Work Text:
There was rubble all around him. And dust. Clouds of dust, heavier than he had ever seen before. The sky was grey, the ground was wet, and there was taste of blood in his mouth.
And Voldemort was dead.
Harry stood still, stunned. He had tried– and hoped, of course he had hoped to somehow do this– but sometimes it had felt like such an impossibility. To get to this point. To get to a point where Voldemort was well and truly dead. He was dead, wasn’t he? His horcruxes had all been destroyed, his supporters had been revealed, and there was no going back. Ron and Hermione—
Where were they?
Turning where he stood felt harder than it should have been. Harry’s entire body felt heavy, and there was a terrible ache in his right arm. But now he could see Ron and Hermione, running towards him, each from a different direction. Hadn’t they been together earlier? No? He could see them better if he mustered up the energy to wipe his glasses clean. His glasses. Miraculously, they had survived the whole ordeal - had someone cast some sort of an unbreakable charm on them? Because back in the day - years and years ago, before castles and snakes and fear and body counts - Dudley had been able to break Harry’s glasses with a punch. And he had done so, often.
”Mate, it’s done!” Ron said, reaching to grab Harry’s shoulder. His voice was loud, but distant at the same time. ”You bloody did it!”
”Is he dead?” someone else, a bit to the left, was screaming. ”Is he really dead?”
”Harry,” Hermione said, her brown eyes bright with tears, reaching him mere seconds after Ron. There was dirt on her face, but she looked unharmed. ”Harry, it’s over. You did it. We all did it. It’s over.” Her voice was shaky and shrill, as if she couldn’t believe the words she was saying.
”What’s happening?” Harry managed to ask.
”The moment he died, we could all feel it,” Hermione replied, reaching to take his glasses and wipe them clean. ”His followers started apparating away, but some already— Ron, were you in the Great Hall earlier? Bellatrix is dead—”
Oh. Oh. Good.
”—and your mum was the one who dueled her and won.”
”What?” Ron croaked, and then suddenly paled, perhaps remembering that though Mr. Weasley had clearly survived, two of his brothers hadn’t. Merlin, Harry wanted to... wanted to just... go. Disappear, or something. Stop Voldemort, who was dead already, but who had managed to do so much damage and—
”Harry, let’s get you to the hospital wing,” Hermione said, taking a hold of Harry’s arm. The sight of that dark, familiar hand with its neat pink nails made Harry want to cry, because she was alive, and so was Ron, and so was he, and how unbelievable was that?
”I’m fine,” Harry said in response. ”I just... I’m fine. I’m just really tired.”
”That’s good,” Hermione said, pulling him along, back towards the castle. People - Aurors, probably - rushed past them and towards Voldemort’s body. Harry wasn’t sure what they were going to do with it, and he didn’t really want to find out. He was done with his part now, wasn’t he? He was done, and so was everyone else he had dragged with him into this mess. Ron and Hermione could go ahead and live their lives normally from now on, couldn’t they? There would be no need for sneaking around or battling basilisks or breaking out of places on the back of a dragon.
”Careful, the stairs were caught in a blast, so parts are missing,” Hermione said, still leading Harry forward. As they kept walking, they met more and more people. Some tried to talk to Harry directly, but Ron was there, quick and ready to shield him from them. He was grateful - Harry really didn’t think he could talk right now. He kept thinking of Ron’s brothers, and—
”No, don’t take him to the Great Hall,” someone said, and Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him when he realized it to be Professor McGonagall. ”The hospital wing is full as well. Take him to my office. You know the way, Miss Granger. The password is feather duster.”
Feather duster. It made Harry think of Aunt Petunia. Petunia. How was she doing? How soon would someone tell them that they could move back? This time without Harry. She’d be so happy to hear that, for sure. She never did like him. Harry wasn’t that bad, was he? Was he? What was wrong with him?
”Harry, how are you feeling?” Hermione asked, and she sounded so concerned that Harry almost managed to respond. To his relief, however, Ron spoke up first.
”Maybe he’s in shock,” Ron said. ”Ginny, after her first year, she... well, she spent nearly the entire summer barely responding to anyone.”
”That does make sense,” Hermione agreed. ”Voldemort is dead, and everything we fought so hard for is now done. And Harry had to be the one to... to defeat him. Perhaps he’ll feel better after some food and rest. And a shower. Merlin, those are things we all need, aren’t they?”
”We can go to the Burrow for that later on,” Ron said. ”I doubt they left our dorms undamaged, and even if they did... maybe it’s better to shower at home.”
”Yes, I agree,” Hermione replied, taking a deep breath. ”And I need to go and look for my parents. Not right now, but... soon.”
”Yeah, that too,” Ron sighed. ”Don’t worry, we’ll get to it soon. But it’s better to rest and be organized than to, you know... just go without a plan on what to do after you find them.”
”That’s... yes... that— oh, here we are. Feather duster.”
McGonagall’s office was just as neat as Harry remembered. His thoughts were swirling in his head, and though there was an unpleasant feeling coiling at the pit of his stomach, he didn’t react to it. He didn’t resist when Hermione sat him down on the couch, or when Ron kneeled down to take off Harry’s shoes. There was a deafening silence inside of him, and where there had been purpose before, was now a vast, hollow uncertainty.
Was this peace of mind?
*
The next time Harry was in McGonagall’s office, things were vastly different.
Not the... heavy weariness inside of him: that seemed to have burrowed deep into his bones. But at least he had had enough time to rest, get cleaned up, eat, and rest some more. He could keep his eyes open and talk, if he needed to.
”Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,” McGonagall began, ”I’ve called you here to discuss the possibility of continuing your education here at Hogwarts. This offer will be also extended to the other students who should have been now on the verge of graduating.”
”Re-taking the seventh year?” Hermione said, a smile appearing on her face. The three of them were sitting on the couch, and McGonagall had moved a chair in order to sit across of them. A small table that hadn’t been there before was now between them, with steaming cups of tea and a plateful of biscuits on it. ”That would be wonderful!”
McGonagall nodded, then continued: ”I understand if any of you is apprehensive towards the concept of returning here, considering everything you went through. If, however, you’d like to come back, we will gladly accommodate you and provide the necessary education.”
”We all will!” Hermione said enthusiastically, before turning to Harry and Ron. ”Won’t we?”
”Maybe?” Ron said hesitantly. ”I don’t know if I can return right away... there’s so much for my family to do, and...” Funerals, Harry realized. Ron must have been thinking of Fred and George, and the funeral, and how on earth could he keep going on when Harry, who didn’t have family members dying in the final battle, was barely functioning?
”What about you, Harry?” Hermione asked, leaning towards him. ”I think a simple daily routine would do us both some good. We wouldn’t start right away, of course. The school will need to be fixed first. I assume the new semester would start in September again, wouldn’t it?”
”Honestly, all I want is to just... sort out... my life?” Harry admitted, the end of his sentence more of a question than a statement of intent. ”I don’t think I can focus on... classes and essays. Not right now, I mean. Nor after the summer. I just need to... sort myself out before I can do anything. I could take my NEWTs at some point, after studying on my own, but I... I don’t think I can stay.” Not after everything that had happened. Not when there were so many bad memories mixed with the good ones, at every corner of the castle.
Merlin, he didn’t want to make any decisions right now.
”That is fine,” McGonagall said. She understood, Harry knew that. And he appreciated her saying what she said, her tone dry and understanding, but not particularly sympathetic. She said it as if there was nothing to be sympathetic about, and for the first time since Voldemort died, Harry felt a spark of satisfaction at something. ”How are the three of you holding up?”
”We’re staying at the Burrow,” Hermione explained, reaching to hold Ron’s hand. ”There’s quite a bit to do there, too. Everywhere, really.”
”If you ever need another place for any reason,” McGonagall said, ”know that Hogwarts will always welcome you, whether you were students or not.”
”Thank you,” Hermione said, and when she stood up, Harry and Ron followed suit. ”Thank you, really. For everything.”
As they left, Harry’s thoughts returned to McGonagall’s offer. Perhaps he should accept it, and come back to study. It was just… he could barely muster up the will to speak these days, how on earth was he going to feel motivated enough to study?
But what else was he supposed to do, really?
He didn’t have a home to return to, and he couldn’t stay forever at the Burrow. Not after Fred and George had— Not when the Weasleys were grieving like this. And, well, Ron and Hermione were clearly planning on going to Australia to look for Hermione’s parents, and Harry didn’t want to impose. Not when Ron and Hermione had had barely any time to spend together, without anyone else intruding. It wasn’t as if they had said anything, but Harry knew that they were too nice to do so. Especially with how worried they were about him.
There wasn’t a reason to be worried, though. He was fine. Just a bit tired.
Ron and Hermione weren’t. Ron had lost two of his brothers and Hermione had all but lost her parents, while Harry hadn’t lost anyone in the last battle, not really. His losses were older than that, weren’t they? He had lost the people who were a family to him well before the battle even began, and though Professor Lupin’s death had been a shock and he was sad, he had never been that close to the man.
’I’m not sad,’ Harry told himself. ’I have no reason to not be all right.’ He’d just need to figure out what to do next, and hopefully he would figure out something better than renting a flat somewhere and sleeping for a year.
*
There was something about the Burrow that felt like a hug. It was easy to just sink down into a warm, soft bed and sleep for ages. It was two hours before a late Monday dinner when Harry decided to take a nap. A part of him really wanted to simply sleep, while another part didn’t want to be confronted with Hermione’s concerned looks and questions. Ron was, strangely enough, better at balancing being available and not smothering him, and Harry hoped for Hermione to follow his example soon.
On that day, Harry didn’t wake up for dinner. He slept until half past eleven the next morning, and woke up feeling disoriented and guilty for the hours he wasted.
”Good morning,” Ginny said, as soon as he stumbled his way into the kitchen. Her red hair was in a braid, and she looked composed and content. Well, as content as grief would allow her to be. When she gestured towards a covered plate, he could see that her nails had been painted in different colours. ”Well, it’s almost noon, really. Everyone else is out, but Mum left something for you to snack on.”
”Thanks,” Harry said, and reached to uncover the plate, pleased to see the slice of pie that had been left for him. There was nothing better than Mrs. Weasley’s food, honestly. ”How come you didn’t go with everyone else?”
”They didn’t go to the same places,” Ginny replied. ”Mum and Dad went with Bill to sort out, um, some things. About the twins. Percy is helping out at Hogwarts, and Charlie is doing some damage control at Diagon Alley. Ron and Hermione wanted to wake you up, but Mum told them not to. They went shopping for school supplies, strangely enough.”
”Oh,” was all Harry could think of saying. He then looked down at his pie and began eating, feeling... off. He didn’t know why.
”How are you holding up?” Ginny asked him suddenly. Harry shrugged.
”I don’t know,” he replied. ”Feels like I don’t know anything, really.”
”Things will get better,” Ginny said quietly, and Merlin, if that didn’t make Harry feel even more guilty. He hadn’t lost two brothers. ”That’s what we all have to believe.”
”What about us?” Harry asked suddenly. ”Will you and I get better?”
Ginny fell silent for a few moments, knowing what Harry was referring to. The smile on her face was small, but genuine. ”I don’t think you’re in love with me, Harry.”
”I...” Harry struggled in coming up with words to say, before he simply sighed deeply. He couldn’t deny her words - not when he couldn’t sort out his feelings towards his life right now. ”I’m sorry.”
”It’s all right,” Ginny replied. ”I suppose I, too, grew out of the need to be in a relationship right now.”
Harry wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but didn’t dare to ask her to clarify. Instead, still feeling awkward, he reached for the copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. On the cover he could see a picture of none other than Draco Malfoy, accompanied by an article discussing how Malfoy had been forced to serve Voldemort, and that though he had been forced, he was willing to contribute to rebuilding the community. ”I didn’t know the Daily Prophet was still in circulation... or that someone would bother to buy a copy.”
”Know thy enemy, and all that,” Ginny said. ”Malfoy sure isn’t wasting any time.”
”Do you think people will believe him?” Harry wondered. ”I know that his trial went quite well since he hadn’t been entirely willing. But... he wasn’t exactly innocent either.”
”There will always be people willing to believe in the innocence of purebloods,” Ginny replied with a grimace. ”Because no matter what, there will always be people who have nothing else to value about themselves aside from purity of blood. To them, purebloods can do almost anything and they will be excused. I don’t think Malfoy will escape the consequences completely, however. There’s too much evidence against him and his dad.”
”What about Mrs. Malfoy?”
”She’s safe. It helps that she saved you, and that you openly said so. Lucius is already being held in Azkaban, which I think is too good for him.”
”The dementors left, didn’t they?”
”They did.”
Harry kept his eyes on the newspaper, and the picture of Draco Malfoy. Why was everyone dealing with their lives after Voldemort better than him? Why wasn’t he good enough to keep himself up and running? ”I wonder if he’s going to go back to Hogwarts.”
”Unlikely,” Ginny said. ”I doubt that he’ll be in a hurry to ever go back there. Not after everything he did. From what I understood, he has to deal with family issues now. And for a family with no upcoming funerals, they have a remarkable number of skeletons in their closets.”
”Isn’t that right,” Harry muttered, and shook his head. He then pushed the Daily Prophet aside and looked at Ginny. ”About the funeral—”
”I don’t want to think about it right now,” Ginny interrupted, mustering up an apologetic smile. ”I’m really not thinking about any of that.”
”That’s... I understand.” And he did, even though his relatives were the way they were. Ah, the Dursleys. Should he go back to Privet Drive? Just one more time to... to... say goodbye, or something. Make sure he had left nothing behind.
Harry knew that the Dursleys had already been moved back. Their temporary relocation had been chalked up to the house being renovated, which had been provided for them to make the story more believable. Harry had been told by Arthur that the Dursleys had been very satisfied with the house, which was hard for him to imagine. He hadn’t ever seen them satisfied with anything, as long as he was still around.
’I suppose I should go back for a visit,’ Harry decided. ’One last time.’
*
It took Harry nearly three weeks to finally visit Privet Drive. Unsurprisingly, nothing about the street had changed. The houses, neatly in a row, were untouched and just as they had been eight years ago before Harry's departure to Hogwarts. The Dursleys’ house was painfully familiar with its tidily trimmed green hedge, the tulips and pansies growing in the front garden, and the small wooden shed near the tree peeking from the back. It all made Harry stop and stare for a moment, feeling a strange ache in his chest. It was clear that the Dursleys had been quick to move in a reoccupy their house, now probably erasing any trace of Harry having ever lived with them.
He didn’t want to regret this. He wasn’t sure what he was there for, but leaving now felt wrong. Vernon’s car was nowhere to be seen, and Harry wondered if Petunia wasn’t home either. Harry took a deep breath and began walking towards the front door, knowing in his heart that this would be the last time he ever came here. Moments after he rang the doorbell, he could hear someone walking inside, and the door opened to reveal Aunt Petunia. Her thin, blonde hair was longer than Harry remember, and the pale blue dress she was wearing was equally unfamiliar. The moment she realized who was standing in front of her, the pleasant smile on her face dropped, and Harry briefly thought of how unfamiliar that had made her face to him. She had never showed him a pleasant smile, after all.
”Come in,” Petunia hissed, yanking him inside and shutting the door behind him. ”Before the neighbors see you! What are you doing here?”
”Getting closure,” Harry replied, realizing how true it was only after saying it. ”I came to show myself that this place isn’t as terrible as it is in my memories.”
”Terrible, was it?” Petunia sneered. ”You should be grateful that we even took you in.” He words were harsh, but there was something off in the way she spoke. The contempt that Harry had grown used to, wasn’t there, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about its absence. Or how to respond to his aunt, who followed him as he walked past her towards the cupboard under the stairs. The place hadn’t been used as anything but an actual cupboard for years, but Merlin... he just couldn’t move past it without touching the door and thinking of the times he was trapped on the other side of it. The renovators hadn’t changed the door, and Harry almost hoped that they would’ve.
”I’m surprised you decided to visit,” Petunia said, her voice sharp and clear, but not entirely void of a tremble. ”And equally surprised to see you dressed like a normal person.” Harry was wearing a new hoodie and a pair of comfortable trousers that Hermione had bought for him a few days ago. The clothes felt nice, and Harry wondered if it was odd of him to be so aware of how amazing it was to have clothes that fit him.
”You changed the kitchen,” was what Harry responded with, as soon as he saw the tiled floor and light yellow walls. ”It’s no longer pink.”
”Salmon,” Petunia said sharply. ”The colour was salmon.”
”Oh, this is new, too,” Harry observed, walking closer to the stove. ”This isn’t the one you burned my hand on.”
The silence that followed his words was heavy and lasted for almost a full minute. Petunia was standing still, her thin hands clenched tight, but shaking despite her efforts. Her lips were pressed into a tight, angry line. The realization of no longer fearing that angry face of hers hit Harry with a wave of relief.
”I’m sure they told you, but the war is over for good, now,” he said. ”And I won’t be coming here after today.”
”Well, you shouldn’t have bothered to come here at all,” Petunia snapped back. ”We were told that you, their great hero, are alive and well.”
”I wanted to come and see this place one more time,” Harry said with a shrug. ”I told you, closure. You hate magic, but I’m grateful for it - it got me away from here.”
”We fed you and clothed you—”
”You don’t really believe that, do you? I had to work for you and Vernon just to be able to get some leftovers to eat.”
”Uncle Vernon,” Petunia said weakly. ”He’s your—”
”Please don’t,” Harry interrupted. He wasn’t angry, not really. Just tired, as always these days. ”He’s not, and has never been.”
”What did you expect us to do, then?” Petunia all but shrieked all of a sudden. ”What did you expect from us? Saddled with a freak we didn’t want and didn’t know what to do with! Life wasn’t easy for us either! And God, as soon as you left, you replaced us with... with them! You were so grateful for every small thing those people did for you, yet never appreciated us! And still you came here every summer, with your... your freakishness and... and things!”
”Mum?” someone said hesitantly from the hallway, startling both Harry and Petunia. A few seconds later Dudley walked in, with Piers Polkiss of all people trailing behind him. Dudley’s eyes darted from his mother to Harry, before he offered a hesitant smile to his cousin. ”Harry. It’s... it’s good to see that you’re all right.”
”Hi Dudley,” Harry replied, ignoring Piers entirely, before he turned back to Petunia. When he spoke, his voice was calm and light. ”I didn’t expect much from you and your husband. But I did expect more than to be locked in your cupboard or have bars in my windows and barely any food to eat. I’m grateful to the Weasleys, because they’ve been more of a family and you ever have.”
”Hey, has either one of you had tea yet?” Dudley said, his voice loud in the kitchen. He was nervous, and wasn’t acting at all like the Dudley Harry remembered, but he did know that his cousin had changed for the better. A bit, at least. ”Mum? Harry? Piers can make—”
”It’s fine, thank you,” Harry cut in, shaking his head. ”I just came to say goodbye one last time. Good luck with, um, your life, Dudley. Take care.”
”It’s fine if you want to visit,” Dudley insisted, and Harry could hear a choked sound escape Petunia. Piers was observing the whole situation with the shifty-eyed awkwardness of a person stuck in a scene that was clearly none of their business. Harry walked past him, and headed towards the front door. He didn’t fancy staying any longer - not when Petunia wasn’t feeling sorry in the last.
’I suppose that’s what I was really after,’ Harry thought. ’An apology. Stupid of me.’
Merlin, he was tired of having people hate him. He was tired of fights and arguments. He just... he just wanted some peace and a handful of friends and no quarrel with anyone, anymore.
*
It was funny, perhaps, in some way, that it wasn’t long after his encounter with Petunia that Harry bumped into Draco Malfoy.
Harry had been visiting a real estate agency in Diagon Alley, looking to buy himself a house of some sort. While he loved the Weasleys and the Burrow, he knew he couldn’t just stay there for much longer. It wasn’t— they hadn’t— Mrs. Weasley had tried to argue and convince Harry to just stay, but he couldn’t. Not after the funeral. Not with Percy’s misplaced guilt and Mrs. Weasley’s valiant effort to not be crushed by her grief. Not when every time he saw Mr. Weasley returning from another long day at the ministry, more exhausted and looking older than the day before, he felt responsible for it. What if he had killed Voldemort sooner? What if he hadn’t won the Triwizard Tournament? What if he hadn’t—
He couldn’t dwell on those thoughts, and so Harry had decided to move. He had worn the same pair of trousers, the hoodie, and sneakers that Hermione had bought for him a while ago. He knew he looked like a muggle, but did it matter when he was so recognizable otherwise?
Real Estate Agent Nettlewick’s office was large, and sparsely decorated in blacks and greys and whites. There were no plants to be seen, and a single large painting on the wall depicted a grey harbour with a fish hanging off an angular sun. It kept distracting Harry, who wasn’t sure how to handle Agent Nettlewick’s insistence on showing him outrageously expensive and luxurious houses and apartments.
”I’m looking for something smaller,” Harry said, pushing away the picture of a castle half the size of Hogwarts. ”I live alone, after all. I don’t need much.”
”This apartment is in the heart of London,” Nettlewick said. ”The entire complex is occupied by famous celebrities, it’s in a fantastic area, and close to the best clubs in the city.”
”I’m not really looking to live in a crowded area,” Harry admitted awkwardly. ”I just want a small place in a peaceful neighbourhood.”
”Right,” Nettlewick said, somehow sounding both positive and judgmental at the same time. ”How about this - I’ll give you this portfolio of available houses, and you browse through them in peace. Then we set up the next appointment, and discuss the options you liked.”
”Thanks,” Harry said, reluctantly accepting the offered portfolio. ”But, well, let’s leave setting up the next appointment for now? I’d like to, uh, check first when I’m available.”
”Sure,” Nettlewick responded, now less positive and more judgemental. ”It was good to see you, Mr. Potter, and I look forward to your next visit!”
Harry left, and took a deep sigh of relief as soon as the door to Nettlewick’s office clicked shut behind him. He looked down at the portfolio the agent had given him, and wasn’t sure what he’d do with it. He could just keep it around, but he really hadn’t liked any of the offers he had seen so far, and— Oh. Someone familiar was standing outside Nettlewick’s office, reading the sign by the door with a scowl on his face.
”Malfoy,” Harry said aloud, startling the other wizard. Surprisingly, seeing Malfoy wasn’t upsetting at all, and Harry’s past urge to pick a fight with the other wizard every time they crossed paths had disappeared during the war. ”Fancy seeing you here.”
”Potter,” Malfoy snapped, clearly struggling to not follow that up with an insult. When he continued, he sounded unintentionally defensive: ”I’m here to sell a cottage my family no longer has a need for.”
”A cottage?” Harry asked, interested. A cottage sounded nice. ”What kind of a cottage? I’m looking to buy a house, you see.”
”Not the kind of a cottage that you and the Weaslette would want,” Malfoy replied sharply, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks. ”It’s too small to fit your enormous ego, Potter, and too removed for your adoring fans to find you.”
”Wow, you really haven’t changed,” Harry observed. In the past, that would have made him pull out his wand and send a hex or two, but Merlin, he just couldn’t be arsed. ”I’m not dating Ginny. I’m looking for a small house for myself. Is that cottage for sale or not?”
Malfoy squinted at him, pointy face expressing nothing but suspicion. ”It’s for sale.”
”Can I see it?”
”Now?” Malfoy asked, clearly taken off guard and unsure of what to do with the situation. After a moment of contemplation and another glance at Nettlewick’s sign, he hesitantly nodded. ”Fine, Potter. Let’s go.”
*
”And you... like the place?” Ginny said, lying by the fireplace in the Burrow. Harry, resisting the urge to fall asleep, nodded.
”But it’s Malfoy,” Ron argued. ”Can you trust him to not somehow, I don’t know, do something?”
”Nonsense,” Hermione said instantly. ”Malfoy will hardly try to trick Harry now! Not when he has so much to lose! Besides, he owes Harry his life.”
”But it’s Malfoy,” Ron insisted. ”He’s a prick!”
”Of course he is,” Hermione said. ”But we’re no longer eleven, Ron, and there’s no need to keep fighting. Now, Harry, you said you liked the cottage?”
”I did, yes,” Harry said. ”It needs a bit of fixing, which Malfoy offered to do. Said it’s his responsibility to have the house properly renovated before selling it to me.”
”That sounds nice,” Hermione said approvingly. ”Aside from the parts that need fixing, what is it like?”
"It's a forest cottage," Harry explained. "With no neighbours in sight. As soon as you enter, there's this large space with a kitchen on one end and a living room on another. Further in, there's a bathroom and two bedrooms."
"That's it?" Ron said, surprised. "It sounds small."
"Well, it's small but enough for me."
"Ah, sorry, mate. I meant it sounds small for Malfoys to have owned in the first place."
”Who knows about their reasons, really,” Harry said. ”I wonder if Malfoy will be going back to Hogwarts to finish his studies.”
”Merlin, I hope not,” Ginny huffed.
”What about you, Harry?” Hermione asked. ”Are you sure that you wouldn’t want to go back with Ginny and I?”
”Very sure,” Harry said. ”I love Hogwarts, but I need some time away.”
”I think that’s good,” Ginny said encouragingly. ”Neville told me that tending to the garden he has at home helps him stay productive and feel better. Maybe fixing up the house - well, as much as Malfoy will let you - will do some good for you.”
”Is Malfoy going to actually be there when the house is being fixed?” Ron asked, suddenly curious. ”Make him do the heavy lifting, Harry. Confiscate his wand and make him work like a—”
”Harry is not going to do that,” Hermione cut in sharply. ”We’re no longer going to be picking fights with Malfoy, or any of the Slytherins we bump into. Ron, I’m serious—”
”I know, and I wasn’t,” Ron sighed, waving his hand dismissively. ”I won’t go picking fights, but I will make fun of them like I’ve always done. Let me have that, at least.”
”I’m meeting Malfoy again next week,” Harry said, changing the subject back to his project, in hopes of diffusing another argument between his best friends. ”On Tuesday. At the cottage, that is. He didn’t say if it had a name, so I’ll have to use the portkey he gave me.”
”Oh, the renovation will start immediately, then?” Hermione asked, sounding pleased. ”That’s very good. I’d offer to come with you, but I’ll be meeting Lisa Turpin to discuss our upcoming study schedule. She’s going back to finish her studies as well.”
”It’s all right,” Harry replied. ”It may be better for everyone to wait until the house is done, before visiting. Just to make it a nice surprise.”
”Fine,” Ron said, ”but if Malfoy gives you a tough time...”
”I’ll tell you, I promise,” Harry assured him with a short laugh. ”I’ll keep you informed.”
*
Meeting Malfoy again, and on purpose this time, was such an odd experience. Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about it, other than that he felt something.
”The floors and the pipes are fine, but the walls will be painted white,” Malfoy said, leading him into the house where a team of five goblins were already working. ”The fireplace will be redone and then connected to the Floo Network, if that’s what you’d like.”
”Sure,” Harry said, resisting the urge to mention how odd it felt to hear Malfoy speaking on a subject he apparently knew a lot about. Instead, he said: ”It’s funny to see goblins here. Usually I see them only working at banks.”
”Gringotts is experiencing struggles in recruitment for some reason,” Malfoy said, and Harry wondered fleetingly if he was aware of the whole dragon thing that had taken place during the war. ”They’re good at this sort of work, and so I chose to hire them instead of... people. There will be some things that have to be done by either you or I, however.”
”I’m not complaining, but what and why?” Harry asked, following Malfoy into one of the bedrooms, where a goblin was working on painting the walls. ”What about the outside? I think it looks fine.”
”Your taste is abysmal as always,” Malfoy replied, though it didn’t sound half as mean as some of his insults in the past. ”Any decorative details will be up to you. I dread to see what you’ll come up with.”
”You can do it if you’d like,” Harry offered, suspecting that Malfoy would find some bizarre joy in deciding how pointy the window frames ought to be. ”I don’t really care, to be honest.”
”I’m not surprised,” Malfoy sniffed. Harry wondered if Malfoy thought his feigned displeasure was somehow convincing, and decided to just leave the matter be. Malfoy had always been a bit quirky in his own way. ”Fine, I’ll take care of the small details, which you will then ruin with whatever decor ideas you decide to implement.”
”You can decorate the place too, if you want,” Harry said. Honestly, spending effort on trying to look for furniture didn’t sound appealing in the least. If Malfoy saw it as something enjoyable, then he could do it. ”I don’t mind.”
”That will cost you extra,” Malfoy instantly shot back, and then turned to look at Harry with yet another look of suspicion. ”And no refunds if you don’t like it.”
”That’s fine.”
The silence that followed was almost pleasant, and Harry found himself genuinely not minding Malfoy’s presence. Aside from a few jabs, they hadn’t argued, and the former Slytherin seemed to know what he was doing. It was strange to be on almost friendly terms with the guy, especially after everything that had happened between them. But being in charge of renovating and decorating the cottage seemed to put him into an exceptionally good mood, and Harry really wanted to see more happiness around him.
”Very well,” Malfoy said, still eyeing Harry with a look of suspicion, as if he wasn’t sure of what to expect. He then nodded curtly, before leading Harry to a door right between the two bedrooms. ”The bathroom was recently renovated and doesn’t need touching up, unless you’d like a different look.”
"Well, let's see it first," Harry said, and Malfoy pushed the bathroom's door open. It was, well, small. And very, very white. The faucet was black, however, and so was the showerhead and the pipe holding up the curtain separating the bathtub from the rest of the bathroom. It was surprisingly nice, and Harry knew that he wouldn't need much else for himself.
”It’s nice,” Harry said. ”I like it. Say, did you ever live here? I mean, did you ever visit the place?”
”Not really,” Malfoy replied with an awkward shrug. He fell silent for a moment, before he continued: ”It belonged to the aunt of my grandfather Abraxas Malfoy, Lady Madeleine. She was said to be quite sickly and enjoyed a rather solitary lifestyle.”
”That’s amazing,” Harry said, suddenly feeling wistful.
”Living a sickly life in solitude is amazing to you, Potter?” Malfoy said, too bewildered to come up with an insult. ”Really?”
”No, that’s not what I meant,” Harry hurried to reply. ”But that you’d know of your family from many generations before you - that’s brilliant.”
Malfoy looked at him again, his expression making Harry’s heart ache for some reason. Briefly, Harry wondered what kind of a friend Malfoy would have been at Hogwarts, before he decided to not dwell on things he couldn’t change. The silence stretched for a few moments longer, before Malfoy scowled, and turned away.
”I thought you’d want to live near the Weasleys,” Malfoy then said. ”Or Hogsmeade, near Hogwarts.”
”Too many neighbours,” Harry said. ”And too many memories, I guess.” And though he loved the Weasleys greatly, he just couldn’t stop blaming himself for the deaths of George and Fred. He didn’t know how Molly could stand to look at him with no anger. He didn’t know why she didn’t blame him for what he had pulled her family into.
”Well, there will be no neighbours here,” Malfoy said. ”Once the fireplace has been connected, you can name the place. In two weeks the renovations will be almost finished, and the only things missing will be some small details that I’ll need your input for.”
”Sure,” Harry said. ”So we’ll meet here again in two weeks?”
”Yes,” Malfoy confirmed. ”In two weeks. I’ll send you the details in a couple of days.”
”Great,” Harry said, pleased. Spending time with Malfoy became less and less weird, and while it wasn’t exactly enjoyable, at least they were civil. Harry doubted that they would ever become friends, but at least it didn’t seem as if Malfoy hated him anymore.
*
Harry really enjoyed meeting Ron and Hermione at different muggle coffee shops. People never stared at him, and though the food was often dry, the tea just all right, and prices high, none of that made the experience any worse. It helped, also, that Hermione would come up with different coffee shops for them to visit every time.
”Just in case,” she’d say. ”We’re better off avoiding visiting the same place twice too soon.”
On that day, the three had gone off to a new place with high windows, small round tables and uncomfortable wooden chairs. Harry held his cup of tea in his hands, enjoying the light that shone into the coffee shop. Ron had opted for a proper lunch, while Hermione was drinking some sort of a grass smoothie. It was likely to be their last time at one of these places for quite a while, however, since Hermione was set to return to Hogwarts in two weeks.
”I’ve already bought everything I need,” the witch said, beaming with excitement. ”It is quite odd to think of going back without the two of you, I must say.”
”You’ll be fine,” Ron told her, before he continued: ”Bill will stay in England a bit longer, and he’ll help me with the shop. Mum thinks they wouldn’t have wanted to... they wouldn’t have wanted for the shop to disappear.”
They. The twins, and their shop in Diagon Alley. It made sense, in a way, for Ron to take over it.
”What about you, Harry?” Hermione asked. ”Do you have anything in mind for when the house is ready?”
”Not really,” Harry replied with a shrug. ”I’m feeling better now than I did two months ago, but... I don’t want to... I’ll just focus on the house for now.”
”Do you still meet Malfoy every time you go there?” Ron asked, making a face. ”That miserable little ferret.”
”Ron!” Hermione admonished, before smiling at Harry. ”I, for one, am happy that the two of you are reconciling. Holding on to past grudges isn’t good.”
”It’s not like he didn’t do anything to deserve it,” Ron argued. ”It’s not just a handful of insults that he has flung around. And no matter what we did in return, it was nowhere near the bloody mess he pulled when he let in those—”
”Considering the situation his mother was in at the time, he couldn’t possibly refuse,” Hermione countered. ”And trust me, I’m not particularly fond of him either. However, we must put conscious effort into moving on from past grievances. I think it’s fantastic that he’s taking such an active role in fixing the house for Harry before handing it over to him.”
”It’s a bit odd that he’s there,” Ron said. ”I mean, in person, you know? You’d think he’d have someone else doing the job for him.”
“Well, who else would? His mother is too busy trying to support Lucius – who is not handling Azkaban well.”
”I suppose that even without the dementors, the guards aren’t making it easy for him.”
”And neither should they,” Hermione said. ”Draco, however, shouldn’t pay for his father’s sins.”
”You think that’s what he’s doing now, by helping Harry?” Ron asked, curious. ”Some sort of an atonement? Do you reckon he feels guilty?”
”Oh, Merlin, I hope not,” Harry joined the conversation with a grimace. ”I don’t want to make anyone feel guilty. Or grateful. Or like they owe me something.”
”We know, mate,” Ron replied with a grin, and reached to ruffle Harry’s hair. ”We know you’re a bleeding heart, all right?”
”Ron, his hair was looking just fine,” Hermione huffed, slapped Ron’s hand away, and tried to comb Harry’s hair back to how it was before with her fingers. Harry couldn’t help but smile, a sudden surge of happiness catching him by surprise. The warmth of Ron’s hand, the gentleness of Hermione’s fingers, this light-filled moment and the food they could enjoy in peace... Merlin, wasn’t this moment a miracle all of its own?
*
“Hi,” Harry said, when he entered the cottage and saw Malfoy looking at what appeared to be ten different cabinet handles. Malfoy’s hair was cut short and gelled back again - as it used to be back in their early years. Somehow, the sight of it took Harry back to better days, and the happy moments he had had in the past. There was good in his life, wasn’t there? Despite everything that had happened, it hadn’t been all bad, right?
“You know,” Harry said, louder this time to catch Malfoy’s attention. “I don’t dislike you. Or resent you, if you have thought that at some point while working on this cottage.”
Malfoy’s shoulders hunched up for a moment, in a clear gesture of discomfort, before he turned to Harry with a sneer on his face. “I suppose Saint Potter would forgive someone who treid to kill him. Repeatedly. You’d forgive… you’d have forgiven him too for what he did, wouldn’t you?”
Harry shrugged, and thought about Riddle. Voldemort. Thought about all the awful things he had done, and all the things that shaped him into the person he ended up becoming. “I asked him to regret the things he had done. I don’t think I could have forgiven him, however.”
“Well, I suppose for a future Auror forgiving all criminal activities would’ve been a bad thing,” Malfoy said, turning back to the cabinet handles, and dismissing all but three. “Good to know there are things even you can’t forgive.”
“I’m not going to become an Auror,” Harry replied. “And it’s not like I’ve never done anything questionable either, you know that.” Why did people think that he was somehow an overly forgiving person? Harry knew he wasn’t - there were so many people he just couldn’t bring himself to forgive. He could never even consider forgiving Vernon and Petunia. Or Snape, despite the man having died while fighting against Voldemort to the very end. Or Dumbledore, even, for quite a few things.
“Oh, Potter, hexing someone at Hogwarts—”
“I broke out of Gringotts riding a dragon. That’s why they have recruitment problems.”
Malfoy dropped one of the handles he had been holding in his hand, and spun to look at Harry in disbelief. Of all the things he had expected to hear, this was clearly not it. “…what?”
“I also broke into the ministry, interrupted a hearing, knocked out Umbridge – she deserved it, let me tell you – stole a necklace off her neck and escaped while polyjuiced as someone else,” Harry added, hoping to somehow make Malfoy understand that for him to become an Auror wasn’t… as obvious of a choice as some people believed. “And that was just last year.”
“Potter, what—?”
“I still think, though, that none of that was quite as frightening as the time I killed a basilisk,” Harry continued. “Though it worked out in the end, since we needed basilisk venom to get rid of a horcrux.”
“Potter, you’re lying,” Malfoy snapped, taking a step towards him. “There’s no way— Merlin, is this why your friends think the sun shines out of your arse, you reckless bellend? There’s no way any of that is true!”
The burst of laughter that stemmed from his heart and found its way out in an instant startled Harry, making him hug himself and grin wide, wanting nothing more than to tell Malfoy’s skeptical face all the insane things he had been up to. Things beyond their rivalry.
“I’m not lying,” Harry insisted, still smiling. There was sunlight coming in through the window and warming up his back and the nape of his neck, and he fleetingly thought of all the early mornings he could have here on his own. “I can— I don’t have a pensieve right now at hand, but I could show you when I get one? There’s so much— I’ve ridden a centaur, did you know? And saw inferi up-close, too. And—”
Harry quieted down when he looked at Malfoy again, and saw him looking at Harry with the strangest expression on his face. A curious face, without an ounce of the haughtiness and contempt that was so typical to it. Malfoy was now looking at him in a way that reminded Harry - strangely enough - of Sirius. Something about that look of almost amused wonder, that likely had snuck up on Malfoy’s face uninvited, made Harry’s lungs expand and heart beat faster.
“If you don’t mind,” Harry said, not really knowing why, aside from that he wanted to. “We could… meet up even after you’re done with the decorating.”
Malfoy turned back to the cabinet handles, and was quiet for a long time. Harry wondered how busy his social life was, and if Parkinson was still looking to spend as much time with him as possible. Then again, who was he to comment on other people’s possible romantic relationships? He and Ginny were unlikely to reconnect like that again, and there was really no one else in Harry’s life who could fill that gap, was there?
“I’m not entirely opposed to that suggestion,” Malfoy finally said. “But I will consider it only after my work here is done.”
“Okay,” Harry agreed easily, wondering if this was really going to happen. “Sounds good.”
The thought of becoming friends with Malfoy wasn’t something Harry had expected to ever want, but here he was… embarrassingly happy to have his schooltime rival give him a chance to properly reconcile. To give them a chance. A chance to have a second beginning at a friendship that could’ve begun years ago.
It was… exciting.
*
“I told him about the basilisk, too,” Harry said over pints of butterbeer to Ron and Hermione. “You should’ve seen his face! I didn’t know how little everyone had been told about our shenanigans.”
“Mate, I wish I could’ve seen that,” Ron sighed wistfully. “Bet you he looked dumb. He did, didn’t he?”
“Ron, stop being silly,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I think Professor Dumbledore kept as much as he could from being commonly known. I suppose if he hadn’t, the Ministry would have attempted interfering in school affairs much earlier. Especially when the situation with Ginny was already so awful at the time…”
“Dumbledore keeping secrets isn’t new, that’s for sure,” Harry said, expecting to feel a familiar pang of resentment. He was surprised by its absence, however, and briefly wondered if he was actually moving on. It didn’t seem possible.
“I know,” Hermione sighed, sipping her drink for a few contemplative moments, before hesitantly saying: “You know, Harry… I think Malfoy’s company is doing you some good. You’re always so much happier after meeting him.”
“I guess I’m just happy to have one less person hating me,” Harry said, shrugging. “I went to Privet Drive a few weeks ago, you know. I… I don’t know why I thought that anything would be different. Petunia still hates me. I thought I’d find closure, but… Merlin, that was not it at all. So I suppose that maybe having now a better relationship with Malfoy is making up for that disappointment.”
“Family can be… difficult,” Hermione responded, sounding hesitant and upset. “You know my… I mean, Hogwarts is about to start again, and I just… I was supposed to already be on my way to Australia. No, actually, I was supposed to have been there and back by now, really. But I haven’t even left yet, and I keep pushing it, because… I’m scared of what comes after. What if their life now is better than what it used to be here, with me? You went back to the Dursleys and got disappointed. I’m scared of going back to my own parents at all, because I don’t want to get disappointed as well.”
“It’s a shite situation to be in, isn’t it,” Ron pitched in. “Not to sound… too depressing, or anything, but… even though I know we can move on and live our lives if we just focus on all the good things we have now, and not think of all the tough things we still have to do, it’s not easy. It’s not easy, when life is as intimidating as it is. But also, on the other hand, I don’t think it’s right to expect normalcy already, you know? Considering everything we’ve been through, and honestly, it’s not been that long since Voldemort was still running around, so it’s kind of unreasonable for us to expect to just… get back to normal.”
“Get back to normal,” Harry repeated, and frowned. “I wish I knew what normal was. Merlin, remember when we thought that losing a hundred points during our first year was terrible?”
“Or how getting expelled was worse than dying,” Ron said, lightening the mood and causing Hermione to smack him lightly on the arm.
“Let’s forget normal, then,” the witch said. “Let’s just figure out what makes us happy, and focus on that. And try to do the right thing whenever we have the strength for it.” She was nowhere near ready to tackle the issue with her parents, and Harry desperately wished that he could help her somehow. Make it easier for her to deal with.
“So, you’ve been having brunches with McGonagall lately, eh?” Ron suddenly said, turning to Hermione. “Talk about taking all courses at once again?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said, before she remembered something and turned to Harry. “You know, I asked her about whether or not Malfoy will be coming back to Hogwarts. He won’t, is what she told me. Apparently he will wrap up his studies in Beauxbatons.”
“Seems to have his life sorted out, doesn’t he?” Ron said. “Got work, got studies to take care of. Family alive. Has a way out of everything, like the slippery snake that he is.”
“Oh come on, he’s likely struggling with things on his own, too,” Hermione argued. “Not that the backlash isn’t justified, but the Malfoys lost quite a bit in the aftermath. He’s now essentially trying to not just maintian his family’s responsibilities, but fix their name as well.”
“Good luck with that,” Harry muttered, immediately feeling guilty afterwards. He was getting along well with Malfoy, and talking ill about him didn’t seem as fine to do as it used to be. Besides, Hermione was right, and it was fairly easy to see that Malfoy was struggling with his own demons as well.
“How’s his work with the cottage, anyway?” Ron asked. “Still as good as you said he was when he started?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “I’m… kind of surprised. He’s really good at what he does. I like the cottage more and more every time I see it. I can’t wait for it to be ready, so I can show you guys the whole place.”
“I’m already imagining a cozy Christmas in there,” Ron sighed. “Your very own place, mate. That’s amazing. Even with Malfoy being involved, it’s still amazing.”
“I really don’t mind Malfoy,” Harry laughed. “I told you, we’re fine now. Better than we used to be, that’s for sure.”
“Not really a difficult standard to exceed, that.”
“Maybe not,” Harry agreed, “but it’s better than nothing, right?” Because even these small improvements mattered, and he wasn’t going to overlook his budding, hopefully not entirely one-sided, friendship with Malfoy.
*
The next time Harry made his way to the cottage, Malfoy was kneeling by the fireplace, talking about some runes with two sullen goblins. Not knowing - not daring to find out, either - if the goblins would resent him from his stunt at Gringotts, Harry decided to wait outside.
One of the things that he had liked about the cottage, was a bench not far from the house. A bench surrounded by shrubbery and small, colourful flowers that Harry couldn’t name. There was no stream or a lake nearby to complete the picture, and no birds were there to add sound to the summer days, but the landscape that he could see from that bench was breathaking in its own right: vast fields of even greenery, hills going up and down as far as the eye could see. No neighbours in sight. No man-made roads, either. No car could reach him, and if anyone flew on a broomstick this way, he’d see them coming well before they could reach him.
“Potter.”
Malfoy’s voice behind him caused Harry to turn. The other wizard had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and his wand was tucked into some sort of a holster at his hip. “Why are you outside?”
“You were talking with goblins,” Harry replied. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Malfoy made a noise of annoyance, before gesturing for Harry to get up. “They left. The fireplace is now connected to the Floo system, so you can name this place whenever you feel like it. The renovations are more or less done now, so only decorating is left. Do you have any ideas regarding that?”
“Nah,” Harry said. “Whatever you want to do is fine.” Having done so well so far, Harry doubted that Malfoy would deliberately try to ruin it all now. Besdies, Harry was curious to see what kind of a taste Malfoy really had. Could he even do something homey and cozy?
“You’re absolutely sure that you’re fine with having my taste all over your home?” Malfoy asked, strangely insistent on his point of conflict. “Are you certain?”
“It’s a good taste,” Harry replied, not knowing what else to say, and not really seeing an issue there.
“Oh.” Malfoy’s reaction was a barely audible breath, that came with a now somewhat familiar, defensive, mometary hunch of his shoulders, before he straigthened up and seemed to accept whatever had confused him a mere moment earlier. “Very well.”
Harry looked at Malfoy’s face, really looked at it - the pointy chin and narrow eyes. The thin eyebrows and pink lips. The eyes, a shade so light blue they were almost grey. It was kind of funny how despite years of knowing each other, Harry had never really looked at Malfoy before.
“You can stop staring, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, his cheeks pink all of a sudden. “And do follow - I said I wanted to show you the fireplace, didn’t I?”
“Sure,” Harry said, and hurried to follow the other wizard in. The door creaked when it was opened, and the sound was something Aunt Petunia would have never abided by. “I like the noises,” Harry said. “Of the house, I mean.”
“You’re weird like that,” Malfoy said, though it came across a bit too fond to be an insult. “Everything here creaks, even after the renovation. Hell if I know why, but it’s good that you’re fine with it.”
“It’s a good sound,” Harry said. The door of his cupboard had never creaked. No hinges had ever creakd at the Dursleys, and if any ever did, well… it had been his job to make sure they didn’t do that for long. “Say, you never did tell me the name of this area?”
“We’re some fifty miles North of Banchory,” Malfoy said. “This area is called Taernsby. Not that many know of it - not many live in this area, as you probably guessed by now.”
“This could be Taernsby Cottage, then,” Harry said. “What do you think?”
“Merlin, Potter, what does it matter what I think?”
“I’m just curious.”
Malfoy was quite for a few moments, before he huffed in resignation. “It’s fine. The name isn’t horrible. Very obvious, and not exciting at all, but I guess that’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed with a grin. “What did your family call it when you had it?”
“Madeleine’s Burrow,” Malfoy replied. “She’s the only one to ever use this place. Taernsby Cottage is a good change, Potter. Well done.”
“Well, now you know why I need you here,” Harry said with a laugh, not noticing the blush making its way up Malfoy’s neck, reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. “I need someone to figure out these creative parts of making a home. I mean, I’d be fine with whatever tables and chairs I’d pick, but it’s great to have something… a bit more, you know… nice.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Malfoy muttered, sounding very pleased with himself. “I suppose even you can’t be perfect at everything, can you?”
“I’m really not,” Harry said. “I’m not perfect at anything, really.”
“You know, trying to sound humbe after killing a Dark Lord isn’t really working for you. It wouldn’t work for anything either, really, so don’t take it personally.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Whatever, Potter. Come on, now, let’s test the fireplace to make sure everything works as it should, and then I need to ask you a bit about colour schemes.”
*
A bit over a week before Hermione was set to leave for Hogwarts - the trip to Australia that she never went on to hanging over her like a bad dream - she decided to distract herself by looking for more books that could keep her entertained. At first Ron and Harry had tried valiantly to keep up with her, before the boys had opted to wait for her in an ice cream shop.
“I kind of miss Hogwarts, you know,” Ron said. “Watching Hermione pack her things and get ready to leave, makes me wonder if I should have decided to go back as well.”
“I know what you mean,” Harry agreed, “but honestly, I think I would have regretted it immediately. I just… I don’t think I’m ready for anything too stressful, you know?”
“I get you, mate,” Ron said, nodding. “Have you thought about doing what Malfoy is doing, and just completing what little you have left at another school? Could be easier than going back to where everything happened.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Harry said. The two fell into a silence, focusing on their ice creams, until Harry spoke again: “So, there’s something weird that I want to kind of… tell you about?”
“Something weird? Is it bad?”
“I don’t kno— I don’t think so?”
“Okay,” Ron said, putting his ice cream down and looking at Harry. “Go on.”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with Malfoy,” Harry started. “And, you know, we’ve been getting along fairly well, right?”
“Right.”
“And… uh, you know that Ginny and I are no longer, you know.”
“Oh.”
“I mean. Is it— I just… I don’t even know what I’m thinking, and—”
“It’s fine, you know,” Ron cut in. He was clearly considering his words carefully as he continued: “I mean, this is one hell of a surprise, but also not really? I don’t like the bastard one bit, but he can’t be too bad of a company if he keeps making you happy, right? And, mate, if you’re into him, it’s… fine?”
“Is it? Is it really?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s a git and though I know he was a victim of his circumstances when it comes to being a Death Eater, everything else was him being himself. The bullying, the slurs, all that. If he has changed, that’s good. Be careful, still, but, you know… do what makes you happy. For once, just think of nothing else but making you happy. Merlin knows you’ve earned that right by now.”
“I don’t even know if he thinks of me that way,” Harry muttered. “Hell, I don’t even know if the way I I like him is what I think it is.”
“You can either give it a try and find out, or ignore it and hope you’re not missing out on something that could have made you even happier,” Ron said. “I’ll support you either way, you know.”
“Think he might… feel some sort of a way about me?”
“I’d be surprised if he didn’t, honestly. But maybe. I don’t know.”
“I just…” Harry looked at his melting ice cream with a frown on his face, before blurting out: “I’m just so tired of being anxious all the time, you know? Always something to worry about. Always losing sleep, never being able to focus on things, just because there’s so much to worry about. I want some time to not worry, you know? Not worry about grades, not worry about people, not worry about anything. And I don’t think that that trying anything with Malfoy - if he’s even interested - is going to help with that.”
“Think he’ll wait if you don’t make a move now?”
“I don’t think he knows there’s something to be waited for.”
“Then it just goes back to what you want to do,” Ron said. “You could wait until he’s done with the house, before you suggest anything—”
“I’ve already asked him to spend time with me,” Harry interrupted. “I mean, I said I’d tell him about all the things we did at Hogwarts. I didn’t… I just wanted to be his friend, then. It’s changed quickly.”
“Isn’t that good enough, for now?” Ron asked. “If you two will already be meeting for other purposes aside from fixing up the cottage, won’t that be giving you more time to sort out your thoughts?”
“More time to worry about this, you mean,” Harry sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll just… wait and see, for a bit. There’s no rush, is there? Aside from, you know, him moving to France to study at Beauxbatons.”
“Well, isn’t that also a chance for you?” Ron pointed out. “A chance to just throw your confession at him and then spend months apart just after. If it’s mutual, he’ll contact you, and if it’s not, well… at least you won’t have to see his face around.”
“I like this plan,” Harry said, nodding. “I feel like Hermione wouldn’t like it, though. She’d just… deal with all this in some sensible way.”
“You aren’t Hermione, and what works for her doesn’t work for everyone,” Ron said. “It’ll be fine, mate. No matter what happens after you tell the git, eventually everything will be just fine again.”
*
“Decorative greenery.”
Harry turned away from the allegedly hand-painted cabinet doors to look at Malfoy, who was standing right by one of the windows in the kitchen. “Yes?”
“Plants, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “You need some plants indoors, but you haven’t told me if you’re allergic to anything.”
“Oh, yes. Anything’s fine,” Harry said, unable to stop looking at the details of everything that surrounded him. “Except petunias. And pansies. And I don’t… I don’t really like tulips either. You know, let’s skip flowers altogether. Anything’s fine, except flowers. Is that okay?”
Malfoy’s eyebrows were raised, but he nodded slowly. “Doable.”
“You’ve done a brilliant job with all of this,” Harry said, moving out of the kitchen area. “I’m… this is amazing.”
“Thanks.” The smile on Malfoy’s face was a smug one, but rightfully so, Harry supposed. “You’ll proceed with the purchase as intended, then, I presume?”
“Oh yes, absolutely,” Harry said, touching a cabinet handle made to look like a curled dragon’s tail. Merlin, it was beautiful. “Draco, this is… exactly what I need. It’s perfect. It’s better than anything I had imagined.” The whole cottage was filled with light, rays of sun dancing across wooden surfaces, reflecting off the white walls and adding life to every corner that they reached.
“I don’t know what you need,” Malfoy told him, looking unsure. “It’s just… taste.”
“I don’t think that’s to be taken for granted, you know,” Harry said, turning towards Malfoy, and taking a few steps towards him. “Why so much light?”
“So you wouldn’t dismiss the tears in your eyes as bright-eyed enthusiasm,” Malfoy replied, before sighing and swaying forward. “Potter… you’re not happy. And you know what guts me the most? I don’t think you’ve ever been happy, for as long as I’ve known you. I thought that I had… I thought I understood you. ”
“You did,” Harry said. “You still do, I think.”
“I don’t think so,” Malfoy argued. “I don’t think anyone with your kind of unhappiness can be understood by means of mere observation. And I feel like an idiot for not realizing that sooner.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, “you could get to know me, if you wanted.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Malfoy agreed with a shrug. “But I am. I’m going to Beauxbatons next week, where I’ll be staying for a year or so. I don’t know if I’ll come back during the holidays.”
“If… if you weren’t going,” Harry said. “Would you want to get to know me? Because I really… I want to get to know you. You said you didn’t think you understood me, right? Well, you’re not that easy to figure out either, you know. And if there’s something I’ve realized during these past few weeks, it’s that I do want to get to know you.”
“You want us to be friends.” The words were delivered with too much hesitation to sound like an actual statement. Regardless, Harry nodded.
“If friends is all you want us to be, then I’ll happily leave it at that.”
Malfoy startled, before tilting his head and looking at Harry again, quietly, for a while. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not in a joking mood right now,” Harry said. “You’re not… you can say no. I’m not expecting anything of you, you know.”
“Potter.” The word was exhaled with too much… too much something to be a rejection. “You’re really not too observant, are you?”
“I disagree, but go on,” Harry instantly said, causing Malfoy to let out a laugh, strangely enough.
“All right,” Malfoy said, taking a few steps closer, stopping right in front of Harry. His palms, when her reached up to cradle Harry’s face, were dry and cold. “I expect more attention than you have given me so far, Potter. And I demand responses to my letters within three days.”
“If we’re doing this, can’t you just call me Harry?” Harry asked. Malfoy snorted, his thumbs rubbing gently against Harry’s cheeks.
“No,” he said, leaning closer. He was smiling. Harry could feel that smile against his lips, and couldn't help but smile into the kiss right away.
Maybe the stars were aligned, somewhere in space. Because in that moment, Harry felt happy.