neville and Hannah all showed up at the same time and there was a bit of pandemonium as everyone greeted each other, rearranging themselves and sorting out seats. Harry wondered why they all arrived together, but Neville explained that by saying that he and Hannah had been at Blaise and Ginny’s place earlier, as the girls had been organising Neville’s party which was to be next week so that it didn’t clash with Harry’s. They had all come together and had just by luck stumbled across Seamus in Diagon Alley, and Pansy’s taxi had arrived just as they did.
Mario arrived to take their orders. He immediately endeared himself to them by kissing each of the ladies on the hand, and he impressed Blaise and Draco when he had their favourite pasta sauce made from the traditional old recipe
Once drinks had been poured, and cheers raised to Harry again, the talk turned to catching up on news about what everyone had been doing lately. Ginny played Quidditch for the Holyhead Harpies and loved it. They were in the off season, but had started training and so she was busy with that. Blaise was content to play house husband and they lived off Ginny’s earnings for now, though it wasn’t hard, since Ginny was a very well paid player. Draco used to take a shot at Blaise for not working but he just shrugged off the teasing. Blaise said that while Ginny could still play and make a career out of it, she was the important one and he was happy to take care of things off the field. When she retired it would be his turn to work at what he wanted… when he could figure out what that was.
Neville had recently finished a world-renowned Advanced Herbology course and was now working in the Ministry research and development division, creating new medicines from plant life. He’d married Hannah two years after the war and they were expecting their first child. Neville had been insisting they call it Harry if it was a boy but Harry would prefer him not to, even though he was very moved by the thought.
Pansy moved into the world of teaching; something Harry was extremely surprised about as she hadn’t been all that smart in school. But she seemed to have an affinity with small children, and they adored her, so she became a pre-school teacher. Draco joked once that it was because they were the same intellectual age. Pansy thumped him one but laughed all the same.
Seamus, well, Seamus scored a job with the Daily Prophet in their gossip division. They’d all teased him, asking if he’d had to learn to be an Animagus before he could really do Rita Skeeter’s job properly. Mostly he scowled at them and then hid a little snippet about the offender in the last line of his column. He never mentioned them by name, but included enough detail so that whoever had joked with him about it, knew it was them. It was a joke as much as a threat and they all appreciated it. Seamus was good though; he never printed anything about any of them without checking it with them first. He said he’d learnt back in fifth year that friendships are worth more than any job.
Food began arriving and Harry became lost in the jumble of conversations that were taking place around him. He had Hermione on one side of him and Ginny on the other and was half listening to a conversation between Hermione and Luna on one side and Ginny and Seamus on the other. Snatches of conversation about the latest rumour Seamus had heard about one of Ginny’s teammates, crossed with pieces of a discussion on the veracity of the latest sighting of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which Hermione vehemently refused to believe in while Luna took great pains to explain about the sightings and how reliable the source was.
Blaise was sitting opposite him and watching his wife with soft eyes. Occasionally, he’d meet Harry’s eyes and raise his eyebrow but generally they were both eating and surrounded by chattering people and so they didn’t say a word.
When dessert was delivered to their tables in the form a hazelnut cream cassata birthday cake, the conversation was flowing easily and Harry was feeling rather mellow from the numerous glasses of wine he’d had with his meal. He’d actually hoped that he would escape the traditional singing of Happy Birthday. It was enough for him to be spending it with his friends without everyone in the restaurant knowing as well. Unfortunately, Mario had other ideas and staged a big production about bringing the cake out, covered in lit candles. A man playing a violin like a fiddle accompanied it, and the tune of Happy Birthday caught the attention of the customers as much as the brightly lit cake did.
Soon, everyone in the restaurant was joining in and singing to wish Harry a Happy Birthday. He was blushing now but didn’t hide from it; he doubted he would have another birthday and he wanted to remember this last one for as long as he could.
The cake in front of him burned brightly and he looked out at all of his friends, smiling.
“Make a wish, Harry,” Mario said, and Harry sighed. No matter what he wished, he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it for long and what he really wanted, he could never have. If he wished for some miracle cure, it would never happen. If he wished to never have developed this disease in the first place, that could never happen either. Perhaps he could wish that his friends didn’t hurt too much when he was gone. As he looked around at their faces, he realised that was another thing that couldn’t come true. He would have to settle for wishing that he could make them all happy during this next year or so and that the hurt they’d suffer would be crowded out by the happiness of their memories of him. One day.
“Yes, Potter, make a wish. Some of us would like to eat the cake before it’s covered in a layer of candle wax,” Draco drawled, the hint of fondness flashing in his eyes giving the lie to his words.
“I might wish to see the back of your pointy face, Malfoy,” Harry replied in kind. Then he closed his eyes and made his wish, before opening them and blowing out all the candles in one breath. He thought the cheering hilarious and he wondered if it was supposed to make him feel like he’d just performed some death-defying act or some super human feat, like no one in the history of man had ever blown out twenty-five candles on a birthday cake before.
But he was in such a good mood, despite his limited future, that he only laughed at his own sarcasm. Lots of hugs and slaps on the back later, Mario had cut the cake and served it and they were all enjoying it with coffee or cappuccino. He’d had such a good evening and he reminded himself, not for the first time this evening, to treasure each and every moment.
As he took a sip of his coffee, the violinist who had accompanied the raucous singing earlier, began to play music and he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione brighten at the sound. Harry had no idea what it was, but it was music for lovers to slow dance to. Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and dragged him to the small dance floor in the middle of the restaurant. They moved together with such ease and fit together so well that Harry was momentarily jealous. Of course he was more than pleased that his two best friends were so perfect for each other and loved each other to distraction, there was no question there. Perhaps it was the twinge of something missing in his own life that was causing the spot of jealousy.
Shortly, other couples joined Ron and Hermione and the floor was soon filled with couples swaying slowly to the music, pressed closely together held in the spell of the notes.
Daphne was very formal in asking Luna to dance; she stood in front of her and performed a neat bow. “Luna, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” she asked.
“Of course, Daphne, dear,” Luna responded and took Daphne’s hand, performing a small curtsey when she stood.
Harry watched them fondly as Daphne folded Luna’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her to the dance floor, where she swung her into her arms and swirled her around the floor.
Neville and Hannah were next and Seamus begged Pansy for a dance, leaving Harry and Draco by themselves at the table. Draco moved around to sit next to Harry and in comfortable silence they watched their friends.
“The mind completely boggles at the thought that Greengrass and Lovegood are still together,” Draco said from beside him, looking at them from over the rim of his wine glass.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “They say opposites attract and you couldn’t get more opposite than those two.”
“Unless you count us, Potter,” Draco said smirking.
“We mustn’t be that opposite.” Harry grinned back.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you’re not attractive at all,” Harry teased.
“Wanker,” Draco retorted with a snort, though he laughed a moment later.
There was a short silence then while Harry again watched his friends dancing. Yes, there was definitely some significant amount of jealousy simmering away inside him. He supposed that it wasn’t just that his friends seemed happy and in love, it was also the fact that they could plan a future with the person they loved. There was some certainty, a confidence that there would be a future, there would be that someone special there for the rest of their lives.
If he wasn’t careful he’d start feeling sorry for himself and he didn’t want to do that. Not tonight. Not any time, really, though he knew there’d be times when it all got too much for him to take with good grace and he’d lash out at whoever was closest. For now, right here in the restaurant, he didn’t want to spoil what had been a wonderful evening.
He must have sighed, because Draco put his glass down and turned to look at him. “You’ve been quieter than normal tonight. Everything all right?” Draco Malfoy showing concern for someone was a new thing, developed over the years since the war, when he realised that he needed to look after his friends as much as they looked after him.
“No, I’m fine. Just looking at them on the dance floor enjoying each other, made me wistful for a moment there, that’s all.”
“Did you want to dance, then? I’m sure I could put up with you standing on my feet for a dance.”
Harry shot him a glare, but he was smiling. “You just want to get your hands on my body,” he quipped.
Draco laughed and turned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. “Oh yes, and Elvis was really a wizard.”
“He was?” Harry asked cheekily.
“Hell, no,” Draco replied. “If he was do you really think he’d have let himself go like that?”
“I know, you prat,” Harry laughed, elbowing Draco.
As he watched his friends dancing and enjoyed the solid warmth of Draco beside him, Harry felt a calm peace wash over him, even if it was tinged with loneliness. Draco’s head dropped onto Harry’s shoulder after a while and Harry smiled at him and didn’t shrug him off.
Chapter 2.
Author: jamie2109
Rating: NC-17 overall.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: This chapter - 6868
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I’m really just creating a ‘what if…?’ scenario and playing with them.
Summary: What would you do if you were given less than a year to live?
Warnings: Major Character Death.
Author’s Notes: The story is set some seven years after the end of the war. EWE, though, there is no DH epilogue in this story.
You will not see the character death in this story. It takes place outside the text, between chapter 16 and the Epilogue. If that makes it any easier to read, then please do so and be my guest. My hope was to make this quite an uplifting story of finding love where you least expect it and learning to appreciate the wonderful special moments we sometimes take for granted.
I have to say huge thanks to nocturnali and lusiology who slogged their way through this, doing an amazing job on the beta. And ms_mindfunk who tried but her computer decided to make it impossible. Any mistakes left are mine, because I cannot resist playing with it after they’re done.
Back to the Start
Bear in mind that you should conduct yourself in life as at a feast.
ATTRIBUTION: Epictetus, Roman (Greek-born)
slave & Stoic philosopher (55 AD - 135 AD)
As Harry stepped off the curb to cross the street, he gave only a cursory glance to the traffic; the restaurant he was approaching took up his attention. Mario’s. It was his favourite eating place; one of those places where the owners made one feel like part of the family. It had been open for decades and the original Mario had since passed away but his eldest son had decided to carry on the restaurant in his father’s name and, although he was called Giorgio, he insisted that in the restaurant he was Mario. He felt that for tradition there should always be a Mario at Mario’s.
Harry wasn’t about to complain. He’d not met the original Mario but since the war he’d eaten here a lot. At first it was because it was a Muggle restaurant where he could be himself and be unrecognised. It was somewhere to escape from the madness that seemed to happen most times he went out in public. It hadn’t taken long, though, for Harry to realise that he felt comfortable in this place and that Mario and the staff cared about him. He’d since spent many evenings sitting with them after they closed up for the night, listening to their stories about their families. After five years he felt like he knew Mario’s whole extended family - and Italians had big families.
So when thinking about what to do for his birthday this year, it seemed reasonable to choose this restaurant. In previous years he had kept to himself, not feeling comfortable asking his wizard friends to mix with his Muggle pseudo family, especially as many of them rarely ventured to the ‘other side’ as Blaise called it. In past years he’d usually had Kreacher prepare a meal for whoever of his friends decided to join him.
This year was different.
The boisterous noise from the interior of the restaurant that washed over him when he opened the door made him pause, uncertain of how he was going to be able to hide his news from them all. It still felt unreal to him. On one level, he knew that he was going to die. On another level, it was still all so unbelievable. Not that it was something he could forget. No, the thing lived in his head all the time; it was hardly something he could forget. He hated it; hated that after all the years of escaping Voldemort he was going to be killing himself in the end. Ironic would have been a perfect word for it had the very thought of the situation not made him weep.
Still, his decision had been made. He was not going to tell his friends anything. By the end, he’d have had enough time to get used to it and prepare, and they’d not have to waste a year of their lives feeling sad or angry or sorry for him or, worse, pity him.
What he wanted more than anything was to spend this year (if he had a year) really appreciating and loving his friends. Taking his time to really make sure that they knew how much he loved them. And he would lean on their happiness to build up his own when he became weak with regret and loss and longing, and needed support.
Just as he took a deep breath so he’d feel ready to face the crowd, the door was pulled all the way open and Mario dragged him inside.
“Harry, Harry, what for you stand outside the door? Come in, come in!” Mario’s large beefy hands (which could do the most delicate things with icing that Harry had ever seen) cupped Harry’s cheeks and looked at him, searchingly. “You all right?”
“Mario, Mario,” Harry replied, affecting an Italian accent and sporting a grin a mile wide. He really was glad to see Mario. “You would deny me the chance to inhale the aroma of the fine cuisine I expect to experience tonight?”
After another long look, Mario released him and presented him with a big smile. “You should come here every night so I can feed you up properly. You are too thin.” There was a seriousness under Mario’s smile that Harry couldn’t fail to notice. He knew he’d lost weight; it was what had sent him to the Healer in the first place. On his normally slight frame, the weight loss was even more noticeable. The Healer had said that this would stop, so he hoped to be able to put some of that weight back on. Apparently it would help later - though why that would matter by then Harry wasn’t sure.
He put a surprised looking smile on his face. Right now, Mario reminded him fondly of Mrs. Weasley, though she did not sport a mustache, nor was she a short fat Italian man. “I can eat quite a lot you know. I might eat all your profits,” he said, joking.
Mario affected hurt. “You’d put an old man out of business? With a family to feed, the bambinos to send to the expensive universities, and a mother-in-law to look after as well?” Mario’s hands were waving all over the place; Italians were wont to speak with their hands and it made Harry laugh. Mario was thirty-five and happily married to his childhood sweetheart, who was a very rich woman on her own merits and had no need of Mario’s money. Nor did his mother in law.
Mario broke into a matching laugh and he slapped Harry on the back. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” he said loudly as he pulled him through to the restaurant proper.
“Thanks, Mario. Any of my friends arrived yet?”
Mario shook his head. “No, you’re early tonight. I am looking forward to meeting more of your friends. I hear so much about them, now I get to see for myself if they are good for you.”
“Mario, you fuss over me too much, really,” Harry protested, though he felt oddly grateful that he had Mario there. Something told him over the next year he’d need a lot of support.
“Nonsense, you need someone to look after you.” Mario waved him away. “Until you find yourself a good man to settle down with, that is.”
Harry blushed. “I can still look after myself you know,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And whoever the bloke is that I settle down with.” In reality Harry knew there’d be no bloke to settle down with. Who in their right mind would get into a relationship with him now? And how could he get involved with someone, maybe fall in love, have them fall for him and then up and die on them? The sex wouldn’t go astray, mind, but a relationship? … No, it wasn’t fair.
Mario laughed at him. “I’m sure you would, Harry. Indulge me as a good friend and let me have some illusions. I am well aware that you are a very capable young man, but I like to think you need me for something, yes?”
“Of course, Mario,” Harry grinned. “I need you to feed me.”
They’d reached a set of tables near the back, which were nice and private, as Harry had requested, and Mario laughed and hugged Harry tightly. “I am so glad you chose to spend your birthday with us, Harry. You’ve become very much one of our family.”
Harry hugged him back, moved, and a little curious about all the affection. Mario was normally affectionate, but tonight it seemed different; more intense. It was almost as if Mario knew something. But there was no way he could know. Only two people in the world knew: himself and his Healer.
“You and Vanessa and the children are like my family, too, Mario,” Harry replied sincerely, moving out of the embrace eventually. “Along with Julian, Chris and Janet, I really feel like I’ve found a second family.” It made Harry wonder why he’d never bought the Weasleys here before, where they could meet Mario and the rest. Both his families together in one place would be great. Right then he made up his mind that at some point, very soon, he would do just that. Of course Ron and Ginny would be here tonight but the rest of them could all come at some later date.
Over Mario’s shoulder, Harry saw Julian wave to him. He was obviously busy with customers, and Harry knew he’d catch up with the young man later on. He waved back and sat down, Mario still fussing over the table ensuring that everything was in place. It was, as always, but that wasn’t why Harry liked this place so much, it was the atmosphere and people more than the food or the surrounds that made Harry feel comfortable. While Mario headed back to the kitchen, Harry poured himself some water and drank, taking in the hustle and bustle of the busy restaurant while he waited for the rest of his guests.
Shortly, antipasto platters adorned the two tables and Harry picked at the food, selecting sun dried tomatoes and olives and a gorgeous spicy salami that burned hotly in his mouth. Janet stopped by and gave him a Happy Birthday hug and told him Chris, who was the restaurant’s kitchen hand, would be out later to see him. Harry would have loved Janet to sit down with him and have a chat but, as she was working, she couldn’t. She was a pretty blond with blue eyes and a killer grin. She also walked with a limp, the result of a car accident a few years ago, but she never let it stop her doing whatever she wanted. Harry admired her for that. Right now, apart from working here nights, Janet attended the local University and was taking flying lessons on the weekends to get her pilot’s license. The accident had put the stopper on any air force career she might have wanted, but she could still fly commercial planes, which was what she planned on doing. Before letting her get back to work, he made her agree to have at least one drink with him later. She told him he was a terrible charmer before turning back to her other customers.
Predictably, the first to arrive were Ron and Hermione. He didn’t think Hermione had ever been late for anything in her life. Harry was positive that as soon as her mum’s due date arrived, Hermione Jane Granger had decided that that was enough, thank-you-very-much and she needed to be born now because any time later was too late. It was a quality that had driven him mad in school, seeing as he was always rushing around everywhere and forever arriving late to class. Now, he appreciated it. He appreciated everything about his two best friends.
Ron still walked like he was a gangly teenager, albeit having developed a more assertive stride. He’d become an Auror, just as he’d wanted back in fourth year. Like they’d both wanted, though their working lives had taken different roads after the war. Ron had a certain confidence about him now and Harry thought that it was having Hermione in his life because she constantly enabled him to become the best he could be, by just expecting it. Ron had never really had anyone who just expected things from him. Hermione did. She could read him like a book and just about the whole Wizarding World knew how much Hermione loved books. After the war, Hermione had taken on the job of restocking the dilapidated public library on Diagon Alley. Many of the books had become damaged and almost beyond repair, but Hermione had researched - when did she not? - and found an old bookbinder living in Sussex who had retired almost fifty years earlier. She persuaded him to come back and help her restore the public Wizarding heritage and he had agreed, Now Hermione was becoming famous for her love of books, and old Wizarding families were coming forward with donations, helping her to build a really respectable Wizarding library.
Seeing Hermione reminded Harry of a few books he’d come across hidden in his parents vault at Gringotts. He’d wanted to hang on to them as part of his own history, but he’d have no need of them soon so she should have them. He made a mental note to send them to her tomorrow.
His friends’ smiles when they saw him gave his chest a twinge of regret. He still stuck by his original thought of not telling them, but he did feel some guilt. They were his best friends and he wasn’t going to tell them he was dying; it was only natural that he’d feel guilt over that.
“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Hermione squealed and threw her arms around him when he stood to greet them. The soft kiss she planted on his cheek made him smile. He had to treasure these memories now, each and every one of them.
“Come on, Hermione, you’ll choke the poor boy to death before I even get a chance to wish him Happy Birthday,” came Ron’s laughing voice over Hermione’s shoulder. She stepped back hushing Ron, though she blushed a bit.
“I don’t mind, I think I’d prefer to hug Hermione if it’s all the same to you, Ron,” Harry joked, reaching for Hermione again, who laughed and whacked his arm playfully.
“That’s my fiancé you’re talking about there,” Ron shot back, pretending anger. “Is there anything I should know about you two?”
“Oh yes, Ron, I drag him down amongst the darkest shelves of the library and shag him between Doris Blackby’s ‘How to Cure Genital Warts’ and Tobias Hartley’s ‘101 Ways to Please Your Man’. Hermione spoke with a completely deadpan look on her face.
For a moment Harry and Ron just stared at Hermione and then they all broke into laughter. Harry was laughing at the look on Hermione’s face but then Ron turned and gave Harry a gruff hug, wishing him Happy Birthday, thumping him on the back.
“Twenty five today, hey, Harry? You’ll have grey hair and a long beard before you know it,” Ron teased. Harry rolled his eyes because Ron had only been saying the same thing to him each year he’d had a birthday since the war ended. Once he’d asked Ron why he always said that, and Ron had replied that he’d never thought Harry would live longer than the war and now it made him feel good to be able to think of Harry in his dotage.
That was one more thing he’d not get to see: - Ron and himself in old age, still the best of friends. Sorry, Ron, he silently apologised.
“Well, don’t rush me there, mate,” Harry said aloud and laughing as best he could. “Besides, you’re older than me, you’ll get there first.”
Ron grinned and shot Hermione a loving look as they all sat down. “I have the love of a good woman to keep me young,” he said. “While you, you great ponce, would rather have a big fat c-”
“Ron!” Hermione interrupted loudly.
Harry near collapsed in laughter at the look on Ron’s face when he shot a glare at Hermione, only to find her indicating that he look around the room. When Ron did he saw that everyone had been watching them. Poor Ron, he blushed so deeply that Harry could barely tell the difference between his face and his hair. Harry found Ron’s mortification hilarious and, by the looks on the faces of some of the patrons, so did they.
Luckily for Ron, Luna and Daphne’s entrance diverted their attention. Every time Harry saw the two of them, he shook his head. Luna was still her delightfully eccentric self and dressed accordingly. Tonight’s ensemble consisted of a rainbow of coloured scarves that draped over a barely there strip of something across her chest, a short striped skirt and long pink stockings. She was certainly colourful. Actually she fitted in better in the Muggle world than she did in the Wizarding world. Dressing differently was nothing unusual here and no one gave her a second look.
Nor did anyone worry about Daphne, who was very severe in a black suit that looked like it had just been on a Ralph Lauren model. Daphne wore her hair short and slicked back and strode around like she owned the place. The two of them together though turned more than one head, especially since Luna decided to sprinkle everyone she passed on her way to the table, with something she said would banish the Nargles and stop them messing with the brain.
Their entrance had drawn Mario’s attention, Harry saw, and he caught Mario’s eye seeing the question in them. He shook his head in reply, indicating that Luna was harmless. Harry stood and watched their progress. It was an old saying that opposites attract, and in these two Harry found it the truth. Daphne put up with all Luna’s oddities; said she found them completely endearing. You only had to look into her eyes while she spoke of Luna and you could see that it was real.
Luna told Harry once that Daphne was one of those damaged souls that had lost its colour. She said that she had lots of colour and that was the way to make Daphne free of her sadness. Harry thought that Luna needed Daphne as much as Daphne needed Luna. They gravitated together. He’d seen it; even if they were at opposite ends of the room at a party or function, within minutes they’d be subconsciously edging their way into the middle where they’d stand together and draw something from each other. Often it was Daphne leaning in to whisper some words to Luna, whose face would light up, but sometimes it would be Luna who placed a hand on Daphne’s arm, kiss her cheek gently and lay her head on Daphne’s shoulder.
Harry wondered how two people so opposite in looks and temperament, seemed to need each other so much. He supposed it was love, but never having been in love he couldn’t see himself ever feeling like he needed anyone that much.
And now there wasn’t much chance of him falling in love was there? Not at this late stage and not in such a short space of time. That was one thing he’d never have the chance of doing.
He wondered, as he smiled at his new guests, if he should make a list of things he’d never get to do now.
“God, what does she look like?” Hermione whispered beside him, with an amused smile on her face. Hermione had long since moved past her initial dismissal of Luna and they were now fast friends. Even if, as Ron teased, she was dating a slimy snake.
It seemed to bring Harry back to the present and he blinked a little and smiled. “She looks like our Luna,” he said, happily.
Then Luna was in his arms, having lunged at him. “Harry Potter, Happy Birthday,” she cried, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “Whatever it is, Harry, it’s not going to be anything like you expect,” she said enigmatically. It spooked Harry a little, because that was twice tonight he felt like someone knew about his illness, which he knew was impossible. But Luna had always come out with these odd statements, saying that someone told her to pass the message on and she had no idea what it meant, either.
Eventually, he managed to smile and release her. “I’ll remember that, Luna, thanks.” He turned to Daphne, who was watching Luna with a puzzled expression, though she too knew this was nothing new. “Daphne,” he said, smiling.
“Harry. Happy Birthday,” she responded and held out her hand for him to shake. This was pretty normal as Daphne wasn’t one to show too much emotion in public. However, it was his birthday and he wanted a hug.
He pulled her in for a quick hug, and Daphne awkwardly hugged him back. “Thanks,” he said when he pulled back, smiling. “You found the place all right, obviously,” he said.
“Obviously,” she agreed, rolling her eyes at him and sitting down next to Ron, greeting both him and Hermione with a nod. Luna sat beside her.
Julian arrived to take their orders for drinks. After introductions, in which Luna asked Julian outright if he was gay and single and Harry blushed while Julian laughed, they ordered drinks.
When Julian left, after assuring Harry that he wasn’t embarrassed, Harry turned to Luna and gave her an exasperatedly amused stare.
“What?” she said. “How are you going to know if you don’t ask?”
“Julian is like family to me, I know he’s very straight and has a girlfriend, thanks Luna,” Harry laughed. How could he not be amused by Luna’s directness? And impressed by it?
“Oh, so that means you thought he was cute?” Hermione asked, teasing.
“No, that means I know him well,” Harry replied. Julian was cute though; he had to admit to having a preference for blonds. Not that he’d ever thought about anything with Julian, it was just easy to admit he was cute and then move on.
“Got a nice arse, though,” Daphne said, and Harry saw her watching Julian walking away. All five of them turned and watched then. Yeah, he concluded, Julian did have a nice arse.
“Speaking of arses,” Ron said. “Not that I think about blokes arses, mind, but Malfoy’s just walked in. I bet he’s one you’d like to -” But he broke off at a thump from Hermione, turning to glare at her. “What?”
“Do you have to be so crude?”
“I was just about to wonder why those two never got together…”
Harry ignored them and turned to see Draco Malfoy enter the restaurant. He had to admit Ron was right to wonder; he wondered himself sometimes. Draco Malfoy was still pointy and blond and still pretended he thought he was better than everyone else at times, but only at times. He was, however, extremely fit and gay and single. Some people automatically assumed that wherever two single gay blokes were, they simply had to hook up, and they’d both faced the not-so-subtle machinations of more than one of their friends who’d attempted to get them together.
But they’d talked about it before, and apart from the fact that they didn’t want to be seen as getting together because they were the only single gay blokes in their group, they both felt it would be too odd to be having a relationship with a friend. Complications always arose when friends dated and then split up. Harry knew himself too well and he had never managed to survive a relationship more than a few days, a week at most. What’s more, after all the years of disliking each other they’d finally come to a place where they knew each other’s problems, from Harry’s inability to sustain a relationship to Draco’s financial woes. Besides, according to Draco, he didn’t do relationships because they tended to get too emotional and messy and he’d rather have fewer complications in his life.
After the war, most of the Malfoy possessions had been lost, confiscated for ‘war reparations’ or so they said. Harry was of the opinion that the Ministry had taken the opportunity for a bit of revenge against Lucius Malfoy for all the years he’d bribed and blackmailed Ministry officials to get what he wanted. Not that Harry minded. Lucius still had his life, though it was spent in isolation in Azkaban. Narcissa lived with Andromeda now, so Draco still had both his parents alive at least. So many other people had died.
Unfortunately the fall out of the decline of the Malfoy name didn’t stop there. Draco found it hard to get a job. No one seemed prepared to hire an ex-would-be Death Eater with his name, no matter how good he was at Potions. When the Apothecary found a potion difficult to make or they were snowed under, they would send him their work and pay him for it, but they wouldn’t hire him permanently. What they paid was enough for Draco to live on. Just. He had a small flat in one of the lanes behind Diagon Alley, which he kept as neat as he was able, and he was very independent. Impressively, he wasn’t terribly bitter about losing everything, not after he’d come so close to losing his family and his life. It appeared to have helped him grow up.
Now, Harry smiled when Draco approached the table. He was dressed neatly, still very particular about his clothing. Even though he had no money to afford fashionable new clothes, he made sure that he spent time keeping what he did have well cared for. Even Muggle attire looked good on him, and Harry supposed it was lucky that the Muggle fashion was well worn clothing.
The smile on Draco’s face was warming, and Harry stood and held out his arms for a hug.
“Potter, you don’t look a day over thirty,” Draco joked when he pulled back. “You’d think by the time you’d reached the grand old age of twenty-five you’d have learnt to do something about that hair of yours.” It was an old joke by now.
“Watch who you’re calling old, Malfoy. You’re older than I am, and you’d think that once you’d reached the grand old age of twenty-five you’d have learnt to watch what comes out of your mouth,” Harry retorted, laughing.
“Oh, I have enough fun watching what goes in my mouth. I know perfectly well nothing comes out of it that I don’t want to, so choke on it, Potter.”
There was a casual flirty look in Draco’s eyes with that made Harry laugh at the obvious double meaning and he heard Ron in the background whinging to Hermione.
“And you’re worried about what I might say?” he complained.
Draco turned to the rest of the group, greeting them all in turn and they smiled at him. Luna passed him a glass of wine and Draco turned back to Harry and raised it. “Happy Birthday, Harry,”
“Thanks, Draco,” Harry replied softly, nodding at him. Draco winked at him and then turned to speak to Daphne about the product she used in her hair to get it slicked down that well.
Harry’s attention was dragged away by Hermione. “I’m glad you two never got together,” she said, quietly. “You’d both be killing each other in under a month.”
Harry laughed. “You think?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, brown curls bobbing lightly. “You’ve never lived with anyone before, your relationships have consisted of the odd snogging session here and there and, from what Ron tells me - and that’s not much, so don’t worry about him revealing any deep dark secrets - the occasional groping session or more in the back of a nightclub. You couldn’t have a proper relationship if you tried, Harry Potter.” Her voice was amused but Harry wondered if he were really that bad. Sure he could do it if he wanted to. Before. Not now he couldn’t. But before he could have, he was sure. He’d had visions of when he was older, sitting on a verandah overlooking a lake, on a late summer evening with that someone special, not needing to talk, just enjoying each other’s presence…
Not likely that’s going to happen now.
He remained silent, hoping that Hermione would change the subject but, alas, she was intent on telling him more. “He’s just as bad. He hates that he can’t afford anything nice, refuses to let any of us help him and therefore thinks he has nothing to offer anyone, which he conveniently hides by using the fact that he thinks all relationships are messy.”
“But he has lots to offer someone,” Harry protested quietly, noting that the rest of the group weren’t paying them any attention, fortunately.
“He doesn’t think so. To him, because he was brought up in a materialistic atmosphere, unless you can give your partner a comfortable home, nice clothes and a lot of material possessions, then you’re not worth much as a partner. He does know that there are more important things, it’s just hard to get that out of him - he’s a man and he needs to think he’ll be a good provider.”
“Since when did you do a psychological profile on Draco?” Harry asked, grinning, because Hermione was usually right.
“I’ve known him as long as you have, Harry, but more since I’ve had him come into the Library two days a week and help me sort through the books the Ministry recently released from Malfoy Manor. He’s the only one who understands a lot of them and so I can offer him a valid job for a little while.”
“I didn’t know they’d done that,” Harry said.
“Well, they only did it a couple of weeks ago; I thought Ron mentioned something to you.”
“I think I’ve been kind of preoccupied lately, sorry,” Harry said.
“Anything bothering you? I noticed that you’ve been a bit quiet recently.”
“Nothing’s bothering me, I’m fine,” Harry lied.
Just then Seamus, Pansy, Ginny, Blaise, Neville and Hannah all showed up at the same time and there was a bit of pandemonium as everyone greeted each other, rearranging themselves and sorting out seats. Harry wondered why they all arrived together, but Neville explained that by saying that he and Hannah had been at Blaise and Ginny’s place earlier, as the girls had been organising Neville’s party which was to be next week so that it didn’t clash with Harry’s. They had all come together and had just by luck stumbled across Seamus in Diagon Alley, and Pansy’s taxi had arrived just as they did.
Mario arrived to take their orders. He immediately endeared himself to them by kissing each of the ladies on the hand, and he impressed Blaise and Draco when he had their favourite pasta sauce made from the traditional old recipe
Once drinks had been poured, and cheers raised to Harry again, the talk turned to catching up on news about what everyone had been doing lately. Ginny played Quidditch for the Holyhead Harpies and loved it. They were in the off season, but had started training and so she was busy with that. Blaise was content to play house husband and they lived off Ginny’s earnings for now, though it wasn’t hard, since Ginny was a very well paid player. Draco used to take a shot at Blaise for not working but he just shrugged off the teasing. Blaise said that while Ginny could still play and make a career out of it, she was the important one and he was happy to take care of things off the field. When she retired it would be his turn to work at what he wanted… when he could figure out what that was.
Neville had recently finished a world-renowned Advanced Herbology course and was now working in the Ministry research and development division, creating new medicines from plant life. He’d married Hannah two years after the war and they were expecting their first child. Neville had been insisting they call it Harry if it was a boy but Harry would prefer him not to, even though he was very moved by the thought.
Pansy moved into the world of teaching; something Harry was extremely surprised about as she hadn’t been all that smart in school. But she seemed to have an affinity with small children, and they adored her, so she became a pre-school teacher. Draco joked once that it was because they were the same intellectual age. Pansy thumped him one but laughed all the same.
Seamus, well, Seamus scored a job with the Daily Prophet in their gossip division. They’d all teased him, asking if he’d had to learn to be an Animagus before he could really do Rita Skeeter’s job properly. Mostly he scowled at them and then hid a little snippet about the offender in the last line of his column. He never mentioned them by name, but included enough detail so that whoever had joked with him about it, knew it was them. It was a joke as much as a threat and they all appreciated it. Seamus was good though; he never printed anything about any of them without checking it with them first. He said he’d learnt back in fifth year that friendships are worth more than any job.
Food began arriving and Harry became lost in the jumble of conversations that were taking place around him. He had Hermione on one side of him and Ginny on the other and was half listening to a conversation between Hermione and Luna on one side and Ginny and Seamus on the other. Snatches of conversation about the latest rumour Seamus had heard about one of Ginny’s teammates, crossed with pieces of a discussion on the veracity of the latest sighting of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, which Hermione vehemently refused to believe in while Luna took great pains to explain about the sightings and how reliable the source was.
Blaise was sitting opposite him and watching his wife with soft eyes. Occasionally, he’d meet Harry’s eyes and raise his eyebrow but generally they were both eating and surrounded by chattering people and so they didn’t say a word.
When dessert was delivered to their tables in the form a hazelnut cream cassata birthday cake, the conversation was flowing easily and Harry was feeling rather mellow from the numerous glasses of wine he’d had with his meal. He’d actually hoped that he would escape the traditional singing of Happy Birthday. It was enough for him to be spending it with his friends without everyone in the restaurant knowing as well. Unfortunately, Mario had other ideas and staged a big production about bringing the cake out, covered in lit candles. A man playing a violin like a fiddle accompanied it, and the tune of Happy Birthday caught the attention of the customers as much as the brightly lit cake did.
Soon, everyone in the restaurant was joining in and singing to wish Harry a Happy Birthday. He was blushing now but didn’t hide from it; he doubted he would have another birthday and he wanted to remember this last one for as long as he could.
The cake in front of him burned brightly and he looked out at all of his friends, smiling.
“Make a wish, Harry,” Mario said, and Harry sighed. No matter what he wished, he wouldn’t be around to enjoy it for long and what he really wanted, he could never have. If he wished for some miracle cure, it would never happen. If he wished to never have developed this disease in the first place, that could never happen either. Perhaps he could wish that his friends didn’t hurt too much when he was gone. As he looked around at their faces, he realised that was another thing that couldn’t come true. He would have to settle for wishing that he could make them all happy during this next year or so and that the hurt they’d suffer would be crowded out by the happiness of their memories of him. One day.
“Yes, Potter, make a wish. Some of us would like to eat the cake before it’s covered in a layer of candle wax,” Draco drawled, the hint of fondness flashing in his eyes giving the lie to his words.
“I might wish to see the back of your pointy face, Malfoy,” Harry replied in kind. Then he closed his eyes and made his wish, before opening them and blowing out all the candles in one breath. He thought the cheering hilarious and he wondered if it was supposed to make him feel like he’d just performed some death-defying act or some super human feat, like no one in the history of man had ever blown out twenty-five candles on a birthday cake before.
But he was in such a good mood, despite his limited future, that he only laughed at his own sarcasm. Lots of hugs and slaps on the back later, Mario had cut the cake and served it and they were all enjoying it with coffee or cappuccino. He’d had such a good evening and he reminded himself, not for the first time this evening, to treasure each and every moment.
As he took a sip of his coffee, the violinist who had accompanied the raucous singing earlier, began to play music and he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione brighten at the sound. Harry had no idea what it was, but it was music for lovers to slow dance to. Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and dragged him to the small dance floor in the middle of the restaurant. They moved together with such ease and fit together so well that Harry was momentarily jealous. Of course he was more than pleased that his two best friends were so perfect for each other and loved each other to distraction, there was no question there. Perhaps it was the twinge of something missing in his own life that was causing the spot of jealousy.
Shortly, other couples joined Ron and Hermione and the floor was soon filled with couples swaying slowly to the music, pressed closely together held in the spell of the notes.
Daphne was very formal in asking Luna to dance; she stood in front of her and performed a neat bow. “Luna, may I have the pleasure of this dance?” she asked.
“Of course, Daphne, dear,” Luna responded and took Daphne’s hand, performing a small curtsey when she stood.
Harry watched them fondly as Daphne folded Luna’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her to the dance floor, where she swung her into her arms and swirled her around the floor.
Neville and Hannah were next and Seamus begged Pansy for a dance, leaving Harry and Draco by themselves at the table. Draco moved around to sit next to Harry and in comfortable silence they watched their friends.
“The mind completely boggles at the thought that Greengrass and Lovegood are still together,” Draco said from beside him, looking at them from over the rim of his wine glass.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “They say opposites attract and you couldn’t get more opposite than those two.”
“Unless you count us, Potter,” Draco said smirking.
“We mustn’t be that opposite.” Harry grinned back.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you’re not attractive at all,” Harry teased.
“Wanker,” Draco retorted with a snort, though he laughed a moment later.
There was a short silence then while Harry again watched his friends dancing. Yes, there was definitely some significant amount of jealousy simmering away inside him. He supposed that it wasn’t just that his friends seemed happy and in love, it was also the fact that they could plan a future with the person they loved. There was some certainty, a confidence that there would be a future, there would be that someone special there for the rest of their lives.
If he wasn’t careful he’d start feeling sorry for himself and he didn’t want to do that. Not tonight. Not any time, really, though he knew there’d be times when it all got too much for him to take with good grace and he’d lash out at whoever was closest. For now, right here in the restaurant, he didn’t want to spoil what had been a wonderful evening.
He must have sighed, because Draco put his glass down and turned to look at him. “You’ve been quieter than normal tonight. Everything all right?” Draco Malfoy showing concern for someone was a new thing, developed over the years since the war, when he realised that he needed to look after his friends as much as they looked after him.
“No, I’m fine. Just looking at them on the dance floor enjoying each other, made me wistful for a moment there, that’s all.”
“Did you want to dance, then? I’m sure I could put up with you standing on my feet for a dance.”
Harry shot him a glare, but he was smiling. “You just want to get your hands on my body,” he quipped.
Draco laughed and turned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. “Oh yes, and Elvis was really a wizard.”
“He was?” Harry asked cheekily.
“Hell, no,” Draco replied. “If he was do you really think he’d have let himself go like that?”
“I know, you prat,” Harry laughed, elbowing Draco.
As he watched his friends dancing and enjoyed the solid warmth of Draco beside him, Harry felt a calm peace wash over him, even if it was tinged with loneliness. Draco’s head dropped onto Harry’s shoulder after a while and Harry smiled at him and didn’t shrug him off.
Chapter 2.