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The Echoes Of Yesterday	By : Samaelthekind Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17654 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 38
- 39
- 40
The Echoes Of Yesterday...by Samayel
Chapter 39: Like An Open Book

Draco could not control his steps as he reached the floor he'd sought. Even as he walked, his mind was completely enraptured by the passages he read. His lips moved softly as he muttered the words like a recited litany, the pages even turning themselves as if of their own volition. Slowly but surely he approached the quarters of Harry Potter, without even the knowledge of his destination.
“For some time this has been my solace, my confessional, my brief chance to voice my innermost thoughts. In the months since I began this journal I've found within myself a confidence I did not think I could own. I am a better man for having faced these truths, but I begin to wonder if I have written all that must be recorded. Perhaps I'll pick up my pen again...in more peaceful times. Things are complicated now, and I dare not place more of my attention on this when so much must be done. At least for the time being, this shall be my last entry.
Death Eaters have marked me for a vengeance killing. It's become widely known that I fled to the safety of the Order. As the rumors began to flow they weren't such a serious thing, but now that people seem to have settled upon them as true...there are repercussions. I am still of two minds about what to do. In England I have strong allies...at least one...if I dare to speak to him. I should do it. I'm stronger now than I was when I first started this journal. Perhaps I have the strength to ask Harry's forgiveness and yet not beg for his love.
Claire has been a bastion of strength and support. With her beside me I feel I could do anything, no matter how painful or difficult it might be. Harry is a gentle soul...if he met her...she would surely charm him too. There is no spite in her. She would likely thank him for preserving my life so that this day could come. As would I!
In any case, it may be his aid that we need. His protection could save us much effort. A team of Aurors, much less the most powerful wizard of our Age, would cow any sniveling pack of Voldemort's old cronies into submission. It means facing him though, and I profess a certain confidence, but I am still a creature beset by doubts. I wonder if it would go well. In the silence of my heart, I want to believe in his goodness, his power to forgive and forget, but I've seen him in rage before. I did hurt him...and badly. It may not be a forgiveness I deserve. It may not be a forgiveness he can offer.
What if I hurt him too deeply? If my pleas fell on ears that had closed to me, if he turned his back and walked away...I do not know if I could live with myself. As it stands, I do not know what he feels, and I am now used to that uncertainty. His friendship would bring me a peace I very much want...but his rejection would wound me far worse than what I've endured so far. So much hangs on it all that I consider other options. There are other ways to make our way back to England. I have a few old allies left from Slytherin. I have a fortune backing me, and my gratitude means something, even if it is only wealth...but wealth moves some people sufficiently to buy temporary loyalty and that's all I need until we're safely established.
The DeLune's estate is old, but quite small compared to the manor. In light of the danger to myself I've written a brief will and testament to my last wishes. I've made certain that my wife and child's well being will be seen to in suitable fashion. Sadly, while this estate is well warded, it has become a prison to us. We no longer risk idle travel for shopping or leisure. Claire's parents can be...difficult. I suppose they expected insane extravagance and lavish spending. I haven't been carefree or a wastrel with my inheritance, but I haven't been skin-flinted either. Their greed is more than a little appalling, and it astonishes me that their daughter is so unlike them. I am thankful for those differences, but they do love her and dote upon her, so I suppose they have some admirable qualities to them. They raised a wonderful daughter whom I adore, and for that I will ensure they are never paupers.
The constant weeks of close company in this small estate, sending the house elf out to fetch basic goods and things we require, has become more than a little irritating. This makes thoughts of England appealing in the extreme. It would be good to see my home again, and to let Claire enjoy the comforts of the manor. Little Draco could grow in the halls of his forefathers and know our ancestral home. The manor is far older than this estate, and its wards could be strengthened and improved once we're securely inside.
I have sent occasional missives to old acquaintances, being discrete about my current location of course, but enough to foster old friendships and hopefully secure some allies that will want to curry my favor when I return. It seems callow, but its the way things are done among Slytherins and purebloods, and it always has been. At least Theo writes back in good cheer. His letters have been good reading by the fire with Claire while my son sleeps. It's good to think that someone remembers our time at Hogwarts fondly, in spite of the hash I made of the place. Maybe I am a Lord in my own right, and perhaps I can't be forced to utter an apology unless I wish to...but I think I will utter some just the same. There are people at that school even now who curse my name, and I wouldn't want the bad blood to carry over to my son someday. These things are rooted in my failings, and they should be dealt with by me, preferably as soon as the post war confusion settles. They are owed a sincere attempt to make things right, just as surely as Harry is.
I could make the journey alone. I hate the idea of placing Claire or Draco at risk. Claire doesn't want to be parted from me, and while she sees the sense in not placing our child in harms way, she has no fear when it comes to herself. Her insistence complicates things more than a little, but could I turn away such loyalty? Such courage? I am blessed to have someone like her near me, and her strength lends me a bravery I didn't think I was capable of displaying. I suppose, for all that he failed us by embroiling our family with Voldemort, my father had that trait too. Only when it came to family did he have the courage of a lion, so out of place among serpents. Did mother bring that forth from him? Did I? In some ways, his choices make more sense to me, and in other ways, they make less than ever. I would never have enlisted in the service of someone who was so visibly consumed by cruelty...if I aimed to secure the well being of my family. It doesn't matter what they promise for reward...someone that foul and vindictive just cannot be trusted. It may be unfair to judge father so harshly. I can't know his mind or his justifications, but I know my own.
Fear. It's fear that paralyzes me at this crucial time. There have been hints of people testing the wards to this estate. They found them strong and well cast, and I doubt we'll have any trouble within these walls, but it only serves as a reminder that I am a target. My betrayal hasn't sat well with some of the old Inner Circle. Theo has hinted at being able to make secret transport available to me. Something that those scrying for magical acts won't recognize easily. We aren't far from Calaise, and once we're to the coast we could make the jump from the continent fairly easily with the right spells. Where to land is the first issue. I'll need to use stopping points with at least modest magical protection, and I can't get Claire or Draco into the manor directly until I rekey the wards for them. It might be safer to head right to the Ministry...but they aren't precisely cheering for a robust future for the Malfoy family these days. With luck I may be able to change that over the years, but at the moment I'm less than welcome.
Theo wrote of a safe point from which we could take a fast form of Muggle transit across the Channel. The last thing anyone would expect is a Malfoy using Muggle conveyance! The irony appeals to me. A swift boat to London and then make sure that Claire and Draco are safe while I rekey the wards. Then we can Apparate or Floo in easily. On the other hand, it may be safer to leave them both, or at least Draco, until I can absolutely sure of a safe return to the manor.
Bah! These petty frustrations are all I think of anymore. Someday, someday this will be over and I will be at peace, in my own home, with my wife and child, unworried by crises like the ones we live with in these times. Perhaps, if I make a good peace between us, Harry will come by from time to time. I think of him with someone else and it twists in my chest like a knife, but he deserves any happiness or peace this world can give him. Far more than I deserve it. I might have to learn to invite him and another to our table. I'd do it. I'd do it and bite my tongue and greet his beloved warmly and welcome them to my home and at my table. The debt I owe him is too great to do any less.
How far things have come since those halcyon days of youth. I wanted to curry his favor, even as a child. An ill-timed comment and before I knew it I'd drawn a line between us. How different things might have been if I'd been just a little less sure of my place in the world then. We could have found ourselves friends long before we did. I sometimes feel like I robbed myself of something precious...and I cannot give it back to myself. I would have chosen such different things, if I'd only loved first. Once a person experiences that glorious feeling they are never the same. It colors ones every perception, alters your every thought. It might all have ended so differently.
I wool-gather. That past cannot be changed. I did what I did, and it cannot be undone. I made the world I live in through my own actions, and I won't blame another for it. It wasn't mischance...it was actual folly, and I know it. Soon I will make a choice. Perhaps Theo's offer of aid is worthwhile. One day I'll be home again and I can make right what few things I can, but for now I must focus on our escape from France and this estate.
My next entry, if Merlin is at all merciful, will be from safe within the Malfoy estate, sitting in the den of my forefathers and sampling the vintages from our wine cellars. This diary has been a godsend to me, but I don't know if I'll need it once we're home. From there I can undertake so many things I can only dream of here. Who needs to write away stresses from days gone by when they can properly enjoy the future? Maybe I won't need this anymore. Maybe I'll pick this book up now and then, look back on these moments and remember what it was like to be so unsure of the future. Perhaps I'll chuckle as I read through it, or even blush at some of the remembrances from the old Black estate. Perhaps I'll see my friend, Harry, and no longer ache at the thought of him, content that our lives are still entwined as stalwart allies? We might talk
Who can say? For what it's worth, I'm glad these pages exist. They've done me good, but now is no longer the time to drift and wonder, now is the time to choose and act.
Draco, Lord Malfoy
Draco stood at the door of Harry's suite, intoning the last passages of the diary. Within, Harry had heard someone speaking at his door. His skin prickled uncomfortably and he felt oddly cold, despite the fact that there was no reason to feel that way. Some impulse made him go to the door and listen to the strange monotonous speech outside, laying aside his annoyance at being disturbed. The voice sounded vaguely like young Draco's, but it was more like muttering than clear speech, and that wasn't anything like Draco.
Harry opened the door, and found the strange tableau before him. Draco mouthed the words of a large book of fine leather, bound with bits of gold at the corners. The last words before the boy stopped speaking were “Draco, Lord Malfoy”. The lead gray eyes looked up to him, earnest and weirdly blank, and the boy held the book out to him, like an offering, and spoke with a candor that wasn't normal and a tone that Harry found eerily familiar.
“This...it was always meant to be found by you, Harry. It's taken too long to get here, but this is yours by right, my love.”
Harry felt the small hairs on his neck rising, and he was sure he could sense magic at play in Draco's behavior. The words he'd said...they hadn't sounded like his own. The boy had been raised in France, educated at Durmstrang. There was a stiff formality to most of his speech that only relaxed occasionally. The casual tone was out of place enough...on the son...but was more like the tone of his father. A glance at the handwriting that danced across the pages of the book and Harry shuddered in horror. Draco's...HIS Draco's...script was neat and clear, like that of a clerk, and he'd have known it anywhere.
It was pure impulse, not reason, that moved his hands, and despite a shriek of warning from his nerves Harry took the book from the hands of the young man in the hall. Even as he took it into his arms and turned to place it on the table, Harry felt the world begin to melt and swirl away. Far from fear, he felt oddly safe, the presence of the book itself seemed to flood his senses with comfort and familiarity. When Harry blinked away his disorientation, he looked upon a scene, a time and place, that had been pushed from his mind so many times. A small and cozy cottage on the coast of France. The last place he'd seen his former lover...dead. This was the room where the Death Eaters had found Draco and Claire. This is where their lives ended. Where Harry began the ruin of his own life on a path of violent revenge.
But there were no bodies here. The windows were open and the day was sunny and bright. The cottage was clean and well cared for, but devoid of occupants. Nothing stirred save motes of dust in the sunlight. Although his heart ached at the memories this place brought, still he felt love all around him, even in an empty cottage.
Or an almost empty cottage. The hairs on his neck leaped to attention when the voice behind him broke the silence.
“Hey, Harry. Missed you.”
Harry turned and found himself looking into the face of the young man he'd loved in life, and mourned in death, for twenty years.
“Aw, c'mon, Harry! You look like you've seen a ghost!”

TBC
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The Echoes Of Yesterday