The Echoes Of Yesterday

The Echoes Of Yesterday…by Samayel

Chapter 16: Tea And Sympathy


Draco took a seat at Harry’s small table, fidgeting nervously with the book he’d brought back. Harry poured tea for the both of them, painfully aware of the edgy ‘presence’ of another in his private quarters. These rooms had been his home for many years, and inside these walls he was most comfortable…until now. Draco had done well, showing clearly that he respected what he’d been told, but there was no way to eject him immediately without betraying the very concept he’d tried to impart. For better or worse, Harry would simply have to make his way through a conversation with Draco’s son, and truthfully, it was something that he might well gain from getting used to. Draco had come for an education, and it was starting in earnest now. Harry just needed to make himself more comfortable with the small realities of that task.

Harry handed off a cup of tea and took a seat across from Draco. “Now then, what was it you wanted to talk about…at length? I hope you enjoyed the book.”

Draco looked distracted, as if he was fumbling with something difficult to say, and it didn’t hold out a lot of hope that Harry’s evening would remain peaceful.

“Oh. Yes. It was very good. I liked it. I usually read textbooks. Not literature. It was…very different. He was…Lord Byron that is…a very passionate person, wasn’t he? It struck me that way.”

“He was indeed. Not one for sitting still and writing, he tended to act first and write about it later. Much of his writing was fueled by personal experience, rather than idle musing over what he‘d never seen or done. An utterly remarkable fellow.”

“Yes. Anyhow…I brought it back, and I thank you for it, but there was something else I really…I need to talk about.”

Harry could feel dread filling him, icy claws in his gut. This simply couldn’t be good. The boy was distraught, almost too uptight to even speak with his usual candor. He should be thinking of the needs of a student, but all he really felt was a powerful urge to run. The liquid shimmering in his cup gave tale to the faint tremor in his hand, and Harry quickly sipped his tea and returned the cup to the table, placing his hand smoothly around the edge of the table, hiding his rattled nerves.

“It’s alright. I can’t promise answers, but you shouldn’t be ashamed to ask a question with honest intentions behind it. Go on.” It was said so matter-of-factly. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t feel the least bit matter-of-fact inside.

“I’ve been reading. Researching. A lot of things. Not all for classes. Some things about…about my family. Asking questions. There are things I…I don’t understand.”

‘Oh, Dear God. He couldn’t have. Please don’t let him have found…’

“I knew you were an Auror…before Hogwarts. Everyone knows that. I didn’t know you…you were in charge of their case…my parent’s case. I want…I want you to tell me what happened. I want to know. I deserve it. Please. Tell me what happened…after they were killed.”

Harry panicked. This was not a conversation he wanted to have again…not now…and not with Draco’s son. There was sense in what the lad had said, but it was too much. More than he could discuss. He fled for the safety of his teacup, wishing dearly that it had been filled with Firewhiskey instead of Darjeeling.

“I’m…I’m very sorry. I can’t talk…about that. I understand that you…you want to know about these things. But please…understand that there are things I don’t wish to discuss with anyone. It’s done. It’s past, and nothing can change that. Let’s talk abo-”

“NO! Let’s talk about this!” Despite remaining motionless, Draco was radiating sudden outrage, and his eyes were blazing as Harry looked away and focused on his tea. “What happened to their case? I…want…to…know! You were the Auror in charge! Tell me what you know about my parents’ murderers!”

Harry took a deep breath, clenching his one hand along the edge of the table to keep from shaking, holding the teacup serenely in his other hand. Nothing would be gained by losing his own temper.

“Draco…there is nothing I can tell you about what happened after that. That case was closed and sealed by Ministry orders. I think you need to calm down and think about the present…and your future. We can’t li-”

Draco leaned forward sharply, face reddened with anger, almost hissing with spite and anger.

“YOU…ARE…LYING! The case was NEVER SOLVED! What…happened…to…my…parents!”

Harry fumbled for self control. His heart was thundering in his ears again. He raised the cup with a trembling grip, struggling with the tremors in his hand and stuttering his reply.

“I…there’s…Draco. I can’t discuss this...with you. I must ask you to leave. The case was closed and that’s fin-”

Draco exploded into action, slapping the teacup from Harry’s hand and sweeping the table clear of dishes with his arm. Book, saucers, cup and tea went crashing to the floor while he stood up and knocked his chair back, roaring into Harry’s face with unconcealed rage.

“YOU QUIT! THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED! YOU COWARD! YOU LET THEM GET AWAY WITH IT! You aren’t a hero! You’re a pathetic, stuttering coward who let someone get away with killing my parents! THEY RUINED MY LIFE! THEY TOOK MY FAMILY! AND ALL YOU COULD DO WAS QUIT! YOU’RE A CONTEMPTABLE FRAUD! I HATE YOU!”

Harry withstood Draco’s tirade in numb silence. It occurred to him that he almost deserved it, if things had been as Draco saw them. Draco didn’t know what had really become of his parent’s killers, and if Harry’s heart ached to tell him, his sense of propriety controlled him still. Draco was too young, too overwrought, and much too close to the matter to be told what had happened. More than anything, he needed to let go of this obsession over his past, and start his future, not terribly unlike Harry himself. Harry took a single deep breath, and tried to radiate calm in the face of a young man who looked almost insane with grief and anger, tears streaming down a face that was nearly crimson, puffing with the need for breath.

“You can hate me if you want to. If that makes you feel better. It doesn’t matter. Nothing we do or feel will bring anyone back from death. That’s just the way it is, Draco. The case was closed and sealed. I’m sorry. There will be things in this world that you will never know. Perhaps this is just one of them. You think knowing these things will give you peace? Did you ever consider that sometimes greater knowledge only gives greater pain? It’s true. I know this to be true. What I know has not given me any comfort. Sometimes knowledge is not the answer. I want better than this for you.”

Draco stood stock still, leaning over the table and panting for breath while wrestling for self control. He looked like he was contemplating the unthinkable, giving due thought to actually attacking Harry physically.

“You said…you said were his friend. What kind of friend would have let the ones who did that go free? Fuck you and your knowledge! I want justice! Someone should pay!”

“If you knew their names, Draco. If you could find them all right now…what would you do with that knowledge?”

Draco’s answer came a heartbeat later, fast with the heartfelt certainty of youth, hissed with a venom that was frightening.

“I’d kill them myself! I’d make them pay for what they did. For what they left me to! I’d never stop searching until I found them and made them pay! Unlike you, I would have finished the job!”

“And then what? Do you really know if murder would make you feel better…or worse? Is one murderer better than another? How many people would die every day…if we justified our actions with revenge for the hurts done to us? Would there be anyone left? You wouldn’t be the aggrieved anymore, you would be the killer with blood on your hands, running from your crime for the rest of your life. Is that anything your parents would have wanted? I don’t think so. I told you I want better than that for you. I meant it.”

Draco looked terribly confused, confronted with a string of calm questions that subtly undermined the immediacy of his emotions and gut feelings.

“I…I…but…you never…they-”

“Draco. Go back to your quarters. Neither you nor anyone else can think clearly in a state like this. I forgive what you’ve done here…tonight…because you have every right to be upset, no matter how wrongly you’ve shown it. I really am sorry that I cannot tell you the things you want to know, but there are things I have no desire to share with anyone. Not merely you. Anyone. Take a shower, clean yourself up, and go to sleep. We’ll treat this as if it never happened in the morning. Is that acceptable?”

Most of his energy had been spent in the initial explosion of temper, and Draco was shaking at the knees and trembling badly now that the rush of adrenaline had fled. Harry’s eyes had flicked to the book, sprawled in a puddle of tea on the floor, and Draco blanched momentarily, taking stock of what he’d just done for the first time. His expression flashed from contrition and guilt, horror and embarrassment, back to a blend of controlled anger and frustration while he spluttered.

“I’m so-…I…I have to go.” He bolted from the room a second later, leaving the door open while Harry sighed and rubbed his temples.

Spells would fix the cups and saucers, and spells would clean the book and floor, but spells didn’t seem to be enough to lighten the atmosphere of grief and anger that had saturated Harry’s rooms.

He’d have to see Minerva about some of this. Draco was unquestionably unstable, depending on what he was dealing with, and Harry had finally seen evidence that, even if he had no evil intentions, an exceptionally powerful young wizard lacked almost any semblance of self control when he was angry. Some of it was Harry’s own fault. Draco would have to be dealt with more carefully, assuming he even responded to instruction from Harry now that this had come to light. He’d been so close to building a decent working relationship with the boy, only to see it collapse in one evening.

Harry spelled the door shut and started cleaning up the mess, only to kneel beside his book and stroke its old leather cover gently. His past. As dear to him as Draco’s…and just as grimly clung to. He’d said things that Draco couldn’t understand, because he hadn’t understood them either. Not in the heat of his wrath. He’d done precisely what Draco would have, and his questions had been the sum of his experience with death and killing. Perhaps he was wrong. Was Draco any more or less unstable than he himself had been back then? Either way, this evening had complicated things enormously, and Harry preferred not to imagine making his way through tomorrow’s dueling class with Draco in attendance.

Lord Byron’s book had soaked up the tea in a way befitting a thirsty Englishman, and it took several spells to set it right before he fixed the china. Harry missed his evening drink more than ever this night. The calm that had suffused him during that nightly ritual was what he missed most. Not the drink itself, but the association of stability and peace.

There was nothing for it. Tonight, like every bloody night before it, he would dream of what he couldn’t see in the living world, and he would wake with tear stained cheeks to memories of what was gone. That was just the way of it, and even whiskey couldn’t really make that go away. Harry found his bed and closed his eyes once again, dread fluttering in his stomach. Perhaps he’d wake tired, or wake early, or wake sharply and full of the tangible sense of aloneness, but by God…he would wake sober.

Late into the night, in his own quarters, Draco Malfoy slumped over another book, once guarded by locks and spells, whispering between breaths as slumber claimed him, tears still damp on his cheeks.


TBC!!!