[Harry Potter] What You Need
Title: What You Need
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2300
Summary: You don't want what you don't have until you realise it wants you.
Notes: Written for a goodbye challenge.
Originally Posted: January 4, 2004
What You Need
The first time, goodbye was surprisingly easy to say.
"Thank you, Potter," he said and shook his hand, as that was the gentlemanly thing to do even though both their hands were covered in blood. As they shook, the blood they'd spilled togther mixed in a smear Draco would see on his hands in dreams for years to come.
"Thank you, Malfoy," Potter echoed, eyes tired and bright with tears as he looked away from Draco and surveyed the bodies littering the last desolate battlefield below them.
It's okay, Draco wanted to say, or You did what you had to do, but he knew neither would be of any help. The worst was behind them: Lucius lay dead in a Ministry corridor six months past, Percy in the Forbidden Forest four weeks ago. There were countless others, some with names and some without, some they only knew when they nudged a body with a foot and rolled it over to reveal a face.
But it was done at last and though Draco knew far better than to call the outcome of the war a victory, he hoped Potter was still naïve enough to do so. He wanted Harry to be able to sleep at night.
He left Harry on the hill with his tears, a single look back over his shoulder the only goodbye.
--------
They say when one wizard saves another wizard's life a special bond is created between them; Draco doubts anyone's saved each other's lives more than he and Harry. The extent of the tangled bond they'd weaved during their last years of school and the subsequent war Draco still doesn't know, and he's a bit afraid to find out. All he knows is that after all these years, he still thinks he sees that sloppy black hair and those oddly green eyes everywhere he goes: around the board table during a meeting, on the crowded sidewalks of the city, in a darkened theater. He dreams of him, as well. The dreams of the war and that indelible image of their mingled blood on his hands have finally begun to lessen with the years; now he mainly dreams of moments at Hogwarts, a glance from Harry in the hall or in a classroom, a particularly brilliant move during a Quidditch match. The funny thing is that these are memories Draco didn't even know he had until they started coming to him at night.
Draco hasn't looked back once since he left the wizarding world. Much to his pleasant surprise, the Muggle world was quite easy adapt to. There was still money to be earned or stolen, terribly expensive things to own, and a myriad of ways to be better than everyone else. It also had its hidden perks that he didn't expect: Draco's discovered he rather likes movies (those centred around archenemies are his favourite) and cars (the fancier and faster the better). Harry's really the only thing he wonders about, but his curiousity hasn't been enough to send him looking. But on this warm summer day, for reasons Draco refuses to examine too closely, that has changed.
--------
Goodbye was harder the second time.
Harry's never really liked his birthday. His eleventh was by far the best, when he discovered
he had a way to escape Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. The ones after that were a bit sour, because he found he couldn't really escape his family, as it were, and his birthdays were spent wishing he were beside his friends instead of having their gifts delivered by owl. His seventeenth birthday was the worst, as it marked the start of the terror and killing. Now, he's afraid that Voldemort will still somehow get his wish and he'll die on the same date as his birth. So he spends his birthdays in the most expensive restaurant in London in front of a roaring fireplace with a bottle of the finest port for chasing away a winter's chill, fighting the knowledge that outside it's still July.
He's halfway through the bottle when someone sits silently in the armchair beside him. Harry knows who it is and though he's curious to see if he's changed, he doesn't want to be caught looking.
It's been eight years, a lot has changed since then, and Harry doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything at all. He doesn't know much about Malfoy anymore; no one in the wizarding world does since Draco's self-exile. He's made a fortune in the Muggle world, though doing what, Harry hasn't any idea. Harry was surprised at first, though he shouldn't have been: Malfoy always had a knack for landing on his feet.
They sit in silence and when it's clear Malfoy's not going to speak and neither is he, Harry conjures another glass and pours Draco a drink. When he hands it over, he's finally given his chance to look at the other man.
The years have changed him little. He's still slighter than Harry, impeccably dressed and groomed as always. His hair and skin are still unnaturally pale, just like his eyes always were. The last time he saw Malfoy, his eyes were haunted. Harry wonders if they still are, but the flickering light of the fireplace prevents him from seeing.
As they sit in silence, Harry wonders if Malfoy's tracked him down or if this is some supreme coincidence. Malfoy's not very forthcoming with any information. Then again, Harry supposes, neither is he. Malfoy finishes his glass and sets it down and then he finally speaks.
"How've you been, Harry?" he asks evenly.
Harry struggles not to shrug or shift; Malfoy's not unnerved, and Harry doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he is. I'm better, Harry thinks, then better? What does that mean? and when Malfoy turns to look at him, Harry's chagrined to realise he said that aloud.
Malfoy mulls that over, then nods as if Harry's answer is acceptable. "All right." He rises to leave and it's so sudden, so unexpected, that by the time Harry reaches out for him, he's already gone.
--------
Hermione's Ministry office is bright and cheerful, filled with blooming plants and vines of all various sorts, most with a tag that says Enjoy, Neville hanging from the pot. Her silence is making him nervous and his eyes dart around the room as he kicks himself for coming here first. Finally, she sets her quill aside, straightens her sheaf of parchments and files them away, studying him curiously and none too subtly the whole time. "Why are you asking about Malfoy?"
Apparently, Harry wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he'd thought. He shrugs in response.
Hermione's eyes narrow. "Harry," she says warningly.
"What? Can't I just be curious?"
She eyes him suspiciously. "People who ask if they can't just be curious are rarely just that." She gestures for Harry to sit down and as he does, he catches sight of the framed photo of she and Ron sitting on her desk.
"How is he?" Harry asks tentatively.
"He's Ron. He's a Weasley," she replies as if that explains everything. And perhaps it does.
Harry shifts uncomfortably. "He finally sent my Christmas gift back. He waited so long I thought perhaps he'd actually opened it."
"I tried to get him to. I think he may have thought about it. But in the end, it was his decision."
"How long is he going to stay angry?"
Hermione sighs. They've had this identical conversation far too many times. "I don't agree with him, but he has a right to be angry."
"Hermione, he had to. Percy was--"
"I know, Harry," she interrupts gently. "And so does he. But Percy was still his brother."
Harry sighs. He'd been certain all Ron needed was time. A month turned into six turned into a year turned into two and before Harry knew it, two turned into eight and eight looked very likely to turn into twenty.
It wasn't Harry's fault, nor was it Malfoy's. Percy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong allegiance. Harry couldn't bear to do it; Malfoy, luckily, didn't have the same problem. And it was a good thing he hadn't, as Percy was leveling his wand at Harry just as Malfoy brought him down.
What hurt more than the loss of his brother, Harry knew, was his partnership with Malfoy. Ron may, in his heart of hearts, have wanted greatness at Harry's side, but he'd settle happily for friendship. And when Malfoy became the one beside Harry, Ron's jealousy was all consuming. The last time he'd spoken with Ron had been after Percy's funeral, Ron a wreck with his tears and grief. He screamed and guilted and accused. Harry apologised for what he'd done, for what Malfoy had done, for the evil necessities of war that had robbed Ron of his brother. It was his apology that undid him. Glaring at Harry with silent tears streaming down his face, Harry heard the echo of what hadn't been said in his apology: I'm not sorry it was Malfoy. I'm only sorry it wasn't you.
Harry nodded. "Tell him I said hello, at least. I do miss him, whether he believes me or not."
Hermione nodded curtly. "All right. Now Malfoy. What do you want to know?"
Harry relaxed a bit. "What's he been doing? He left the wizarding world behind after the war and I don't know what happened. His family fortune, the manor, his Muggle life; I know none of it."
"Well. Immediately after the last battle, he apparated back to Malfoy Manor and reduced it to rubble: jewels, Dark artifacts, spell books, everything else inside. Dumbledore and the Ministry had already picked it over for information they could use; only their accumulated treasures were left inside. The next day, it was gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. As though it never existed. I don't know how Malfoy got through all the wards the manor was undoubtedly protected with, but it was gone without a trace."
"He had to have had help. Snape?"
Hermione nodded. "Most likely. It would've taken several very powerful wizards. People thought you'd helped, actually. But I knew you hadn't, since you were with me while the…cleaning was taking place."
Harry nodded. "Why did they do it? Do you think they were hiding something?"
"Some people did. Most likely, I think, he just didn't want it standing anymore. Would you?"
Harry thought about it, then assented. "And after that?"
"He disappeared. Seven months later he reappeared as the CEO of a small medical company, the Madison Technology Corporation."
"A Muggle company?"
Hermione nodded, then dug up a file, spilling the contents out on the desk: pictures and articles from the Prophet and Muggle papers, all about Malfoy. He picked through them slowly as she spoke. "The MTO is now the leading company in genetic research."
Harry looked up in alarm. "You don't think he's--?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. He's cut all ties with the magic world; he hasn't got a single wizard friend or contact. Also, there's a lot of money in genetics, and Malfoy's been quite successful in amassing a fortune all his own. He's brought the company from the fringes and turned it into the leader in its field. Quite amazing, really. It's also helped him make a name for himself. He's quite a presence in the corporate world. A smart, ruthless leader. I suppose some things don't change."
Harry nodded and stood to go. "Thank you."
She held out the file to him, but he shook his head. "You're not going to tell me what this was about, are you?"
"No." He smiled. "Do tell Ron I send my best."
"I will. And good luck, Harry. I've got a feeling you'll need it."
--------
It didn't take long before Malfoy's face jumped out at him from the front page of The New York Times. at the newsstand on the corner. As he stood in the drawing twilight, reading beneath the glow of a streetlamp, an odd smile came over his face. Malfoy had been in New York the last week of July at some sort of important business conference. Since he no longer had any wizard contacts and someplace important he was supposed to be instead, he didn't have any business apparating halfway around the world at Harry's favourite restaurant. No, it wasn't business. It was personal.
--------
It's an easy decision, so easy it's nearly natural. You don't realise what you haven't got until you see you can have it, and you don't want what you don't have until you realise it wants you. And perhaps this is what he's wanted all along. But even that doesn't matter; it's what he wants now and if Harry's learned anything, it's that now is what matters.
Which is how he comes to be standing nervously on the penthouse floor, the elevator doors shutting behind him with a soft chime of finality. He takes a deep breath, then knocks. He doesn't know if he'll find Malfoy in this tower of ivory and glass he lives in and if he does, he hasn't any idea what he'll say.
He doesn't know anything for certain aside from one singular thing: the third time, goodbye won't be nearly as easy to say. He'll make sure of that.
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2300
Summary: You don't want what you don't have until you realise it wants you.
Notes: Written for a goodbye challenge.
Originally Posted: January 4, 2004
What You Need
The first time, goodbye was surprisingly easy to say.
"Thank you, Potter," he said and shook his hand, as that was the gentlemanly thing to do even though both their hands were covered in blood. As they shook, the blood they'd spilled togther mixed in a smear Draco would see on his hands in dreams for years to come.
"Thank you, Malfoy," Potter echoed, eyes tired and bright with tears as he looked away from Draco and surveyed the bodies littering the last desolate battlefield below them.
It's okay, Draco wanted to say, or You did what you had to do, but he knew neither would be of any help. The worst was behind them: Lucius lay dead in a Ministry corridor six months past, Percy in the Forbidden Forest four weeks ago. There were countless others, some with names and some without, some they only knew when they nudged a body with a foot and rolled it over to reveal a face.
But it was done at last and though Draco knew far better than to call the outcome of the war a victory, he hoped Potter was still naïve enough to do so. He wanted Harry to be able to sleep at night.
He left Harry on the hill with his tears, a single look back over his shoulder the only goodbye.
--------
They say when one wizard saves another wizard's life a special bond is created between them; Draco doubts anyone's saved each other's lives more than he and Harry. The extent of the tangled bond they'd weaved during their last years of school and the subsequent war Draco still doesn't know, and he's a bit afraid to find out. All he knows is that after all these years, he still thinks he sees that sloppy black hair and those oddly green eyes everywhere he goes: around the board table during a meeting, on the crowded sidewalks of the city, in a darkened theater. He dreams of him, as well. The dreams of the war and that indelible image of their mingled blood on his hands have finally begun to lessen with the years; now he mainly dreams of moments at Hogwarts, a glance from Harry in the hall or in a classroom, a particularly brilliant move during a Quidditch match. The funny thing is that these are memories Draco didn't even know he had until they started coming to him at night.
Draco hasn't looked back once since he left the wizarding world. Much to his pleasant surprise, the Muggle world was quite easy adapt to. There was still money to be earned or stolen, terribly expensive things to own, and a myriad of ways to be better than everyone else. It also had its hidden perks that he didn't expect: Draco's discovered he rather likes movies (those centred around archenemies are his favourite) and cars (the fancier and faster the better). Harry's really the only thing he wonders about, but his curiousity hasn't been enough to send him looking. But on this warm summer day, for reasons Draco refuses to examine too closely, that has changed.
--------
Goodbye was harder the second time.
Harry's never really liked his birthday. His eleventh was by far the best, when he discovered
he had a way to escape Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley. The ones after that were a bit sour, because he found he couldn't really escape his family, as it were, and his birthdays were spent wishing he were beside his friends instead of having their gifts delivered by owl. His seventeenth birthday was the worst, as it marked the start of the terror and killing. Now, he's afraid that Voldemort will still somehow get his wish and he'll die on the same date as his birth. So he spends his birthdays in the most expensive restaurant in London in front of a roaring fireplace with a bottle of the finest port for chasing away a winter's chill, fighting the knowledge that outside it's still July.
He's halfway through the bottle when someone sits silently in the armchair beside him. Harry knows who it is and though he's curious to see if he's changed, he doesn't want to be caught looking.
It's been eight years, a lot has changed since then, and Harry doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything at all. He doesn't know much about Malfoy anymore; no one in the wizarding world does since Draco's self-exile. He's made a fortune in the Muggle world, though doing what, Harry hasn't any idea. Harry was surprised at first, though he shouldn't have been: Malfoy always had a knack for landing on his feet.
They sit in silence and when it's clear Malfoy's not going to speak and neither is he, Harry conjures another glass and pours Draco a drink. When he hands it over, he's finally given his chance to look at the other man.
The years have changed him little. He's still slighter than Harry, impeccably dressed and groomed as always. His hair and skin are still unnaturally pale, just like his eyes always were. The last time he saw Malfoy, his eyes were haunted. Harry wonders if they still are, but the flickering light of the fireplace prevents him from seeing.
As they sit in silence, Harry wonders if Malfoy's tracked him down or if this is some supreme coincidence. Malfoy's not very forthcoming with any information. Then again, Harry supposes, neither is he. Malfoy finishes his glass and sets it down and then he finally speaks.
"How've you been, Harry?" he asks evenly.
Harry struggles not to shrug or shift; Malfoy's not unnerved, and Harry doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he is. I'm better, Harry thinks, then better? What does that mean? and when Malfoy turns to look at him, Harry's chagrined to realise he said that aloud.
Malfoy mulls that over, then nods as if Harry's answer is acceptable. "All right." He rises to leave and it's so sudden, so unexpected, that by the time Harry reaches out for him, he's already gone.
--------
Hermione's Ministry office is bright and cheerful, filled with blooming plants and vines of all various sorts, most with a tag that says Enjoy, Neville hanging from the pot. Her silence is making him nervous and his eyes dart around the room as he kicks himself for coming here first. Finally, she sets her quill aside, straightens her sheaf of parchments and files them away, studying him curiously and none too subtly the whole time. "Why are you asking about Malfoy?"
Apparently, Harry wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he'd thought. He shrugs in response.
Hermione's eyes narrow. "Harry," she says warningly.
"What? Can't I just be curious?"
She eyes him suspiciously. "People who ask if they can't just be curious are rarely just that." She gestures for Harry to sit down and as he does, he catches sight of the framed photo of she and Ron sitting on her desk.
"How is he?" Harry asks tentatively.
"He's Ron. He's a Weasley," she replies as if that explains everything. And perhaps it does.
Harry shifts uncomfortably. "He finally sent my Christmas gift back. He waited so long I thought perhaps he'd actually opened it."
"I tried to get him to. I think he may have thought about it. But in the end, it was his decision."
"How long is he going to stay angry?"
Hermione sighs. They've had this identical conversation far too many times. "I don't agree with him, but he has a right to be angry."
"Hermione, he had to. Percy was--"
"I know, Harry," she interrupts gently. "And so does he. But Percy was still his brother."
Harry sighs. He'd been certain all Ron needed was time. A month turned into six turned into a year turned into two and before Harry knew it, two turned into eight and eight looked very likely to turn into twenty.
It wasn't Harry's fault, nor was it Malfoy's. Percy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong allegiance. Harry couldn't bear to do it; Malfoy, luckily, didn't have the same problem. And it was a good thing he hadn't, as Percy was leveling his wand at Harry just as Malfoy brought him down.
What hurt more than the loss of his brother, Harry knew, was his partnership with Malfoy. Ron may, in his heart of hearts, have wanted greatness at Harry's side, but he'd settle happily for friendship. And when Malfoy became the one beside Harry, Ron's jealousy was all consuming. The last time he'd spoken with Ron had been after Percy's funeral, Ron a wreck with his tears and grief. He screamed and guilted and accused. Harry apologised for what he'd done, for what Malfoy had done, for the evil necessities of war that had robbed Ron of his brother. It was his apology that undid him. Glaring at Harry with silent tears streaming down his face, Harry heard the echo of what hadn't been said in his apology: I'm not sorry it was Malfoy. I'm only sorry it wasn't you.
Harry nodded. "Tell him I said hello, at least. I do miss him, whether he believes me or not."
Hermione nodded curtly. "All right. Now Malfoy. What do you want to know?"
Harry relaxed a bit. "What's he been doing? He left the wizarding world behind after the war and I don't know what happened. His family fortune, the manor, his Muggle life; I know none of it."
"Well. Immediately after the last battle, he apparated back to Malfoy Manor and reduced it to rubble: jewels, Dark artifacts, spell books, everything else inside. Dumbledore and the Ministry had already picked it over for information they could use; only their accumulated treasures were left inside. The next day, it was gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone. As though it never existed. I don't know how Malfoy got through all the wards the manor was undoubtedly protected with, but it was gone without a trace."
"He had to have had help. Snape?"
Hermione nodded. "Most likely. It would've taken several very powerful wizards. People thought you'd helped, actually. But I knew you hadn't, since you were with me while the…cleaning was taking place."
Harry nodded. "Why did they do it? Do you think they were hiding something?"
"Some people did. Most likely, I think, he just didn't want it standing anymore. Would you?"
Harry thought about it, then assented. "And after that?"
"He disappeared. Seven months later he reappeared as the CEO of a small medical company, the Madison Technology Corporation."
"A Muggle company?"
Hermione nodded, then dug up a file, spilling the contents out on the desk: pictures and articles from the Prophet and Muggle papers, all about Malfoy. He picked through them slowly as she spoke. "The MTO is now the leading company in genetic research."
Harry looked up in alarm. "You don't think he's--?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. He's cut all ties with the magic world; he hasn't got a single wizard friend or contact. Also, there's a lot of money in genetics, and Malfoy's been quite successful in amassing a fortune all his own. He's brought the company from the fringes and turned it into the leader in its field. Quite amazing, really. It's also helped him make a name for himself. He's quite a presence in the corporate world. A smart, ruthless leader. I suppose some things don't change."
Harry nodded and stood to go. "Thank you."
She held out the file to him, but he shook his head. "You're not going to tell me what this was about, are you?"
"No." He smiled. "Do tell Ron I send my best."
"I will. And good luck, Harry. I've got a feeling you'll need it."
--------
It didn't take long before Malfoy's face jumped out at him from the front page of The New York Times. at the newsstand on the corner. As he stood in the drawing twilight, reading beneath the glow of a streetlamp, an odd smile came over his face. Malfoy had been in New York the last week of July at some sort of important business conference. Since he no longer had any wizard contacts and someplace important he was supposed to be instead, he didn't have any business apparating halfway around the world at Harry's favourite restaurant. No, it wasn't business. It was personal.
--------
It's an easy decision, so easy it's nearly natural. You don't realise what you haven't got until you see you can have it, and you don't want what you don't have until you realise it wants you. And perhaps this is what he's wanted all along. But even that doesn't matter; it's what he wants now and if Harry's learned anything, it's that now is what matters.
Which is how he comes to be standing nervously on the penthouse floor, the elevator doors shutting behind him with a soft chime of finality. He takes a deep breath, then knocks. He doesn't know if he'll find Malfoy in this tower of ivory and glass he lives in and if he does, he hasn't any idea what he'll say.
He doesn't know anything for certain aside from one singular thing: the third time, goodbye won't be nearly as easy to say. He'll make sure of that.