Fic Post: Finding Elvis Chapter 2b
Jun. 18th, 2005 09:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciroccojAnd here's Chapter 2b of Finding Elvis (AKA Malfoy the Muggle):
Chapter 2b - Missing, Presumed Dead
"Pansy Parkinson?" Harry said tentatively. The thin, angular woman standing in the doorway before him, hair pulled back severely and mouth pursed tightly, did not look like the sly Slytherin girl he'd known at school. This woman bore an uncanny similarity to Madam Pince, the draconian Hogwarts librarian. Same air of severe competence and suspicion.
"Harry Potter," Pansy said neutrally. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I um... I wanted to get some information from you."
"About?"
"Draco Malfoy." Harry watched her eyes widen in genuine surprise.
"Draco? Whatever for?"
"I, er... I'm trying to figure out what happened to him, because he, he was sighted a few weeks ago, and I'm trying to figure out if that was him."
Pansy's severe features relaxed into amused condescension. "Well, if that isn't just like the Ministry. Don't give a damn about a person while they should, and come back to the subject fifteen years later when it makes no difference whatsoever. Nice assignment you've pulled, Potter."
Harry didn't bother to correct her assumption. She sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Potter, I don't know anything about Draco that I didn't tell the Ministry fifteen years ago. I told them what I knew - he was here for a little while, then buggered off and I never saw him again. I read the same bizarre little stories in the Quibbler that everyone else did, and I never believed any of it."
"This sighting looks to be genuine."
Pansy laughed bitterly. "Of course it does. Look, I don't have time to play Thirteen Questions for the Ministry. I hope you didn't inconvenience yourself too much coming all the way out here, but-"
"I only want to hear from you what happened - how long he stayed, how did he behave, where did he say he was going-"
"Three weeks, fine, and he didn't. Have a nice day-" Pansy started to close the door but Harry stopped her.
"You told the Ministry he'd only stayed a few days."
"Days, weeks, what does it matter? He stayed, he left. I think he died. Fifteen years ago."
"Pansy-"
"Look, I didn't like talking about him then and I don't want to talk about him now. I tried very hard to leave the war behind me, Potter. Many of us on the losing side did."
Harry frowned. "I thought you'd switched sides. You and Malfoy."
"We saw what a lunatic Voldemort was," she snapped, "but that doesn't mean we wanted to side with the rest of you. No matter who won, we lost." She stopped herself and pursed her lips again. "Look, Potter, I know you're probably under orders from the Ministry to leave no stone unturned but honestly, I have no information to give you, even if I wanted to-" she suddenly broke off and seemed to be thinking about something. "Wait. I do have something - my sister Juniper died last summer-"
"Oh, I'm sorry-" Harry murmured automatically, "I didn't-"
"-and I went to tidy her things and found a slew of letters from me to her, from the war. I doubt there's much there that you could use, but I've no earthly use for them. Why don't you take them?"
"Oh. Oh, yes, that would be-"
"Here, wait a minute - I was just going through the boxes last week - wait a moment," Pansy went into her house and left him standing at the door for a few moments, listening to her moving about. "Here," she came back, hidden behind a couple of large boxes. "Do a lighten spell. They're full of papers and such and they're bloody heavy."
***
"Harry?" Emma Sprout popped into Harry's London office the next day.
"Yeah?"
"A few of us are going down to the Broomsticks for a beer, are you coming?"
"No thanks, too busy."
"All work and no play, Harry," Emma chided.
"I know, I know."
"When are you going to get out and relax?" she said. "You've been going back and forth, Velleywold to here... you look like you need a good drunk."
"I need to get drunk, or I need to meet a drunk?"
"Either or both, darling. You look peaked."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, aren't you always," Emma sighed, giving up. "Fine."
Harry waved as she and the rest of the London staff headed out, and he looked over the piles of work before him.
On one side of the desk were the reports of the Committee on the Re-evaluation of Registration and Administration of Magical Creatures and Magical Beasts. On the other side were Pansy's letters, which he'd sorted by date before reading. He started with the one dated the closest to the end of the war.
------------------
Dear Juniper:
Sorry I haven't written much lately, this stupid war. I suppose you've heard of Draco by now. Well he's staying with me. I think I'm not supposed to say anything about him being here, but I'm sure he didn't mean that with regards to you.
He's acting very odd. Draco, that is. He's been awfully quiet, and he hasn't spoken at all about It. That's how I think of it now - It. But then something will come up and it's so awkward. Yesterday it was asking him to floo down to the store, and I just wasn't thinking - but he didn't say anything, just stared at me until I remembered, even though I'd started yelling at him that he wasn't the spoiled Malfoy heir any more and I didn't have house-elves to help me out at home and a lot of other garbage. A simple "I can't, Pansy" would have sufficed. Honestly, men. And I mean, you remember what he was like as a child, he'd make a biggest fuss out of the slightest injury - when that Hippogriff scratched him at school you would've thought it took both arms off for all the bother he made - but then this 'It' happens and he's just silent about it. I ask him how he's feeling, and he just shrugs.
This stupid, stupid war. I hate it.
How's Francis doing? Is he back from Bulgaria? Don't tell me if it's a secret, obviously, but I'd like to know. I can't stand how this keeps ripping apart all the best families. I found myself wishing I were a bloody Weasley the other day, as they're all on the same side, at least. With us you can never tell who's where any given day of the week.
Made myself sick at that last thought, by the way. Me, a Weasley. Bad enough that I'm on their side; I certainly have no wish to emulate them...
------------------
Harry chuckled and scanned ahead, skipping a long description of a party that followed the Weasley reference.
------------------
Found out the oddest thing the other day - did you know we must have different taste buds than Muggles? Yesterday Draco nearly spat out a mouthful of perfectly good pumpkin juice. Made a face at it and asked if it had gone bad, which it hadn't, it tasted fine to me. He had it at breakfast every morning for seven years, but he can't stand it now, says it tastes quite bland and foul. Honestly, he'll be bringing Orange juice or some such Mudblood concoction into my home next. Mother would've been scandalised.
She'd be scandalised if she could see what else he's drinking these days, and how much. You know him - barring a few rather wild nights after the OWLs and NEWTs, he hated that kind of thing, and not just because Lucius would've killed him if he'd done anything stupid while drunk; Draco just didn't like the feeling of lack of control. Well now it looks like he's decided there's no reason not to get disgracefully drunk on a regular basis. Not that he's doing anything disgraceful, although I almost wish he would. All he's doing is drinking till he falls asleep or passes out, whatever you want to call it.
He will get better, won't he? I keep thinking of those awful articles from that Crede woman. The worst of it is, Draco said he'd read them - before that night, as a matter of fact. He knew, damn him. Why didn't he just let somebody else take out Blaise?
I hate this bloody war...
------------------
Harry skipped ahead as Pansy's letter turned into a long diatribe against the Order. He started to skim through another one.
------------------
...so glad you said Francis is playing Quidditch again. He must be feeling better.
Oh, god, Quidditch, Juniper. Another awkward moment, the other day I thought we might take in a game - the Magpies were playing. He just said No very brusquely and then I realized. He'll never play Quidditch again. I can't bear the thought. That's just... it's so horrible.
And then I read in the Prophet yesterday that the Sainted and Beloved Harry Bloody Potter played a game for the Cannons and probably every simpering witch in the stands tossed her pants at him - it's disgusting. Draco is grounded for the rest of his life, and the bleeding Wanker Who Lived is flying higher than ever. He wouldn't even be alive right now if Draco hadn't taken out Blaise that night. Not that anybody gives a damn, especially Potter.
------------------
Harry swallowed hard. He hadn't. Given a damn, that was. He still remembered that game, remembered what a relief it had been to fly again, because during the war, after too many players had been blasted out of the sky, Quidditch had been ruled too risky and all games had been cancelled.
He'd been relieved and happy. Never stopped to think of the people who would never fly again.
No, that wasn't true. He'd stopped to think. He'd cared. He just couldn't seem to care for the right people at the right time, and certainly not as much they had needed him to care. What was it Hermione had flung at him, near the end?
"Harry Bloody Potter, the Great Hero. The Wanker Who Lived," yes, she'd said that too, only it had hurt a lot more coming from Hermione Granger than from Pansy Parkinson. "I'm sick of it - it's all you, you, you, like the rest of us never did a damn thing. Like Ron and other people didn't lose anything."
"That's not fair-"
"Oh, you never give interviews, you never let the Ministry parade you around as their trophy, just when we're supposed to be taking Molly to Ginny's grave and deal with Ron and-"
"That's not my fault! I'm trying, with Ron and them, but-"
"But you just don't have anything left to give to the rest of us after your adoring public is done with you."
He picked up the next letter in the pile.
------------------
Dear Juniper:
No news of Draco. He's all right, isn't he? He would've called or something, if he were in trouble? Though how, I don't know.
There's been another bloody sighting in the Quibbler. In a Muggle "super"-market, of all places. Not bloody likely. He'd be eating in a fancy restaurant if he was doing anything in the Muggle world, he'd be utterly lost in one of their markets.
He's probably just lit out for Australia or something. I hope so, anyway.
There's rumours, did you know, that he's gone back to the Death Eaters. Another stupid article about Harry Bloody Potter, and nothing but sightings in "super"-markets and rumours of betrayal for Draco. It's a good thing he's not around to see this.
I think he's probably dead. You know that article on Enmagio, a lot of people commit suicide. And he was drinking so much. Who knows, he probably got drunk and walked off a bridge. I've read and re-read his letter and can't decide what's probably happened. You read it, and tell me what you think.
I just don't understand what's happened to him, what's the matter with him or how to help him.
------------------
"What's happened to you? What's the matter with you?" Hermione had asked too. And "How can I help?" they had asked each other. For all the good it had done them.
------------------
I keep thinking, even if he's not dead, he is, really. The boy I knew is just gone, and I have no idea who's taken his place, but he doesn't have the same sense of humour, the same spirit, the same anything. You know what he was like at school, he'd drive the Gryffindors mental and have us all in stitches imitating the professors in the common room. There's nothing of that left now.
Oh, I've got to stop worrying about him. I can't take this any more.
Did you know Millicent is getting married?
------------------
"I can't take this any more, Harry," Hermione had said, right around the same time that this letter was dated. Harry blocked that train of thought quickly, picking up another letter. This one, oddly, was apparently from Juniper to Pansy, and it looked half-written, like it hadn't been sent.
------------------
Dear P:
This stupid war. I saw the Quibbler too. And you're still clinging to the pre-war Draco, darling. He learned to forage in the forest during the war; he can certainly handle a supermarket.
About his letter, I don't know. Somehow it doesn't sound like Draco, that he would go Muggle, but then again, what else could he do? Can you imagine living like that in our world? I certainly can't.
Francis says to tell you he's doing all right and not in the tub any more - he said you'd know what that meant...
------------------
Harry picked up another letter, different writing. A shiver went down his back as he read it.
------------------
Dear Pansy:
Well, you're probably figured out by now that I've gone out for sugar quills and pumpkin juice and I'm not coming back. Sorry to be a little abrupt about this, but I didn't want a big scene.
Don't know when or if I'll come back. We'll see, I suppose. This letter probably won't make much sense - I'm more than a little drunk, and using a bloody Muggle pen to write this. They're impossible.
Thanks for letting me stay at your house, bother that I was. I'm sorry about that tea set, I know it meant a lot to you. Thanks also for your tact regarding our engagement and I'll save you the social awkwardness by calling it off myself. Oh and if anybody asks, just tell them that I was here for a day or two, then moved off and you don't know where. And don't worry, I'll be all right. Hope you're all right too.
Thanks, Pansy. I love you,
Draco
------------------
Pansy and Draco Malfoy - engaged? Harry was somewhat stunned. No wonder Pansy didn't want to talk about him, if he'd up and left her with nothing but a drunken note and a lot of unanswered questions.
There had been so much leaving at that time. So many friendships and romances that had survived the war, only to fall apart during the peace.
Harry tossed the letters aside, suddenly sick of the whole thing.
***
The Book Cellar was busy the next day when Harry entered, but this time he really was just hoping to find some computer books. Anything to get away from the idiocy of this interminable Velleywold conference. He perused the shelves a bit, but looked up as the door opened and one of the female sales clerks groaned.
"Oh, it's our most favourite person in the whole entire world," she muttered, and Harry heard an answering tsk of annoyance from Malfoy. Both were staring at the front door, where a relatively attractive older woman with a murderous expression on her face was stalking in.
"Dave, your turn."
"What? No! I - I got her last time," Malfoy said.
"Monday?"
"Half a bloody hour she had me running back and forth-"
"She came back in Wednesday. I had the pleasure."
"Hell," Malfoy muttered.
"So," the other clerk said brightly, "Have fun, mate, she's all yours."
"Thanks, Ann, that's very kind of you," Malfoy said, and Ann made a surprised sound as Malfoy deliberately stepped on her foot as he walked past her, smiling at her angelically.
"Hello, Ms Nicholson, how may I help you today?" he said pleasantly.
"This damned shipment," the woman snarled, and thrust a piece of paper at Malfoy. He took it and read it over, politely mhm'ing whenever the woman paused in her diatribes at the store and its employees. Harry's eyebrows climbed up to his hairline as the woman hissed viciously at the incompetence of everybody involved in her order.
"Ma'am, I am fairly sure you did request these three-"
"Don't be a complete imbecile, I did not such thing - what use could I possibly have for vegetarian cookbooks?"
"I've no idea," he replied pleasantly, "I just remember the publisher's name-"
"Well if you had paid any attention you would know that my boutique does not deal with that kind of cuisine. We deal strictly in cordon bleu tools and literature; this is... this is peasant fare!"
"Mhm, yes, pheasants" Malfoy nodded, polite smile firmly in place.
She glared at him. "But I suppose it's a little too much to ask for you people to think once in a while."
"Probably," he agreed mildly. "We much prefer to work on autopilot. What would you like us to do about your order?"
"What am I supposed to do with these damned books that I never bloody well asked for?!"
"You could use them as door prizes during your functions," he said seriously.
"Door prizes? What kind of functions do you think we run?"
"Not... functions with door prizes?" he guessed.
The woman glared at him. "You think this is funny? Should I have a word with your manager about this?"
"That's an excellent idea," he said cheerfully, and handed her a card, "There's her number - or would you like me to have her call you instead? I'm sure she'd love to discuss this with you." The woman glared at him again, but turned on her heel and flounced out of the store. "Have a nice day," he called after her, turning back to the other sales clerk, who was now laughing.
"Fifty-six seconds, new record. Although Marcy's going to kill you for that 'love to discuss this with you' bit."
"If Marcy wants us to do business with that woman, she can bloody well talk to her," Malfoy snapped.
"I'm sure she'd rather. You know it took her weeks to calm Nicholson down that time that you called her yacht a 'little boat.'"
"Yeah, that was fun, I'd never actually heard anybody 'splutter' before," he smiled nostalgically. "Marcy should just be relieved I didn't tell Nicholson to roll up her order very small and stuff it nice and tight into her nice and tight ars - oh hello, sir," Malfoy said smoothly, catching sight of Harry, who'd started to chuckle. "Did you need any help today?"
Harry laughed at Malfoy's bland expression, and looked after the woman who'd just slammed herself into her very expensive car. Malfoy caught the direction of Harry's gaze and grinned, utterly unembarrassed as he realized Harry had overheard him badmouthing a customer.
"Yeah," Harry said, "Computer books, though, not kids' today."
"Joan's not here, she usually does the computer section, but I've filled in for her a few times. What kind of books were you looking for?"
***
"I can bring them back, if I still don't understand any of it?" Harry asked about half an hour later.
"Yeah, we've got a deal with the computer company. Just bring your receipt." Three computer books. He was damn well going to figure the machines out, enough to put some music on them. Malfoy had been fairly patient with his complete cluelessness on the subject, commenting only that he'd also had a mortal fear of the things before his girlfriend persuaded him they didn't bite.
Malfoy started to enter his purchases. "Interesting tattoos," Harry commented casually and Malfoy nodded, typing. "Where did you get them done?"
"London."
"They look rather... fierce."
Malfoy smiled briefly. "They're from my previous life," he said dryly, still concentrating on the records in front of him.
"Really? You're not secretly part of a criminal gang?"
Small chuckle. "No."
"Why did you get them done?"
"Young and stupid," he said lightly.
"Really?" Harry waited, and Malfoy glanced at him, realizing he was expecting more.
"Tattoos like this are living proof that tattoo parlours ought never to serve anyone who's young and intoxicated. Because at seventeen, you never think about the fact that some day you may want a job at a bank, and the tattoos will not help you get it."
Harry chuckled. "A bank?"
Malfoy gave a small laugh as he stapled together the invoice and receipt. "Oh, who am I kidding. I'd've died of boredom working at a bank."
"How long have you worked here?"
"Six... no, seven years. Nice job, getting paid to read and talk about books, which I'd be doing as a hobby anyway."
"And they don't care about the tattoos," Harry remarked.
"Not a bit. As long as I don't highlight the merchandise or tear out random pages too often, the boss is happy," he handed over Harry's bag.
"You probably would've made a good librarian."
"Heh, yeah, maybe. You have to go to college for that, though, and I'm not terribly keen on academia."
Harry nodded, putting his books into his bag. Not terribly keen on academia, said the man who'd consistently come in first in their year in Potions, second, after Hermione, in Arithmancy and Runes, and near the top in many of his other classes.
"Well, thanks," Harry took it and started off.
"Have a good weekend, sir," Malfoy smiled and looked behind Harry at the next customer, a woman carrying a small pile of quilting books. "Hello Mrs. Andrews, will that be all today?"
"Yes, thanks Dave," she put her books down and took out her wallet, searching for her Book Cellar card as Harry left.
***
And now here Harry was, back to Velleywold Village, and the interminable conference from Hell, which looked good to continue into another week. Not that Harry had anything better to do, but he was bored out of his mind with the speeches and useless frittering away of time. Did the Romanian dragon problem look like it needed Ministry intervention, or could the Romanians handle it on their own. Should part-Veela still need to be registered. Should the anti-discrimination laws about werewolves be updated or just enforced for once. Did it matter. What was enforcement, and why were they... he couldn't even remember what the topics were any more, and what his own position was on any of them.
"Do you even know any more, how you feel about any of it?" Hermione had asked him once.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A question I shouldn't have to ask."
"I don't have time for this-"
"No, neither do I."
"Hermione, come back here!"
Harry chewed on his quill thoughtfully, realizing he had no idea what the current speaker was talking about.
I'd have died of boredom working in a bank, Malfoy had said, dismissing the Mark on his arm as a simple reminder of foolish youth, never once looking at it directly.
It's so hard now, to think of her and see what she's become.
***
"How should I know?" Pansy Parkinson asked, looking rather put out that Harry had returned.
"Did he talk about it? Setting himself up in the Muggle world, doing an Obliviate spell so that he could live in the Muggle world with no memory of what he'd lost?"
"No, he didn't. Besides, wiping out his memory of magic? How would he explain memories of his family, his job - anything about his life?"
"At least three people wiped their entire memories, started over. No memory of their former life at all."
"Good lord, why would anybody want to do that?" she shuddered. "Mental suicide."
"You thought he might have committed suicide for real, though, at the time. Do you still think so?"
"I don't know, for god's sake, I wasn't privy to his inner mind, I was just a friend trying to help out."
"Why did he switch sides in the war?"
Pansy pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
"Do you know?"
"Yes, I know."
Harry waited.
"And it's none of your business."
"It might help to decide for once and for all whether he went back to the Death Eaters."
Pansy sighed and looked away.
"It might-"
"No, it wouldn't. Look, those of you who never accepted that he switched, never will. And it doesn't matter. It was fifteen years ago. Let it go."
"Doesn't it bother you that a friend of yours - somebody you were going to marry - is still thought of as a traitor?"
Pansy's eyebrows raised. "How did you know-"
"His letter to you."
"Oh, right." Pansy chewed on her lip. "We were mostly just friends. We just hadn't realized yet that high school romances should be left in high school."
"Is that why - are you still angry at him for leaving you, is that why you don't want to clear his name-"
"Oh, for god's sake, Potter. No, of course I'm not angry at him. Fifteen years later, I've got nothing better to do with my time than nurse a grudge over the one who got away?" She shook her head. "Look, I know why he switched, and it's none of your business, but believe me, there was no way he could have gone back to the Death Eaters even if there had been any to go back to. And the reason I don't care about his good name is that he's gone, whether dead, or living as a Muggle - with or without any memory of what he was before. For all intents and purposes, as far as the wizarding world is concerned, as far as I'm concerned, he's dead."
"But-"
"Potter," she sighed, "just let it go. Let the dead bury the dead."
***
Harry regarded the man in front of him as he ran the last set of books through the cash. There wasn't any point in this any more, there wasn't anything else to be learned from watching Malfoy's interactions with his coworkers or customers, there weren't any other leads to follow to figure out what the hell had happened to him - not unless Harry was willing to devote a hell of a lot more time to this, which he wasn't. The boredom and futility of his job and the rather empty slate of his personal life notwithstanding, he did have some semblance of a life, and this wasn't his problem.
He should just walk out of here. Yes, he'd seen Draco Malfoy. He was alive. He was a perfectly ordinary Muggle bookstore clerk. He'd either Obliviated his memory or done a damn good job blending in with the Muggles around him. And Harry had a life to return to.
Which was what he was going to do. He took the small stack of books as Malfoy finished with them, trying to remember the way to the library where he'd donated the last set. That was that. Malfoy handed him his receipt.
On impulse, he paused before putting the books into his bag. Now or never.
"Thanks... Malfoy," Harry said quietly, dropping his disguising spell.
The effect was electric. Malfoy froze, then blinked rapidly, then looked up at him, his face paler than usual. His eyes widened as he looked at Harry, and he swallowed hard. There was a very long pause.
"Potter," he said quietly.
- Chapter 1
- Previous Chapter: Chapter 2a
- Next Chapter: Chapter 3a
- Chapter 3b
- Chapter 4a
- Chapter 4b
- Chapter 5a
- Chapter 5b
"Pansy Parkinson?" Harry said tentatively. The thin, angular woman standing in the doorway before him, hair pulled back severely and mouth pursed tightly, did not look like the sly Slytherin girl he'd known at school. This woman bore an uncanny similarity to Madam Pince, the draconian Hogwarts librarian. Same air of severe competence and suspicion.
"Harry Potter," Pansy said neutrally. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I um... I wanted to get some information from you."
"About?"
"Draco Malfoy." Harry watched her eyes widen in genuine surprise.
"Draco? Whatever for?"
"I, er... I'm trying to figure out what happened to him, because he, he was sighted a few weeks ago, and I'm trying to figure out if that was him."
Pansy's severe features relaxed into amused condescension. "Well, if that isn't just like the Ministry. Don't give a damn about a person while they should, and come back to the subject fifteen years later when it makes no difference whatsoever. Nice assignment you've pulled, Potter."
Harry didn't bother to correct her assumption. She sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Potter, I don't know anything about Draco that I didn't tell the Ministry fifteen years ago. I told them what I knew - he was here for a little while, then buggered off and I never saw him again. I read the same bizarre little stories in the Quibbler that everyone else did, and I never believed any of it."
"This sighting looks to be genuine."
Pansy laughed bitterly. "Of course it does. Look, I don't have time to play Thirteen Questions for the Ministry. I hope you didn't inconvenience yourself too much coming all the way out here, but-"
"I only want to hear from you what happened - how long he stayed, how did he behave, where did he say he was going-"
"Three weeks, fine, and he didn't. Have a nice day-" Pansy started to close the door but Harry stopped her.
"You told the Ministry he'd only stayed a few days."
"Days, weeks, what does it matter? He stayed, he left. I think he died. Fifteen years ago."
"Pansy-"
"Look, I didn't like talking about him then and I don't want to talk about him now. I tried very hard to leave the war behind me, Potter. Many of us on the losing side did."
Harry frowned. "I thought you'd switched sides. You and Malfoy."
"We saw what a lunatic Voldemort was," she snapped, "but that doesn't mean we wanted to side with the rest of you. No matter who won, we lost." She stopped herself and pursed her lips again. "Look, Potter, I know you're probably under orders from the Ministry to leave no stone unturned but honestly, I have no information to give you, even if I wanted to-" she suddenly broke off and seemed to be thinking about something. "Wait. I do have something - my sister Juniper died last summer-"
"Oh, I'm sorry-" Harry murmured automatically, "I didn't-"
"-and I went to tidy her things and found a slew of letters from me to her, from the war. I doubt there's much there that you could use, but I've no earthly use for them. Why don't you take them?"
"Oh. Oh, yes, that would be-"
"Here, wait a minute - I was just going through the boxes last week - wait a moment," Pansy went into her house and left him standing at the door for a few moments, listening to her moving about. "Here," she came back, hidden behind a couple of large boxes. "Do a lighten spell. They're full of papers and such and they're bloody heavy."
"Harry?" Emma Sprout popped into Harry's London office the next day.
"Yeah?"
"A few of us are going down to the Broomsticks for a beer, are you coming?"
"No thanks, too busy."
"All work and no play, Harry," Emma chided.
"I know, I know."
"When are you going to get out and relax?" she said. "You've been going back and forth, Velleywold to here... you look like you need a good drunk."
"I need to get drunk, or I need to meet a drunk?"
"Either or both, darling. You look peaked."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, aren't you always," Emma sighed, giving up. "Fine."
Harry waved as she and the rest of the London staff headed out, and he looked over the piles of work before him.
On one side of the desk were the reports of the Committee on the Re-evaluation of Registration and Administration of Magical Creatures and Magical Beasts. On the other side were Pansy's letters, which he'd sorted by date before reading. He started with the one dated the closest to the end of the war.
------------------
Dear Juniper:
Sorry I haven't written much lately, this stupid war. I suppose you've heard of Draco by now. Well he's staying with me. I think I'm not supposed to say anything about him being here, but I'm sure he didn't mean that with regards to you.
He's acting very odd. Draco, that is. He's been awfully quiet, and he hasn't spoken at all about It. That's how I think of it now - It. But then something will come up and it's so awkward. Yesterday it was asking him to floo down to the store, and I just wasn't thinking - but he didn't say anything, just stared at me until I remembered, even though I'd started yelling at him that he wasn't the spoiled Malfoy heir any more and I didn't have house-elves to help me out at home and a lot of other garbage. A simple "I can't, Pansy" would have sufficed. Honestly, men. And I mean, you remember what he was like as a child, he'd make a biggest fuss out of the slightest injury - when that Hippogriff scratched him at school you would've thought it took both arms off for all the bother he made - but then this 'It' happens and he's just silent about it. I ask him how he's feeling, and he just shrugs.
This stupid, stupid war. I hate it.
How's Francis doing? Is he back from Bulgaria? Don't tell me if it's a secret, obviously, but I'd like to know. I can't stand how this keeps ripping apart all the best families. I found myself wishing I were a bloody Weasley the other day, as they're all on the same side, at least. With us you can never tell who's where any given day of the week.
Made myself sick at that last thought, by the way. Me, a Weasley. Bad enough that I'm on their side; I certainly have no wish to emulate them...
------------------
Harry chuckled and scanned ahead, skipping a long description of a party that followed the Weasley reference.
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Found out the oddest thing the other day - did you know we must have different taste buds than Muggles? Yesterday Draco nearly spat out a mouthful of perfectly good pumpkin juice. Made a face at it and asked if it had gone bad, which it hadn't, it tasted fine to me. He had it at breakfast every morning for seven years, but he can't stand it now, says it tastes quite bland and foul. Honestly, he'll be bringing Orange juice or some such Mudblood concoction into my home next. Mother would've been scandalised.
She'd be scandalised if she could see what else he's drinking these days, and how much. You know him - barring a few rather wild nights after the OWLs and NEWTs, he hated that kind of thing, and not just because Lucius would've killed him if he'd done anything stupid while drunk; Draco just didn't like the feeling of lack of control. Well now it looks like he's decided there's no reason not to get disgracefully drunk on a regular basis. Not that he's doing anything disgraceful, although I almost wish he would. All he's doing is drinking till he falls asleep or passes out, whatever you want to call it.
He will get better, won't he? I keep thinking of those awful articles from that Crede woman. The worst of it is, Draco said he'd read them - before that night, as a matter of fact. He knew, damn him. Why didn't he just let somebody else take out Blaise?
I hate this bloody war...
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Harry skipped ahead as Pansy's letter turned into a long diatribe against the Order. He started to skim through another one.
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...so glad you said Francis is playing Quidditch again. He must be feeling better.
Oh, god, Quidditch, Juniper. Another awkward moment, the other day I thought we might take in a game - the Magpies were playing. He just said No very brusquely and then I realized. He'll never play Quidditch again. I can't bear the thought. That's just... it's so horrible.
And then I read in the Prophet yesterday that the Sainted and Beloved Harry Bloody Potter played a game for the Cannons and probably every simpering witch in the stands tossed her pants at him - it's disgusting. Draco is grounded for the rest of his life, and the bleeding Wanker Who Lived is flying higher than ever. He wouldn't even be alive right now if Draco hadn't taken out Blaise that night. Not that anybody gives a damn, especially Potter.
------------------
Harry swallowed hard. He hadn't. Given a damn, that was. He still remembered that game, remembered what a relief it had been to fly again, because during the war, after too many players had been blasted out of the sky, Quidditch had been ruled too risky and all games had been cancelled.
He'd been relieved and happy. Never stopped to think of the people who would never fly again.
No, that wasn't true. He'd stopped to think. He'd cared. He just couldn't seem to care for the right people at the right time, and certainly not as much they had needed him to care. What was it Hermione had flung at him, near the end?
"Harry Bloody Potter, the Great Hero. The Wanker Who Lived," yes, she'd said that too, only it had hurt a lot more coming from Hermione Granger than from Pansy Parkinson. "I'm sick of it - it's all you, you, you, like the rest of us never did a damn thing. Like Ron and other people didn't lose anything."
"That's not fair-"
"Oh, you never give interviews, you never let the Ministry parade you around as their trophy, just when we're supposed to be taking Molly to Ginny's grave and deal with Ron and-"
"That's not my fault! I'm trying, with Ron and them, but-"
"But you just don't have anything left to give to the rest of us after your adoring public is done with you."
He picked up the next letter in the pile.
------------------
Dear Juniper:
No news of Draco. He's all right, isn't he? He would've called or something, if he were in trouble? Though how, I don't know.
There's been another bloody sighting in the Quibbler. In a Muggle "super"-market, of all places. Not bloody likely. He'd be eating in a fancy restaurant if he was doing anything in the Muggle world, he'd be utterly lost in one of their markets.
He's probably just lit out for Australia or something. I hope so, anyway.
There's rumours, did you know, that he's gone back to the Death Eaters. Another stupid article about Harry Bloody Potter, and nothing but sightings in "super"-markets and rumours of betrayal for Draco. It's a good thing he's not around to see this.
I think he's probably dead. You know that article on Enmagio, a lot of people commit suicide. And he was drinking so much. Who knows, he probably got drunk and walked off a bridge. I've read and re-read his letter and can't decide what's probably happened. You read it, and tell me what you think.
I just don't understand what's happened to him, what's the matter with him or how to help him.
------------------
"What's happened to you? What's the matter with you?" Hermione had asked too. And "How can I help?" they had asked each other. For all the good it had done them.
------------------
I keep thinking, even if he's not dead, he is, really. The boy I knew is just gone, and I have no idea who's taken his place, but he doesn't have the same sense of humour, the same spirit, the same anything. You know what he was like at school, he'd drive the Gryffindors mental and have us all in stitches imitating the professors in the common room. There's nothing of that left now.
Oh, I've got to stop worrying about him. I can't take this any more.
Did you know Millicent is getting married?
------------------
"I can't take this any more, Harry," Hermione had said, right around the same time that this letter was dated. Harry blocked that train of thought quickly, picking up another letter. This one, oddly, was apparently from Juniper to Pansy, and it looked half-written, like it hadn't been sent.
------------------
Dear P:
This stupid war. I saw the Quibbler too. And you're still clinging to the pre-war Draco, darling. He learned to forage in the forest during the war; he can certainly handle a supermarket.
About his letter, I don't know. Somehow it doesn't sound like Draco, that he would go Muggle, but then again, what else could he do? Can you imagine living like that in our world? I certainly can't.
Francis says to tell you he's doing all right and not in the tub any more - he said you'd know what that meant...
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Harry picked up another letter, different writing. A shiver went down his back as he read it.
------------------
Dear Pansy:
Well, you're probably figured out by now that I've gone out for sugar quills and pumpkin juice and I'm not coming back. Sorry to be a little abrupt about this, but I didn't want a big scene.
Don't know when or if I'll come back. We'll see, I suppose. This letter probably won't make much sense - I'm more than a little drunk, and using a bloody Muggle pen to write this. They're impossible.
Thanks for letting me stay at your house, bother that I was. I'm sorry about that tea set, I know it meant a lot to you. Thanks also for your tact regarding our engagement and I'll save you the social awkwardness by calling it off myself. Oh and if anybody asks, just tell them that I was here for a day or two, then moved off and you don't know where. And don't worry, I'll be all right. Hope you're all right too.
Thanks, Pansy. I love you,
Draco
------------------
Pansy and Draco Malfoy - engaged? Harry was somewhat stunned. No wonder Pansy didn't want to talk about him, if he'd up and left her with nothing but a drunken note and a lot of unanswered questions.
There had been so much leaving at that time. So many friendships and romances that had survived the war, only to fall apart during the peace.
Harry tossed the letters aside, suddenly sick of the whole thing.
The Book Cellar was busy the next day when Harry entered, but this time he really was just hoping to find some computer books. Anything to get away from the idiocy of this interminable Velleywold conference. He perused the shelves a bit, but looked up as the door opened and one of the female sales clerks groaned.
"Oh, it's our most favourite person in the whole entire world," she muttered, and Harry heard an answering tsk of annoyance from Malfoy. Both were staring at the front door, where a relatively attractive older woman with a murderous expression on her face was stalking in.
"Dave, your turn."
"What? No! I - I got her last time," Malfoy said.
"Monday?"
"Half a bloody hour she had me running back and forth-"
"She came back in Wednesday. I had the pleasure."
"Hell," Malfoy muttered.
"So," the other clerk said brightly, "Have fun, mate, she's all yours."
"Thanks, Ann, that's very kind of you," Malfoy said, and Ann made a surprised sound as Malfoy deliberately stepped on her foot as he walked past her, smiling at her angelically.
"Hello, Ms Nicholson, how may I help you today?" he said pleasantly.
"This damned shipment," the woman snarled, and thrust a piece of paper at Malfoy. He took it and read it over, politely mhm'ing whenever the woman paused in her diatribes at the store and its employees. Harry's eyebrows climbed up to his hairline as the woman hissed viciously at the incompetence of everybody involved in her order.
"Ma'am, I am fairly sure you did request these three-"
"Don't be a complete imbecile, I did not such thing - what use could I possibly have for vegetarian cookbooks?"
"I've no idea," he replied pleasantly, "I just remember the publisher's name-"
"Well if you had paid any attention you would know that my boutique does not deal with that kind of cuisine. We deal strictly in cordon bleu tools and literature; this is... this is peasant fare!"
"Mhm, yes, pheasants" Malfoy nodded, polite smile firmly in place.
She glared at him. "But I suppose it's a little too much to ask for you people to think once in a while."
"Probably," he agreed mildly. "We much prefer to work on autopilot. What would you like us to do about your order?"
"What am I supposed to do with these damned books that I never bloody well asked for?!"
"You could use them as door prizes during your functions," he said seriously.
"Door prizes? What kind of functions do you think we run?"
"Not... functions with door prizes?" he guessed.
The woman glared at him. "You think this is funny? Should I have a word with your manager about this?"
"That's an excellent idea," he said cheerfully, and handed her a card, "There's her number - or would you like me to have her call you instead? I'm sure she'd love to discuss this with you." The woman glared at him again, but turned on her heel and flounced out of the store. "Have a nice day," he called after her, turning back to the other sales clerk, who was now laughing.
"Fifty-six seconds, new record. Although Marcy's going to kill you for that 'love to discuss this with you' bit."
"If Marcy wants us to do business with that woman, she can bloody well talk to her," Malfoy snapped.
"I'm sure she'd rather. You know it took her weeks to calm Nicholson down that time that you called her yacht a 'little boat.'"
"Yeah, that was fun, I'd never actually heard anybody 'splutter' before," he smiled nostalgically. "Marcy should just be relieved I didn't tell Nicholson to roll up her order very small and stuff it nice and tight into her nice and tight ars - oh hello, sir," Malfoy said smoothly, catching sight of Harry, who'd started to chuckle. "Did you need any help today?"
Harry laughed at Malfoy's bland expression, and looked after the woman who'd just slammed herself into her very expensive car. Malfoy caught the direction of Harry's gaze and grinned, utterly unembarrassed as he realized Harry had overheard him badmouthing a customer.
"Yeah," Harry said, "Computer books, though, not kids' today."
"Joan's not here, she usually does the computer section, but I've filled in for her a few times. What kind of books were you looking for?"
"I can bring them back, if I still don't understand any of it?" Harry asked about half an hour later.
"Yeah, we've got a deal with the computer company. Just bring your receipt." Three computer books. He was damn well going to figure the machines out, enough to put some music on them. Malfoy had been fairly patient with his complete cluelessness on the subject, commenting only that he'd also had a mortal fear of the things before his girlfriend persuaded him they didn't bite.
Malfoy started to enter his purchases. "Interesting tattoos," Harry commented casually and Malfoy nodded, typing. "Where did you get them done?"
"London."
"They look rather... fierce."
Malfoy smiled briefly. "They're from my previous life," he said dryly, still concentrating on the records in front of him.
"Really? You're not secretly part of a criminal gang?"
Small chuckle. "No."
"Why did you get them done?"
"Young and stupid," he said lightly.
"Really?" Harry waited, and Malfoy glanced at him, realizing he was expecting more.
"Tattoos like this are living proof that tattoo parlours ought never to serve anyone who's young and intoxicated. Because at seventeen, you never think about the fact that some day you may want a job at a bank, and the tattoos will not help you get it."
Harry chuckled. "A bank?"
Malfoy gave a small laugh as he stapled together the invoice and receipt. "Oh, who am I kidding. I'd've died of boredom working at a bank."
"How long have you worked here?"
"Six... no, seven years. Nice job, getting paid to read and talk about books, which I'd be doing as a hobby anyway."
"And they don't care about the tattoos," Harry remarked.
"Not a bit. As long as I don't highlight the merchandise or tear out random pages too often, the boss is happy," he handed over Harry's bag.
"You probably would've made a good librarian."
"Heh, yeah, maybe. You have to go to college for that, though, and I'm not terribly keen on academia."
Harry nodded, putting his books into his bag. Not terribly keen on academia, said the man who'd consistently come in first in their year in Potions, second, after Hermione, in Arithmancy and Runes, and near the top in many of his other classes.
"Well, thanks," Harry took it and started off.
"Have a good weekend, sir," Malfoy smiled and looked behind Harry at the next customer, a woman carrying a small pile of quilting books. "Hello Mrs. Andrews, will that be all today?"
"Yes, thanks Dave," she put her books down and took out her wallet, searching for her Book Cellar card as Harry left.
And now here Harry was, back to Velleywold Village, and the interminable conference from Hell, which looked good to continue into another week. Not that Harry had anything better to do, but he was bored out of his mind with the speeches and useless frittering away of time. Did the Romanian dragon problem look like it needed Ministry intervention, or could the Romanians handle it on their own. Should part-Veela still need to be registered. Should the anti-discrimination laws about werewolves be updated or just enforced for once. Did it matter. What was enforcement, and why were they... he couldn't even remember what the topics were any more, and what his own position was on any of them.
"Do you even know any more, how you feel about any of it?" Hermione had asked him once.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A question I shouldn't have to ask."
"I don't have time for this-"
"No, neither do I."
"Hermione, come back here!"
Harry chewed on his quill thoughtfully, realizing he had no idea what the current speaker was talking about.
I'd have died of boredom working in a bank, Malfoy had said, dismissing the Mark on his arm as a simple reminder of foolish youth, never once looking at it directly.
It's so hard now, to think of her and see what she's become.
"How should I know?" Pansy Parkinson asked, looking rather put out that Harry had returned.
"Did he talk about it? Setting himself up in the Muggle world, doing an Obliviate spell so that he could live in the Muggle world with no memory of what he'd lost?"
"No, he didn't. Besides, wiping out his memory of magic? How would he explain memories of his family, his job - anything about his life?"
"At least three people wiped their entire memories, started over. No memory of their former life at all."
"Good lord, why would anybody want to do that?" she shuddered. "Mental suicide."
"You thought he might have committed suicide for real, though, at the time. Do you still think so?"
"I don't know, for god's sake, I wasn't privy to his inner mind, I was just a friend trying to help out."
"Why did he switch sides in the war?"
Pansy pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
"Do you know?"
"Yes, I know."
Harry waited.
"And it's none of your business."
"It might help to decide for once and for all whether he went back to the Death Eaters."
Pansy sighed and looked away.
"It might-"
"No, it wouldn't. Look, those of you who never accepted that he switched, never will. And it doesn't matter. It was fifteen years ago. Let it go."
"Doesn't it bother you that a friend of yours - somebody you were going to marry - is still thought of as a traitor?"
Pansy's eyebrows raised. "How did you know-"
"His letter to you."
"Oh, right." Pansy chewed on her lip. "We were mostly just friends. We just hadn't realized yet that high school romances should be left in high school."
"Is that why - are you still angry at him for leaving you, is that why you don't want to clear his name-"
"Oh, for god's sake, Potter. No, of course I'm not angry at him. Fifteen years later, I've got nothing better to do with my time than nurse a grudge over the one who got away?" She shook her head. "Look, I know why he switched, and it's none of your business, but believe me, there was no way he could have gone back to the Death Eaters even if there had been any to go back to. And the reason I don't care about his good name is that he's gone, whether dead, or living as a Muggle - with or without any memory of what he was before. For all intents and purposes, as far as the wizarding world is concerned, as far as I'm concerned, he's dead."
"But-"
"Potter," she sighed, "just let it go. Let the dead bury the dead."
Harry regarded the man in front of him as he ran the last set of books through the cash. There wasn't any point in this any more, there wasn't anything else to be learned from watching Malfoy's interactions with his coworkers or customers, there weren't any other leads to follow to figure out what the hell had happened to him - not unless Harry was willing to devote a hell of a lot more time to this, which he wasn't. The boredom and futility of his job and the rather empty slate of his personal life notwithstanding, he did have some semblance of a life, and this wasn't his problem.
He should just walk out of here. Yes, he'd seen Draco Malfoy. He was alive. He was a perfectly ordinary Muggle bookstore clerk. He'd either Obliviated his memory or done a damn good job blending in with the Muggles around him. And Harry had a life to return to.
Which was what he was going to do. He took the small stack of books as Malfoy finished with them, trying to remember the way to the library where he'd donated the last set. That was that. Malfoy handed him his receipt.
On impulse, he paused before putting the books into his bag. Now or never.
"Thanks... Malfoy," Harry said quietly, dropping his disguising spell.
The effect was electric. Malfoy froze, then blinked rapidly, then looked up at him, his face paler than usual. His eyes widened as he looked at Harry, and he swallowed hard. There was a very long pause.
"Potter," he said quietly.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-06-18 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 12:51 am (UTC)Starstruck (http://wibberley.blogspot.com//)
no subject
Date: 2005-06-19 06:21 pm (UTC)But I'll go back and take a look at the first chapter and think about renaming him in the second chapter anyway.
Thanks :) :)
no subject
Date: 2005-06-24 02:14 pm (UTC)