Hard Time

Chapter Fourteen: A Feast of Mourning

Draco awoke to a soft, persistent knocking on his door. He sat up, disorientated for a moment, trying to recall where he was--or should be. At the sight of his room, it all came crashing back--the deal he had made with Harry, the fact he had broken down in front of Wonder Boy, the comforting, everything. Not to mention the fact that both their bodies had reacted. That he'd ordered Harry out.

The knocking continued.

"What is it?" Draco asked crossly, wishing he could bury his head under the pillow and sleep for the rest of his life. It was going to be awkward at best facing Harry again. Distance. What he needed to do was simply keep his distance from Harry, do what it took to convince the Wizengamot he wasn't a Death Eater, and go on his merry way. Where that would be, he didn't know.

The door opened and Kreacher stepped in, his face solemn, ears drooping with age. He should have gone to Mum when Sirius died, Draco couldn't help thinking.

"Master Malfoy, dinner is served."

"I'm not very hungry," Draco retorted. He looked down at his shirt, wrinkled with sleep. He wasn't very presentable either.

"Master Malfoy needs to eat to regain his strength. Master Potter's orders, sir. He awaits you downstairs." With that, Kreacher gave a small bow and withdrew, closing the door softly.

Draco debated ignoring the invitation and going back to sleep, but knowing Potter, he'd be up to either drag Draco down himself or sit and spoon feed him if Draco refused. He sighed. Settling on a black turtleneck (his favourite) and soft black trousers, he headed down to the dining room to find Harry poking at his food in awkward silence, waiting for him. Well this was going to be a brilliant evening, obviously. Draco couldn't help but stare at the fine china--and the more common menu items, including lamb stew and mashed potatoes. "That is the formal set, you do realise." Once his family's, and now Potter's, he thought with a pang.

Harry flushed, looking down at the plates as if for the first time (and perhaps it was), but Kreacher bowed and responded, "Yes, sir. Kreacher chose the formal set in celebration of Master Malfoy's arrival at this esteemed Manor, formerly of the Malfoy family, now Potter's. Kreacher is proud to have Master Malfoy under his care."

Draco had to admit he was impressed. He sat down, avoiding looking at Harry which was relatively easy as Harry was also trying to avoid looking at him. For a moment, neither spoke, taking little bites. It was delicious, and Draco was hungry, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. Across from him, he could see Harry fidgeting, a look of consternation on his face, obviously working himself up to speak.

"Draco, I--" Harry began, and then faltered as Draco looked at him. There were two bright spots on Harry's cheeks, and a further blush down his throat, vivid on his pale skin, and Draco found the contrast fascinating, especially taking in the deep colour of Harry's eyes. Harry began again, "About earlier. I just wanted to say--"

"Don't bother," Draco said, raising his hand to stop Harry before he could say too much. He just wanted to forget the whole thing; the breaking down, the attempt by Potter to console him . . . and what came after. It was better to pretend that it had never happened, especially if Harry was as horrified by it as he seemed to be.

Harry fell silent, nodding, and went back to eating but Draco could tell Harry was dying to say more. Well, it was either suffer through listening to him try to make another apology, or head him off before he could start. Draco mustered up a cool bravado that he didn't feel, trying to return to lighter times, back to Hogwarts. "I have to say, though, I didn't take you as bent that way, Potter. Your girlfriend must be pretty put out."

Harry snorted, shovelling a bite into his mouth, probably in a vain attempt to disguise his blushing. "She's not my girlfriend any more."

Well at least Harry wasn't attempting to refute the fact he'd been interested, Draco thought. He found the notion both comforting and dangerous. Best to change the subject again.

"I'm surprised you're here alone. I would think that the great Hero of the Wizarding World would be busy celebrating with his gaggle of friends these days. Surely Ron, and that--that--" Draco reminded himself that if people were going to accept him as a non-Death Eater, he'd have to wean himself off his pureblood notions and epithets for things like Mudbloods. What was her name again, anyway? "That Muggle-born girl that's always with you. Surely you still see them?"

Harry shrugged, but there was relief on his face at the change of subject. He smirked, possibly at Draco's attempt to be polite. "Hermione. Her name is Hermione. I see them--I was staying at the Burrow for a little bit. I didn't want to impose too long on them; they've got enough to deal with right now. Ron--well he's been off with Hermione in Australia. They just got back, apparently."

"Australia? Whatever for?" Surely it seemed a bit soon for a honeymoon between those two, though Draco could hardly see them waiting forever. Ugh. He didn't want to think about it.

"Well when they were helping me working to defeat V--You Know Who, Hermione charmed her parents into forgetting her and moving to Australia, you know, to protect them. She was afraid they'd go after her family. The Order hid my Muggle relatives too. Ron's family of course had their own defences, being wizards and all." Draco found it interesting that Harry, who he'd always seen using Voldemort's name openly--that's how he'd been caught a few times, supposedly--was suddenly avoiding it. Was it because he'd finally gotten use to the spell that had been placed on the name during the war? Or because they were in the house Voldemort had been living? Draco wondered.

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to all that news. "Hermione--right. Good to hear her parents are all right, then." That seemed polite enough anyway. He'd never felt comfortable about all the Muggle deaths that had so seemed to delight his father and Voldemort anyway. He'd had to witness too much. "I reckon the Weasleyettes are better off than ever--they've no doubt promoted Mr. Weasley again, and of course the twins and their joke shop must be rolling in Galleons by now."

Harry visibly flinched, suddenly going pale. Draco frowned, wondering what he'd said. "What?" Aren't they?" He was almost positive he'd seen Arthur in the castle, during that final battle.

Setting down his fork and all pretence at eating, Harry shook his head, and there was a deep line between his brows, a tightening around the eyes. He was furiously trying to hold back emotion, Draco realised, and then of course the answer was clear to him, even before Harry spoke. "Fred's dead. George hasn't returned to the shop yet. He also lost his ear, when they were trying to get me to safety." Bitterness and regret were heavy in his voice, and self blame. Draco knew that tone well enough.

It was with a slow dawning shock that Draco realised he didn't even know who had lived and who had died in that battle. "Other than Fred--and Crabbe--who died?" He was almost afraid to hear.

Harry blinked a few times, eyes suspiciously bright, and looked at Draco. "Snape." He swallowed, and Draco didn't think he'd ever seen him more serious, or sober. "Voldemort killed him when he thought Snape had control over the Elder Wand. I don't know all the Death Eaters who died--I mean I know the Carrows died and Bellatrix of course, and Goyle and Crabbe Senior. Dolohov and Yaxley. We lost about fifty on our side. Mostly adults--ten students. Three from Hufflepuff. Two from Ravenclaw. Five from Gryffindor--including Colin Creevey. Remus Lupin and Tonks. I'm their son's godfather."

He stopped abruptly, eyes filling with tears, pressing a hand to his mouth, and Draco knew all too well what that was for; he'd been doing precisely the same thing yesterday to quiet his sobs. Draco looked away uncomfortably. He hadn't meant to bring it all back to Harry; he hadn't realised Harry's side had lost that many, and students at that. It confirmed the absences he'd seen at Azkaban, which Slytherin classmates were undoubtedly now dead as well. For the first time he felt the full weight of what all had happened, how much it had hurt both sides.

Looking back at Harry, Draco saw that Harry was looking down, his face screwed up with the effort of holding back, keeping things in, but he could see a tear hanging at the edge of his eye, threatening to spill. Draco suddenly felt like the worst cur. This wasn't what he'd intended; he'd only wanted some news of what he'd missed. "I'm sorry," he said softly, but Harry was already rising to his feet, pushing his plate away.

"Excuse me," Harry said in a low voice, as he hurried from the room. Draco looked to Kreacher, but Kreacher didn't move, staring solemnly as Harry left, and Draco wondered if he'd seen this behaviour before.

Draco couldn't just let him leave like that. He stood up, giving Kreacher a nod as if to promise that yes, he'd eat, as soon as this was resolved, and went to follow Harry. He found Harry in the living room, staring out the great bay windows at the tangle of garden outside, arms drawn in tight to his body, almost shaking with the effort of keeping his emotions inside. Cautiously, Draco reached out a hand, holding it mere inches above Harry's shoulder, wanting to touch him and yet afraid to. Harry had offered him comfort earlier. Couldn't he do the same now?

Draco was afraid. He wasn't sure if he thought Harry would turn some of that sorrow and anger at him, or if it be like earlier, that too-safe feeling, that promise of something that neither of them could possibly hope for. That tension between them in the air.

"Just go." Harry's voice was rough, raw. It slammed a wall between them as solid as any substance.

Hurt blazed in Draco's chest, unexpected in its ferocity--but then he should be used to Potter hurting him, shouldn't he? Draco drew back his hand, backing up, but he couldn't help but remember how Harry had held him earlier, the softly whispered encouragements. He found he couldn't just leave without at least saying something. "I am sorry," he said in a quiet voice, trying to express that he was sorry for any part he had ever played, willingly or unwillingly in the war, that either of them had had to live through any part of it.

Harry didn't acknowledge him. Draco hadn't expected him to.

Draco said one last thing, before he turned to leave. "I always liked Fred and George. They were almost Slytherin in their little pranks and sneaking around. I admired them."

That having been said, Draco returned to the dining room to finish his dinner, giving Harry his privacy.

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TBC

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