Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Dust of Water	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 20634 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 33
- 34
- 35
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty-Four—Making Anew

            “Malfoy really lets you have us here?” Ron sat cautiously down on the edge of a spindly chair and stared around the library as though he assumed he would tear the books apart just by being in the same room with them.

            “He did say you could visit.” Harry stuck his legs off the edge of the chair and swung them, smiling at Ron. “And that this was my home. That means I can have my friends over to visit.”

            Ron swallowed and nodded. “You know Hermione would have come with me, mate? She just had a big case come up at the last minute. And even then, I could only come because Mum wanted to take the kids anyway.”

            “I know.” Harry also suspected that Hermione had left him and Ron alone so they could talk about things by themselves, but then again, he and Ron probably needed that. He caught Ron’s eye. “How are you doing, knowing I’m not going to come back and by your partner again?”

            Ron sighed and stared at the floor between his feet. “It’s hard,” he admitted. “You were always right there, and you knew more about the cases we were going to have than I did.” He peeked up at Harry from under his fringe. “Some of that was more than coincidence, wasn’t it?”

            “A lot more,” Harry told him gently.

            Ron nodded, not looking surprised. “I can’t wish for that to come back. I want—all sorts of things, Harry. But mostly I’ve accepted that you’re not the way you were, you weren’t ever the way I thought you were.” He frowned, and then added, “And I would rather have you the way you are now than go back to something that was false in the first place.”

            Harry reached out and clapped Ron’s shoulder once. Ron nodded, and for a few minutes they sat in silence. Then Harry asked, “Will you tell me some more about normal memories? The ones of you and Hermione being a couple, I mean. The sorts of things Old Harry would have known about because you told him, not because he was there.”

            Ron leaned back and studied him. “Trying to find memories that aren’t tainted by his presence?”

            Harry grimaced and nodded. “But also because I want to know you, Ron.”

            “You know the most important things about us. The things that have lasted the longest.”

            “But that’s not the same thing as jokes and conversations that you summarized for me and things you might have complained about to me when Hermione wasn’t there. I want to know those things, too. And I’ll talk to Hermione when she’s not so busy and ask her for the same memories.”

            “Shit. I’m not sure my memory is that good, mate.”

            Harry grinned, because he knew that tone of voice from Hogwarts, and it wasn’t one that he thought Old Harry would have had the power to corrupt or change. “I’m not asking for it to be. I’ve—just been thinking a lot about memories lately, you know?” Ron nodded, never taking his eyes from Harry’s face. “And I think it’s true that we can’t remember every single thing, but there’s a sort of texture that builds up. A way you know people because of all the things you remember in general. That’s what I’d like to have back with you.”

            “I like that. A texture.” Ron slowly picked up the cup of tea that one of Draco’s house-elves had brought and began to sip it. “All right. I’ll start with some of the things leading up to our wedding. I know you weren’t there, but…”

            Harry smiled. This was what he wanted to be doing right now, sitting with his best friend and listening to memories that Ron had accepted were really not his. Old Harry hadn’t been there, and he and Harry were different people.

            It was difficult to imagine feeling more content.

*

            “—and then Hermione dumped an entire pot of tea over me.”

            Harry laughed hard enough to launch some tea at Ron himself. Ron snorted and cast a Cleaning Charm without even stopping the story.

            “That finally cured me of my tendency to slobber over Veela women.” Ron grinned and shook his head. “I can’t remember why I used to, you know? I mean, I’m used to Fleur arguing with Bill and having crumbs on her from the kids’ lunch half the time now. I suppose I was just surprised to see Gabrielle all grown up.”

            “Careful, mate. You still sound a little wistful.”

            “I am not!” Ron sat up. “Come to think of it, mate, maybe Gabrielle would like to meet you. You two never spent much time together, and you were always immune to the allure of Veela women anyway.”

            Harry blinked and picked up his small plate of food again, confronted unexpectedly with something he hadn’t thought would come up for months. Maybe years, if that was what it took him to get his head back together.

            “Mate? Harry?”

            Harry sighed and looked up. “I don’t know how to tell you this with good words, Ron, so I’m going to use the less good ones and hope it works.”

            “As long as you’re not telling me that you’ve lost your memory again and I told you all those stories for nothing, that’s fine,” said Ron, a little suspiciously.

            “I don’t want to date someone in the Weasley family. Or marry anyone from it, either.”

            Ron blinked hard. Then he said, “Gabrielle’s not a Weasley.” He sighed when Harry gave him a pointed look. “Fine, I know what you mean. But why? You know that we would all get over it. It might take us a while, but we would. We want you and Gin to be happy, and you can’t be with each other.”

            “Because I want to live a life that’s not touched by those old lies. Old Harry lied to Ginny about his reasons for dating her, and implied that he’d been waiting five years for her, just like she had with him. I don’t want to do something that would hurt her—”

            “She would get over it.”

            “I don’t think you can speak for her. And I don’t want to take the chance. And I want to see what’s new out there. I want to reconnect with you lot, too, and maybe someday Ginny and I can be friends again. But I really, really don’t want to date someone who would remind us all of the bad times. Okay?”

            Ron sighed so hard and so long that Harry thought he would exhaust himself. Then he shook his head. “I spent five years thinking you wouldn’t be my brother-in-law after all. And then five thinking you were. And a few months not knowing what would happen. I suppose it’s not going to happen now, huh?”

            “I suppose not.” Harry smiled at him. “Thanks for understanding, really. I want to think about other things, explore other things. That’s hard if all I’m thinking of is getting back together with Ginny, or dating Gabrielle.”

            “Tell me one thing,” Ron said, and then instead of telling Harry what he was going to ask, drank tea until his throat must have burned.

            “Yes?” Harry asked when Ron was done, just to prove that he didn’t forget when he was asked about something like that.

            Ron sighed noisily and looked up at the ceiling. “Are you going to date Malfoy?”

            “I have no idea.”

            Ron looked down again and blinked. “That’s—sort of a lie, mate. If you didn’t have any idea, you wouldn’t be here living in his bloody house, would you?”

            “I wanted a safe place, and a place to do some research on what I can do for the rest of my life, and he’s provided both,” Harry said simply. He held up a hand when Ron opened his mouth. “No, neither one is ideal. But it’s also true that I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ve talked, and he’s closer to me in some ways, and I understand him a lot better in others. But it’s still a little early to say that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.”

            “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Ron had sat back with his arms folded, and his face was openly skeptical.

            “Yeah,” said Harry. “Me, too.”

            The last thing he wanted was to repeat what had happened with Ginny, no matter how much Draco might want him. Harry would be honest with Draco even if it was painful. He deserved the ability to move on and find someone else if Harry couldn’t bring himself to love Draco, the same way she had.

            But Harry also didn’t think he had to make the decision right now. Draco seemed content to wait instead of pushing.

*

            “Please come have dinner with me tonight.”

            Harry had received the message from Draco half an hour ago, and it still puzzled him. If Draco wanted to spend time with him, why not just come to the library or Harry’s bedroom, the way he had in the past few days? He hadn’t hesitated to invite Harry to go with him to Teddy and Andromeda’s house, or to the lunch on the grass.

            But maybe he wanted to preserve a formal distance for dinner. Harry had dressed in nicer robes than normal because of that suspicion. He wandered down the main stairs in the blue ones, pausing when he got to the door of a dining room. Draco hadn’t actually told him when dinner started, or when he wanted to have it.

            “Is Master Harry lost?”

            Harry started and turned. The grey-eyed house-elf stood at the bottom of the stairs, bowing as he straightened. Harry had to look away, uncomfortably. Seen from this close, the elf’s resemblance to Draco was even more startling.

            “Draco invited me for dinner, but I don’t know where I’m going,” Harry mumbled, and lowered his head so he could look into the door of the dining room ahead while not looking at the elf. No, it was empty.

            “Master Draco is this way,” said the elf, and set off walking with a soft pad of his feet. Harry grimaced a little and followed, watching the portraits set in the walls turn to stare at him.

            Sure enough, he stepped into the most formal dining room he’d seen yet in the Manor. The table sprawled ahead of him down the center of the carpet, and it was polished to such a high shine that the reflection of the candles in it was actively painful. And the fireplace was made of marble, and there were enough forks on the table to equip an army.

            Draco stood at the head of the table, beside a chair that had been pulled a little way out. His face was anxious, and he wore charcoal-colored robes that looked as if they’d been trimmed with gold and lace at the same time.

            “Um, hi,” said Harry, and scratched the back of his neck, glancing around for the house-elf. He seemed to have disappeared, though. Harry hadn’t heard the crack that meant he had, but he’d been sort of distracted looking at Draco.

            “Hello.”

            Draco’s voice was smoother and deeper than Harry had heard it before. He moved a slow step forwards, trying to figure out if he was supposed to sit at the end of the table or in one of the chairs beside Draco’s.

            Then Draco shook his head a little and dragged the chair he stood behind out and away from the table. Harry stopped and stared at him. Draco returned the look, only his hand tightening on the chair and his throat bobbing a little as he swallowed.

            “I don’t understand,” Harry said. “Why are you being so formal when that’s never happened so far?”

            Draco closed his eyes, and Harry watched the slight ripple of his eyelashes over his cheeks. “Because I really want you, and I don’t know how else to do this,” he whispered. “I thought if I could show you this—courtesy, and giving you your favorite dishes, and having you eat in beautiful surroundings, you might think better of me.”

            “And because formality makes you more comfortable.”

            Draco turned to him, staring. Then he said, “Yes, perhaps that was it. Or at least some of it.”

            Harry nodded, and hesitated. Draco might be more comfortable with formality, but that didn’t mean Harry was, even if he had changed some of his attitudes since he was Old Harry.

            On the other hand, he hadn’t come in here intending to reject the formality. He’d even put on dress robes because he thought they might be required. And Draco was so nervous that Harry couldn’t resent him doing whatever he might to make himself more comfortable.

            When he walked over and sat down in the chair that Draco held, Draco’s smile was sweet and full of relief. He touched Harry’s shoulder lightly before he pushed the chair in. The minute he took his hands off, food started appearing on the table.

            Harry blinked. Treacle tart. The sort of sandwiches Draco had packed for their lunch in the gardens the other day—well, all right, maybe the house-elves had made them after all, even if Draco had been the one to bring them. A dish of roasted duck that he knew he’d made ecstatic noises over when it was first served to him, a few nights ago. Harry tilted his head back and looked up at Draco.

            Draco was flushing hard. He shrugged and muttered, “I told you that I wanted to feed you your favorite foods.”

            “Right, but I’m not going to eat them from your fingers, am I? Will you sit down and stop hovering over me?”

            Draco jumped. Then he smiled and sat down in the chair next to Harry’s on the right. Harry had the impression that he was already violating the etiquette of a pure-blood dinner, but he didn’t intend to say anything about that. Draco was smiling, and that was the important thing.

            Harry picked up one of the sandwiches and started eating. Then he grunted and gestured Draco at the plates. Draco turned to survey them. “What’s wrong with them?”

            Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t speak right away because his mouth was full of sticky sandwich filling, but he worked his jaws loose and swallowed, and then said, “I want you to eat, too. Not just sit there staring at me dreamily like I’m a work of art.”

            “You are a work of art.”

            “Well, your staring makes me nervous,” said Harry irritably. “Eat, will you?”

            There was a tender, triumphant smile on Draco’s face now as he reached out and guided some of the duck onto his plate. Harry shook his head and waited until he was sure Draco would pay at least some of his attention to his food before he went on eating.

            It was flattering, and probably the closest to sweet that Draco was capable of. But Harry still didn’t want someone staring at him constantly when he was trying to eat.

            More dishes appeared as Harry finished the sandwich, some of them roasted and steaming meat, some of them salads, some of them compounds of fruit and rice that Harry hadn’t seen since Hogwarts. He snorted a little as he ate a slice of orange that delicate rice grains clung to. “Did you teach your house-elves to cook like the ones at Hogwarts?”

            “I think rather that some of the house-elves at Hogwarts must have learned from the one of ours that you freed,” said Draco, leaning backwards and studying Harry as if he thought Harry would provide the answers to some puzzle. “Dobby, was his name?”

            Harry had to close his eyes abruptly. He hadn’t thought of Dobby much since he woke up, probably because he hadn’t spent time in the Manor’s cellars. But now…

            “Yeah,” Harry whispered. “Dobby.” He took a deep breath. I should visit his grave. And Remus and Tonks’s graves. Does Andromeda take Teddy to see them? I should ask the next time I visit her.

            About to ask if Draco knew, Harry opened his eyes—and stopped. The expression on Draco’s face was so twisted-up he couldn’t tell what it was, grief or anger or something else.

            “What is it?” Harry whispered.

            Draco glanced at the wall and picked up his cup of pumpkin juice, drinking it so fast that he looked as if it hurt him to swallow. Then he said, “You really admired him. That stupid elf. You really liked him.”

            “He died helping us escape,” said Harry, and decided not to emphasize just who they had been escaping from. It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t know.

            “But before that. How did you decide that you liked and admired him before that?”

            “Well, because he risked himself to come and warn me about danger in Hogwarts before our second year,” said Harry. “The danger was your father and the Chamber of Secrets, but I didn’t know that. I could tell how awful it must be, though. He endangered my life a few times, and it was hard to forgive him for that, but then I got the chance to free him. And he stayed free. He wasn’t like any other house-elf.”

            “So it would all be all right if something different happened to other house-elves?”

            “I don’t understand you. And I don’t think that other elves have to be like Dobby. Kreacher isn’t, and I still like him.”

            Draco turned and gave that devastated glare at his plate again. Harry rolled his eyes and drank as much of the wine that Draco had set in front of him as he could.

            “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”

            “I want to,” Draco said. “And yet I don’t want to. Because I think it’s going to make you hate me again.”

            Harry swallowed. “You said that you wanted to be honest with me.”

            “Yeah.” Draco sighed hard enough to make the flames of the candles in front of him sway. Then he stood up. “Come to the library, Harry. I have a lot of things to tell you, but I have to start showing you there.”

            Harry stood slowly in return, feeling his stomach orbit despite or maybe because of all the rich food he’d eaten. This sounded weirdly like the things Rob had told him. But Harry couldn’t imagine there was anything he couldn’t forgive Draco for. He’d forgiven him for having a living Horcrux portrait of Old Harry, after all.

            “Draco?”

            “Please come with me, Harry. Please.”

            In silence, Harry followed him, and he was definitely regretting eating as much now. All of it seemed to be bunching in his throat, waiting for the chance to come out.

            I wish dinner hadn’t been so formal. I wish I knew what he was going to tell me.

*

            Severus1snape: Thank you!

            SP777: I took the idea of Andromeda telling stories to her sisters from something I used to do with my sister, sort of like an extended roleplaying game. I didn’t tell scary ones, though, or she wouldn’t have played.
- 33
- 34
- 35
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

The Dust of Water