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ciroccojAnd on to Part B, and the end of the line:
Chapter 5b - Seeds Of Time
"I'm dropping the investigation into what happened with the three Muggles," Harry said without preamble three days later. They'd barely sat down at the café. Malfoy looked startled.
"What?"
"I won't follow it any further. You... you've paid enough for what you did. More than enough. And those children... nothing will bring them back, or give them justice. All that'll happen is that you'll lose even more, and so will your family."
Malfoy stared at him blankly. "Just like that? You're dropping it?"
"Yeah."
"You believed me?"
"Not entirely. I went back and looked through your financial records." Malfoy half-smiled at him with a bemused expression, as though approving of the fact that Harry had mistrusted him enough to verify his story. "I found the money you sent to a Muggle woman named Jennifer Kalle. There's no record of her death, by the way. I couldn't find any other records of her-"
"She was supposed to run and hide herself and - and her child."
"Your daughter Sharon," Harry said gently. He answered Malfoy's unspoken question. "I talked to Pansy. She confirmed everything. Even knew their names."
"So that's it?"
"Yeah, that's it. Your file is closed."
Malfoy let out his breath, leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. Harry noted the slight tremble in his hands, the way his whole body seemed to relax from the taut tension Harry had noted in him at The Book Cellar today, even before Malfoy had seen him.
Malfoy finally raised his head. "Thank you," he said, his voice only slightly unsteady.
"You're welcome."
"What - I mean, why-"
"Celsus Green. He... he pointed out a few things I needed to think about. So I thought about them."
Malfoy was slowly regaining his equilibrium and Harry wondered briefly what the last few days had been like for him, not knowing what Harry would do. Not knowing whether everything he cared about would be snatched away from him again.
Harry fiddled with his coffee cup for a moment, then blurted out, "I, I brought you pictures."
"What?"
"You said you left with nothing. Did you have any pictures? Of your family, your friends?"
"Er - no."
"Do you want them?"
Malfoy was staring at him, utterly off-balance, as Harry placed an envelope on the table. "I'm, I'm sorry, it honestly didn't occur to me to bring any before. And I'd been looking through files on your activities with the Death Eaters, so I'd seen plenty of pictures of the people you knew. It never occurred to me that you might not have any of your own."
Malfoy slowly reached for the envelope, taking out the dozen or so pictures Harry had had copied. His eyes fell upon the first picture and he looked upon his mother's face for the first time in fifteen years, and his breath caught. He gazed at the picture for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face, then he smiled slightly and slid the rest back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into his pocket.
"Thank you. Again."
"Malfoy... there's something else." Harry quickly put out his hand as Malfoy tensed up automatically. "No, it's nothing bad, trust me. It's - it's good, actually."
"What?"
"You know I talked to Zabini. He told me everything that happened, laughed at me because he thought you and everybody else who had anything to do with the Muggle murders was dead, and there was nothing I could do about any of it." Harry took a deep breath. "And then he said it was too bad you had left our world or killed yourself or whatever, instead of staying a few years longer."
Malfoy frowned. "Why?"
"You weren't the only one to lose your magic, you know the Death Eaters were using Enmagio on a lot of people." Malfoy nodded. "Well, not all of the survivors were content to live as Squibs. Some of the wealthier ones and their families set a group of people to find a counter-spell."
"There is no counter-spell."
"There wasn't. It's been fifteen years. They made one."
Malfoy stared at him.
"You could come back, Malfoy. You could have magic agai-"
"No."
Harry stopped, unprepared for the vehement tone in Malfoy's voice. "...no?"
"No."
"But-"
"Look, I don't think we have anything to discuss. Thanks for - for what you did, and for the pictures, but I, I have to get back to the store." He stood up quickly.
"What? Wait-"
"No, I-"
"Look, I know this is a lot to-"
"Do you mind?" Malfoy said between gritted teeth. "Some of us have to work for a living here. I haven't been much use at the store the last few days, I've got to get caught up," he started towards the door.
Harry gaped at him, utterly thrown by the lightning-fast change in Malfoy's demeanor. "Er... fine. But think about it. I'm, I'm done at Velleywold, but I can come back same time, next week-"
"No, don't bother," Malfoy tossed over his shoulder, and the café door swung shut behind him.
8888888888
Harry's gossip weed was swaying softly to the sounds of the WWN drama program, which featured excerpts from Macbeth, The Crucible, and Three Sovereigns For Sarah. All Muggle plays, with witchcraft or witches as the subjects or as major players.
I danced for the Devil; I saw him, I wrote in his book
The weed's butter-yellow had deepened to a rich tawny gold, and it was giving off a faint smell of cinnamon, radiating happiness while WWN droned on about witches who weren't really witches. Muggle imagination couldn't hold a candle to the reality of witchcraft, good or bad: gossip weeds, the enchanted nighttime sky that twinkled over Harry's flat, Quidditch...
Who would willingly pass all of that up? For a bookstore and football and computers? Not to mention putting up with disdainful wealthy customers and brainless superiors?
Three sovereigns, one for each golden life lost
Well... somebody who was punishing himself might.
Harry's mind had replayed for him, over and over, Malfoy's mocking "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry for what I did? That I was violently ill afterwards, or, or that I cried every night for years?" But there had to be a reason Malfoy had fallen so far down after the war. A reason beyond just feeling sorry for himself for losing his magic or family or friends or social position.
Although, now that Harry thought about it, all of that would be enough to make a lot of people fall a lot farther than Malfoy had.
But maybe Malfoy had also been dealing with deep guilt. For the death of a daughter he'd never known, a family he'd betrayed, ideals that had failed him, as well as those "poor, poor children dying in pain and scared senseless" and the rest of his victims. And maybe after the worst of his guilt was expiated by prison and addiction, he'd decided that the Muggle world was a fitting life-long punishment.
What had he said? "I did the crime, I'll do the time," and he really seemed to mean it. Maybe having that potential short-term sentence lifted, and almost immediately being given the chance to lift the life sentence he'd become accustomed to, had been too much to take in all at once.
In which case, he probably just needed time to think it over. The time that Harry had taken, after talking to Celsus. Time to think, not just about the undeniable horror of what Malfoy had done, but about the mitigating factors in play at the time. Pain, loss, grief, drug addiction, alcohol, and essentially being held captive by Andrew Zabini. Not excuses, certainly, but definitely food for thought. Because in the same situation, what would anybody do?
You are God's instrument put in our hands to discover the devil's agents among us
"If you're going to condemn him, bloody well do it for the right reasons, and not because you're angry at him for doing what you've never been able to do," Celsus had said, and he'd been right about the first part of that, at least. He had to condemn or forgive Malfoy for the right reasons. And the fact that so many others were dead or still suffering, and Malfoy was not, was just not good enough.
As for condemning him because he was angry at Malfoy for moving on, when Harry himself hadn't... well. Celsus was a wise man, but he didn't know everything.
"Look at this bloody cafeteria and look at your office and your lovely flat," Celsus had said, and Harry looked around his comfortable, spacious living room, with its warm fireplace and enchanted ceiling. Not a bad place. He doubted Malfoy's could hold a candle to it. On the salary of a bookstore clerk and a waitress? Not likely.
"Ask yourself why in hell you're still doing what you're doing," Celsus had also said. "Why you're still the great and exalted Harry Potter, doing what everybody expects you to do. Why you're still punishing yourself."
Harry shook his head, grimly dismissing Celsus' words. He wasn't punishing himself. Living up to expectations was not punishing himself. Besides, Malfoy had reasons to punish himself. Harry didn't.
There be no blush about my name, said the WWN, and the gossip weed swayed in time with the words.
Harry had attended, of course, those lectures on mental health that the Ministry had sponsored right after the war. Talking about psychological maladies and urging that people "look into themselves to heal their wounds of war" - tripe, as Malfoy had labelled that kind of thing. He'd dutifully listened to the lectures on Survivor Guilt. Accepted that the way he felt was normal and natural, and that many other survivors felt that way too. Of course they did; there was no shortage of people to mourn. An endless array of Ginny Weasleys and Ron Weasleys and Seamus Finnigans and Vincent Crabbes and Draco Malfoys. People who were dead, imprisoned, missing, insane, maimed. Reaching out to those who'd escaped more or less unscathed, and weighing them down with guilt and a sense of undeserved good fortune.
If you can look into the seeds of time/And say which grain will grow and which will not/Speak then to me
So Harry had done what he could to deal with it. Dutifully taken cheering potions and listened to a few motivational speeches that would've made his gossip weed quite happy if he'd had it at the time. And he'd made sure he lived his life in a way that would minimize his survivor guilt. Because the best way to make other's sacrifices not be in vain was to not squander the life they'd bought for him.
He hadn't squandered it. He had done good and important things with his life. He might not enjoy his job all that much, but he did it because it needed to be done and he needed to feel useful, to know that he was doing the right thing. What was it Celsus had said about Emma? That she had a purpose to her life and, a place where she belonged? Well, so did Harry.
It was just too bad that Celsus couldn't see that. Celsus probably thought Harry should surround himself with friends, or quit his job, or get married and start a family, or spend some time "healing old wounds". Contacting Molly Weasley, for instance. Or Remus Lupin, or Hermione Granger. All things he had no time or need to do.
I have bought/Golden opinions from all sorts of people
Celsus could bloody well keep his opinions to himself, Harry thought impatiently, and turned the WWN off.
8888888888
Malfoy was deep in conversation with a customer in the Mystery section when Harry walked into The Book Cellar, but he acknowledged Harry's entrance with a quick smile and an 'I'll be with you in five minutes' gesture. Harry perused the shelves, his interest caught by the bizarre book covers in the Music section.
"Ted, I'm going on break, right? Cover?" Malfoy said, and was answered by a grunt from a clerk Harry couldn't see. He turned as Malfoy walked towards him, gesturing for them to go to the café.
"Dave, where's the invoice for the Penguin shipment?" asked a harried-looking woman. "They forgot to-"
"I cleared it already, it's all in the log."
"Oh god thank you. Hello," the woman said to Harry, "Are you Dave's brother-in-law-to-be, then?"
"No," Malfoy chuckled, "Alan came by already today, you missed him again. This is Potter, we went to school together."
"You went to school?" she teased him, and he nodded.
"Very exclusive private boarding school," he said seriously, and she laughed. Harry smiled, amused, as they left the store.
"Jason, cappuccino please?" Malfoy called out, and Harry nodded for the same.
"So, did you think about it?" he finally asked as they sat down.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"My answer's the same, Potter. It's not going to change."
"What?" Harry was honestly floored.
"I've worked for fifteen years to make a life for myself here," he said simply. "This is where I belong."
"This? You belong here? You're happy to sweep the store and bring in boxes and talk about young adult novels?"
Malfoy smiled, amused and not offended in the slightest. "You really don't understand, do you?"
"Understand what? You could-"
"The wizarding world was an escape for you, from your miserable Muggle childhood. That's what the Muggle world is to me."
"This is an escape?"
"Yeah."
Harry stared at him.
"I didn't need a week to think about it." Harry opened his mouth and Malfoy cut him off. "Don't worry, I did think about it, but I really didn't need to."
"But you, you... how can you say you prefer this? You were... you were a Malfoy, you had house elves and the world at your feet-"
"Oh, has Malfoy Manor been rebuilt in my absence? Because last I saw, it was an impressive pile of rubble with rather a lot of Ministry types wondering how they were going to hide it from the Muggles in the morning."
"No, but-"
"And even if it had been rebuilt, I wouldn't want to go back to it."
"But you could be - you don't have to - look, you know I'm at the Ministry? I'm actually Deputy Minister, Malfoy. And Hermione Granger ended up Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Padma Patil is an Auror. Millicent Bulstrode-"
"What's Ron Weasley doing these days, Potter?" Malfoy asked quietly.
Harry fell silent.
"And Vincent Crabbe? And-"
"Yes, I get the point, thank you."
"And what would I go back to? A world where most of my friends and family died or ended up in disgrace? Why would I want to do that?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, only to find he had nothing to say.
"And where would that leave Jilly? You can't give her magic, can you?"
"No. But she-"
"She'd have to live as a Squib. She deserves better than that."
"You would give up the chance of getting your magic back, for her?"
"Not just for her. For me too." Harry opened his mouth and Malfoy continued. "Even if it was just for her, she'd be worth it." Harry frowned. "Maybe you can't understand that because you're not married-"
"No, I'm not. Not any more."
Malfoy frowned, thrown off-balance. "You were?"
"Yeah."
"Anyone I know?"
Harry took a deep breath, wishing that for once that he could think about her without bitterness and regret. "Hermione Granger."
Malfoy's eyes widened. "Granger? Good god."
"Yeah."
"I always thought she and Weasley-"
"Well, no."
"No, I suppose not," Malfoy said. "When - how long were-"
"Three years, off and on, around the end of the war."
"What... what happened?"
Harry was abruptly reminded of Pansy Parkinson's "We hadn't realized high school romances should be left in high school," and wished it had been that simple for himself and Hermione. He shrugged. "Who knows," he said shortly. "War. Peace. Ghosts. It doesn't matter."
"Do you still see her?"
"No. Divorce doesn't lend itself to friendship after the fact."
"But she was one of your closest friends."
"I take it you've never been divorced."
"No."
"Pray to keep it that way," Harry said grimly, then cleared his throat and looked away, unwilling to see the naked pity on Malfoy's face. "What... what will you do if your child is magical?"
"Not likely," Malfoy pointed out. "That curse was supposed to get to your blood; that was part of the horror of it for the precious purebloods, wasn't it?"
"But what if they are? Wizards are born to Muggles sometimes; what would you do?"
"Send them to Hogwarts, I suppose."
"And you would still stay here?"
"Yeah, I would."
"Malfoy-"
"That's not my name any more."
"Look-"
"My name is David Bergsen. That's who I am, it's who I've been for fifteen years. I work at a book store, and I live in a small flat with my girlfriend Jilly, and in my spare time I play football and read and babysit my niece and nephews. And Jilly and I are getting married and starting a family. And that's all good, Potter. It's a hell of a lot better than anything I ever had as Draco Malfoy."
"So you're just going to forget the first twenty-three years of your life?"
"I haven't forgotten my past. I can't forget - if nothing else, I see my tattoos every day of my life. But it's who I was, not who I am."
Harry was struck by the fact that he and Malfoy were probably the only two people who knew what those tattoos meant. To the world, they could be seen as mementos of a wild youth. Or perhaps the efforts of a young inmate trying to project toughness for self-preservation behind bars. Only Harry could see them as mute memorials to a man who had died, etched onto the skin of the man who'd taken his place.
A man who seemed quite content to have taken his place. Who actually seemed to like it here.
He sat back and sighed, giving in. "I can't believe you're-"
"Can't believe I'm rejecting your efforts to rescue me from this dismal life of mine?" Malfoy shook his head. "I think of the two of us, I'm not the one who needs rescuing the most."
Harry dropped his eyes and was silent for a long time. "Maybe."
"Did Celsus have anything to say about that?" Malfoy asked after a small pause.
"Yeah, actually, he did," Harry replied, a little startled by Malfoy's unexpected insight.
"Celsus never gave much advice," Malfoy said, almost gently, "But when he did, it was almost always a very good idea to at least think about it."
Harry nodded, and silence settled between them again.
"I guess there's not much else to say, then," Harry said finally.
"Not really."
Harry stood up and paid for both their coffees, murmuring, "No, it's on me," and they headed out of the café.
"Malf - er, Bergsen, I suppose," he said, stopping at the door.
Malfoy grinned in appreciation of his attempt at the name. "What?"
"Your hair and your eyes."
"Yeah?"
"How do you keep them that colour? Did somebody spell them for you before you left?"
Malfoy chuckled wryly. "I wish."
"So how-"
"It's not brain surgery, Potter, just contacts and colour."
"For fifteen years?"
"More like twelve, but yeah."
"Jilly knows?"
"Jilly knows I've got a sordid past. Probably figures there's a reason for it."
"I could spell them to stay that colour."
Malfoy smiled at him, amused. "Tell me how I'd explain that to Jilly."
"I suppose you couldn't, not with the eyes. But a lot of people's hair gets darker as they age."
Malfoy started to shake his head, then cocked his head to the side and looked at him. "All right, yeah."
"Really?"
"I've got nothing against magic. And it would save a few euros and a bit of time in the morning, hiding the roots, so why not?"
Harry glanced around the café. Nobody around. He slipped out his wand. He felt an odd pang of regret over what he was about to do, thinking of Malfoy's distinctive near-white hair. On both him and his father, it made them stand out in any crowd. It seemed so wrong to get rid of that forever, in favour of this nondescript mousy brown. But Malfoy was looking at him expectantly, not seeming to have any second thoughts about it. "Capilluscoloro," he said quickly, and tucked his wand away again.
Malfoy looked at him quizzically. "That's it?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"You just happen to know that spell off the top of your head?"
"I looked it up. I thought... I honestly thought you'd want to come back. But I figured, just in case..."
"Thanks." He touched his hair briefly, smiled slightly. "Doesn't feel any different."
"That's the point."
"Yeah." He opened the Book Cellar door. "I have to get back to-"
"Yeah, back to work, I know," Harry nodded, and then Malfoy hesitated for a moment, gazing at him thoughtfully.
"Potter?"
"Yeah?"
"Think about whatever it was Celsus said to you."
"Yeah. I will."
"And... thanks."
"You're welcome. I'll see you around."
"Yeah. I'll be here," Malfoy grinned and went into the bookstore. Harry stood thinking for a while, then turned back to Velleywold.
David Bergsen had found where he belonged. Maybe it was high time for Harry to do the same.
He stepped into the floo and headed for home.
"I'm dropping the investigation into what happened with the three Muggles," Harry said without preamble three days later. They'd barely sat down at the café. Malfoy looked startled.
"What?"
"I won't follow it any further. You... you've paid enough for what you did. More than enough. And those children... nothing will bring them back, or give them justice. All that'll happen is that you'll lose even more, and so will your family."
Malfoy stared at him blankly. "Just like that? You're dropping it?"
"Yeah."
"You believed me?"
"Not entirely. I went back and looked through your financial records." Malfoy half-smiled at him with a bemused expression, as though approving of the fact that Harry had mistrusted him enough to verify his story. "I found the money you sent to a Muggle woman named Jennifer Kalle. There's no record of her death, by the way. I couldn't find any other records of her-"
"She was supposed to run and hide herself and - and her child."
"Your daughter Sharon," Harry said gently. He answered Malfoy's unspoken question. "I talked to Pansy. She confirmed everything. Even knew their names."
"So that's it?"
"Yeah, that's it. Your file is closed."
Malfoy let out his breath, leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. Harry noted the slight tremble in his hands, the way his whole body seemed to relax from the taut tension Harry had noted in him at The Book Cellar today, even before Malfoy had seen him.
Malfoy finally raised his head. "Thank you," he said, his voice only slightly unsteady.
"You're welcome."
"What - I mean, why-"
"Celsus Green. He... he pointed out a few things I needed to think about. So I thought about them."
Malfoy was slowly regaining his equilibrium and Harry wondered briefly what the last few days had been like for him, not knowing what Harry would do. Not knowing whether everything he cared about would be snatched away from him again.
Harry fiddled with his coffee cup for a moment, then blurted out, "I, I brought you pictures."
"What?"
"You said you left with nothing. Did you have any pictures? Of your family, your friends?"
"Er - no."
"Do you want them?"
Malfoy was staring at him, utterly off-balance, as Harry placed an envelope on the table. "I'm, I'm sorry, it honestly didn't occur to me to bring any before. And I'd been looking through files on your activities with the Death Eaters, so I'd seen plenty of pictures of the people you knew. It never occurred to me that you might not have any of your own."
Malfoy slowly reached for the envelope, taking out the dozen or so pictures Harry had had copied. His eyes fell upon the first picture and he looked upon his mother's face for the first time in fifteen years, and his breath caught. He gazed at the picture for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face, then he smiled slightly and slid the rest back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into his pocket.
"Thank you. Again."
"Malfoy... there's something else." Harry quickly put out his hand as Malfoy tensed up automatically. "No, it's nothing bad, trust me. It's - it's good, actually."
"What?"
"You know I talked to Zabini. He told me everything that happened, laughed at me because he thought you and everybody else who had anything to do with the Muggle murders was dead, and there was nothing I could do about any of it." Harry took a deep breath. "And then he said it was too bad you had left our world or killed yourself or whatever, instead of staying a few years longer."
Malfoy frowned. "Why?"
"You weren't the only one to lose your magic, you know the Death Eaters were using Enmagio on a lot of people." Malfoy nodded. "Well, not all of the survivors were content to live as Squibs. Some of the wealthier ones and their families set a group of people to find a counter-spell."
"There is no counter-spell."
"There wasn't. It's been fifteen years. They made one."
Malfoy stared at him.
"You could come back, Malfoy. You could have magic agai-"
"No."
Harry stopped, unprepared for the vehement tone in Malfoy's voice. "...no?"
"No."
"But-"
"Look, I don't think we have anything to discuss. Thanks for - for what you did, and for the pictures, but I, I have to get back to the store." He stood up quickly.
"What? Wait-"
"No, I-"
"Look, I know this is a lot to-"
"Do you mind?" Malfoy said between gritted teeth. "Some of us have to work for a living here. I haven't been much use at the store the last few days, I've got to get caught up," he started towards the door.
Harry gaped at him, utterly thrown by the lightning-fast change in Malfoy's demeanor. "Er... fine. But think about it. I'm, I'm done at Velleywold, but I can come back same time, next week-"
"No, don't bother," Malfoy tossed over his shoulder, and the café door swung shut behind him.
Harry's gossip weed was swaying softly to the sounds of the WWN drama program, which featured excerpts from Macbeth, The Crucible, and Three Sovereigns For Sarah. All Muggle plays, with witchcraft or witches as the subjects or as major players.
I danced for the Devil; I saw him, I wrote in his book
The weed's butter-yellow had deepened to a rich tawny gold, and it was giving off a faint smell of cinnamon, radiating happiness while WWN droned on about witches who weren't really witches. Muggle imagination couldn't hold a candle to the reality of witchcraft, good or bad: gossip weeds, the enchanted nighttime sky that twinkled over Harry's flat, Quidditch...
Who would willingly pass all of that up? For a bookstore and football and computers? Not to mention putting up with disdainful wealthy customers and brainless superiors?
Three sovereigns, one for each golden life lost
Well... somebody who was punishing himself might.
Harry's mind had replayed for him, over and over, Malfoy's mocking "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry for what I did? That I was violently ill afterwards, or, or that I cried every night for years?" But there had to be a reason Malfoy had fallen so far down after the war. A reason beyond just feeling sorry for himself for losing his magic or family or friends or social position.
Although, now that Harry thought about it, all of that would be enough to make a lot of people fall a lot farther than Malfoy had.
But maybe Malfoy had also been dealing with deep guilt. For the death of a daughter he'd never known, a family he'd betrayed, ideals that had failed him, as well as those "poor, poor children dying in pain and scared senseless" and the rest of his victims. And maybe after the worst of his guilt was expiated by prison and addiction, he'd decided that the Muggle world was a fitting life-long punishment.
What had he said? "I did the crime, I'll do the time," and he really seemed to mean it. Maybe having that potential short-term sentence lifted, and almost immediately being given the chance to lift the life sentence he'd become accustomed to, had been too much to take in all at once.
In which case, he probably just needed time to think it over. The time that Harry had taken, after talking to Celsus. Time to think, not just about the undeniable horror of what Malfoy had done, but about the mitigating factors in play at the time. Pain, loss, grief, drug addiction, alcohol, and essentially being held captive by Andrew Zabini. Not excuses, certainly, but definitely food for thought. Because in the same situation, what would anybody do?
You are God's instrument put in our hands to discover the devil's agents among us
"If you're going to condemn him, bloody well do it for the right reasons, and not because you're angry at him for doing what you've never been able to do," Celsus had said, and he'd been right about the first part of that, at least. He had to condemn or forgive Malfoy for the right reasons. And the fact that so many others were dead or still suffering, and Malfoy was not, was just not good enough.
As for condemning him because he was angry at Malfoy for moving on, when Harry himself hadn't... well. Celsus was a wise man, but he didn't know everything.
"Look at this bloody cafeteria and look at your office and your lovely flat," Celsus had said, and Harry looked around his comfortable, spacious living room, with its warm fireplace and enchanted ceiling. Not a bad place. He doubted Malfoy's could hold a candle to it. On the salary of a bookstore clerk and a waitress? Not likely.
"Ask yourself why in hell you're still doing what you're doing," Celsus had also said. "Why you're still the great and exalted Harry Potter, doing what everybody expects you to do. Why you're still punishing yourself."
Harry shook his head, grimly dismissing Celsus' words. He wasn't punishing himself. Living up to expectations was not punishing himself. Besides, Malfoy had reasons to punish himself. Harry didn't.
There be no blush about my name, said the WWN, and the gossip weed swayed in time with the words.
Harry had attended, of course, those lectures on mental health that the Ministry had sponsored right after the war. Talking about psychological maladies and urging that people "look into themselves to heal their wounds of war" - tripe, as Malfoy had labelled that kind of thing. He'd dutifully listened to the lectures on Survivor Guilt. Accepted that the way he felt was normal and natural, and that many other survivors felt that way too. Of course they did; there was no shortage of people to mourn. An endless array of Ginny Weasleys and Ron Weasleys and Seamus Finnigans and Vincent Crabbes and Draco Malfoys. People who were dead, imprisoned, missing, insane, maimed. Reaching out to those who'd escaped more or less unscathed, and weighing them down with guilt and a sense of undeserved good fortune.
If you can look into the seeds of time/And say which grain will grow and which will not/Speak then to me
So Harry had done what he could to deal with it. Dutifully taken cheering potions and listened to a few motivational speeches that would've made his gossip weed quite happy if he'd had it at the time. And he'd made sure he lived his life in a way that would minimize his survivor guilt. Because the best way to make other's sacrifices not be in vain was to not squander the life they'd bought for him.
He hadn't squandered it. He had done good and important things with his life. He might not enjoy his job all that much, but he did it because it needed to be done and he needed to feel useful, to know that he was doing the right thing. What was it Celsus had said about Emma? That she had a purpose to her life and, a place where she belonged? Well, so did Harry.
It was just too bad that Celsus couldn't see that. Celsus probably thought Harry should surround himself with friends, or quit his job, or get married and start a family, or spend some time "healing old wounds". Contacting Molly Weasley, for instance. Or Remus Lupin, or Hermione Granger. All things he had no time or need to do.
I have bought/Golden opinions from all sorts of people
Celsus could bloody well keep his opinions to himself, Harry thought impatiently, and turned the WWN off.
Malfoy was deep in conversation with a customer in the Mystery section when Harry walked into The Book Cellar, but he acknowledged Harry's entrance with a quick smile and an 'I'll be with you in five minutes' gesture. Harry perused the shelves, his interest caught by the bizarre book covers in the Music section.
"Ted, I'm going on break, right? Cover?" Malfoy said, and was answered by a grunt from a clerk Harry couldn't see. He turned as Malfoy walked towards him, gesturing for them to go to the café.
"Dave, where's the invoice for the Penguin shipment?" asked a harried-looking woman. "They forgot to-"
"I cleared it already, it's all in the log."
"Oh god thank you. Hello," the woman said to Harry, "Are you Dave's brother-in-law-to-be, then?"
"No," Malfoy chuckled, "Alan came by already today, you missed him again. This is Potter, we went to school together."
"You went to school?" she teased him, and he nodded.
"Very exclusive private boarding school," he said seriously, and she laughed. Harry smiled, amused, as they left the store.
"Jason, cappuccino please?" Malfoy called out, and Harry nodded for the same.
"So, did you think about it?" he finally asked as they sat down.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"My answer's the same, Potter. It's not going to change."
"What?" Harry was honestly floored.
"I've worked for fifteen years to make a life for myself here," he said simply. "This is where I belong."
"This? You belong here? You're happy to sweep the store and bring in boxes and talk about young adult novels?"
Malfoy smiled, amused and not offended in the slightest. "You really don't understand, do you?"
"Understand what? You could-"
"The wizarding world was an escape for you, from your miserable Muggle childhood. That's what the Muggle world is to me."
"This is an escape?"
"Yeah."
Harry stared at him.
"I didn't need a week to think about it." Harry opened his mouth and Malfoy cut him off. "Don't worry, I did think about it, but I really didn't need to."
"But you, you... how can you say you prefer this? You were... you were a Malfoy, you had house elves and the world at your feet-"
"Oh, has Malfoy Manor been rebuilt in my absence? Because last I saw, it was an impressive pile of rubble with rather a lot of Ministry types wondering how they were going to hide it from the Muggles in the morning."
"No, but-"
"And even if it had been rebuilt, I wouldn't want to go back to it."
"But you could be - you don't have to - look, you know I'm at the Ministry? I'm actually Deputy Minister, Malfoy. And Hermione Granger ended up Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts. Padma Patil is an Auror. Millicent Bulstrode-"
"What's Ron Weasley doing these days, Potter?" Malfoy asked quietly.
Harry fell silent.
"And Vincent Crabbe? And-"
"Yes, I get the point, thank you."
"And what would I go back to? A world where most of my friends and family died or ended up in disgrace? Why would I want to do that?"
Harry opened his mouth to speak, only to find he had nothing to say.
"And where would that leave Jilly? You can't give her magic, can you?"
"No. But she-"
"She'd have to live as a Squib. She deserves better than that."
"You would give up the chance of getting your magic back, for her?"
"Not just for her. For me too." Harry opened his mouth and Malfoy continued. "Even if it was just for her, she'd be worth it." Harry frowned. "Maybe you can't understand that because you're not married-"
"No, I'm not. Not any more."
Malfoy frowned, thrown off-balance. "You were?"
"Yeah."
"Anyone I know?"
Harry took a deep breath, wishing that for once that he could think about her without bitterness and regret. "Hermione Granger."
Malfoy's eyes widened. "Granger? Good god."
"Yeah."
"I always thought she and Weasley-"
"Well, no."
"No, I suppose not," Malfoy said. "When - how long were-"
"Three years, off and on, around the end of the war."
"What... what happened?"
Harry was abruptly reminded of Pansy Parkinson's "We hadn't realized high school romances should be left in high school," and wished it had been that simple for himself and Hermione. He shrugged. "Who knows," he said shortly. "War. Peace. Ghosts. It doesn't matter."
"Do you still see her?"
"No. Divorce doesn't lend itself to friendship after the fact."
"But she was one of your closest friends."
"I take it you've never been divorced."
"No."
"Pray to keep it that way," Harry said grimly, then cleared his throat and looked away, unwilling to see the naked pity on Malfoy's face. "What... what will you do if your child is magical?"
"Not likely," Malfoy pointed out. "That curse was supposed to get to your blood; that was part of the horror of it for the precious purebloods, wasn't it?"
"But what if they are? Wizards are born to Muggles sometimes; what would you do?"
"Send them to Hogwarts, I suppose."
"And you would still stay here?"
"Yeah, I would."
"Malfoy-"
"That's not my name any more."
"Look-"
"My name is David Bergsen. That's who I am, it's who I've been for fifteen years. I work at a book store, and I live in a small flat with my girlfriend Jilly, and in my spare time I play football and read and babysit my niece and nephews. And Jilly and I are getting married and starting a family. And that's all good, Potter. It's a hell of a lot better than anything I ever had as Draco Malfoy."
"So you're just going to forget the first twenty-three years of your life?"
"I haven't forgotten my past. I can't forget - if nothing else, I see my tattoos every day of my life. But it's who I was, not who I am."
Harry was struck by the fact that he and Malfoy were probably the only two people who knew what those tattoos meant. To the world, they could be seen as mementos of a wild youth. Or perhaps the efforts of a young inmate trying to project toughness for self-preservation behind bars. Only Harry could see them as mute memorials to a man who had died, etched onto the skin of the man who'd taken his place.
A man who seemed quite content to have taken his place. Who actually seemed to like it here.
He sat back and sighed, giving in. "I can't believe you're-"
"Can't believe I'm rejecting your efforts to rescue me from this dismal life of mine?" Malfoy shook his head. "I think of the two of us, I'm not the one who needs rescuing the most."
Harry dropped his eyes and was silent for a long time. "Maybe."
"Did Celsus have anything to say about that?" Malfoy asked after a small pause.
"Yeah, actually, he did," Harry replied, a little startled by Malfoy's unexpected insight.
"Celsus never gave much advice," Malfoy said, almost gently, "But when he did, it was almost always a very good idea to at least think about it."
Harry nodded, and silence settled between them again.
"I guess there's not much else to say, then," Harry said finally.
"Not really."
Harry stood up and paid for both their coffees, murmuring, "No, it's on me," and they headed out of the café.
"Malf - er, Bergsen, I suppose," he said, stopping at the door.
Malfoy grinned in appreciation of his attempt at the name. "What?"
"Your hair and your eyes."
"Yeah?"
"How do you keep them that colour? Did somebody spell them for you before you left?"
Malfoy chuckled wryly. "I wish."
"So how-"
"It's not brain surgery, Potter, just contacts and colour."
"For fifteen years?"
"More like twelve, but yeah."
"Jilly knows?"
"Jilly knows I've got a sordid past. Probably figures there's a reason for it."
"I could spell them to stay that colour."
Malfoy smiled at him, amused. "Tell me how I'd explain that to Jilly."
"I suppose you couldn't, not with the eyes. But a lot of people's hair gets darker as they age."
Malfoy started to shake his head, then cocked his head to the side and looked at him. "All right, yeah."
"Really?"
"I've got nothing against magic. And it would save a few euros and a bit of time in the morning, hiding the roots, so why not?"
Harry glanced around the café. Nobody around. He slipped out his wand. He felt an odd pang of regret over what he was about to do, thinking of Malfoy's distinctive near-white hair. On both him and his father, it made them stand out in any crowd. It seemed so wrong to get rid of that forever, in favour of this nondescript mousy brown. But Malfoy was looking at him expectantly, not seeming to have any second thoughts about it. "Capilluscoloro," he said quickly, and tucked his wand away again.
Malfoy looked at him quizzically. "That's it?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"You just happen to know that spell off the top of your head?"
"I looked it up. I thought... I honestly thought you'd want to come back. But I figured, just in case..."
"Thanks." He touched his hair briefly, smiled slightly. "Doesn't feel any different."
"That's the point."
"Yeah." He opened the Book Cellar door. "I have to get back to-"
"Yeah, back to work, I know," Harry nodded, and then Malfoy hesitated for a moment, gazing at him thoughtfully.
"Potter?"
"Yeah?"
"Think about whatever it was Celsus said to you."
"Yeah. I will."
"And... thanks."
"You're welcome. I'll see you around."
"Yeah. I'll be here," Malfoy grinned and went into the bookstore. Harry stood thinking for a while, then turned back to Velleywold.
David Bergsen had found where he belonged. Maybe it was high time for Harry to do the same.
He stepped into the floo and headed for home.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-17 01:51 am (UTC)So yeah, so I got all happy-glowy and didn't quite know how to say thanks :)
So: thanks!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-17 02:59 am (UTC)And lol about Merivale/JSW! Now there's a cute coincidence.