Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Say My Name	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 30143 -:- Recommendations : 10 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N: Late, as is becoming usual for me, it seems. I've got a crazy few weeks coming up where everything seems to be piling up at once. I will do my best to update as frequently as possible, but I may be a few days late for the next little while. Please know that I have not abandoned this story by any stretch and it will get finished! In fact, we're almost there. Only a few more chapters plus the epilogue to go after this one.
Thanks as always to my amazing reviewers. This chapter took a lot of my time and energy and it honestly would not have gotten finished without your motivating words, so thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
This one deals with some heavier topics (it includes the anniversary of the BoH, so are we surprised?) but I promise you it's not depressing. In fact, I hope it comes across as optimistic. But I wanted to give you fair warning that there are some discussions around death and grief, in case that's a trigger for some readers.
Chapter 17: Blue
Two things of significance arrived for Harry the Monday morning after they’d returned to Hogwarts. The first was a copy of The Beacon, the paper which contained the article that Jalil Safar had written about Harry and Draco. Harry started reading it immediately, a bit nervous about what he would see.
Not that the interview hadn’t gone well. They’d held it at Grimmauld, on Draco’s suggestion. He believed that Safar would be quite pleased to be allowed into the “inner sanctum,” as it were, which might work for them favorably. And, as with many things, Harry was learning, Draco was right. Safar had arrived looking a bit starry-eyed, nothing short of amazed that he was getting such an opportunity. It almost made Harry a bit nervous that the reporter would be too easy on them, making the article seem more like a puff piece than what Harry really wanted it to be, which was a conversation-starter on the issue of anti-pureblood legislation.
Luckily, Safar was as competent as he was gracious, asking probing, insightful questions, not just about the Heirloom Act but also Harry’s personal journey during his final year at Hogwarts as well as his relationship with Draco. The two wizards had been expecting this. They knew that by holding the interview with the two of them, such questions were bound to arise.
“And maybe they should,” Draco had said. “The press has been covering our public appearances but not a lot of substance about our actual relationship. Maybe it’s time people see what we’re really about. Maybe they’ll accept it more if they see inside it.”
Harry had been ambivalent about that. It went against his every instinct to share such personal feelings with a journalist. But Safar never took the questions anywhere inappropriate, and Harry found himself able to relax after a while, accepting that revealing a bit about his relationship with Draco could be a good thing, in the right circumstances.
They’d even allowed Safar to bring a photographer, though luckily she hadn’t made them pose for any shots. She just took candids of them during the interview, hovering in the background and fairly easy to ignore, after a while.
His eyes fell to one of those very photos, one of Harry talking animatedly with his hands while Draco looked on with a small smile, looking comfortable as you please. There was another next to it of Harry laughing at a clever quip Draco had just made. There was a caption underneath that one: “Potter and Malfoy’s charming and easy banter shows just how well they understand each other.”
“Hm,” Harry said.
“What does it say?” Draco asked, leaning to read over Harry’s shoulder.
“Apparently our banter is ‘charming.’”
“Well, of course it is,” said Draco. He looked at the photos. “We look quite good. Even your hair is cooperating.”
“Because I’ve let it get so long.” He shook his hair out, demonstrating the point. It really was quite shaggy. “It stays flat more easily like this.”
“I know, that’s why I like it,” said Draco.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I was thinking I should probably cut it soon, actually.”
Draco pouted. “Don’t cut it much. I like it this way, honestly. You look like a rock musician. Albeit a very clean one, but that’s even better.”
Harry laughed. Yes, he doubted Draco would be too happy if he started sporting a more “grunge” look to match his hair. The Slytherin valued good hygiene quite highly.
“Here,” he said, handing Draco the paper. “Take a look for yourself. I think it looks good though. He captured the basics of my argument about the Heirloom Act quite nicely, and he was very kind to us regarding everything else. The best we could hope for, I think.”
“Now we’ll just see how people react,” Draco said, taking the paper from Harry.
This left the Gryffindor with the second piece of post he had received that morning, and this one was considerably smaller, and much less expected. It was a letter from Vesper. Harry stared at it for a moment without opening it, taking in his name and address written in Vesper’s flowing, slightly messy script. What did she want to say to him? There was a chance she was quite angry or hurt. At least it’s not a Howler, he thought ruefully. Finally, he made himself open it.

Dear Harry,
I don’t know if this was the right thing to do or not, but I kept your session for this Thursday at 4 on the books. Aurelian didn’t give me instructions on it either way, and I wanted to give you the chance to come back. Other than the fact that I miss you (of course), I think my uncle would like a chance to talk to you about what happened (not that he would ever admit it aloud, but a niece knows these things).
Please at least think about it. Whether you continue on here or go your separate way, at least it won’t be because of an impulse of the moment. At least you will know, whatever decision you make, that you did it after some consideration. Besides, it would really break my heart if I didn’t get to duel you (and beat you, of course) at least once.
Please just promise me you’ll think about it. We’ll be waiting for you.
With love,
Vesper

Harry released a heavy sigh. He hadn’t given much thought to what he was going to do about his apprenticeship. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could simply show up for the session that was already on the schedule, like nothing had happened. But of course, it wouldn’t quite work like that. He and Kemp would have to have a talk. The very thought of it weighed in Harry’s gut like lead. But then, the thought of tossing the connection away without so much as a goodbye didn’t feel right either.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked from across the table.
Harry shook his head. “Just trying to figure out what I’m going to do about Kemp. His apprentice sent me a letter telling me that she’d kept my spot on the schedule if I want it. I don’t know if I should go.”
“What happens if you don’t?” she asked.
Harry took a deep breath. “Then, that’s it, I guess. It’s just over.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then that’s your answer, I would think.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re not sure you want the apprenticeship to be done for good, then don’t you owe it to yourself to go and find out either way?”
Harry glanced at Draco, then at Ron, both of whom were watching him with carefully neutral expressions, making it clear they weren’t going to tell him what to do. He looked back at Hermione and the question that remained on her face.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I do.”
***
The waiting room looked like it always did when Harry arrived Thursday afternoon. It felt like forever since he’d been there, although it was only a few weeks. But there were the awards on the wall, and the leather chairs, and brunette sitting behind a desk, reading. She had looked up at the sound of the floo, though, and was staring at Harry like she wasn’t sure what she was looking at.
“Hey,” Harry said.
“Hey yourself.” She closed the book she was reading and placed it on the desk, her eyes not straying from him. “You got my note?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t reply.”
“I know. I wanted to give myself the option of chickening out.”
A small laugh escaped her before she stifled it. “Hey now, I thought Gryffindors are supposed to be courageous.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
She smiled a real smile now. “Yes, you are.”
Harry pointed to the door. “Is he in?”
“He’s with his 4 o’clock student. You know, the session you were supposed to assist with.”
“Right.”
“But, seeing as you’re late, and seeing as you two probably have some talking to do before you get back to work, it might be best if you wait.”
“Yeah.”
Harry thought about sitting down, but realized he was a bit too antsy for it. He honestly had no idea what he was doing there. He walked around the room, looking at the awards, aware that Vesper was watching him.
“What happened, Harry?”
He stopped and looked over at her. “He didn’t tell you?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “A bit.”
“Did he tell you the things we said to each other?”
“I think I pretty much got the gist.”
Harry lowered his eyes. “I lost my temper. I know that. But the things I said… I wasn’t wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean about…” Harry wasn’t sure it was a good idea to relay what he was thinking to Vesper. Yeah, she was his friend, but she was Kemp’s niece, and was clearly loyal to him. She would probably be offended. “Look, your uncle is a brilliant duelist, all right? And he’s a great teacher, for certain kinds of students. But he doesn’t know anything about fighting out in the real world, about really being in a dangerous situation. But he talks at me like he does, and that just… it bothers me. He skipped the war, Vesper. The one that killed a lot of my friends, that nearly killed me. He just… skipped it. It’s hard for me to have respect for that.”
Vesper chewed on her lip and stared at him. He stared right back, waiting.
“Ok,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I was going to do this but…” She stood, making her way over to him. “I have something I have to show you.”
Harry blinked. “All right.”
Vesper took him by the wrist and led him through the door and into the main hallway. For a moment Harry thought they were going to be bursting in on Kemp with his student after all, but instead she led him through another doorway to the left that took them into a part of the house Harry had never seen. They entered a large open foyer and Harry barely had a chance to take in the high ceilings and the crystal chandelier before Vesper was dragging him towards a curving white staircase that led upwards.
“Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here?” Harry asked her.
“It’s fine,” she said.
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“You’ll see.”
They were on the second floor landing now, and Vesper, still gripping his wrist tightly, brought him down the main hallway and to a locked door, which she opened with a quick “Alohamora.”
They walked into what appeared to be another study, though this one was far less pretentious than Kemp’s office downstairs. There was a small messy desk and simple wooden chairs, and the wall was hung with photographs and drawings rather than dueling accolades.
“Is this your study?” Harry asked.
Vesper shook her head. “It’s Aurelian’s private office.”
She pointed to a photograph, and Harry saw that it was one of Kemp, perhaps ten years younger, almost unrecognizable. He sported a clean-shaven face in the photo, and his hair was even darker then, his face free of the forehead lines and crows feet. He had his arm around a smiling woman with a heart-shaped face and sandy blond hair that fell over her shoulders in waves. Kemp was looking at her in such a way that Harry had no doubt as to their connection.
“Aurelian’s wife, my aunt Chloe.”
“Where is she?” he asked, thinking he might already know the answer.
“She’s dead.”
Harry looked at Vesper, to see she was looking at the photograph impassively. “I’m sorry. How did she die?”
“Cancer. Ovarian. It metastasized to her spine and she was gone in a few months.”
That brought Harry up short. Wizards and witches didn’t usually die of cancer. “She was… was she a Muggle?”
Vesper shook her head. “She was a Squib.”
“Oh.”
“Surprised?” Vesper asked, smirking.
Harry would have been lying if he said he wasn’t. “Yeah, sure.”
“Most people are,” said Vesper. “Squibs have it worse than Muggles, and Muggleborns, certainly. Most Muggles get to be ignorant of magic, and even the ones that are aware… at least they grew up in a culture where not doing magic is normal. And Muggleborns, well, yeah, it can be hard to fit in, but at least they can do magic. Imagine being born into a family that expects something of you that you can never be. That was Chloe. Never mind that she was brilliant; she had an incredible mind for mathematics. She was an engineer. And a talented artist.” She pointed to the drawings on the wall. “Just amateur, of course, but still. So yeah, a lot of people in our world wouldn’t understand why my uncle would want to marry someone so ‘disappointing’ to her family, but Aurelian didn’t care. He thought she was amazing.”
Harry stared at the photograph some more, not sure what to say. He wasn’t entirely sure why Vesper was telling him all this. Perhaps she thought he believed Kemp to be a bad person, and wanted to prove otherwise.
“You know how some people are just born to have a difficult life?” Vesper said. Harry nodded. Sometimes he thought himself in that category. “Chloe was one of those people. Born into a pureblood family that was ashamed of her, experimented on with various rituals and potions, trying to imbue some magical power into her, when everyone knows that’s impossible. You’re born with a magical core or you're not. There’s no potion or spell or remedial training that can give you magical abilities. They nearly killed her, trying to get her ready for Hogwarts. She ended up in the hospital, and was eventually removed from her parents’ care and put into the Muggle foster system. But she was chronically ill for the rest of her life. She had all this internal damage from what they had done to her, and most foster parents couldn’t handle it, especially since no Muggle doctors could ever figure out what was wrong with her. But she got through it, somehow, I guess, although she never talked about it and I think it was the darkest time in her life. But she worked hard at school and got into college – I guess you guys call it university, over here – and she got her degree, met my uncle, got married.”
“How did they meet, if she was living in the Muggle world?”
“Aurelian was in Slytherin house with her brother, Phillipe. He was the only decent one in the bunch, from that family. Aurelian was the only Muggleborn in the house at that time, and as you can imagine, it wasn’t easy for him to fit in. But Phillipe always looked out for him. And he did right by Chloe, too. He tracked her down when she turned eighteen and gave her money, to help her through school and whatnot. They stayed in touch, and he and Aurelian remained friends after Hogwarts, and he introduced them, and…” Vesper smiled. “They just… connected.”
Harry smiled, too, although he was having a hard time imagining it all. It didn’t sound like the same Aurelian Kemp to him. “Sounds like she got to be happy, then, at least for a little while.”
Vesper’s smile turned sad. “Yeah, they had a few good years, I think. But like I said, Chloe was… well, she had a hard row to hoe, as my Grandpa would say. There were a lot of things that didn’t quite go right. She was always sick, for one thing. She had good days and bad days of course. But her health was always an issue. And she wanted a child so badly, and they tried, but…” She looked up at a charcoal drawing of a little girl with dark hair, wearing a white dress and picking wildflowers. “That’s Sarah,” she said, pointing to it. “My cousin. There aren’t any photographs of her, because she only lived about five minutes after she was born. But for years afterward, Chloe would draw her, the way she imagined that Sarah would grow up. She just… couldn’t get over it. They never tried again after that. And then she got cancer, and had to have treatment, and then you announced that old Voldie had returned, and Aurelian knew they couldn’t stay in England. He was a Muggleborn married to a Squib and she was so sick, one bad spell would probably finish her off. He just couldn’t take the chance. So they came to the US to live near my mom and dad. And then she went into remission, and had another good year or so, and then she relapsed and died a few months later.”
Harry bowed his head, feeling like a right prick. Kemp hadn’t fled England for himself; he had done it for his sick wife. There was a lot that made so much more sense now, and yet…
“Why didn’t your uncle tell me any of this? He let me believe from the day we met that he just left for the States to save his own skin. He flat out told me that. He let me believe he was a selfish coward.”
“He was ashamed,” Vesper said simply. “Not of Chloe,” she added, when she saw the look on Harry’s face. “Not of the fact that his wife was a Squib. He was ashamed because he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t make her better, he couldn’t save their daughter… he felt like he had failed her in every way.”
“But he didn’t,” said Harry. “It’s her family that’s to blame. If they hadn’t done all those awful things to her when she was a child, she probably never would have been sick, and their daughter might have lived.”
“He knows that, Harry. But he doesn’t feel it. Because grief isn’t rational. It makes us feel strange things that have little justification in reality. He knows it isn’t his fault. He knows that he gave Chloe the best years of her life…” Vesper took a shaky breath, moisture in her eyes now. “But he doesn’t feel it. He feels responsible, he feels…” She shook her head. “He would rather have people believe that he was a selfish coward, as you say, than know that even though he was an exceptional wizard with every possible resource at his disposal, he couldn’t protect his family.” A tear spilled over, running down her cheek, and she bit her lip.
“I’m sorry,” said Harry. “That’s awful. It’s all awful.”
“It was,” said Vesper, wiping her cheek. “And he will be so pissed when he finds out I’m telling you all this. I’ll really be in for it. But it’s worth it, because unlike him I like things out in the open. I believe in dealing with your problems head on, and I believe that the only way you two could possibly reconcile your differences is if you understand him a little better.”
Harry nodded. “Thank you. I just wish I’d known. Some of the things I said…”
“I know,” said Vesper. “But it’s not your fault. Or… well, it is, a little. You did say those things. But you didn’t know the full context. And honestly, it’s not the first time Aurelian has heard something like that, and it won’t be the last. It doesn’t usually bother him, much. But your opinion matters to him, whether he makes that clear or not, and it upset him, that you think he’s a coward.”
“I guess that’s a life lesson in not making assumptions,” said Harry.
“Yeah,” said Vesper. “It’s a hard one to remember, especially with people who are as private as Aurelian. But my mom always says that everyone has at least one story that could bring you to your knees, if you knew all the details, and she’s right. Everyone is much more than they appear to be.”
“So what’s yours, then?”
“My story?”
“Yeah.”
She stared at him, and for a moment Harry thought he had crossed a line. But then she smiled, ever so slightly. “I was assaulted when I was fifteen. I didn’t have my wand, he used magic to control me, and… well… I don’t think I have to spell it out for you.”
Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, feeling a bit sick at the thought of what Vesper might have gone through.
“It’s what got me into dueling, though,” she went on, her tone lightening a little. “After that I swore I would never let anyone or anything make me feel so powerless again. It was a way to… take control of my own life again, I guess. I trained a bit in school, with my uncle’s long-distance guidance, and then when Aurelian and Chloe came to the States he agreed to become my coach full time. I’ve been training under him ever since.”
“So that’s why you were willing to come all this way to keep working with him.”
“Sure,” she said. “He’s one of the best dueling instructors in the world, and I get all kinds of special treatment, because I’m basically his surrogate daughter.” She grinned, all sorrow forgotten, or, at least, well-hidden.
“Special treatment, hm?” came a deep voice from behind them. Vesper and Harry both turned slowly to see Kemp standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them with a dangerously stoic expression. “I can think of a special treatment or two for you, dear niece. Like giving the bathrooms, changing rooms, and the training floor a thorough scrub down, without magic, this time, I think.”
Kemp’s instructions and tone of voice, if aimed at him, would have provoked Harry’s insolent streak, he was sure. But Vesper merely bowed her head in an obedient nod and said, “Yes, sir, of course.”
She kept her eyes on the floor as she turned to go, and didn’t dare glance up at Kemp as she passed him in the doorway. He eyed her with an expression Harry found hard to interpret. There was plenty of anger there, certainly, but something else as well, something warmer, like pride, or devotion, maybe. He turned back to Harry.
“Mr. Potter.”
“Good afternoon, sir,” Harry said, trying to make his voice neutral and respectful, realizing that it didn’t look too good to be caught snooping into his private life. “I was hoping… that we could talk.”
Kemp stared him down for a moment, arms still crossed and his posture imposing. “Very well,” he said finally. “But not here.”
Harry nodded and followed Kemp out of the room and down the stairs.
“Meet me in my office,” he told Harry, once they were in the downstairs hallway. “I need to have a quick word with my niece.”
Harry considered for a moment pleading on Vesper’s behalf for him not to be too hard on her, but immediately thought better of it. There was a lot about their relationship that he didn’t understand, and it wasn’t his place to butt in. Plus, Vesper could handle herself just fine.
He sat in the usual armchair in front of Kemp’s desk and thought about what he wanted to say. He’d had no idea what to say when he’d first arrived, and after Vesper’s revelations to him he felt even more at a loss. An apology was certainly in order, but then… what? What did he want to have happen?
He didn’t have to contemplate for long, it turned out, because Kemp arrived only a few minutes behind him. He sat in the chair behind his desk and rested his clasped hands on the smooth, dark wood. The two wizards simply looked at each other for a minute, Harry, for his part, trying to reconcile the younger, happier man he’d seen in the photograph with Chloe and the man that sat before him now. Present-day Kemp didn’t look unhappy, per se, but Harry thought perhaps he could see an emptiness in the dueling master that he hadn’t picked up on before. Or maybe he was just imagining it, projecting the idea onto Kemp now that he knew about the man’s past.
“How shall we begin?” Kemp said finally.
“I suppose with an apology, sir. I said some things that were out of line. If I had known the truth about why you really left England-“
“I’m not going to discuss my wife or my daughter with you, Mr. Potter,” Kemp cut in.
“I understand that. I wouldn’t expect you to. But it does put some things into context for me.”
Kemp arched a brow. “I see. So you have me all figured out, now.”
Harry sighed. This wasn’t going very well so far. “No, sir, no more than you have me figured out, based on what you and the rest of the wizarding world knows about my past.” That got Kemp’s attention. “I only meant that knowing the real reason why made me think about your decision to leave England differently, and if I had known before I wouldn’t have said the things I said.”
“You would have had more respect for my choice, knowing the truth.”
“Frankly, sir, yes.”
Kemp sat back in his chair, and slight smile on his face. “I meant it when I said that I don’t understand you, but I think perhaps I didn’t have it quite right. I think it’s more that I don’t know what to make of you. Your honesty is… if we’re being honest, here, refreshing and infuriating in equal measure.”
Harry fought a smile. “I think a lot of people feel that way about me.”
“Indeed. My niece likes it, though, probably because she is similar in that way.”
Harry smiled genuinely now. “And I appreciate it in her. I think it’s why we’ve become friends so quickly.”
“Mm,” Kemp hummed vaguely. “But there are ways in which you are very different.”
“I don’t disagree with that.”
“Do you know why Vesper is such an exceptional duelist?”
Harry tilted his head. “I expect it has something to do with her incredible speed and her mastery of non-verbal spells.”
“Not to mention her perfect technique, her quick reflexes, her extensive arsenal of spells… I could go on. But that’s not why I asked the question. Because none of those are the answers. The things you and I just mentioned are the results of the reasons she is exceptional, not the reasons themselves. I’m talking, of course, about discipline, and determination, and commitment.”
Harry remained silent, thinking this was probably going nowhere good. Was Kemp about to tell him that he lacked those things? Because he already knew, when it came to competitive dueling, at least, that he did lack them. But he didn’t need Kemp to reiterate it for him.
“When Vesper came to me, asking to be coached, she had none of the skills or abilities we just listed. She was a confused, angry, frightened young woman whose only foray into anything remotely athletic was her background in dance.” He smiled suddenly. “You’ve seen firsthand how most students start out pretty flat-footed. Vesper had the opposite problem. She pranced around the arena like a bloody ballerina. I used to call her ‘Twinkletoes,’ which she hated immensely.” He chuckled, and Harry found himself chuckling as well. It was quite funny to imagine Vesper prancing around in any form. “I honestly wasn’t sure she was cut out for dueling. But she was my niece, and I loved her, and all she really wanted was to feel safe again.” His expression had sobered. “But by the time she was graduating from Ilvermorny, something had shifted dramatically. She wasn’t so angry or frightened anymore, and she had matured considerably. And she was outright hooked on the sport of dueling. Not just the moves and techniques, or the competitions, or the glory, but the… community of it, the code of honor, the ritual. The best duelists in the world – and I’m not necessarily talking about the ones who win the most, either – understand that it is an art more than a sport. They love it for its very nature. And Vesper was like that, is like that. She loves the dignity in the way duelists are expected to treat each other. She loves the precision required to attain a perfect score from the judges. She loves every little detail of it. And, because of that, she wants to practice it all the time. I know it seems like all she does for me is cook and clean and manage my clients, but she’s up at five every morning to train and condition, before she starts her work for me. And if there’s a cancellation during the day, or I’ve finished up and retired for the evening, she hits the training floor for more practice. It is a dedication unmatched by any of my other students. I believe I will spend the rest of my career searching for another student like her, but that search will be in vain.” He ran a hand over his beard. “So many students come to me, wanting to be exceptional duelists. You have the impression that I push them into it, but I can assure you it’s not the case. It’s very popular in the States, more so than Quidditch, even, and it’s growing in popularity here. Usually I look for potential, for raw talent that can be molded, but I never turn away a student if they don’t show a lot of talent immediately. Because you just never know. Because talent, while certainly helpful, is not nearly enough to be successful in the world of competitive dueling. You have to want it. You have to want it so badly it makes your teeth hurt. And that’s not something that can be taught, or forced, or instilled. It comes from within. I tell all of my students that. I’ll teach anyone, but if they don’t want it enough, there is only so much I can do for them.” He looked Harry over. “And you, Mr. Potter, don’t want it. You have almost no interest whatsoever.”
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Kemp was already continuing.
“It’s not a criticism, merely an observation. You made it perfectly clear in our first session. You want to teach, not compete. Don’t think I forgot that. But…” He took a deep breath. “I will admit that I lost sight of it a bit, because you have so much talent. It’s practically coming out of your ears. And it’s so raw. Less so, now, perhaps. But in the beginning… well, what can I say? “ He smirked. “I have an almost compulsive need to take raw talent and shape it. Like a sculptor molding clay. I had thought that I could mold you into both an excellent duelist and excellent teacher at the same time. But I made the mistake of thinking that teaching a competitor and teaching a fellow teacher required the same… approach, I suppose. I’ve never taught another teacher before. I’m used to having to push, to having to look for perfection, to fix things in the moment and nip bad habits in the bud. But that doesn’t work for you, does it?”
Harry tried not to gape. What Kemp had said sounded almost like an apology, which Harry had not been expecting. He’d also gotten right to the heart of the issue, without Harry having to explain it, but then… Kemp always had a knack for that. “I would say that’s accurate, sir,” he said. Kemp merely nodded, and so Harry continued. “I admire the way you teach, the kind of progress your students can make in such a short time. Observing has been very helpful. But asking me to teach and then trying to… teach me, while I’m teaching… well… it was a bit of a…”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘fiasco,’ Mr. Potter,” Kemp said drily.
“Yes, sir.”
“I agree. I would have to change my approach, if you wanted to continue learning from me. Which I am willing to do…” He trailed off, looking at Harry contemplatively. “But if we were to continue, I would need something from you in return.”
Harry nodded. His behavior had not been the best. He was aware of that fact. “I will be more respectful, sir,” he said.
“I’m not just talking about that,” said Kemp. “Although that would be appreciated. It is not good for business to have you undermining me in front of my students. And I will do my best not to undermine you, either, when I am supervising your teaching,” he added with a pointed look, perhaps in reaction to the look on Harry’s face.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, a bit self-conscious about how transparent he could be sometimes.
“I am more than happy to engage in candid discussion about techniques and methods in the privacy of my office, but we won’t do it again on the teaching floor. Can we agree to that?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said.
“Very good. The other thing I need, the thing I really need, is clarity about what you’re really looking for here. Your goals were quite vague and fluid regarding what you wanted to get out of this apprenticeship, and while I think we were operating successfully for a while, it has come to the point where I need to know more concretely what you want from me. It is easy for me to teach my dueling students. They want to compete; they want to be great duelists. I know how to accomplish that. But you… you have no interest in competing, and you say you want to teach... But teach what, exactly? It would be quite difficult to build a business as a dueling instructor when you’ve never competed yourself.”
Harry chewed his bottom lip as he considered Kemp’s words. Yes, this, perhaps, was the crux of the issue. He had no bloody idea what he wanted, in this apprenticeship, or in almost everything else in his life.
“I don’t want to teach competitive dueling,” Harry said. “You’re right, there wouldn’t be much point without the hands on experience. And the competition part isn’t really what interests me. I like the defense aspect. I like the practical approach, how the skills can be applied in the real world, not in a controlled environment like a competition.”
Kemp nodded. “You want the kind of dueling training that you would get in the Auror Academy.”
“Yes, I suppose, but I don’t want to be an Auror.”
“Instead, you want to teach those skills to others, to civilians. Self-defense, entirely practical.”
Harry’s head swayed a little, trying to decide how to answer. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t even know if there’s a market for it.”
Kemp nodded again. “That is a sticking point, certainly. But there may be a market. A smaller one than competitive dueling, but considering who you are… well, there may be a number of witches and wizards who would pay good money to be taught self-defense by the Savior.”
Harry found himself tensing at that. Is that what he wanted? People coming to him for help just because it was Harry providing it? Would it just be a chance for people to meet him? Would they even care about the actual self-defense, or just spending time with him? He was a bit squeamish about the whole idea.
“Well, that certainly got a reaction,” Kemp observed, eyeing Harry carefully. “It really does make you uncomfortable, doesn’t it, all that attention? I called you an ‘unwitting hero’ before, but that’s not really it, is it? You’re more reluctant. Not about the heroics, but about the glory that comes with it.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “I really don’t understand that at all,” he said. He sounded more fascinated than anything. “Which is why I couldn’t believe that’s how you really felt. But it’s true, isn’t it? You really just wanted to save the world and then be left alone.”
Harry tried very hard not to squirm. “I suppose that’s accurate.”
“You suppose,” Kemp said, amused. He put a finger to his lips and stared at Harry. “Merlin knows you have the talent, the passion, and the intelligence to do anything. But you don’t have any direction.”
Harry’s eyes widened a little. No one had put it so bluntly to him before. “That sounds about right,” he said. “I guess… I had one purpose in life for so long, something it seemed like I was born for, even, and when I accomplished it… It was so nice, being free, at first. But now I just sort of feel…”
“Adrift?” Kemp suggested.
“Yeah.”
“And so you came to me because dueling and teaching interest you, and you wanted to see if you would like it.”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.” Harry didn’t particularly like admitting this aloud. But, in a way, it was a relief, even if Kemp would look down on him for it.
Kemp nodded and leaned back in his chair again. He continued to stare at Harry for a long time, although it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it could have been. Kemp seemed to be thinking hard, his gaze neither judgmental nor disapproving, but rather like he was trying to work out a particularly tricky puzzle.
“All right,” he said finally. “Let’s try this on for size. It obviously won’t serve you to work with the students of mine that came to me exclusively for competition. They want a particular kind of instruction, the kind you aren’t interested in providing. But there may be some among my roster that are looking for practical self-defense as well. I can ask around, gauge interest, and see if there is anyone that would want to do extra sessions under your instruction. This will give you a chance to practice teaching the way you imagine wanting to, and give you a sense of what the market is like for those sort of lessons. And, if you find you like it, and the students are receptive, you’d finish your apprenticeship here with a client base with which to start your own business. How does that sound?”
Harry stared, disbelieving. “You’d give me some of your clients?”
Kemp shrugged almost imperceptibly. “There is plenty of work to go around, in this business. My roster is full and I have a waiting list. I end up recommending other coaches who have openings on a regular basis. We all know each other, and it’s just part of the business. Besides, the work you’re looking to get into is quite different from mine. If the students you take with you prefer it to competition, it’s for the best. They were never going to be serious competitors anyway.”
“Some may want to do both,” said Harry.
Kemp nodded. “And if they do, we’ll share them.”
Harry considered that. It was much more than he was expecting. “Would you still supervise the sessions?”
“I think that would be best, if only to observe your instruction. You may need feedback, as you’re still learning yourself. But I will promise to provide that feedback behind closed doors, and not impose myself on your sessions except in an emergency.”
Harry nodded, mostly to himself. Yes, that sounded quite reasonable. “I like that idea, sir,” he said. “Very much.”
“Good. I’ll ask around. I have a couple of students in mind already.”
“Can I continue the dueling training as well? For myself?” Harry asked.
Kemp smiled slightly. “You’re still interested in that?”
“I like it,” said Harry. “And I was learning a lot. Just because I don’t want to compete doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the sport.”
“Very well, then. We’ll continue to hone your technique as well. But it may mean extra time spent here, depending on how many students are interested in learning from you. Is that doable, with your NEWTs coming up?”
“I’ll make it work,” said Harry. It was only a couple more months, and this was his best chance of determining if he could make a business out of this work, if he even wanted to.
“Good,” said Kemp. “Give your availability to Vesper so she knows when to schedule student sessions. As for now… would you like some time on the floor today?”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Sure,” he said, with a small smile. “That would be great.”
After a thorough workout, in which he realized neglecting training for even just three weeks could take its toll, he bid Kemp goodbye and headed for the waiting room. Vesper practically accosted him when he walked through the door.
“How’d it go?” she asked, her eyes wide and anxious. “You were in there for so long.”
“That’s because I did some training, after our talk, which was surprisingly civil.”
Vesper’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank Merlin. I thought maybe you’d storm out of here again after a few minutes and that would be the end of it.”
Harry laughed. “My temper’s not that bad.”
Vesper gave him a look. “Between the two of you, who knows what would have happened?”
“He wasn’t too hard on you, was he?” Harry asked.
Vesper shook her head. “No, he was reasonable. If the conversation with you didn’t go well, I might have gotten it worse, but as it is it’s just some extra chores.”
“On top of everything else you do around here?” Harry said. “When will you sleep?”
“When I’m dead,” said Vesper with a grin. “No really, it’s not that bad. And it’s the least I can do after all those years of free training that have turned me into a globally ranked duelist. After everything Aurelian has done for me, I hardly have a leg to stand on in the resentment department.”
Harry nodded. “Has he always been this… prickly? Or is he the way he is because of… you know…”
“Because his wife and daughter died?” Vesper clarified pointedly.
“Yeah.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
“He’s more abrasive than he used to be, I think,” she said. “But he’s always been tough on his students. He sort of has to be. They pay him to make them great. He sees it as his duty. But he’s different with his family. Behind closed doors, he’s always been different. You know, warmer, more open.”
Harry nodded. He could see how that could be true. And he wasn’t sure he would ever get past that boundary with Kemp himself. They would probably never wind up best mates. But that afternoon had been a step in the right direction, and he owed a lot of that to Vesper.
“Thanks, by the way,” he said. “You’re a lot of the reason I’m still here, and that this will probably still work out.”
She smiled widely, looking incredibly pleased. “You’re very welcome. Now introduce me to a couple of your sexy Gryffindor friends and we’ll call it even.”
Harry laughed. “I’ll owl you the next time we plan to go out.”
“That would be great.”
“Also, the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts is coming up. There’s going to be an event of sorts. You should come.”
Vesper bit her lip. “Wouldn’t I be a bit out of place? It’s for the people who actually went through the war, right?”
“It’s for anyone,” said Harry. “Anyone who has an interest in honoring those who died to save all of us.”
Vesper thought about it. “Maybe I will. I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” Harry said. “I could use some friendly faces in the crowd. I have to give the dedication speech for the new memorial, and I hate public speaking.” He had been roped into it by McGonagall earlier in the week, not feeling like he could say “no” to something so important.
“You’ll be great,” she assured him.
“That’s what everyone says,” Harry replied with a wry smirk. “But I think that chance is slim. I’ll be decent at best, completely bumbling and inept at worst. I might even vomit and pass out in the middle. So feel free to come witness my humiliation.”
She laughed. “Well, fine, you’ve sold me. As long as I won’t be too out of place.”
“Not at all,” said Harry.
Per Kemp’s instructions, he then relayed his schedule to her so that she could put it in the books and start arranging clients for him. With that he took his leave, feeling better about the prospect of his apprenticeship than he had in a long while.
***
Harry let out a heavy sigh and scratched out the words he had just written with his quill. Looking back up the parchment, he saw just how many times he had tried to write the first sentence of his dedication speech and then crossed it out. This was not going well.
Why do I have to do this? he thought bitterly. Of course, he knew why. He sighed again and laid back against the headboard of Draco’s bed.
“How’s it going over there?” Draco asked from his desk, where he was writing an Herbology essay.
“Hm, not great,” Harry replied.
“Considering you’re making noises like you’re dying the slowest death in human history, I’m not all that surprised.”
“Yes, well, it’s about as painful as that.”
“And you call me dramatic.”
“I’m no good at this sort of thing, Draco. I never know what to say in circumstances like this.”
“Read me what you have so far.”
Harry followed this with an extended silence, and Draco turned in his chair to look at him. “Is it that bad? You won’t even read it aloud to me?”
“I just did. As in,” he held up the parchment, “I have absolutely nothing.”
Draco gave him a sympathetic smile. “It will be all right. Just… pick a theme.”
“A theme?”
“Yeah, an abstract idea you want to talk about. And then make everything about the Battle and the people and the memorial relate back to that theme. It’s like a thread that connects everything.”
Harry stared at him. Where did Draco learn this stuff? “What sort of theme?”
“I don’t know, take your pick. Peace, Love, Heroism, Sacrifice, Acceptance. Something like that. You can pick more than one, if you want. But they should be related. And it should be something that speaks to you. Something you feel.”
“All right. Then my theme is Stage Fright. Complete and Utter Terror. And Mortification.”
Draco scoffed. “Be serious, Harry.”
“Or you could just write it for me.”
Draco shook his head. “No, I can’t. I have plenty of my own bloody work, for one thing, and for another… I have no idea what you should say either. Only you can know how you feel about the Battle and the people that died. They were your friends, they fought for you, with you. I’m sorry, Harry, but you have to do this.”
Harry sighed yet again, but nodded. Of course, Draco was right. But it didn’t make the job any easier. As Draco went back to his essay, Harry stared at his parchment and thought about themes. An abstract idea that he wanted to talk about. All the things Draco had listed off were worthy, but were any of them right? Did he know what he wanted to say about Peace, or Love, or Heroism? They were all heroes, those that had died. He had loved them all. And now he wanted peace. The end. Done and dusted.
He’d never been one to have things to say to the world, other than the time when Voldemort returned and he tried to convince Fudge and the other Ministry fools of that fact. But now… well, he supposed there were a few things he had to say, after all. The article had gotten an overall positive response. People were receptive, willing to listen, willing to think past their prejudices. It helped that following Harry’s interview some other writers were getting on board and questioning the fairness of the Heirloom Act. And Kingsley had finally come out with a statement against it as well. It was looking like his impulsive decision to give the interview had been a good one. At least it was getting the wizarding world to have a serious dialogue about the issue.
Without giving it much more thought, Harry wrote the word “Unity” across the top of the parchment, and then stared at it for a bit. He suddenly felt a dip in the bed and realized that Draco was climbing in next to him.
“Done already?” he asked the blond.
“For now. I’ve got more to do tomorrow but I think I’ll call it a night.”
Harry was all for that, and placed the parchment and quill on the bedside table next to him.
“Can I be honest about something?” Draco asked him.
“Of course,” said Harry.
“I’m really, really dreading the anniversary.”
“Me too.”
“Good. So I’m not an awful person.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“I just…” Draco looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I’m going to do there. I was on the wrong side of that Battle. One of the few people who will be there who was. I feel like everyone’s going to be looking at me like… like I’m scum.”
Harry wished he could tell Draco that that wouldn’t happen, but, unfortunately, it probably would, given the current political climate and the emotional heaviness of the day. “So what if they do? They’re just ignorant. They aren’t willing to take into account what you did for me, for us.”
“What I did?” said Draco. “That day, what I did was corner you in the Room of Lost Things and nearly get you burned to death. I hardly think I helped the cause.”
“Actually, that Fiendfyre destroyed the Horcrux we were looking for, so it worked out.”
Draco gave him a look. “Nice try. I know I was a fool that day. I didn’t want you to fail, I honestly didn’t, not deep down. But Crabbe and Goyle… I can’t believe I went along with them. I was scared and stupid, and I couldn’t admit to what I felt…”
“Draco,” Harry said. “Don’t go there. You know that all is forgiven. Everything is different now.”
“I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that it will be the anniversary of the day I almost got you killed.”
“I walked into the Forbidden Forest and got myself killed anyway,” said Harry. “And you know what… it’s also the anniversary of the day your mother lied to the most powerful evil wizard of all time because of how much she loved her son, stalling his knowledge that I was still alive long enough that I could fight him properly and destroy him. That’s something to be proud of.”
“I’ll be sure to let Mother know,” Draco said miserably.
“Draco…”
“I just really wish I didn’t have to go.”
Harry looked at him. “Well, you don’t have to go.”
“Yes, I do. What kind of message would it send if I didn’t go? It would say that I don’t care, and I do. I do care about those people that died. And I want to support you, and I know you need it. It will be a hard day for you, even without the speech.”
“It would be a lot easier without the speech, though,” Harry said, unhappy for the reminder.
“Once it’s written, you’ll feel better.”
“I’m not so sure. I really don’t do well with the whole public speaking thing. It would be so much better with you giving it.”
Draco barked out a laugh. “Yeah, sure. I’d get hexed off the stage before I’d even begun.”
“Not if you were disguised as me.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll just dye my hair black then and draw a big old lightning bolt on my forehead, shall I? No one will know the difference.”
“I meant polyjuice, you dolt.”
“I see. But then there’d be two Harry Potters there, which would be a bit confusing for the other attendees, I would imagine.”
“Well, I’ll polyjuice myself into you,” said Harry, sitting up a little straighter in bed as a wide grin spread across his face. “It’s the perfect solution. You do all the public relations, speech-giving stuff that I hate, and I’ll field all of the tossers who give you the stink eye and hex them if they get too out of hand.”
“Polyjuice into each other?” Draco asked. Of course, he knew Harry was joking, but his eyebrows rose and a fascinated glint entered his eye. “That’s pretty kinky, actually.”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“Turning into each other? Come on, Harry. Actually becoming each other? What if we had sex like that? It would be you fucking yourself, as me. What a fascinating experiment that would be.”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You are one twisted bastard. Always have to bring it back to sex, don't you?”
“I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before,” said Draco. “I’ve thought of just about every possible way to have sex with you.”
Harry laughed. “Well, I draw the line at polyjuice. It would be for non-sexual purposes only.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.”
“I am a lot of fun, actually,” Harry insisted. “I just want us to have sex as ourselves, not each other, or other people. Is that so much to ask?”
Draco laughed heartily and gave him a chaste kiss. “No, it’s not too much to ask.”
They chuckled to themselves quietly for a minute or two, their worries temporarily forgotten.
“You’ll be glad you gave the speech,” Draco said finally, his face calmer now. “Even if it isn’t perfect, when it’s all said and done, you’ll be glad you did it.”
“And you’ll be glad you were there,” Harry replied. “Even if some people give you a hard time or judge you for it, you’ll feel better.”
Draco took his hand. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”
***
The day of the anniversary finally arrived, and Harry awoke that morning with a pit in his stomach.
Damn it all to hell. Why did I agree to this? he thought for about the millionth time.
It was meant to be a day of healing. It was what they had decided as a community. McGonagall had sought input from everyone who had fought in the Battle, plus other students who had lost loved ones. It was clear from just about everyone that what was most important was honoring the people who had fought, rather than the events of the Battle itself.
“I just don’t want it to be depressing,” Dennis Creevey said in one of the planning meetings. “And I don’t want to relive what happened. I just want to celebrate my brother, who he was as a person, you know?” Looking around the room, Harry saw many students nod emphatically.
So they’d gone very simple. The Hogwarts grounds were transformed into a sort of walking memorial for the fallen, with each person having their own individual locus, with a board where people could post photos and write messages, as well as vessels where people could leave pensieve memories of that person for their loved ones to take home with them. It was hardly elaborate, but Harry thought it was perfect.
He only wished he had the presence of mind to be able to appreciate it. He was weighed down heavily by anxiety over his speech, and it was hard to focus on anything else. He’d hardly slept at all; both he and Draco had tossed and turned all night, awaking frequently and struggling to get back to sleep.
Draco was trying to be supportive, but he wasn’t faring much better. He was pale and quiet all morning, and when Harry made to rub a comforting hand across his back, Draco had turned to him with a knowing look.
“We’re just a couple of right messes, aren’t we?” he’d said, which had made Harry smile.
At least the speech was written. That was something. He’d finally figured out the main points of what he wanted to say, and Draco and Hermione both had helped him with the language. So, all in all, it had turned into a decent piece of writing. Now he just had to make sure he didn’t botch it in front of all of wizarding Britain.
“Bollocks,” he said under his breath and as walked about the grounds. He’d been thinking about the damn speech again. He had to stop tormenting himself.
He’d left Draco with his mother, both of them wanting to spend a good deal of time in front of Snape’s memorial. Harry had understood that need, though he hardly wanted to linger there himself. So he’d left them to themselves, allowing for them to have some quality time together. But it meant that he was now alone and feeling a bit adrift. He supposed he could track down Hermione, or Ron, or any of the other Weasleys. But he could probably guess exactly where they were, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to go see Fred just yet. So instead he just floated along, looking at the photos and messages people had left.
When he came across Remus and Tonks, their memorials side by side, he paused, feeling a lump in his throat. He had hundreds of memories of each of them that he could contribute, but he knew they’d all be going to Andromeda anyway. He would just give them to her himself, if she wanted them. So instead he laid a hand on either pedestal and said, very quietly, “Don’t worry. I’m taking good care of him. He will always be loved, and know how much you loved him. And he’ll always know what you did for our world.” He took a shaky breath, fighting the sting in his eyes. “I miss you.” Then he let go and walked away.
He paused at more memorials, thanking each person quietly, and he started to feel better. This was what he needed, in the end. And maybe he always had to do it alone. He found himself steering clear of any memorial that had too many people around it, or at least waiting for the groups to move on so he could have a moment to himself.
He found Colin Creevey’s locus vacant, though it was clear that a multitude of people had already come by. The board was full to the brim with photos, not just of Colin, Harry realized, but ones he had clearly taken himself. His art, his passion, on display for everyone to appreciate. He felt a presence next to him suddenly, and considered moving on, but he wasn’t done looking at all the pictures.
“Colin Creevey. He was a friend of yours, I presume?”
Harry felt a frisson of loathing travel up his spine. He’d know that false, hyper-feminine voice anywhere. He turned to look at Rita Skeeter, who stood far too close, smirking at him. Her eyes had that steely glint in them again, evident behind her signature cat eye glasses. He glanced down to where her notebook rested in her hand, and the Quick Quotes quill that hovered above it, waiting for Harry to respond.
“Put it away, Rita,” Harry said, a mild warning in his voice. In truth though, he really didn’t think he had the energy for this, not on this day of all days. He turned back to Colin’s photos, not wanting to have to look at her.
“Oh, don’t be a spoil-sport, Harry. It was a perfectly innocent question.”
“I won’t say another word if you’re going to use that thing.” He indicated the quill. “Put it away.”
They were at a stalemate for a moment, but Skeeter seemed to realize she had no choice. Harry wanted nothing from her, after all, and could walk away whenever he felt like it. She was the one who obviously wanted something from him. With an almost inaudible huff she placed the quill back in her crocodile skin handbag, then made a point of digging around for a normal quill.
“Don’t bother,” Harry told her. “Whatever I say to you is off the record anyway.”
“Off the record?”
“Yes. Off the record. Surely, being the professional journalist you are, you’re already familiar with the concept?”
“Someone’s gotten quite snarky in his young adulthood, hasn’t he?” Skeeter commented, although she didn’t necessarily sound displeased by it. “Why all the hostility, Harry?”
Harry couldn’t help a small, disbelieving laugh. “You know why.”
“I only reported the truth. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to stop printing lies about you?”
“Yes, that’s your game now, isn’t it? Pry into the deepest aspects of my personal life to get back at me. Knowing that if you print the truth, then I won’t be able to refute it.”
“I’m merely trying to give the wizarding world exactly what it wants: to know you inside and out.”
“Without my permission.”
“If you’d given me an exclusive from the start, you could have controlled the story.”
Harry turned to her again, his eyes blazing. “And if you’d been just a little patient, the exclusive I gave to Jalil Safar could have been yours.” He saw surprise flash across her face, and he smirked. “That’s right. I would have given it to you, after what you did for me my 5^th year, with The Quibbler. But you’re incapable of patience, aren’t you? The moment I turned you down, you immediately had to begin plotting your revenge. Never mind that it was only a week after Voldemort’s death, and I hadn’t even given my testimony yet. It never occurred to you that I might simply not be ready to talk about it yet. All you had in mind was punishing me. Well, here’s a bit of truth, Rita, since you’re such a big fan of it, and all. Actions have consequences, and your actions these past months have guaranteed it that you will never get any sort of interview with me for the rest of your life, let alone an exclusive one. So congratulations. You’ve had your revenge. You’ve printed just about everything about me that could possibly be interesting to anyone, and now you have nowhere to go, because you burned all of your bridges with me and I will have nothing to do with you from here on out. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”
She stared at him for a moment, and Harry went back to looking at Colin’s photos, not really seeing them with the fire pulsing behind his eyes.
“Fascinating speech, Harry. Really quite interesting. But let me remind you that simply because you choose not to associate with me does not mean that I can’t still dig up dirt on you. And don’t think for a moment I believe your assertion that I’ve written all there is to write. There is always more. I’ve hardly even scratched the surface of your relationship with Draco Malfoy.”
“You will leave Draco alone,” Harry seethed. “Or so help me, you will live to regret it.”
He didn’t have to look at her again to know she was smirking. He could hear it in her voice. “And there it is, just another one of your many weaknesses. It’s the people, really, isn’t it, Harry? All of the people in your life that you love so much?”
“You come after them, I come after you,” Harry said. “Simple as that.”
“Come after me with what, exactly?” She sounded amused.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something. There’s always that beetle-sized secret of yours that happens to be illegal.”
“You can’t prove I’m an Animagus,” she said. “No magic can force me into that form, only force me out of it if I’m already in my animal state.”
Harry shrugged. “Who says I have to prove it? The court of public opinion will do the job for me. The word of the Savior against the word of one of the most reviled reporters in wizarding Britain. I wonder who people will believe. And let’s not forget that I’m not the only one who knows. Others can back up what I have to say.”
“You mean your clever little Muggleborn friend? Of course she would back you up. She’s hardly proof.”
“I mean all of the Slytherins who used to pass secrets to you during the Triwizard tournament. Pansy Parkinson comes to mind. She and I are friends now, didn’t you know? And there was another… Draco Malfoy, was it? The Prince of Slytherin? The one whose lead all of the other Slytherins follow? You outed yourself to quite a lot of those snakes, I understand. Big mistake, Rita. One might even say newsworthy.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you even try, I will destroy you in the press. Gloves off, no holds barred. You think since the public loves you now that you’re safe from them. But there’s nothing they love more than watching a celebrity crash and burn. Trust me, I make my living off of it.”
“You print one falsehood about me or any of my friends and I will nail you for libel. I’m not a child anymore, and I know how to hire myself a solicitor,” Harry shot back, his tone full of venom. “Besides, it will be a bit difficult to trash me in the press if you’re unemployable. And I doubt even the smallest news rag would hire you once your secret’s out.” Skeeter didn’t seem to have a good answer for that, her face pale and stony, and Harry found himself smiling. “Hunting season on me is over, Rita. Get used to it. Or things will get really ugly. Do we understand each other?”
She didn’t say anything, but Harry felt that was answer enough.
“Good,” said Harry. “So long, then, Rita. Have a nice life.” He turned and walked away, not bothering even to look back to catch the expression on Skeeter’s face.
That was not the time or place he’d been planning on having that confrontation, but he was glad it had happened. It was one less thing for him to worry about. And if Skeeter took the risk of firing another shot at him, he’d follow through on his promise, secure in the fact that Draco would back him up one hundred percent.
And now, back to what really matters.
He finally came to Fred’s memorial, only to find that most of the Weasleys had moved on. Only Molly and Arthur remained, leaning against each other while Molly sniffled into a handkerchief. Harry was about to give them some privacy when Molly spotted him.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, opening her arms.
Harry came and embraced her, and she held onto him tightly.
“Come look at what everyone has left here,” she said, once she’d pulled away and wiped her nose. “Look at all these wonderful pictures.”
Harry did, and couldn’t help but smile. Fred was beaming or laughing in each and every one of them, looking like the life of the party.
“He had a happy life, didn’t he?” Molly said. “It wasn’t nearly long enough, but it was a good life.”
“It was,” Harry said. “It was a great life.”
It was all feeling like a bit much, all of a sudden. He wasn’t sure his heart could take anymore. And he wished he knew where Draco was.
He left Molly and Arthur behind, his eyes peeled for a certain blond head. Who he stumbled across, however, was Vesper, looking clean and polished with iron-straight hair and burgundy dress robes. Even more surprising, however, was that she was joined by her uncle.
“You guys came!” Harry said, surprised, and happy to see a friendly face that didn’t remind him of the war. He gave Vesper a hug and shook Kemp’s hand. “Have you guys been looking at the memorials?”
“Yeah, we’ve just been walking around. We don’t know all that many people. Well, I don’t, at least.”
“I recognize a few professors from my Hogwarts days,” Kemp added. “Slughorn was my old head of house. He was happy to run into me.”
“Were you a Slug Club member?” Harry asked wryly.
“As a matter of fact, I was,” said Kemp.
“So was I, my 6^th year.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all. I bet he came right for you.”
Harry grinned. “Before the school year even started.”
“What in Merlin’s name is the Slug Club?” Vesper asked, making a face.
“One of the most overblown and pretentious things I ever had the pleasure of experiencing,” said Kemp with a small smile. “You didn’t miss anything, dear niece. Trust me on that.”
“He’s right. It was mostly just Slughorn trying to get in good with people who would be important and influential someday, while they were still students.”
“Interesting…” said Vesper.
But Harry had caught something odd out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned he saw someone coming towards him, looking entirely out of place in a loud red kimono sort of getup that said “Go Lions!” in big gold letters across the front. The real distraction, however, was the massive lion-shaped headdress, which reminded Harry a bit of Luna’s old roaring lion hat.
“What on Earth…” He heard Vesper say as the figure came towards him.
And that’s when Harry realized: it was Draco. And he knew exactly what had happened.
George had showed him the prototype of this particular product. It was a small pin that could be planted on someone’s clothing and, when triggered, transformed their wardrobe into outlandish regalia from the Hogwarts house of your choice that was nearly impossible to remove. They were trying to finish them in time to sell them at the Quidditch finals, and by the looks of it, they’d succeeded.
Harry tried to hold back his laughter, but it was a losing battle, with the way the ridiculous lion head bobbed up and down as Draco walked. He just couldn’t help the peal of sniggers that escaped him, feeling a kind of cathartic release after all the sadness and grief he’d been feeling up to that point.
Draco, however, was clearly not in the mood to laugh. He wore both a glare and a scowl as he said, from underneath the headdress, “Yes, by all means, laugh it up, Harry.”
For some reason, that only made Harry laugh harder, and he bent over, his hands on his knees.
“You are such a bastard,” Draco said.
Harry straightened, trying to get control of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to get his breathing even again. “This was George’s doing, I assume?”
“And Ronald’s,” Draco sniped. “Your precious surrogate brothers decided to make a fool of me on the one day I absolutely had to be taken seriously.”
Harry sighed, his laughter mostly under control now. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “They’re not trying to make you look bad, I promise. They’re just… sad about Fred and acting out.”
“How very mature,” Draco grumbled.
“In a way, you should be honored, really. They wouldn’t pick on you if they didn’t like you. You’ve basically been inducted into the family.”
“I will never be a Weasley. Not now, not ever.”
“We’ll see,” Harry said with a grin, pulling out his wand to put Draco right again. “Just wait ‘til you’re pulling on that first Weasley Christmas jumper.”
“Sweet Merlin, what have I gotten myself into with you?” Draco muttered under his breath, trying to dislodge the headdress, which refused, by design, to be removed.
“Stop fidgeting, would you?” Harry said. “I can’t fix it if you don’t hold still.”
“Fix it?” Draco asked. “How are you going to fix it? I’ve already tried everything.”
“Just hold still, all right?” Harry ran the tip of his wand along Draco’s left lapel, and the spell slowly disintegrated, returning Draco to his black dress robes. He looked perfectly normal again, if not a bit disheveled.
“How did you do that?” Draco asked, temporarily awed.
Harry plucked the small pin off Draco’s robes that was a cause of all the trouble. “It’s a Weasley product,” he said.
“Well, I figured as much. But still…”
“One of the perks of being a part owner of the company. George tells me about all of the new products and how they work.”
“Part owner? Since when do you have investments?”
“I have investments,” Harry said defensively. “And in the case of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, I gave them their startup capital. My Triwizard winnings.”
“You just handed those clowns a thousand galleons when you were fourteen? And no one stopped you?”
“No one knew about it. Besides, I didn’t want that money,” Harry said softly. “It was better that they take it.”
“We need to have a talk about the way you throw your money around. You should sit down with my mother to talk about your investment portfolio. She could give you some options that are better than some joke shop.” Draco had his wand out now, using grooming charms to fix his hair and wrinkled robes.
“I received quite a sizeable return on that investment, I’ll have you know,” said Harry. “Now can you focus for a moment?” he asked, once Draco looked impeccable again. “I want you to meet some people.”
It was then that Draco seemed to realize they weren’t alone as he looked over and caught sight of Vesper and Kemp.
“This is my dueling master, Aurelian Kemp, and his other apprentice, Vesper,” Harry told him. He turned to Kemp and Vesper. “And this is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.”
“I figured as much,” Vesper said with a laugh as Draco shook both her hand and Kemp’s. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I should hope so,” said Draco with a smirk, which made Harry roll his eyes. “And I’ve heard a bit about you as well,” Draco went on smoothly, back in charming aristocrat mode now that he no longer looked ridiculous. “You’re a national dueling champion, so I hear.”
“In the States,” Vesper said with a pleased smile. “I’ve only gotten to compete in regional tournaments since I moved here, but there’s a national one coming up this summer that I’m hoping to qualify for.”
“You’ll qualify,” Kemp said. “There is no question of that.”
“I also hear that we’re to introduce you to all of our good-looking single friends,” Draco said with a grin.
Vesper swatted Harry on the arm. “You told him that?”
“Of course. It’s not like it was a secret. You were practically begging me to.”
Vesper closed her eyes in mild mortification, and Harry risked a glance at Kemp, who was scowling but holding his tongue on the issue.
“Well, most of the 8^th years have paired up already, and I doubt you want to go much younger than that,” Draco said.
“I draw the line at them being of age, of course,” said Vesper. “But seeing as I’m already twenty… yeah, nineteen or above is better.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do.”
Harry shook his head. “I said I wasn’t going to play matchmaker.”
“But that doesn’t preclude me from doing so,” Draco retorted.
A bell sounded across the grounds, signaling that it was time to start gathering for the dedication of the Battle Memorial.
“Bollocks,” Harry said. He had finally allowed himself to forget about his obligations, but now he was reminded with full force.
Draco took his hand. “You’re going to be fine,” he said in Harry’s ear. “Just another thirty minutes and this will all be over.”
Harry nodded but said nothing. He suddenly felt like there was a wriggling creature in his stomach trying to get out.
The crowd made its way around the lake, where rows of chairs had been assembled in front of the memorial, which was still covered in a large shroud, ready to be revealed after the dedication. A podium had been erected as well, just to the left and in front of the covered memorial. Harry tried not to look at it as he took his designated seat at the end of the row. Draco sat beside him and immediately took his hand again. Harry was grateful for the gesture, feeling like the Slytherin’s grip was the only thing anchoring him to his chair.
There were a few moments of silence before the headmistress stepped up to the podium, her expression somber.
“Thank you all for being here today,” she said. “I know that this is a difficult and painful day for many of us to remember. But as painful and difficult as it is, it must be remembered, for the sake of our world, our future, and the people we have lost. We gather today to honor them with a new memorial which will remain on our beloved school grounds for the rest of time, so that we may always be grateful for the peace we have found, and for those who fought to give it to us.
“I would now like to welcome our Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, to the podium to introduce our dedication speaker.”
She stepped aside as Kingsley rose from his chair in the front row. He embraced McGonagall and gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking the podium.
“Thank you, Minerva.” He looked out over the crowd. “This has been a difficult day indeed. On days like these it is so easy to get swept up in the past, in what was and what could have been. But I find myself today looking more and more to the future, and what we can create together in our new world. I am honored, as your Minister, to be a part of that, but I also can’t help but feel like I’m already a member of the old generation. I see so many young faces out here today, many of them familiar, because they fought with me in the Battle. Too young, you were, some might say. And perhaps they’re right. You were too young to have to face what you faced. And yet here you are today, finishing your education, preparing to build lives for yourselves. You overcame all odds, and you should be proud.
“There is a particular young man, the one I’m meant to introduce today (although, let’s be honest, I doubt he really needs an introduction)…” A few people chuckled, and Harry tried to control the nervous bouncing of his legs. He felt Draco place a hand on his knee, trying to calm him, but it didn’t help much. “I’ve known Harry Potter for a few years now,” Kingsley went on, “since the reestablishment of the Order of the Phoenix in preparation for our second war. What struck me immediately were his honesty, his integrity, and his commitment to the happiness and well-being of others. You don’t need me to tell you how extraordinary he is, for you already know what he has done for all of us, although he will always insist that we all did it together. But I will say that it is the example he sets that gives me hope for our future, and I can think of no better person to dedicate this memorial than him. Please join me in welcoming Harry Potter to speak to us today.”
There was applause, Harry was sure, but his breath was too heavy in his ears for him to really hear it as he stood. Focusing on simply keeping an even footing as he made his way to the front, Harry managed to ignore everything else around him.
The speech is good, he told himself, and was reminded of how much he had Hermione and Draco to thank for that. But he would deal with that later. The speech is good, and you will be fine.
He must have kissed McGonagall and shaken Kingsley’s hand. He must have, surely. But before he knew it he was at the podium, the papers of his speech in front of him. He looked down at his shaking hands, silently cursing them. Finally, he made himself look out over the crowd, seeking out the friendliest faces among them. And then he made himself speak.
“Thank you, Minister, for your kind words. And thank you, Headmistress, for making this year at Hogwarts possible and successful for all of us.” He saw the two of them nod their heads at him encouragingly, and he turned back to the crowd. “And thank you all for being here today. In thinking about how we wanted to commemorate this day, the Minister, the Headmistress, and the students at this school wanted most of all to be able to honor those who died for us. I hope that getting the opportunity to celebrate the lives of the fallen today has been a healing experience for all of you, rather than merely a sad one. I know it has been for me.
“I’ll be honest, I never thought myself the best person to come up here and give a dedication. Those of you who know me know I’m more a person of action than a person of articulation.” That got a couple of laughs, and Harry let himself smile for a moment. “The truth is, in times like these, I don’t have many words. It often feels like words cannot possibly express the incredible grief, love, and gratitude I feel when I think about those that fought alongside me. No words I could say could do those feelings justice. But, I also know, in times like these, that words are the only thing we have. So, I’ll do my best here. You’ll just have to bear with me.”
He paused, allowing himself to breathe, glad that the shaking seemed to have calmed. He reminded himself not to rush. “There are times when I wish I had the world’s biggest time-turner and I could turn back the clock to keep all of our friends and loved ones from dying at the hands of Voldemort. Those are times when the senselessness of the violence and destruction Voldemort wreaked on our world completely overwhelms me. But then I remember that no amount of wishing or fantasizing in the world is going to bring our heroes back, and the only thing I can really do is acknowledge that while Voldemort’s actions were senseless, the deaths of the people that fought against him were not. They died so that we could live. They died so that we could have peace. It’s important that I remember that, because there is nothing more vital in these times than making sure their sacrifices were not in vain. We owe them that. We owe it to ourselves, too.
“And how do we make that so? How do we make sure that another dark lord doesn’t rise among us? The idea that it could happen again brings on a terrible fear for me, a fear that makes me want to act out against those I don’t trust and take control in places where I feel I have none. But does that help? Does that keep the world safe?
“We may spend years trying to understand what made Voldemort so evil. Was it the fact that he delved so deeply into dark magic? Was it the fact that he was conceived, not in a relationship of love, but one of manipulation and deceit? Was it something in his ancestry, in his blood? Was it his hatred of all things Muggle? Did someone hurt him so extensively in his childhood that he spent the rest of his life wanting to hurt others? We’ll probably never understand the whole truth, only bits and pieces. But I will say, having had the unpleasant opportunity to peer into his mind more than a few times, there are some things I know about Tom Riddle that help me understand his nature, if not the cause of it. And to me, based on what I’ve seen, there is nothing that made him so horrible, so evil, as this: when he looked at a person, he didn’t see a person. He saw a piece in a chess game. He saw a pawn that could do his bidding, or a puppet he could manipulate, or an obstacle he had to annihilate. In his own mind, the only person that existed in the world was him. Everyone else was merely a help or a hindrance to the thing he wanted most: to control everything and everyone. To me, that was what made Voldemort so dangerous. Because if he never saw other people as people, then he could not feel love or compassion towards them, not feel remorse for killing them. I’m not sure he felt much of anything really. He certainly never felt anything for anyone other than himself. And isn’t that so much more terrifying than even anger or hate? Indifferent to others is the coldest, cruelest thing we can be.”
The crowd was absolutely silent, hundreds of faces staring up at him, and Harry felt, suddenly, much more clear-headed. Because this was important, because he needed to say it, and because they were ready to hear it. He plowed on.
“And we are not immune to it. We have to be aware of that fact. It’s so easy, when we encounter someone different from us, someone whose blood status, or magical practices, or political leanings, make us uncomfortable, to turn off our feelings. To tell ourselves that we’re right, and they’re wrong, and they are less than us because of who they are or what they believe. And in doing so, they stop being people to us. They become less than us. And that makes it easier for us to persecute them, to manipulate them, to ignore their suffering. And when we do that, when we take it that far, we are no better than Voldemort. When we do that, we are simply waiting for another dark lord to rise among us, to divide us again. And we cannot let that happen. We already know the price of that mistake. We’ve already paid it.
“Our esteemed Minister said something very wise in a letter he wrote to me a few months ago. He said that, ‘we must stop thinking of our world as divided between those that are good and those that are evil. Rather we must unite under the fact that we survived.’ And he’s right. This war was hell on every single one of us, no matter what side we were on, and the only way to allow it to truly be over is to be united, rather than divided. Because we lived when so many didn’t. And those that didn’t died for us, not just so that we could live, not just so we could have peace. They died so that we could be free. Free from the tyranny of Voldemort, free to be who we want to be, do what we want to do, believe what we want to believe, to love who we want to love.” His eyes found Draco in that moment, to find the blond looking up at him with a slight, proud smile on his lips. He gave Draco a small smile in return. “We may not always understand each other’s choices. Some of those choices may even anger us, or offend us. And when they do, we can acknowledge it, talk about it, debate it. But we should never turn away from those conversations, and we should never try to inhibit another’s right to be as free as we are. We should never stop seeing other people as people, even when they disagree with us, are different from us. It is that freedom that the fallen gave their lives for, and for me this memorial will stand as a testament to the power and the incredible gift of that sacrifice. I will not ever let myself forget it. And I hope you will join me in that. Thank you.”
He stepped away from the podium, finally, too awash with relief to really absorb the applause he was receiving. He went to stand next to McGonagall and Kingsley as the shroud was magically removed to reveal the recreation of the front of Hogwarts, where small statue versions of hundreds of students, teachers, and Order members stood together, ready to defend it, hands clasped and wands at the ready. Harry had liked this design for the memorial when he’d first seen the plans. He liked that no one person or group was emphasized, but rather that it showed everyone standing together, united.
He looked back over at the crowd only to find that they were all standing from their seats, still clapping. Whether it was for him, or for the memorial, or for the fallen, he didn’t much care. He was just glad they were moved at all.
The applause ended, finally, and people were invited to come take a closer look at the memorial. Harry made his way over to his friends, the adrenalin from giving the speech having subsided. Hermione immediately gave him a hug and whispered, “Great job, Harry.” All of the Weasley brothers gave him praise and claps on the back. But it wasn’t until Draco embraced him that he finally let himself relax.
“You were wonderful,” he said in Harry’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.”
Harry smiled into Draco’s neck. It was the perfect thing to say, when it would be so easy for Draco to crack a joke or give him a ribbing, as he might have done in lower stakes circumstances. But one of the things that was so incredible about Draco was that he always seemed to know what Harry needed in the moment.
“It was for you,” Harry replied quietly.
Draco pulled back so that he could cup Harry’s cheek and kiss him soundly. Someone amongst the crowd wolf-whistled, but Harry didn’t care. He pulled away, finally, knowing he was probably blushing.
“I’m just glad it’s over,” he said, a bit louder. He turned to his friends, keeping an arm wrapped around Draco’s waist.
“Now you can relax and enjoy the reception,” said Hermione, beaming.
“Good, ‘cause I’m starving,” Harry said. He’d barely eaten anything that morning, too nervous about the event to have an appetite.
The group made their way to the Great Hall, where the usual long house tables had been relegated to the side to hold the food and drinks, and the main floor was dotted with dozens of smaller tables. Several people approached Harry as they entered, shaking his hand and thanking him for his words. He smiled and nodded and thanked everyone, one eye ever on a very promising looking platter of chicken legs on the far side of the room.
He was eventually able to extricate himself and get himself some food for his now growling stomach. He sat down with Draco, Hermione, Vesper, Kemp, and a handful of the Weasleys and enjoyed sitting back and listening to their conversation, letting the last of his anxieties about the day fall away.
It was done. He and Draco had both survived it.
When he’d eaten his fill of the savory foods he ventured to the dessert table on his own, wondering if he would be lucky enough to find some treacle tart. As he was perusing the selection he felt someone come up next to him.
“I thoroughly enjoyed your speech, Mr. Potter,” said a voice he didn’t recognize, and he turned to see a tall and curvy woman standing next to him. She had gray eyes and dark hair that went barely past her chin in a sleek bob, and was looking at him with a polite but avid expression.
“Thank you,” said Harry with a nod.
“Did you write it yourself?”
“With some guidance from people I trust.” Harry continued to look over the different desserts, hoping she would take the hint.
“Well, it was inspired. I’d love to hear more about your thought process behind it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping his voice sound friendly enough. “I’m not speaking to any reporters today.”
“Good thing I’m not a reporter, then,” she said, which made Harry look at her again. She held out a hand. “Naomi Thickett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thickett…” Harry said, taking the hand to shake it. “As in…”
“The Diaphone Thickett Foundation. Named after one of my ancestors, and one of the first Muggleborns to be allowed to attend Hogwarts many centuries ago. You’ve heard of us?”
“You sent me an internship offer earlier this year.”
“That we did.” Naomi looked pleased. “Well remembered.” When Harry didn’t say anything in return, she plowed on. “I’m an assistant director at the Foundation and I’m launching a new task force, one that addresses the current state of purebloods' rights in our society.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “I thought that your foundation was focused on Muggleborn rights and integration.”
“It is,” Naomi said. “And it’s a worthy cause, to be sure, and still a very important one. But I have personally seen firsthand since the end of the war that focusing only on Muggleborn rights is not enough. I think we should be addressing the rights of everyone, regardless of blood status.”
“I happen to agree with you on that,” said Harry.
She smiled a small smile. “I thought you might, not only based on your speech today but also on that interview you gave a few weeks ago. You were the first to speak out and really make sense on the issue of the Heirloom Declaration Act. My partner was particularly impressed with what you had to say.”
“Your partner?”
“I’m married to a pureblood who comes from a very traditional family. The choice to marry me was hard enough on her, with her family and all, but the way things have been politically… well, I’m sure you know firsthand about that, considering who your boyfriend is.”
Harry had to admit he was becoming more and more intrigued by this woman. “Yes, I do know a little about it.”
“I’d say you know a great deal. In fact, I believe you have a very unique insight into the issues that are facing us today. I would really like to get a chance to talk to you more about your perspective. This task force is my own personal project at the Foundation and I want to do it right. I want to hear from people who think beyond the status quo, who aren’t beholden to anyone or anything except their own convictions.”
“And you think I’m one of those people?”
“I see every indication that you are. Am I wrong?”
Harry smiled. “No. In fact, I like to think that you’re right. I try to be that way, anyway.”
“Good. Then would you be willing to meet with me? At a time and place of your convenience, of course. I realize that your time is limited and valuable. But this cause is an important one.”
She was perhaps a bit pushy, but Harry liked her candidness, and the fact that she was neither simpering and drooling over him nor particularly condescending. Rather she was looking at him with the kind of esteem with which one looks upon someone they see as an equal. That, really, was what sealed it.
“Sure, send me an owl. I’m not sure how much time I will have in the next few weeks, with my NEWTs coming up, but if I can find the time, I will happily meet with you.”
Her smile widened. “Excellent, Mr. Potter. I’ll follow up immediately. And for now, leave you to your dessert. Merlin knows you’ve earned it.” That made Harry laugh, just a little. “My best to Mr. Malfoy and your other friends. They truly are heroes.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, surprised that she included Draco in that.
She gave him another polite nod and then she turned and walked away with a quick and purposeful gait, leaving Harry a bit confounded. He filled his plate and returned to the table, quiet amongst his talkative friends, wondering what sort of interesting and unexpected thing would happen to him next.
djaddict: Thank you!! Yeah, I thought it was about time for Harry to stop being passive in all of this.
Dedicated_Reader: Thanks for the rec! I will definitely check it out in preparation.
I agree with you, though. Sex is all well and good, but it’s really about the love between them. It’s their relationship and how it has evolved that keeps me writing this.
smn: Thanks I’m so glad! Lol I like the image of Harry and Draco together as political “superheroes.” Although as you can see, a lot of this is Harry’s own personal journey. But Draco always has his back :)
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Say My Name