Shades of Truth

Shades of Truth

Chapter 8

*****

“What are your plans for today?”

“Nothing, unless Hermione owls me.” Harry sipped at his coffee, not looking up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. “She’s confident she can unlock whatever images or memories the eye holds, and other than that, there’s only three more for me to think about. I may have to pull them all from Draco, for all I know.”

“Then practice your Legilimency, or at least make more of an attempt to find witnesses to the other murders. You could break his mind pulling out three.”

“I could break his mind pulling out just one.” Harry replied easily, almost as though it didn’t bother him to think about it, though it was clear this worry weighed on him very heavily. “Maybe if he weren’t already so injured…”

“Perhaps if you made more of an attempt to remedy that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry scowled at his guest as the other person busied themselves pouring a cup of coffee. “I’m not the one that scrambled his memories in the first place.”

“Do you think seeing the truth is enough to strengthen his mind? He needs a reason to fight. What reason does he have now? Do you think he wants to clear his name so badly that alone will give him the resolve he needs? Or do you imagine he longs to reunite with the pleasant companions you’ve been seeing so much of lately?”

“You’re worse than him.” Harry snorted derisively. “You make it sound like he has nothing to live for. He has his whole life before him.”

“As pleasant as it is likely to be, out of Azkaban or in. What will stop him from having an accident in a back alley of wizarding London, do you think?”

“He’s not a victim.” Harry countered, though the words echoed his own mounting worries. “Draco can take care of himself. And besides that, he has friends, I’ve met them myself. Pansy would do anything for him.”

“As long as she still believed he would give her something in return.”

“She’s not as petty as that,” Harry sounded surer than he felt. “And Blaise, or Nott.”

“One you had to pay to help him, the other told you how much he values Draco’s esteem himself before showering you in ale.”

“Crabbe and Goyle would still be loyal to him.” Harry began.

“If they were alive. As if they were anything more than brainless thugs to him.” There was a long silence before the other spoke again. “Face it, he has no one and nothing. His only family is a smothering, self-absorbed socialite. His friends are graspers and cowards. He wasn’t concerned about his situation until you came, and now he suddenly wants to live. You give him reason to hope for something better, and then you ignore it.”

“You…don’t you pretend to know what goes on…between us.” Harry felt rage and embarrassment battle, and he wasn’t sure which would triumph. “You haven’t a clue.”

“Haven’t I?”

Harry stormed out of the house. Again.

----------

“It will be soon, I think.” Hermione advised him in a whisper as she let him in. “I’ve nearly got it. I had some silhouettes during the last attempt, and I think if I just...”

“Harry!” Ron hugged his friend eagerly, as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, while in truth it had been about a month. “It’s been ages. You work too hard.”

“Not as hard as Hermione.” Harry countered, feeling his anger from before melting away, though he could feel a knot of discomfort grow in his gut as he thought of the secret Hermione and he shared, and what Ron might think when it was revealed.

He doesn’t need to know she helped, or that she knew any of it. I wouldn’t do that to them.

“No one works as hard as me, least of all you two.” Hermione went on tiptoes to ruffle Ron’s hair, and he turned to let her kiss him swiftly on the lips. “Speaking of which, I’ll be late if I don’t get my breakfast.”

“It’s waiting for you,” Ron shooed her to the kitchen with an affectionate pat on the rear. “You’d think she was Minister of Magic, how seriously she takes things.” He shook his head at Harry as the pair followed her at a leisurely pace to the kitchen.

“Maybe she should be.” Harry shrugged. “Can’t say I wouldn’t feel right listening to her.”

“Harry, if one of us were to become Minister, it would be you.” Hermione looked up from where she’d been slathering jam on some toast. “And not because you’re better qualified, just because you look better behind a podium. I can’t command a crowd the way you always could.”

“Yeah, your voice gets too high and you start explaining the histories of every reference you make.” Ron teased her, and she responded with a click of her tongue, as though she found his opinion rather droll. “Can I get you anything, Harry?”

“Er, yeah, I didn’t get to finish my coffee before I came over.” He asked hopefully. “If there’s any left…”

“No problem, just a tick.” Ron tromped out of the kitchen, and Hermione started giggling.

“It kills me to see him making breakfast, I have to say.” She finally explained her mirth when Harry sat next to her. “Though he makes much better eggs than I do.”

“He always loved food.” Harry shrugged.

“Yeah, but when I moved in, he could barely make a cup of tea.” Hermione sighed lightly, taking a bite of her toast.

“Have you guys set a date yet?” Harry didn’t need any further answer than the aggravated expression she shot him in response.

“I wish you’d talk to him…or something. I’ll be sixty before I’m a bride, Harry.” Hermione whispered, lest Ron hear her in the next room. “I’d like to have one or two kids, legitimate children.”

“Just give him time.” Harry advised, “You know he loves you. He wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t intend to marry you.”

Any further discussion of Hermione and Ron’s drawn out engagement was cut off by the latter’s return with a hot cup of coffee for Harry. Ron settled in the chair across from his best friend, a wide grin on his face.

“What brings you out this morning?” he asked, clearly pleased to have all three of them together in one place. It wasn’t as easy to manage these days.

“Ah,” Harry covered his lack of a plausible story with a scalding mouthful of coffee, so Hermione leapt to the rescue.

“He turned up an object the other day at a raid.” She explained to Ron, “He wants me to tell him more about it, since it was given over to my department, but I’ve told him I can’t.”

“Give up now, Harry,” Ron advised, “she’s always been about the rules, and she just loves lording over us the fact that she has all these secrets. It’s better to pretend you don’t find her work interesting at all.”

“Ron, you find very little that occurs outside the Department of Magical Games and Sports of interest.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I assure you, we have no top secret ultra-powered broomsticks.”

“She says that,” Ron hissed at Harry, and it was hard to tell whether he was joking or not, “but if the Minister isn’t using the Department of Mysteries to develop advantages over the other Quidditch teams, than I say he’s misusing his resources.”

“Yeah, what a gross error of judgment, Ron,” Hermione bit at her toast savagely. “Not monopolizing the greatest minds in the country to develop a way to beat Bulgaria. For shame.”

“Are you coming in to the office with us?” Ron asked Harry.

“No, I just wanted to stop by before you left. I’m on a mission right now. Research, mostly, so it’s pretty boring, but I get to stay home.” Harry invented. Very few Aurors knew where Harry was, currently, and those that did had no idea what he was really doing. His reputation gave him a lot more freedom than many of his contemporaries.

“That’s good, I guess.” Ron shrugged. “Well, Hermione and I have to be off in a moment, but it was good to see you.”

Harry stood and hugged them both, but as he’d expected, when Ron Apparated to his office after kissing Hermione, she remained.

“Harry, I said I’d owl you as soon as it was ready.” She told him, her brow furrowing. “Is there anything else you need right now? Or did you really just want a visit?”

“Well, I did,” Harry admitted, realizing he truly had missed his friends in the weeks that had been full of books and dead end trails and memories and Malfoy. “But I just needed to talk to you, in any case. You know me better than I do, and I wanted your opinion.”

“What about?” Hermione asked him, her eyes serious and solemn.

“Do you think what I’m doing is right?” he asked her, his voice cracking as he brought it low.

“Of course.” Hermione didn’t even hesitate. “Harry, is there something you aren’t telling me? I mean, other than the thing you said you couldn’t, because if Malfoy really didn’t kill those others, then there’s reason to believe he didn’t do any of it, and it would be cruel to let him stay in Azkaban.”

“But why?” Harry pressed, “If he’s released, will his life be better, if he has to watch his back everywhere he goes, if all he has left is his horrid mother, is he better off here or there?”

“Harry,” she answered after a long, pregnant pause, “I never thought I’d see this happen.”

“What?” he asked.

“You like Malfoy.” She answered. “I never thought I’d see you care about him, worry about him. Consider him a friend.”

“He’s not…well, I don’t know.” Harry felt flustered.

“He’s not your friend?” she raised a brow. “You’ve gone further for him than any of his other friends could have or would have. You love to see the right thing done, Harry, but this is like your personal mission. You’re risking your friendship with Ron for his sake. Is he so good that it’s worth it?”

“You don’t know him the way I do.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

----------

Draco tried not to dance with impatience as the guards unlocked his cell to guide him up to the interview room. It had been nearly a week since he’d seen Potter, and all he could think about was how he’d probably scared the other man off for good when he’d nearly jumped him the last time they’d seen each other.

His fears had fed on themselves the day after when no one visited. No one came the day after that, either. He waited every day, telling himself that he was only listening for the guards approach, the jingle of keys, because it was something to break up the monotony of laying on his side and waiting for his single meal. He didn’t care if he ever saw Harry Potter again. He could care less if he ever was free.

But when they did come, he’d leapt to his feet so fast, it was as though he’d been saving up all his energy for the moment he’d see the other man again. Finally, they reached the room and locked the door behind him. For once, Harry was already in the room, but he wasn’t sitting, and Draco didn’t see the Pensieve case, or his papers, or anything but the anxiety in Harry’s eyes.

It didn’t work. Whatever Granger was trying, it didn’t work.

Somehow, he didn’t care very much when it meant that Harry had at least come to break the news. Deciding to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened last week, Draco headed for his own seat, but he was intercepted by an iron grip on his wrist.

“Did the eye not work?” he asked, deciding to just cut to the chase.

“It’s working fine.” Harry’s answer actually surprised him. “Hermione should have it figured out in a day or two.”

“Then why—“

“I had to see you.” Harry looked as though he ached to say something more, but couldn’t find the words in him.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine here.” Draco tried not to let his sudden lightheadedness affect his tone. “I just wait until the stone slab I sleep on makes my side numb with cold and imagine I’m flying. I think I miss that the most of—“

Harry suddenly pulled Draco against him, his lips crushing against those of the other man. At first, Draco was too shocked to respond, but gradually his own mouth began to respond, to work against Harry’s, to taste him and be tasted. It was exquisite, and Draco thought he’d be willing to spend another week alone just for the chance to do it again.

“I missed you.” Harry panted as they broke apart. “I couldn’t wait to come back.”

“Why’d you stay away?” Draco wanted to know, content to tuck his face against Harry’s neck, breathing in the scent of grass and shampoo and soap.

“I thought it was wrong,” he began, trying to choose his words carefully, so as not to upset Draco. “I thought I was taking advantage of you or something.”

“That’s stupid.” Draco sounded as though he was falling asleep against Harry’s neck.

“I know.”

*****

To be continued…