Shades of Truth

Shades of Truth

Chapter 27

----------

“I wish you’d come with.” Harry was only repeating himself on the off-chance that this time, Draco would change his mind.

“Too many Weasleys.” Draco shook his head as he batted Harry’s hands down and straightened the other man’s tie. “Ugh, how are you so hopeless at putting a tie on, like you didn’t have enough practice at school…you’ve tied it too long, you see?” he deftly untied the offending article and then corrected its placement as Harry fidgeted in annoyance. “See, here, this is where it should fall.”

“It looks the same.” Harry grumbled. “And I don’t understand this whole thing. You went out of your way, probably spent hours searching those dungeons to find his body, returned it anonymously, and you don’t want any credit, any recognition of all that? It doesn’t seem…normal for you.”

“Am I really so cold-hearted, you think I won’t do anything if I don’t see any gain in it for me?” Draco gave a small smile to show he was only teasing.

“It’s just…you’re not mean, per se, you just don’t…usually…do good deeds, just because they’re…there to be done.” Harry ran a hand through already mussed hair. That sounds bad. What I mean, is that this is a very good thing you’ve done, and you didn’t do it just to show me you’re a good guy, because you didn’t tell me you’d done it, I had to figure it out on my own. And…well, I thought it might be a peace offering of sorts with the Weasleys because you know I’m close with them, and you and I…well, I just thought you might be making a goodwill gesture to Ron, striking a truce, as it were, but you refuse to let him know you did this, so I’m stuck wondering…why?”

“Maybe I knew you’d see I’d done it right away, and I wanted you to think I was noble, not taking credit.” Draco reached up, straightening Harry’s hair carefully as he spoke. “Maybe I think Weasley will figure it out, and it was a peace offering. Maybe I’ve been around you too long and your irrepressible urge to do right is contagious. Or maybe…maybe I’ll always feel like I’ve been let off lightly, and it seems the only person who agrees with me completely is Weasley. Maybe I saw something I could do…maybe not to erase all the bad things I’ve done, but maybe…counterbalance them a little. So then I could feel like I deserve this. Like I deserve you, just a little.”

“Draco,” Harry caught the hand as it fell from his hair. “Don’t you get it? This isn’t about who deserves what. I love you, no matter what happened in the past or what happens now.”

“Yeah.” Draco smiled sadly, “Keep telling me that, and maybe one day I’ll believe it. There you are.” He pushed Harry around so he could see himself in the mirror. Harry’s jaw dropped.

“My hair!” he reached up gingerly, but Draco intercepted his hand. “It’s not…it looks good!”

“To tell you the truth, your normal look of ‘I-just-got-violently-snogged’ hair is fetching in its own right, but I thought for a memorial service, it might be better if it didn’t stick up in the back.” Draco shrugged.

“How did you do that?” Harry was still in awe.

“Magic.” Draco answered enigmatically before slapping his rear playfully. “Now go, and don’t be late coming home. Pansy’s showing me how to cook, and I expect moderate to heavy praise of my meal.”

“Watch out for her.” Harry warned. “She’s just biding her time wanting to get in your trousers.”

“Wrong again, Romace Master.” Draco leaned forward then and caught Harry’s mouth with his, silencing them both for a moment. “She’s shagging Nott.”

“Wh—what?” Harry asked weakly, but Draco only smiled and shooed him out the door.

----------

The memorial service was very bittersweet. Harry couldn’t help but notice the Weasleys that were missing, as he did on every occasion when the surviving family members were all together. He looked at Bill’s weary, scarred face, and recalled how happy he had been with Fleur, or how he used to joke with Charlie. If Molly were there, he would no-doubt nag him to cut his hair, but now the only person that seemed to care about it was Bill himself, if he cared about much of anything, anymore.

He saw the guilty pain in Percy’s eyes, the way he pretended the bridge of his nose was sore to hide his tears as he saw his brother’s remains, and he wondered if Percy thought things might have gone differently if he’d supported his family earlier in the war, or wishing he’d had a chance to properly reconcile with his parents before they died. Or maybe Percy was remembering the way he used to scold his twin brothers, and he regretted the thought that they might never believe he loved them, in his own way.

Ron held Hermione under his arm, and Harry recalled holding Ginny like that. He wondered how things might have turned out, had she lived. Would she have tied his tie for him that night, fussed with his hair, and promised to make him dinner? But then, she would have definitely come tonight to see her brother properly laid to rest. If he’d died at all. After all, Harry knew the twins had gone to Malfoy Manor that fateful day to avenge their sister’s death. If Harry had only watched over her a little more carefully…

Suddenly, achingly, he did not miss Ginny or Fleur, Arthur or Molly, Charlie or Fred, anywhere near how he missed Draco, though he’d seen him only a couple hours ago. He had always thought of the Weasleys and Hermione as his family, and he’d never thought that he’d have the same level of comfort and familiarity with anyone else, since Sirius and Lupin had both died. But Draco, he realized, was his family now as well. Which was a bit odd, considering the age-old enmity between Malfoys and Weasleys, but it was also oddly comforting. For some reason, instead of the idea of Draco and him being a family scaring Harry, it made him feel happy and excited to see the other man again, as soon as possible.

Harry felt the slight, refreshing chill of rainwater against his cheeks, and he looked in the dull grey sky. It was as if the other Weasleys were watching the burial as well, and their own tears were trickling down from the skies. He tried to remember the last time his family had been together and been happy, and recalled an otherwise unremarkable summer night before Fleur had been killed. The wedding had only been a month away, and they had all been at the Burrow for dinner, even Percy, who had been silent most of the night, but just the fact that everyone could sense the eventuality of reconciliation, Harry recalled, had made Mrs. Weasley full of contagious good cheer.

He wondered if Molly or Arthur were still alive, would the Weasleys seem less of a sad shadow of what they had been? He remembered still how they had helped Bill after Fleur died, how they had been devastated over Ginny, and then Fred. But they had not lived long enough to mourn Charlie. He glanced at Hermione, dabbing her eyes, and saw with something akin to shock that she had one hand around Ron’s waist, but the other was resting on George’s neck, and that besides the grief he was showing for his brother, the lonesome twin seemed not to be upset at the contact. Maybe there was hope for George after all, now that he could see where Fred was at last, laid to rest once and for all.

And after all, Hermione would soon be the new Mrs. Weasley. Maybe things would never be the same, but they could start to get better for all of them. As the last of the dirt was laid down, Hermione tossed a bouquet of bright daisies on top of the grave, and Percy smiled at her weakly, but sincerely.

“Thank you,” he told her, sounding as solemn as ever when he spoke.

“They’re only daisies,” she blushed slightly and shrugged, “but they seemed appropriate for Fred. They’re so bright and cheery…” she trailed off with a sniffle.

“It was a good choice.” Bill told her, leaning over to hug her warmly. Hermione came out of it flushing deep red and looking less self-assured than Harry had seen her since school. “Mum loved daisies.”

“Probably as they were all we could afford.” Ron joked weakly, suddenly a bit more protective of Hermione.

“I miss them.” George’s voice was raw, and it sounded as though he’d been crying for days. “All of them…so much.” It sounded anguished, but sane.

“We all do,” Bill turned to him, and without hesitation, as though he recalled nothing of George’s violent objections to any human contact since Fred’s death, engulfed his younger brother in his arms, tears spilling down his ragged cheeks. The smaller man shuddered heavily, as though shaking something horrible from deep within him until it fell away completely, and he wrapped his own arms around Bill, sobbing silently.

There was a long, shocked silence, and then Hermione leapt at them with an odd sound somewhere between a sob and a yelp of joy, and before Harry knew it, all of them were embracing George, wondering over his sudden clarity, and laughing with tears and rain running down their faces. Even Percy joined them, somehow looking reserved even as he giggled quietly in his brother’s shoulder before regaining a bit of his composure. And it was wonderful, and even though he wished Ginny and Fred and Charlie and Molly and Arthur were there as well, Harry wished more than anything that Draco were there, and that his family was welcoming him as one of them.

----------

Dinner with Pansy was extremely different from his time with the Weasleys. Harry had been eager to spend time with Draco, and he couldn’t help feeling a bit wrong-footed when he discovered Pansy was staying to eat. He wished Draco, who was comfortable with both of them, would help break the tension, but he seemed to find Harry’s discomfort funny for some reason.

“So, then,” Harry had been struggling for something to strike Pansy’s talkative nature up, but so far, he was floundering. “Draco told me that Nott and you are dating now.”

“Oh, no.” Pansy tossed her hair and turned her attention to a dinner roll. “It’s just meaningless sex. I told him from the start, I’ve just had my heart broken, so I’m not looking for a long-term relationship, just someone who’s a good rebound. You know, no fun to spend time with, but a demon in bed. Turns out he’s a fantastic lay. I think it’s good for him to channel all that repressed rage into a productive, worthwhile pursuit.” She said all this in the tone of one listing the pros and cons of various window treatments. “And it all suits him fine, as he told me he couldn’t survive two hours with me if I didn’t spend it with my legs in the air, so no worries of sore feelings on either side, really.”

“Ah.” Harry felt sure he’d never want to eat again. “I see.” He pushed his vegetables around on his plate and tried hard not to picture Pansy and Nott together. “So, I wonder…do you…does he let you…what I mean to say is, do you call him by his first or last name now?” there was a moment of silence, and then Pansy burst into hysterical laughter. Harry felt rather embarrassed, though he couldn’t think why she’d found his question so funny, and instead of asking her, he grumpily stabbed a spear of asparagus with his fork.

“Oh Draco,” Pansy clutched the blonde man’s shoulder as she recovered, and Harry noticed he was smiling as well. “I take it back. He is funny. I don’t think he meant that as a joke, but…oh! You see, Harry,” Pansy composed herself once more before addressing the question. “You’re thinking of this in a very Weasley-and-Granger-making-a-life-together-loving-couple sort of way. And frankly, the idea of Nott and I sharing intimacies, whispering sweet-nothings, talking about a future life together with two kids and a country estate as well as a London townhouse—that was my plan for you and I, Draco dear—is just…probably the best joke I’ve heard in a long time.”

“Well…doesn’t it bother you, knowing it’s going nowhere?” Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but rather than look upset, Pansy let out a sharp burst of laughter, thought it was oddly mirthless.

“You stole my prospective husband, Potter, and you wonder that I’m dallying with the master of antisocial cynicism?” she took a deep drink of wine before continuing. “I don’t feel as though I am the problem, so it doesn’t bother me at all the relationship is headed nowhere. I would be an excellent wife. Anyone should be pleased to have me. I come from an old family, and even though I’m independently wealthy, thanks to that same family’s resources, I choose to work. I would be free to quit as soon as the time came to run out household, making sure the children were well looked after. I can cook and clean if there is no house elf to work. As you may have guessed, I’m an extremely talented seamstress. I have impeccable taste, and I am an excellent conversationalist. As a child, my parents saw to it that I would be fluent in five languages, so if my husband travels in whatever his business may be, I could assist him, or at the very least, tutor my own children. There hasn’t been a squib in my direct line for eight generations, and my mother had no trouble giving my father seven children in all. I would make an excellent wife for anyone who could hope to have me.” She drained her glass.

“Nott, on the other hand, comes from a long line of unexceptional wizards. I doubt even he noticed his father’s death. He uses his squanders his inheritance so as to live a life of solitude and leisure, without any concern for whether he’ll be able to leave anything behind when he dies. He lays about half the day, reading books and sleeping, and the rest of the time, he drinks himself into a nearly comatose state on some horrible piss even the most desperate booze hound would hesitate to touch. He has no goals, no ambitions, no discernible desires. His only joy is in the failure of other, harder working people. He is only really good at spellwork if he can muster the energy to apply himself, and he’s the same way about every other aspect of his life. Whatever brilliance he was born with lies wasted as he slowly drinks himself to death. If it weren’t for me, he’d be living in utter squalor, as he has no interest in the cleanliness of his surroundings. He isn’t very attractive, he has an extremely short attention span, and I’m not sure he’s capable of the healthy expression of any human emotion. He hates talking to anyone for any length of time, and would likely give any child he could conceive a complex before it could walk. He’s a horrible, mean man without an iota of compassion in him, who uses a veil of apathy to disguise his own self-loathing caused by his chronic inability to find anything good to do with himself, and his continued lack of conviction to even try.”

There was a long silence then. Harry knew he was no expert at interpreting women, but he was quite sure he’d just hit on a sore subject for Pansy.

“So you see,” she smiled primly, turning back to her plate, “I don’t have a problem. He’s the one doomed to a life of rejection and solitude. And I don’t—I…” she broke off, halfway through cutting a small piece of meat from the steak on her plate. Harry might not have known what was going on, but when he looked up, Draco’s face had a look of pure panic on it. He gave Harry a desperate glance, and then his mouth moved a bit as though he were struggling to find the right thing to say. That’s when Harry realized that Pansy was crying. “I don’t want it to be serious, do you understand? You broke my heart, Draco. I don’t ever want to feel that again, the way I felt…when I saw you two in the paper…the way you look at him. I would have done anything to have that from you. But you’re the same Draco you’ve always been. You only want something if you can’t have it, if it’s challenging. As soon as everything smoothes out for you two, you’ll do the same thing to Harry, won’t you?”

Again, there was silence, except the sound of her sniffling in as dignified a manner as possible. Harry looked at Draco, who had become a decidedly squeamish shade of grey, and then back at Pansy, who had tears running down her pale cheeks. “I just wish I could hate you. But I never will, and I have to settle for being mean to your boyfriend, who really hasn’t done anything wrong, and having loads of angry sex with an even meaner version of you, because honestly, he’s a blonde Slytherin who thinks he’s better than everyone, so what do you think I saw in him?” she stopped there, let out a great sob, and turned to Harry, trying to smile apologetically through her tears.

“S—sorry about this.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “I usually n—never cry at a d—d—dinner party like this.”

“Ah,” Harry shrugged, and after a moment’s consideration of what Hermione would recommend in a situation like this, reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Well, it’s no big deal. Only the three of us, anyway. It’s my fault for asking so many questions.”

“You were just being p—polite.” She blew her nose loudly and dabbed at her face once more. “I h—hope this won’t stop you from having me over again.”

“No, of course not.” Harry replied, feeling that he was very afraid of Pansy’s mood swings. He remembered when he had found Ginny and Hermione unpredictable, and suddenly realized that if Pansy was to be considered a “normal” female, he had gotten off light thus far. And considering that, he thought that perhaps Cho had not been as utterly mad as he’d always thought. He was suddenly very glad to be in love with a man, temperamental though Draco might be.

“Come on then, Pansy,” Draco had apparently recovered nicely from Pansy’s outburst, and was now completely composed as he stood up and offered her his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and we can all have dessert.”

She set down her napkin and eyed the offered hand with some trepidation. “I should just leave. I’ve ruined your evening already, I shouldn’t stay and make it worse.”

“Pansy, dear,” Draco went to his knees so that they were eye level, and Harry wondered how this could possibly help the girl get over him. “I wish I could make this easier for you, but there’s never going to be someone quite like me, and despite what you say, Nott is really a poor substitute. But maybe, if you can look past our vague similarities, you can see that somewhere, deep down, Nott could be an excellent choice for you. Perhaps, with your influence, he could learn to be less…less of an evil bastard, and you could find out there’s some excellent husband material under that I-hate-everything veneer. But if it doesn’t work out for you two, remember that you are an excellent example of a woman, and there will be endless choices for you. If I only fancied girls, I assure you, all those times in school you attempted to seduce me would have been quite successful, and had I not spent the last few years in Azkaban, we’d already be raising at least one of those children, and even if we hadn’t located the perfect townhouse, we would at least be able to take over Malfoy Manor, and it would all be quite lovely. But I’ve never gone after women, try though I might to do as my parents wish. So I’m with Harry, and that’s that.”

Harry was aghast. He never felt as though he was the best at handling these sorts of situations, but he knew for sure that had to be the least consoling, most insensitive thing he had ever heard. It was almost as if he wanted to make things worse with Pansy. But, to Harry’s amazement, when Draco finished off his speech by opening his arms in a welcoming gesture, his face showing a clear expectation of a gracious reception for his words, Pansy’s tear-streaked face split into a wide grin, and she lunged into his open arms, giggling with delight.

That’s it, I give up, Harry thought in utter confusion as Draco indulgently allowed Pansy to pepper his face with kisses. Women are completely barking. I can’t ever hope to understand them, and I don’t think I want to.

“You’re such a self-absorbed prat,” she told him in the tones of a doting mother. “What would I do without you?”

“Apparently, Nott.” He joked, helping her up and walking her to the bathroom, both of them laughing and chatting jovially along the way.

Harry thought about sneaking up to bed, since he was worn out, and Pansy was proving to be rather exhausting, but before he could make up his mind, Draco and she came back for dessert. The atmosphere was suddenly much more relaxed, and despite his cautious fear of setting off another fit, Harry found himself having rather a good time. By the end of the night, he had almost forgotten her outburst, and could not help thinking that Pansy and him might finally be on good terms, which made him feel rather please, as he knew it was rather important to Draco, whether or not he admitted it. He could go on all day about how he didn’t care if Harry liked his friends, but Harry had a shrewd suspicion that Draco’s feelings in this matter were quite like his own.

Even if it seemed impossible, Harry couldn’t help dreaming of a day when Draco and the Weasleys got along. Maybe they’d never share the camaraderie that had developed between Draco and Hermione, but Harry dreamed of holidays together where no one got jinxed, of lunches with Draco, Ron, Hermione and him all getting along almost as well as if they’d never been rivals in school. And he wondered if Draco wanted to see Harry with his friends, as well as his family. And as he watched Draco and Pansy reminisce about their school days, Harry decided he would do everything in his power to win over Narcissa Malfoy’s approval. He knew they both had at least one thing in common, after all. They both loved Draco, no matter what.

----------

To be continued…