Secondhand Robes

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That’s how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


Secondhand Robes (part 9)…by Samayel


Harry sat down slowly, watching Draco’s face with the intentness of a hawk.

“How do you know it’s a Death Eater?” There was an edgy, challenging tone in his voice, and he knew that Draco wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t care.

Draco bristled, but his face was a cheerful mask, schooled to display only what he wanted the man at the bar to see. He privately thanked Merlin that Potter had his back to the bar. His face showed every emotion and would have given them away in a heartbeat.

“Seriously, we both know who my father is. I know one when I see one, and if that isn’t enough, he recognized me for a Malfoy and wants me to help capture you. Draw your own conclusions, but discussing it with you first would be a strange way of going about it, hmm?” Draco sounded hurt and exasperated, even though his features showed nothing out of place.

Harry relented a little. It was his own fault. He’d slipped off for a date, knowing full well what could happen if he was seen by the wrong people, but the allure of a first date had been more than he could resist. Asking for permission would have meant having the two of them surrounded by Aurors, and there was no hope of private conversation or snogging under those circumstances.

Harry knew he’d screwed up, and even though he vaguely wanted to suspect and blame Draco to avoid the truth, his sense of self preservation steered him right. This was no time to panic or point fingers. They needed a plan…and soon.

“Alright, alright…I’m sorry. I don’t really think you had anything to do with this. This is just what I get for sneaking out to have a life. I’m just pissed that the fucking war won’t leave me alone long enough for just one date!”

Draco almost lost his cool. His voice didn’t carry, but it was clear that he was angry, no matter what his face showed.

“Fucking Salazar’s Beard, Potter! You knew something like this could happen? Why the hell didn’t you tell me that? We could have stayed at the castle and figured something out. Do you really have a death wish?”

Harry flushed, angry and embarrassed. “Why? Why the hell do you think? No one ever asked to take me to dinner before, I wouldn’t have said no even if there were Death Eaters dancing in the streets. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, sorry, I like you and I’m flattered, but piss off because there’s a war on?’ I really wanted this to be a good night. So much for what I want.”

Draco smiled convincingly, still acting the cheerful suitor for the enemy that watched them.

“Here’s an idea, Potter. You still want a good meal with me?”

Harry wondered where Draco was going with this. “Yeah, but…”

“How about we have it anyway. That arse actually thinks I’ll lure you out of the building later to a place where he can get the drop on you. How about we make him wait. Let’s just have our date, and enjoy it properly, then we worry about ditching him. Sound good?”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Draco really sounded a bit crazy, but the notion had a certain style. Dining quietly and having a good snog while possible death was only a few meters away…that sounded…appealing. Harry relaxed just a thread, and smiled.

“Okay, tell you what. You keep an eye on him from your position. If he moves for his wand, I expect to see you go for yours. I’ve already got mine ready in my lap, and I‘ll duck and throw everything I‘ve got that way if you give me the signal. It’s crazy, and we’ll probably at least wind up pissing him off and trashing the bar…I like it. Give me a menu.” Harry could see the tiny tremble of Draco’s lip. Draco looked like he’d break out laughing at any minute, but he kept his cover well.

The waitress came a moment later, and Draco ordered roast duck and various sides for himself, while Harry ordered a rare steak and potatoes for himself. Draco already had wine, albeit not a memorable vintage, and he poured a glass for Harry while they waited for the food to come.

“Sip it slow, Harry. We need to stay alert. I wish we didn’t have to, but there we are. I suppose, this being a date and all, we should actually talk about anything we want. You agree?”

Harry nodded, still tense as hell, but beginning to warm to the feel of chatting coolly while danger lurked nearby. Draco continued.

“Good. I don’t want to spoil your appetite, but I was serious about wanting to talk to you. Harry, tell me about where you grew up. Please? I just want to understand the things I saw. How could those things have been…real?”

Harry blanched. Draco’s face looked honestly curious, and his voice was so matter of fact that Harry couldn’t help but believe him. He hadn’t planned on talking about that, however. Where other people’s dates this nerve-wracking?

“The Dursleys. My mother’s sister took me in when my parents died. I don’t think they wanted me, they just sort of tolerated me. They hated magic and anything even a little out of the ordinary…I guess that included me. It wasn’t so bad really. You saw some of the worst. At least soon I won’t have to see them again.”

“Fuck all, Harry. You’re pretty forgiving about all that. Do you really have understand how wrong it was of them to treat you that way. I mean, damn it, Harry…starving a little boy and leaving him in a cupboard? At least my father didn’t go crazy until a couple years ago. I just…well…I just never imagined that ‘The Harry Potter’ could have grown up like that.”

Harry snorted derisively. “Yeah, well what the wizarding world actually knows about ‘The Harry Potter’ could fit in a thimble and still leave room for your finger. To be honest I wish they knew even less, but if I don’t talk to the press myself, they’ll just find someone who will, and probably someone who hates me at that.”

The veiled reference to Rita Skeeter was not lost on Draco. He cast his eyes downward. “Look…I’m sorry about that, too. That was then, this is now. I hope you’ll respect the fact that I’ve taken a number of big steps lately. I’m just glad we’re here now…well, except for ‘Chuckles’ over by the bar.”

Harry dropped the subject, impressed that he’d heard a second apology from Draco in the same week, even if it was grudgingly.

“What about you, Draco? I saw…what I saw. How did it get to that? Why? I always thought your family worshipped you. Best clothes, new brooms, gifts from home every week. I was jealous, you know? I never even got Christmas or birthday gifts until I came here. I used to hate seeing how bored you were when you opened those packages in the Great Hall. I’d have given anything to have family that sent me things just because.”

Draco looked like he was having trouble keeping his relaxed mask in place, and Harry instantly regretted his question. After a few seconds, and with a patently false calm to his voice, Draco answered.

“Tri-Wizard Tournament. After the Leaving. My father was in a rage when I came home, and nothing I said or did was good enough. I suppose I’d been the beloved child too long, and I didn’t know when to stop talking and just agree with him. I got tired of his ranting and asked if I could go. I admit, I may have been a bit sarcastic when I asked, but I think you’ll agree that that hardly called for what came after. He went absolutely insane. He…he didn’t stop. Even when I couldn’t get up or even speak. I think he healed me after only because I was his heir. He only healed what he had to…to keep me alive. He left the rest as a lesson. After that summer, he got worse every time I saw him. I didn’t tell you before, but I’ll say it now. I was relieved when he was arrested. Not because I care about wars or sides, but because I could go home and sleep without being afraid. Then the Ministry showed up and tossed me out. That’s about it…or at least as much as I want to ever talk about him, with you, or anyone else, ever again.” Draco’s eyes glinted, closing that topic as surely as a slammed door.

Harry struggled for something to say that wasn’t all bad memories, but at this point, there wasn’t much else between them to work with.

“When I heard about the arrests, I never thought the Ministry would leave you high and dry like that. It was just wrong. They should have made sure you were alright and taken care of. I just assumed you’d be okay. When I saw you in Diagon Alley, I asked my guardians, and they told me most of what happened. The rest…you know how I learned it. I just thought you should know that I don’t agree with the Ministry. I’m not even on their ‘side’. I’m really just on the side of not getting killed.”

Their meal finally arrived, and Harry was grateful for the break for tense conversation. He tucked into his food with gusto. Savoring every bite. As he washed down the steak with sips of wine, his mind still reeled with the knowledge that Draco had bought this for him. Draco Malfoy had bought him this
meal, on their first date. It was so surreal. It was almost worth risking his life to feel this weirdly good.

Draco raised his glass, and Harry lifted his in return. Draco toasted the occasion simply. “To full stomachs, new friends, and easily confounded enemies!”

Their glasses clinked, and Harry suddenly realized that this was the most relaxed he had ever seen Draco. For that matter, it was becoming the most relaxed he’d ever been while near Draco as well. He hadn’t had enough wine to make a difference, so the warm feeling that filled him could only have been happiness. It might have seemed cynical, but for a moment he just wondered if he hadn’t recognized it because it had been absent from his life for so long. Funny that he should feel that good again, from having dinner with Draco Malfoy.

Then his musings were interrupted by Draco’s widened eyes, and the sudden movement of his hand toward his wand.

The room exploded into action, and Harry ducked his head and rolled to the ground, trying to make out a target while moving enough to stay hard to hit. Fluttering robes and shouted spells were everywhere, and seconds later it was eerily silent in The Three Broomsticks.

The gap toothed man lay at the foot of the bar, unconscious, disarmed, bound, and covered from head to toe in suppurating pustules that looked incredibly painful. Harry looked to Draco, wondering who cast all the other spells, when out of the far end of the bar, Hermione and Ron walked up.

Harry shook his head in amazement. Ron was looking daggers at Draco, and Hermione was clucking her tongue like a mother about to deliver a scolding.

“You didn’t really think you could just slip out of Hogwarts unattended and no one would notice, did you, Harry? Are you even in your right mind? You could have been killed, or captured, or captured and then killed!”

Ron jumped in. “Oy! And with Malfoy, too! Why not paint a big target that says ’Curse me here!’ on it, right on your chest? Or how about ‘Too thick to live’? No wonder you get attacked by You Know Who’s lot, running about with Ferret Boy!”

Harry leaped to Draco’s defense, hoping to stave off a full fledged fight between Draco and his friends. Ron was furious, and Hermione disappointed, but at least he got them calmed down, and he was only barely able to keep Draco from unleashing his viper tongue on everyone in sight.

By the time it was all resolved, Aurors had come and taken statements, and discreet Order members had arrived to help ensure that no more Death Eaters were lurking about during the journey back to Hogwarts.

Draco had looked mortified for the last several hours, having been questioned and re-questioned more than all the other patrons of the bar combined. Only Harry’s near explosion of temper had finally convinced the others that Draco’s statements had been accurate. Apparently the opinion of the name Malfoy was at a record low in the Ministry, and his mere presence left fingers itching to write him up as the source of that night’s happenings.

The walk back to Hogwarts, under heavy guard, was the longest and most silent journey Harry could have imagined. Draco walked with his spine erect, his shoulders squared, and his chin up, but his eyes seemed flat and dead, and he didn’t look at or speak to Harry the entire way home.

Harry ultimately found himself herded back to his dorm, scorned by his friends, chided by his mentors, and with no one to blame but himself for the mess he was in now.

Despite the excitement and danger of that night, and the considerable trouble he was in, the only detail that remained clear and true in his mind as he drifted to sleep, was that wonderful, wonderful kiss.


TBC