New fic!

[silentauror]

After weeks of threatening, I come with fic at last! :P It's a long one. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Title: War Wounds
Pairings: HP/DM (primary), HP/GW
Genre/rating: Drama, romance; NC-17
Length: 30,528 words
Summary: Some wounds take longer to recover from than others. This is a story about finding the way forward. Themes of alcoholism, dubious fidelity, and a love triangle.

Read it in completion at Skyehawke, or read it in pieces here. :P


War Wounds

The mobile rang for the seventeenth time in half an hour, and Harry Potter closed it with a bang.

He had seen the name of the caller on the mini display and it could wait. It was six-thirty and he wanted to go home. And in fact, he decided that today, just for once, he would do that, rather than stay another four hours dealing with the day’s paperwork. He stared at the pile of said paperwork and briefly considered Banishing it all. Very briefly. Instead, Harry put down his quill, turned off his laptop, and reached for his jacket.

Outside, the enchanted windows showed grey, drizzling evening. The laptop beeped once and went dark. There was a knock on one of the wall partitions of Harry’s cubicle and he looked up.

“Busy?” Neville pushed his glasses up his nose and looked apologetic.

Harry attempted to mask his apprehension. “I was just about to call it quits, actually. Why?”

“Sorry.” Neville held out a thin file folder with a single leaf of parchment clipped to the front. “This ended up on my desk, and… well, I thought maybe you should be the one to deal with it.”

Harry groaned. “What is it?”

Neville was uncharacteristically cryptic. “You’ll see. Trust me, it’s more up your alley than mine.”

Great, Harry thought, but did not say. He held out his hand for it and scanned the parchment page. It took him a moment to find something to say about it. “Surrey.”

“That’s what they said,” Neville confirmed, watching him warily.

Harry made no response. “Ten Privet Drive.”

“Coincidence?” Neville asked.

“I should know?”

“Seems like it couldn’t be.”

Harry frowned. “I thought your unit had finished with the entire county.”

“I thought we had, too.” Neville was still apologetic. “I just thought, you know it better than I do, and…”

Harry sighed. “I’ll look into it. Who closed the file on Surrey?”

“Kingsley,” Neville said.

Harry gave him a sharp look. “Is that so? Well, you can tell Kingsley that his people missed another one, then. Better yet, tell him that he can go and look to see if, whoops, he missed another rogue Death Eater break-out. I’m tired of this.”

Neville didn’t say anything; he knew Harry’s moods and Harry knew it.

He sighed again, raking his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I just didn’t think it would take this long. What I’d really like is to quit, to be honest. I wasn’t planning to stay that long, once the war ended.”

“Looks like it’s not over yet,” Neville observed.

“Apparently,” Harry said sourly. “And apparently it’s still my job, somehow. Who signed me up for Auror training, anyway?”

“You did.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Neville hesitated. “Look, you want to go for a drink or something? I could use one.”

Harry shook his head. “Not tonight. I want to get home for once.” Then, seeing his friend’s face, he added, “Sorry. Sometime soon, maybe.”

“One of these days, we really will find a time to catch up properly,” Neville said, and his look was both understanding and resigned. “Well, have a good one. Sorry about this.” He indicated the file. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

Harry met his eye, and saw what he already knew reflected back. “It’s never nothing.”

* * *

He turned his key in the lock and heard nothing inside, but going in, he saw the television reflecting against the glass balcony doors, shimmering with wards. “Ginny?”

“In here.”

Harry put down his briefcase and removed his coat and shoes, draping the former over the back of the bench that stood in the hallway. She would give him the speech about hanging it up again later, but this was the pattern and he wanted it exactly where it was. He walked down the hall and into the tiny kitchen. It was dark, so he switched on the light and put the kettle on the range. He was tired and felt twice his age. There was no sound from the other room; Trading Spaces was on and clearly there would be no interruptions as long as it lasted. Harry hated home decorating programmes and never watched one if he could help it. The kettle boiled. He made the tea, added sugar, and carried it into the next room.

Ginny sat deep in the recesses of his favourite armchair, the one he’d brought from the flat he and Ron had shared, her eyes focused on the screen. “Hello,” she said, without taking her eyes from the commercial.

Harry went over, sat on the edge of the chair and bent to kiss her forehead. She allowed it, smiling slightly. Having distracted her, Harry found the remote on her knee and hit the mute button. “Hello.” He was not about to compete with the television.

“You’re home early,” she said.

“I had enough. The paperwork was a nightmare.”

“Meaning you didn’t finish it.”

Harry ignored this. “How was your day?”

Ginny shrugged. “Fine. I had lunch with my mother and did some shopping.”

“Also with your mother?”

“Yes. I bought a new shirt and a new lampshade for that awful thing of Ron’s. Why did you keep that, anyway?”

“Probably because Hermione wouldn’t let him bring it to their place when they got married,” Harry said dryly.

“You could have thrown it out or given it away.”

“I like it.”

Ginny shrugged again. “Have it your way. What do you want to do for dinner?”

Harry did not volunteer to make something, which he could have done. In truth, he did not particularly care for cooking and besides, he had left the flat at eight and worked all day. Ginny’s office had been closed for a Muggle holiday of some sort and could have made something, but evidently hadn’t felt like it. It was a matter of principle. Despite the Weasleys’ lack of material wealth, Ginny was very obviously the youngest and the only girl and had been spoiled. It had taken Harry years to notice this properly, but it was undeniable, and he made it a point not to encourage Ginny’s princess act, as he privately called it. Well, not so privately: Ron called it that, too. They didn’t tell Hermione.

“Let’s order something,” he said.

Ginny looked at him, wrinkling her nose. “That’s so boring. Let’s get out of the flat for once.”

Harry did not say that he had been out all day already, but the suggestion gave him pause.

Seeing his hesitation, Ginny sat upright in the chair and suddenly turned on the charm. “It’s mussel bar night at Angelino’s,” she said enticingly. “You know you love their mussels, Harry.”

Harry snickered. They always joked about the “mussel bar” and how it sounded amusingly like “muscle bar”. “All right,” he said, and the first stirrings of hunger made themselves known. “I want to shower first, though. I feel disgusting.”

She pouted and sank back down into the chair, but it wasn’t a real pout. She had won, and they both knew it. Harry was amused. Ruffling her hair, he went to the bedroom. “Just this once, I won’t leave my socks on the floor,” he called back, by way of making up the wait to her.

He heard her snort. “I’ll bet you left your coat on the bench, though.”

Harry winced and didn’t answer.

* * *

The offices were buzzing like an angry ant colony by noon. Business as usual, Harry thought wryly, edging his way through the cramped maze of cubicles. He was on his way to the Department of Human Resources to wrestle with them over a month’s holidays Ginny wanted to take in May. She wanted to go to Mexico, and while Harry certainly wasn’t averse to the idea, he had his doubts about being given an entire month.

Susan Bones’ office door was closed when he finally made his way down to the fourth floor of the Ministry, but she answered his knock. The sign on her desk proclaimed her the Director of Human Resources, a position she had held for the past three or four years now; Harry had lost track. She smiled when she saw him. “Hi, Harry. Have a seat.”

“Hello, Susan.” Harry placed himself in one of the visitor chairs and envied her office. Particularly the walls and door. “How have you been?”

“Oh…” she gave him a tired smile. “Busy, of course, but what else is new? How are you?”

“Fine,” Harry said automatically, thinking of the chaos of the Auror Department, and how it was best left alone. “Same old story.”

“How’s Ginny? Still at that same place?”

“The accounts firm, yes,” Harry said. “She’s fine, too.”

Susan leaned forward, folding her hands. Dispensing with the small talk, she said, “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask about some holidays,” Harry said. Susan’s face went immediately guarded, so he hastily pressed on. “Not now, of course. I know February’s a terrible time. We were thinking in May.”

Susan still looked pained. “How long?”

“A month,” Harry said firmly. She was about to object, but he had no intention of letting her. “I’m owed holiday time,” he said. “I’m owed sick leave, holiday time, Christmas time - the attacks in the Barbican, remember? - and I’ve been owed it for over a year. We want to go to Mexico, and there’s no point going somewhere so far away only to stay for a week.”

Susan was shaking her head and turning pages in a very large appointments book. “I don’t know, Harry,” she said dubiously. “I just spoke to Kingsley yesterday, and he said that the number of unreported Death Eater movements is growing, not decreasing. You’re the Department’s top Auror, or one of them, at least, and I don’t know if you can be spared that long.”

Harry felt his jaw compress. “I am not the only Auror the Department has. Everyone else has had time off.”

“No one has had their full time, though.”

“But every single other person in my unit - in the whole Department - has had some time,” Harry argued. “I haven’t taken any. Just put it through, all right?”

Susan frowned, clearly not liking this breach into her territory. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the Director of HR,” Harry said. “I’m sure you can make it work.”

He was unrelenting, and he could see victory glinting around the corner. Susan sighed, and it shimmered into full view. “All right,” she said. “It’s just trying right now. Everyone wants time in spring, and we’ve been losing staff lately. Everyone’s overworked at the moment.”

“We’re losing staff?” Harry repeated. “From where? Which departments?”

“Several, actually,” Susan said, and dropped the formality, sitting back. “We just lost two from the Potions Department, and… well, you could say that there’s an issue or two there.”

Harry felt his brows draw together. “An issue? What sort of issue?”

“An issue with a staff member,” Susan said. “I shouldn’t really be talking about this, but since it’s someone we both know... well, let’s just say that one of the top staff has become a little unreliable lately.”

Harry thought of the Potions Department. It was a smaller one, and the top staff were rather limited, especially the ones they both knew. “Malfoy?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “There have been issues with missing some work lately, and also with some behaviour around the office.”

Harry couldn’t quite contain his amusement. “What, like sexual harassment or something?”

Susan shot him a glare, and Harry remembered then that she had carried a bit of a torch for Malfoy all those years ago. “No! It’s something else altogether. I’m really not at liberty to discuss it. It’s been a bit of a headache lately, though, so I’m a little stressed out. We’ve lost two potions experts in the past two weeks, and they aren’t exactly common.”

Snape’s awkward position in the war had certainly put a negative spin on the entire career of potions expertise, Harry recalled. The Ministry had been actively recruiting them for several years even while the war was still on. His curiosity about Malfoy’s erratic behaviour pushed this thought aside, however. Malfoy was missing work? It seemed highly unusual. Malfoy was rather ambitious about his career and had climbed to the top of the pecking order in potions circles with astonishing speed. He was known more for his acidic personality and intolerance of error than any unreliability.

“That doesn’t really sound like Malfoy,” he said. “I mean, I can certainly understand people not wanting to work with him, but since when does he not show up for work?”

“Since about three months ago,” Susan said with a sigh. “It just wasn’t as common before. I don’t know what’s going on with him. Apparently he doesn’t really talk to anyone, and his moods have been getting worse and worse.”

“He always was a git,” Harry offered.

“Isn’t that a little childish at this point?”

“He’s a childish sort of person.”

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

Harry got to his feet. “I should get back,” he said. “You’ll let me know about May for sure?”

Susan gave in. “Get me the exact dates, and I’ll get you your month.”

Harry showered her with his most charming smile. “I’ll email you.”

“You do that.”

* * *

The memo about the holidays was waiting in his cubicle when Harry arrived at the Ministry three mornings later. He shoved it into his messy briefcase to take home and promptly forgot it, as he was about to be late for a meeting.

Kingsley was late, too, arriving just after Harry in the tiny conference room. The Auror Department employed Silencing spells with a heavy hand, despite the static problems they still caused on the phone lines, even with all the improvements. The artificial Silence clamped around Harry’s ears as he went into the room, easing as he closed the door. When Kingsley entered, it pushed against his eardrums again like water, distorting his hearing momentarily. The door was sealed, and Kingsley sat.

The war had aged him prematurely, though he was still agile and fit. His eyes were hard and his smile less ready, and he had become quite controlling around the office since Voldemort’s defeat. Particularly with Harry, or so Harry felt. It had also occurred to Harry more than once that, had they managed to extinguish all of the Death Eaters during the war, Harry would have personally made the Auror Department obsolete. It was a natural tension that existed in his relationships around the office.

“Potter.” Kingsley shuffled his parchments. “Thanks for coming. I take it you know what we need to discuss.”

Harry nodded mechanically. “There’s something going on in Surrey,” he said neutrally.

“Right. Just down the street from your relatives.”

“So I heard.”

“Have you spoken to them recently?”

His curiosity grated. Harry felt his face begin to heat in anger. “No.”

“Are you certain?” The gaze bored into his own.

Harry clenched his jaw. “Let me make something very clear, Kingsley,” he said. “As I’ve told you before, the last time I spoke with those people was the summer before my seventh year at Hogwarts. Or the beginning of it, before the war broke out. At some point, I wrote a letter saying that I would not be back for the summer, the autumn, or any other time. And that was it. That was almost ten years ago.”

“Their response?” Kingsley prodded, as though he didn’t know.

Harry looked away. “There wasn’t one.”

“Did you leave a forwarding address?”

“Of course not. They could have sent it to Hogwarts, though. Hagrid was still there. He would have sent it to me.” Harry felt the familiar lump in his throat at the thought of Hagrid - who had insisted that someone had to check on his beloved castle and grounds, and was alone when the Death Eaters had surrounded him. Harry hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. There were many others like that, that he regretted not having had the chance to talk to one last time, but he’d learned that such thoughts were best left alone.

Kingsley nodded, seemingly unmoved by this. “Good. Well, it could very well be that the Death Eaters are trying to draw you out, assuming that there is still a connection.”

Still looking away, his throat still tight, Harry said without hope, “It could just be a coincidence.”

“I doubt that.”

“A trap, then,” Harry said. He let his eyes lock onto Kingsley’s. “I’m not going alone, am I?”

Kingsley hesitated. “We thought that a smaller number might be better, and your stealth skills are really quite - ”

“I’m not going alone,” Harry interrupted. “Come on. Send one other person, at least. That’s not fair.”

It was true. He got too many of the hardest, most dangerous assignments, and when he was younger, it had frustrated him to be protected by the Order and the Ministry. Now he was older, and he was finished with war.

Kingsley’s lips pursed. “Take Tonks, then. She’s familiar with the area.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“I want you to go over the weekend. Finish up whatever you’re working on right now.”

“The court case reviews,” Harry said. “Same as everyone else. What day do you want us to go? Any special instructions?”

Kingsley separated two sheets of parchment from the others and slid them across the table. “This is what we’ve got for information. It’s not much. Go on Friday, and I’ll keep you posted about the instructions.”

Harry took the parchments. “Thanks.” He stood. “In that case, I’ll talk to you then.”

Kingsley’s voice held a trace of irony. “You’re dismissed.”

Harry let the door close behind him on his way out.

* * *

The café where Harry was staked out (a term he mentally applied with great irony) proclaimed itself to have wireless internet access. Which didn’t explain why he was trying, for the fourteenth or fifteenth time, to connect to a network. The progress bar ran itself over and over again, and there was nothing. He had already walked the neighbourhood several times, Disillusioned, for he had no desire to be recognised, especially here. The neighbours probably still thought he was a dangerous criminal, and he particularly did not want to see his relatives. He had set wards and alerts around Number Ten and settled himself after several hours in said café to wait. Waiting without internet access was a pain, though.

The task window disappeared and returned Harry to the list of wireless networks. He selected another and tried again. Eventually, it announced that he was connected, though with a very low connection. Harry clicked on the internet icon and waited. A long wait, and then an error message. Harry cursed under his breath and ran a diagnostic scan. The connection was still holding, though tenuously, but his email page would not open. The scan announced a firewall problem.

“I don’t have any firewalls,” Harry said aloud.

“What’s that?” Tonks appeared out of nowhere and slid into the chair across from his.

Harry looked up, startled and angry at himself for having been caught off guard. “Nothing. Unless you know a lot about internet connections and so forth.”

“No clue. Did you do all the usual things?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you have a computer problem.” Tonks brushed this off airily, craning her head to look at the handwritten chalkboard menu. “How’s your latte?”

“All right. Nothing special.” Moodily, Harry turned off the laptop and put it away. “What have you found?”

“Nothing, as I was half expecting,” Tonks said.

Harry appreciated her bluntness. “Why weren’t you expecting anything?”

“Because Kingsley’s jumping at shadows,” Tonks said, shrugging. “He always does.”

It likely didn’t help that Tonks and Kingsley had dated very briefly and ended badly, but it was still true. “He wasn’t the one who reported it, though,” he pointed out.

“Whatever. There might be something here, there might not. I went back to the site but I made sure not to trip any of the wards. I know how hard to detect they can be, but I saw where you set them. If they’re here, they’re being very quiet.” Tonks reached for his coffee cup and took a sip. “I see what you mean. Middling at best.”

“It’s not great. It’s caffeinated.”

“That’s the main point, anyway.” Tonks took another sip, then pushed the cup back to Harry. “Well, what do you say? You still want to stick it out until Sunday?”

“I never did,” Harry said. “But that’s the assignment.”

“Would help if you could get online,” Tonks remarked. “Let’s go find an internet café, then.”

“I don’t even know if they have any out here,” Harry said grumpily. “This is Surrey, remember?”

“You can’t be telling me that tourists and commuters never check their email.”

“They probably all have laptops.”

“I love the pessimism,” Tonks said, standing. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

Harry wound up his cables and put them in his bag, and followed Tonks outside.

She lit a cigarette, a habit she had acquired from Kingsley. “How have you been, Harry? I haven’t talked to you in quite awhile.”

Harry Disillusioned himself again. “Don’t mind me,” he said, and she waved it off.

“I quite understand.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “Same old thing. You?”

She thought about it. “Oh, fine, I suppose. Single, but not minding it much.”

“How are your parents?”

“They’re all fine, too,” Tonks said. “Tell you the truth, the only person in my family - if you can call it that - who isn’t fine is Draco.”

“Malfoy?”

“You know a lot of Dracos?”

“Just the one. What’s wrong with him?” Harry thought of Susan Bones and wondered why everyone else knew about Malfoy’s issues but him.

Tonks paused. “You won’t use this against him if I tell you, will you?” She glanced at him, though not quite sure where to look. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. You’re not like that.”

“It’s okay.”

Tonks shoved her hands deep into the hands of her jeans and spoke around the cigarette. “I think he might have a drinking problem.”

“What?” Harry was startled.

“I know. It doesn’t sound like him, does it? But the last two times I’ve seen him, he’s either been horribly depressed - like, unable to get anything done, that sort of depressed - or pissed. Or possibly both. And once, that was at the Ministry.”

Harry found himself at a loss for words. There were many things that came to mind when he thought of Malfoy, most of which were unpleasant, but out of control was never one of them. Malfoy was extremely self-possessed, confident to the point of arrogance about his abilities, exacting, demanding perfection, a smooth façade always in place. One never knew where they stood with Malfoy, and Harry knew it was designed to be that way. The thought of Malfoy with any sort of loss of self-control - or drunk - was something he couldn’t quite fathom. It would explain the absences from work, though.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“I know.” Tonks sounded unhappy. “I mean, I don’t even know him very well, which I’m sure is how he wants it, given my background and such, but it still concerns me. If only for the Ministry’s sake. He’s one of the very best in his field, and we can’t really afford to lose another potions expert.”

“Not with the recent quittings,” Harry agreed. “Well. I don’t know what to say. Does he talk to anyone?”

“No,” Tonks said. “I asked around a bit, and no one I know of has talked to him at all within the past month or two. Not about anything personal, at least.”

“I don’t know, then,” Harry said. “We’re not exactly close, or…”

“Or what?” Tonks shot a glare toward her general approximation of where his head was. “You’d offer?”

Harry was slightly stung by her acidity. “Maybe I would,” he said. “Why don’t you talk to him, then?”

“You know how he feels about my branch of the family,” Tonks said, dropping the tone.

“Oh, but he just adores me,” Harry said. “We’re probably the last people he’d confide in. Maybe he could be forced to see the Ministry counsellor or something.”

“I’m sure that would go over well.”

“It was just a thought.” Harry spotted a sign. “Let’s go here.”

“Maybe they have better coffee.”

“Maybe.”

* * *

On Sunday night, Harry went back to his flat, tired and bored. They hadn’t found a thing, not so much as a sign. Kingsley would probably say that he had just missed the signs or something, getting sloppy. He was sure that he had not missed anything, unless the Death Eaters were now able to avoid all types of magic. He had left the wards up indefinitely and quit the assignment with relief.

He dealt with the hassle of Kingsley on Monday afternoon, which went exactly as he had expected. He had wanted to meet in the morning and get it over with, but Kingsley had postponed him to the afternoon and then grilled him as though Harry had just arrived from Surrey that minute. It was seven now, and Harry was wondering going home. Most of the other cubicles were dark. Neville was gone already, but he decided to swing by the Games Department to see if Ron was still there. He wasn’t. His cubicle was deserted, as was most of the floor. Harry wandered around to the far end of the seventh level where the small Potions offices and laboratory had been added, curiosity tugging at his sleeve.

The office at the far end still had a light on, though it was just a desk lamp. Otherwise, it was dark. Harry could see a figure bent over the desk, longish hair falling forward over the face. He hesitated, then walked the length of the corridor and knocked at the door.

There was a longish pause, then Malfoy got up and came to the door. As he opened it, the faint but unmissable scent of firewhiskey drifted out, curling around Harry’s nostrils like smoke. “Potter,” Malfoy said, and though he was leaning sinuously against the doorframe, his eyes were sharp as tacks. “What do you want?”

Bluntness ran in the family, evidently. Harry felt a touch awkward, but his own bluntness saved him from that, at least. “Are you drunk, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s posture didn’t change; one arm was raised lazily above his head as he leaned. “How is that any of your business?”

“You’re at work,” Harry said, returning the stare.

“You’re very perceptive.” The sibilant slurred ever so slightly. “What do you want?” he repeated.

“I just saw your light on,” Harry tried, knowing it sounded like a pathetic reason. “I thought I would stop by. Nearly everyone else is gone. It’s Monday night. Why are you still here?”

Malfoy turned and walked away from the door, collapsing into his desk chair. “Because I have no life, apparently. I’m working, Potter. What are you doing, besides checking up on me? Don’t you have a wife to go home and fuck?”

If he was trying to get a rise out of Harry, it was working. He swallowed down the anger. “She’s not my wife, she’s my girlfriend.”

“Same difference.”

“And I’m not checking up on you.”

“Fuck you. You are so,” Malfoy said, glaring, but there wasn’t as much pith to it as there could have been.

“Okay, so I am,” Harry said. “I heard you were… maybe not doing so well.”

Malfoy did glare properly, now. “Who told you that?”

Harry didn’t mince words. “Susan.”

“Bones?”

“Yes.”

“That bitch.” Malfoy picked up a quill and scratched something indecipherable onto a notepad. “I should have her fired.”

It was almost amusing, given Susan’s position. Harry wondered if Malfoy had intended the humour. “Look,” he said. “I know this is a bit strange, but why don’t we go and get a tea or coffee or something? It’s too late to still be working. You can catch up tomorrow.”

“Pity, Potter? That’s low, even for you.”

Harry tasted anger. “It’s not pity.”

“The hell it’s not.” Malfoy gave him a dirty look. “But if it will relax your saviour complex, I’ll do you a favour and come out with you. But not for coffee. I need a drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Harry said firmly.

“Fuck you, Potter. I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, not knowing what to say.

Malfoy smiled suddenly. “That’s better,” he said. “Finally shut you up.”

Harry did not know how to respond to that, either, so he left it. “Come on,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll find somewhere. Let’s get out of here.”

Malfoy silently rose, quite steady on his feet, Harry noted, and ushered them out, locking the office behind him. He also did something that made the office smell of citrus, rather than alcoholic fumes, and Harry said nothing to that, either.

* * *

Outside, it was just getting dark. Rain clouds were gathering, but it was not yet raining.

“So,” Malfoy said. “Do I have to make polite conversation now? Is that part of the game plan?”

“There’s no game plan,” Harry said. “I just thought maybe it would be good to get out of the office.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Malfoy said. He cast a squinting look at the sky. “Think it’s going to rain? We can talk about the weather, at least.”

Harry sighed. “Are you always this pleasant?”

“Without fail.”

“I think it probably will rain, later.”

“I like rain.”

“What else do you like?” Harry asked, curious, thinking that he really didn’t know Malfoy on a personal level at all.

Malfoy took his time about answering, and for a bit, they walked in silence. Eventually, he said, “Lots of things. Lots of unavailable things. I like the ocean. I like sushi. I like rain.”

“How are any of those things unavailable?”

“It’s not raining now, is it? I’m stuck in an office all day, so now ocean-going for me, and I’m allergic to nori.”

“To what?”

“Nori. The stuff they wrap around sushi. Please don’t tell me you’ve never had sushi, Potter.”

“I don’t like raw fish,” Harry said.

“And therefore, you’ve never tried it. How typical. You really need to expand your horizons a little, Potter. Experience life a little.”

“I’ve experienced plenty, thank you,” Harry said shortly.

“War doesn’t count as experience.”

Harry fell silent.

“There’s a lot more out there that you’ve probably never tried at all, because you’re too busy with your Auror career, your girlfriend, and your self-pity complex about how you had to fight a war. News flash, Potter. The rest of us had a war, too.” Malfoy delivered this all quite evenly, enough so that Harry wondered if the fresh air alone had sobered him up.

“I don’t have a self-pity complex.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“I don’t. And as long as we’re talking self-pity, I’m not the one who was drinking alone in my office tonight.” It wasn’t a fair shot, maybe, but it was difficult to keep Malfoy from getting under his skin.

“I never said I didn’t have one,” Malfoy said, just a trifle of wry amusement coming into his voice.

Harry gestured to a little café. “You want to go here?”

Malfoy examined the sign. “This doesn’t exactly fit the parameters, but sure. This is your outing, after all.”

Harry bit his tongue and held the door open for Malfoy. “After you, then.”

“How chivalrous.” Malfoy shot him a look that Harry didn’t comprehend, particularly the humour therein, and went inside.

At the table, Harry watched Malfoy drag a plastic spoon through the foam on his drink and tried to think of something to say.

Malfoy glanced up and caught Harry watching him. “What?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Just trying to think of some polite, conversational matter here,” Malfoy said. “Let’s see. What do you like best about fucking the Weaselette?”

Harry glared at him. “So much for polite.”

Malfoy gave him a bland smile. “I don’t really do polite.”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“As long as it’s up when it counts, I guess you’re safe,” Malfoy said, eyes gleaming.

Harry took a long sip and fought to keep the anger down, telling himself that Malfoy was only on the offensive to keep the spotlight off himself. Time to change that, clearly. He set the cup down and looked Malfoy in the eye. “How have you been doing since the war?” he asked. “I’ve hardly talked to you since then.”

“You hardly talked to me during the war, either,” Malfoy said dryly. “I’m very well, thank you.”

“Bullshit.” It surprised them both.

Malfoy reacted by draining about half his cup, though it must have nearly burnt his tongue off. “Fuck you, Potter,” he muttered, swiping a hand across the back of his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Where do you live?” Harry pressed.

“In a flat.”

“No shit.”

“It’s true,” Malfoy said, rallying.

“Whereabouts?”

“About two blocks from you,” Malfoy said, eyeing stirring his latte as though suspicious of its contents.

“Really. I didn’t know that.”

“No shit,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

“Who do you live with?”

“Myself, at the moment.”

“Did you have a roommate before?”

“Not exactly.”

Harry thought. “Girlfriend?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “No, Potter. No girlfriend.”

Harry wasn’t sure what the reason for the sarcasm was, nor why it was a stupid question, but evidently it was. “Who, then?”

“Various people,” Malfoy said aloofly.

“Right,” Harry said. “That clarifies everything.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Do you have friends?” Harry was quiet and kept his eyes on his coffee, expecting Malfoy to take his head off for the question.

“Oh, certainly.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm this time. “I’ll just surrounded by loving, caring, supportive people. My free time is in such demand that I hardly know how to fit everyone in. It’s really quite a shame, but what can I - ”

“Stop,” Harry said instinctively. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Malfoy looked at him, then dropped his gaze and stirred the half-empty latte some more. “You asked. I was just answering the question.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? That I have no friends? That my parents are dead, killed by the very side I was fighting for - and still work for? That the man who was trying to mentor me was killed because I inadvertently betrayed him?” Malfoy didn’t meet his eyes.

Harry felt a stab of genuine compassion. “That wasn’t your fault. Snape confused a lot of people with his loyalties. You couldn’t have known. He didn’t tell you.”

“I know that.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“If I want to feel badly about something, that’s my affair.”

Harry conceded the point. “You didn’t make any friends on the Order’s side? Even after the war?”

“No. And I don’t need friends. I’m too busy, anyway.”

He let the lie slide. “I heard you were dating Pansy before the war.”

Malfoy snorted. “Hardly.”

“Because you were on opposite sides?”

“Pansy wasn’t on anyone’s side. She wasn’t even in Britain during the war.”

“But she’s back now, though,” Harry said. “I heard she was engaged.”

“To Marcus Flint, yes. I know. If you were trying to either make me feel badly or get me hooked up, it’s too late.”

“I wasn’t trying to do either. I was just wondering about your old friends.”

“Leave them out of it. They’re not my friends now, and that’s all that matters.”

“Not even Pansy?”

“I see Pansy now and then,” Malfoy said. “Not very often. We’re not exactly close.”

“Bad break-up?”

“We weren’t dating, you imbecile.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, feeling stupid.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you figure that out on your own.” He drank the rest of the coffee. “Well, this was lovely, Potter. I’m caffeinated and sober now. Is that what you wanted? I won’t be able to sleep tonight because of this. But hopefully you’re feeling your duty as the world’s best friend is done for the day, and we can go our separate ways now.”

Harry sighed. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“Then what, Potter? Were you trying to ask me out?” Malfoy was very amused.

Harry’s entire face flushed with heat. “No! I just wanted to see how you were, catch up with you and stuff.”

“That’s very sweet,” Malfoy said, and it almost didn’t sound sarcastic. “But we’re done now, so I’m going to head home.”

Harry didn’t live all that far from the Ministry, though he normally Apparated. “Do you want to walk, if we live so close?” he asked, surprising himself with his own insistence.

He was turned down flatly for his pains, however. “No,” Malfoy said, getting his feet.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want to. Good night, Potter.”

“Can we get together again sometime?” Whatever he said to Malfoy, he was not about to admit that he did rather want to keep an eye on him.

Malfoy heaved a sigh. “Is this really necessary, Potter? You’ve done your good deed. Now leave me alone.”

Harry stood, too, and reached for his jacket. “I don’t like it that you’re not happy,” he said.

“There’s not very much you can do about that.” Malfoy buttoned his coat. “Besides, I’m not unhappy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Mind your own business.”

“You’ve basically told me yourself,” Harry said. “I’m not trying to offer you pity or whatever. But we could be friends, maybe. We’re old enough to get past the whole Hogwarts thing, aren’t we?”

“Maybe you are,” Malfoy said. “Or maybe I am, but you’re not. I don’t know. One or the other.”

“I think you’re just putting me off.”

“I think you’re right. But you know what?”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. If I want to, I can. I know where to find you if I need a shoulder to cry about my miserable life on. Let’s leave it at that.”

Harry held out for a moment, then gave in. “Fine,” he said.

Malfoy gave him a half smile and went to the door. Harry followed. Outside, Malfoy held out a hand for Harry to shake. “Thanks, Potter,” he said, and it sounded almost genuine.

Harry shook his hand. It was warm and very smooth, and for a moment he was tempted to ask Malfoy what he put on his hands to make them that way. He abandoned the thought, though, and just shook. “Any time.”

Malfoy let go and without another word, Disapparated.

Harry stood where he was for a second, then followed suit.

* * *

“So, I think that’s it,” Tonks said, flipping through the stiff parchment sheets a final time. “The file is all yours. I think I’ve got what I need from it.” She tossed it on Harry’s desk.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“No worries. I figured you needed it, so I brought it by.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Er - you know what you told me, about Malfoy last weekend?”

Tonks eyed him sharply. “Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” Harry said hastily. “I just wanted to tell you that I stopped by his cubicle on Monday and got him to come out for coffee with me.”

Tonks looked as surprised as Harry expected. “How did that go?”

Harry shrugged. “Could have been worse, I guess. He was… well, he was his charming self. Pure snark. But a bit of honesty.”

“How convenient,” Tonks said, sighing. “Did he admit to the drinking?”

“He had to. He was drinking when I got there,” Harry said. “He didn’t say why or anything, but I definitely got the impression that he’s not very happy. In retrospect, he was actually more gracious about the whole thing than I expected him to be. I mean, I wasn’t really expecting him to even come out.”

“Come out?” Tonks repeated, giving Harry a scrutinising look.

“For coffee,” Harry said, not certain why Tonks was confused.

“Oh. I see.”

“What did you think I - oh.”

Their eyes met. “Did he tell you?” Tonks asked delicately.

Harry was startled. “That he’s gay?”

“So he is, then?”

“No! I mean, I - he didn’t say anything about that.” Harry was flustered. Though it did explain certain cryptic comments Malfoy had made.

“I don’t think he’s come out officially. I mean, who would he tell? But I have good reason to think he is,” Tonks said. “I just thought that maybe if you’d got him talking, he might have let it slip.”

“I’m sure he’s too cautious for that,” Harry said. “Besides, if he wanted people to know, I guess he’d tell them.”

“Perhaps.” Tonks checked the clock behind Harry. “Is it that late? I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Hot date?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Harry smiled. “Have a good one.”

“I will.”

After she had gone, Harry sat at his desk for awhile and just thought of Malfoy. He did pity him now, though pity wasn’t quite the right word. He didn’t feel sorry for Malfoy in the way that one looks down on a person for whom they pity. He just felt… maybe compassion was the word. The war hadn’t been easy for anyone. Malfoy was right about that; Harry had almost had blinders on about that fact, so absorbed was he in his own experience of the war.

His mobile rang, jerking him out of his reverie. Harry snatched at it. “Hello?”

“Hello, stranger. Coming home sometime?”

Harry relaxed. “Oh - yeah. Sorry, Gin. I just got caught up here.”

“Not to worry. I thought maybe we could order in whenever you get home.”

“Sounds good.”

“When do you think that might be?”

Harry checked the clock himself, now. It was just past seven. “Maybe around eight?”

A pause, then a slight sigh - designed, he knew, to be audible. “All right, then.”

“See you then.” Harry rang off.

Ten minutes passed, and then the phone rang again. Harry picked it up. “Hello?”

“Potter.”

Harry stiffened. He knew that voice. “What can I do for you, Malfoy?”

There was a sound that might have been a muffled laugh. “What are you doing right now?”

He was drunk, the words overly pronounced. It was the same way he spoke himself, when he was trying to hide his state from Ginny. Or Hermione. “Just a bit of work, actually, but I was planning to call it quits soon.”

“Weren’t you just lecturing me about working this late a few days ago?”

“Maybe,” Harry said cautiously. “Look, I - ”

“It’s Friday night, you git,” Malfoy said, in an odd mixture of contempt and glee. “Hasn’t the wife dragged you out somewhere?”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

A pause. “I want you to come and get me and make me leave this hellhole.”

Harry was definitely taken aback. “Are you drinking?”

“Do I sound like I am?”

“Yes,” Harry told him bluntly.

“Then you’re not as stupid as I thought you were. Not quite.”

“How kind,” Harry said. “Uh, well… I guess I’m not particularly busy. I mean, I said I’d be home around - ”

“Great,” Malfoy said abruptly, and the phone went dead.

Harry closed the phone slowly, wondering if Malfoy was expecting him to come down or if he was coming up to Harry’s office. He waited five minutes, then decided to go down.

Malfoy was still in the office, reclining in his desk chair, a bottle of amber-coloured fluid dangling comfortably from one hand. Harry knocked lightly, turning the knob as he did so. Malfoy’s head turned toward him. “Clever,” he said. “Had that warded just for you.”

Harry did not say that the Ministry’s security wards were not likely to have allowed private wards on top of their own. Then again, Malfoy was fairly skilled. “Party of one, is it?”

“Only parties worth having.” Malfoy drank, and while Harry was no abstainer himself, he hated the sight of it. Of seeing Malfoy’s false jocularity, his slurred letters.

“Then why did you call?” he threw back, unable to put this into words.

There was an elaborate shrug. “Why not? Nothing better to do.”

“I’m so flattered.”

“You should be.”

Harry moved a pile of books off the chair on the other side of the desk, thinking that Malfoy’s office used to be so neat.

“You think I’ve turned into a slob, don’t you?” Malfoy’s eyes were watching him.

“It is a bit dishevelled, for you.”

“My assistant left it like that.”

“Must be nice, having an assistant at all.”

“Only staff person I have left,” Malfoy said.

Harry looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Another one quit today.”

“Why?”

Malfoy wouldn’t look at him. “‘Unsuitable working conditions’ were the words used, I believe.”

“Because of…”

“Yes, because of me. Just spit it out.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Look,” he said. “Have you thought about maybe seeing a counsellor, or maybe someone about the drinking?”

“I don’t have a problem, Potter.”

“I’m sure you can stop any time you want to.”

“Precisely.” Malfoy treated him to a long stare, then held out the bottle.

“No thanks.”

“Don’t be a prick, Potter. Just take a sip. It’ll make me feel like less of a loser.”

Harry looked at him for a second, then silently took the bottle. It wasn’t even particularly strong, for firewhiskey, at least, but it was still quite potent. He coughed a little, then took another sip. “You’re not a loser,” he said.

“Stop with the pity,” Malfoy ordered. “I hate that.”

“I’m serious,” Harry said. “I never thought you were a loser.”

“What did you think, then?”

“I thought you were… well, actually, I thought you were one of the cool kids,” Harry said, forcing a laugh. “When we first met. I thought I would never fit in if all the other kids were like you.”

“So you thought I was a snob. That’s fair. I was a snob. Still am.”

“True enough,” Harry said. “I also thought you were a very good flier. And a good student.”

Malfoy was watching him critically. “Not as good a flier as you, though. Never quite as good.”

“It was a long time ago,” Harry said, not wanting Malfoy to get upset over it now.

Malfoy smiled and picked up the bottle cap. “Give me that.”

Harry gave it back with reluctance, but Malfoy screwed on the cap and stowed the bottle in a drawer. “I did say I would be home soon,” Harry said, not wanting to say it.

For a very brief moment, Malfoy’s expression looked very disappointed. Within nanoseconds, though, it was gone, replaced by smooth indifference. “Fine. This was boring, anyway.”

Harry hesitated. “What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing. Go home,” Malfoy said. He caught Harry’s eye and glared. “I’m not going to drink any more. Stop thinking that.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry lied. “I’m… glad you called me, though.”

Malfoy gave a laugh. “Really. Now who’s short on friends?”

Harry didn’t respond to that. “Maybe we should do something this weekend.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. What do you like to do?” Harry thought. “It’s supposed to rain.”

“If it does, you’ll probably try to lure me out for a walk in it. I know your type, Potter. You probably get disgustingly romantic in the rain.”

Harry winced. “I’m not gay,” he said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You’ve also never tried sushi.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

“What does that have anything to do with it?”

Malfoy just shrugged and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Too late. I mind. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, Potter. Go home to your wife.”

Harry refrained from saying that Ginny was not his wife. “Good night.”

Malfoy smiled suddenly, though there was coolness in his eyes. “Glad you came down.”

“Is that a question?”

“No, but it could be.”

“I am glad,” Harry said. “Call me again sometime, if you want.”

“Ever the saviour. I will. Maybe.”

“Just maybe?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“They never were,” Harry assured him, but he smiled back anyway.

* * *

“You’re late,” Ginny said, by way of a greeting.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Got held up.”

“By who?”

“Malfoy, actually,” Harry said, but did not offer any explanation. “Long story. What do you want to order?”

Ginny looked at her watch. “Harry, it’s after nine.”

He tried a smile. “What, so you’re not hungry any more?”

“I already made myself something, is what that means,” Ginny said, sounding peeved.

“Oh.” Harry felt a bit let down. “I’m sorry. I just forgot to call.”

“Yet again.”

He didn’t answer this, going into the kitchen instead. Opening the refrigerator, Harry took out a loaf of French bread, half of a red onion, a jar of minced garlic, and a small tomato. Ginny stood behind him as he reached for the olive oil and a small bowl. He poured in a little of the oil, then went back to the fridge for basil. He cut some of the onion into very small squares and put them in the oil, then chopped the basil and added it.

“Why don’t you ever make bruschetta for me?” Ginny asked, sounding miffed now.

Harry concentrated on the tomato and on not slicing off his thumb as he chopped. “I guess because you never ask for it. I don’t think of it. That’s all.”

“It would be nice if you would think of me, sometimes.”

“I do think about you. I think about you lots of the time.”

“When you’re at work?”

“Well, occasionally. I mean, I’m usually working.” The tomatoes were added and stirred, then a dash of salt and pepper. The scent of the fresh basil was pungent. Harry spread the mixture onto two slices of bread and bent to find a baking sheet. “Do you want me to make you some?”

“No. I’m full.”

“Maybe next time, then. Actually, it’s not very hard to make,” Harry said.

This did not go over well. “If it’s so easy, then why don’t you ever make it?” Ginny asked, and without waiting for an answer, went back into the living room.

Harry put the pan into the oven with a bang and set the temperature. “I don’t like just being expected to know things without anyone telling me,” he said loudly, running the water to get the oil off his hands. “That’s not fair.”

Ginny muttered something that he couldn’t hear.

“What?”

“I said never mind. God, Harry.”

Now he felt stupid and annoyed at the same time. Sometimes he wondered if relationships were really for him, after all, but he’d tried to bring that subject up once or twice in the past, and Ginny had always persuaded him that he really did like it. Now was one of the times when he wasn’t as sure, however. It was sort of nice coming home to an apartment that wasn’t empty and dark, but it was decidedly more of a headache sometimes. Harry waited about ten minutes, then peered into the oven to check on his bruschetta. The edges of the bread had just browned, and it smelled delicious. Good enough. He turned off the oven and transferred the bruschetta from the pan to a plate, then sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. He couldn’t quite suppress the thought that if it weren’t for the regular sex and the fact that it was just so convenient this way, maybe he would be happier single.

The thought lingered as he ate.

* * *

It rained both Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday, Malfoy called. He called Harry’s mobile, which was reasonable, as most people didn’t have their flat number. He could have called over the Floo, but somehow that didn’t seem Malfoy’s style. Harry went into the bedroom to answer the phone. “Hello?”

“I wasn’t sure if you used this phone on the weekend.”

“Hello, Malfoy.”

“Hello.”

Harry searched for something to say. “How are you?”

“Predictable question, Potter.”

“Pretty standard, I thought.”

“It’s raining.”

“I know it is.”

“Do you…” the line crackled a bit. “Do you still want to go for a walk?”

As Harry recalled, a walk had never been his idea in the first place. The thought amused him. “Sure, I guess,” he said.

“Too much enthusiasm. You’ll scare me off, Potter, honestly.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, and did feel contrite. “No, a walk would be great. I don’t have any plans.”

“Don’t bring the she-weasel.”

Harry lowered his voice, glancing to make sure the door was shut. “Don’t call her that, please.”

“Whatever you like.” Malfoy was airy. “I’ll meet in you in Hyde Park in ten minutes.”

“Where in the park?”

“By the fountains near the Marlborough Gate. See you there.” Again, Malfoy rang off before waiting for a response. Was he that sure of himself, Harry wondered, or was it masking a fear that Harry would back out, given the chance?

“Ginny?”

“If you’re trying to talk to me, open the door!”

Harry opened the bedroom door. “Did you borrow my umbrella?”

“Which one is yours?”

“The black one.”

“The plain black one? The dreadfully dull, boring black one?”

“That’s the one.”

“It’s in the hall closet.”

“Thanks.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the park,” Harry said, trying not to sound ridiculous.

“With whom, might I ask?”

“Just Malfoy. It’s Ministry stuff.” It was a fib, but a believable one, he hoped.

“Thought you usually talked to his underlings.”

“They’ve all given notice. I can’t.”

Ginny snickered. “I don’t blame them.”

Harry didn’t answer this; he was pulling a light jumper on over his t-shirt. “Be back in awhile,” he said after.

“Don’t jump in any mud puddles,” Ginny said, when he came out.

“I’ll do my best,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he smiled back. “See you later.”

“Bye.”

Harry went to the front hall, found his umbrella, and Disapparated.

* * *

Malfoy was not there yet when Harry arrived moments later. Then again, he was probably early. Harry looked around. The park was nearly deserted, likely owing to the rain. It wasn’t raining all that hard, but it was half rain and half mist, and the result was predictably quite wet. He could practically feel his hair getting curlier and had to spell his glasses to stay dry. At some internal instinct, he turned.

A lone figure was walking through the wet grass beneath a plain black umbrella, wearing a long, grey rain coat. Chin-length blond hair framed the face, and for a moment, Harry’s heart gave a peculiar leap, as though recognising someone from some distant memory he couldn’t place. And then he did recognise the figure. It was Malfoy. Of course. Somehow he had looked… Harry couldn’t put his finger on it. Altogether more familiar and even… he hesitated over the word… dear. Known, and loved. But no, it was Malfoy. Just Malfoy, Harry told himself, and tried to ignore the way his pulse was still thudding in his throat.

Malfoy came toward him, not looking at Harry but seeming to know precisely where he was all the same. He drew near and said, “Nice day for a walk.”

He was as casual as though they did this every Sunday. Harry fell into step beside him. “It is,” he said. “I had forgotten how much I like getting out in the rain when it’s not a mad dash between work and home, or something I have to look presentable for.”

“I don’t imagine that’s usually an issue,” Malfoy said.

The comment took Harry by surprise, and he had to spend a minute searching for the sarcasm. There was none. “Uh, thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

They walked on in a strangely companionable silence. “I never drink on days like today,” Malfoy said eventually.

Harry heard a larger drop from one of the trees land resoundingly on his umbrella. “Why do you do it at all?”

“Escapism.”

“From what?”

“From my life. From myself. I don’t know.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.

“I wish you would tell me why you wish I wouldn’t, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Harry didn’t look at him as they walked. “I don’t like the effect it has on you.”

“Too talkative?”

It was a light attempt at a joke, and Harry knew it. “No. Too… I don’t know how to put it.”

“Try.”

“Too not yourself.”

“It’s successful, then. Come on, Potter, you can say it. You don’t even like me as myself. What difference does it make?”

“Well, there’s always the angle of how bad it is for the Ministry, losing all our potions experts because they don’t want to work with a - well - ”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Right.”

“That’s not the reason, anyway,” Malfoy said, sidestepping the issue. “If that was all it was, someone else would have talked to me by now. Unless they sent you to do it. You have to tell me if they did.”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “No one sent me. I don’t know why else, then. I just… I guess I have a lot of respect for you. I know I’ve probably never said.”

“You haven’t.”

“Well, I do, and I hate the way it’s making your work sloppy, and you just seeming undone. It doesn’t seem like you.” Harry was twisting the insides of his coat pocket with his free hand, feeling awkward beyond belief.

Malfoy turned a corner around the pond. “Does it embarrass you?”

“No. I’m concerned for you, believe it or not,” Harry said.

Malfoy suddenly stopped and turned to face him. There was a long silence. They were almost exactly the same height, Malfoy gazing at him at eye level for a long moment, probing. “You may be the only person alive who is, then,” he said.

Harry was uncomfortable. “That can’t be true,” he said, hoping he wasn’t lying this time. “Come on. There must be someone.”

“Very brief someones, maybe,” Malfoy said. “It doesn’t last, though.”

“Why not?” Harry wondered if Malfoy was referring to past relationships. It was another uncomfortable thought. He didn’t know what to make of Malfoy’s gayness.

“Because I am who I am,” Malfoy said soberly. “We all have our ghosts, Potter. You have your own.”

Harry thought of the war, then made himself stop. “I know that.”

“Then why don’t you understand?”

Harry struggled. “It’s not that I don’t. I just wish you had a different method of dealing with it or something.”

“Is that what this is?” Malfoy asked, looking hard at Harry. “Friendship therapy?”

“You can call it whatever you want,” Harry said. “I’m just trying to be decent.”

“You’re more than decent,” Malfoy said, his expression flickering between several at once, seemingly unable to choose a single one. Uncertainty was the only constant.

Harry gave a slight smile. “Thanks.”

Malfoy hesitated, then leaned forward and, before Harry could realise what was happening and stop him, kissed Harry full on the mouth, one hand lighting on Harry’s arm like a feather, but so warm.

Harry jerked back, face and mouth burning and shook off Malfoy’s hand. His cheeks must have been flaming. “Malfoy! What are you - no,” he sputtered, completely flustered. “I - what - ”

“Sorry,” Malfoy said. His tone was completely neutral, impossible to read.

“What are you doing?” Harry turned and began to walk quickly, almost too perplexed to speak.

“I didn’t… quite mean to do that.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer the question!”

“Sorry,” Malfoy said again in that same tone.

“You cannot just do that, just kiss someone. Especially someone who isn’t gay.” Harry lowered his umbrella to let the air and rain cool his face.

“I apologised.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you did it in the first place,” Harry said, exasperated.

“I know.”

“And you’re not going to tell me.”

“I think it would bother you. You’re very red,” Malfoy said, and to Harry’s private fury, he sounded rather amused.

“If that’s your way of telling me I need to experiment, then we can consider that the experiment. It failed. The end.”

“You’re very amusing,” Malfoy said. “Let’s go down this path.”

He sounded very calm on the surface, but Harry glanced at him a few moments later and noticed that Malfoy’s fingers, clutching the handle of his umbrella, were trembling. He took a deep breath. “Um. I didn’t mean to be so vile about it,” he said eventually. “Or rude, I mean. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s not an issue.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry wished that he was. “So,” he said, trying to start a new subject. “Friendship therapy is working so far?”

“I’ve definitely drunk less since Monday. Well. Depending on the day.”

“Do you usually do it every day?”

“Drink?”

“Yeah.”

“In excess? No.”

“But at least a bit every day,” Harry confirmed.

Malfoy was cagey. “Maybe. Don’t you have any bad habits?”

Harry thought, Staying in a relationship I’m not sure if I like but haven’t the balls to break off, and said, “Not really, I guess. Not like that.”

“It all depends on how you define it.”

“I suppose it does.”

“There are some people who would classify masturbation as a bad habit.”

Harry’s cheeks, which had just cooled properly, flushed again. “It’s normal,” he mumbled.

“Of course it is. But there are still people who would say that.”

“They can all go and sod themselves,” Harry said peevishly.

“Maybe they can’t, and that’s where the rage comes from,” Malfoy said.

Harry laughed, as he was obviously intended to. “Very funny.”

“I know.” But Malfoy was smiling.

* * *

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