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The Dust of Water	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 20632 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the last chapter of The Dust of Water. I hope you’ve enjoyed this story.

Chapter Forty-Seven—Never Known

            “He didn’t answer my last letter.”

            Harry carefully laid down the book he’d been reading on Ancient Runes, and specifically on some varieties of runes that would let you bind an owl to do your bidding less disruptively than simply imprisoning Royal in one room and not letting him out until he stopped shitting on the letters Harry wanted him to carry. “When did you send the last letter, Draco?”

            Draco sat on the other side of the table, scowling at Harry. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said. “If Father isn’t going to answer it.”

            “When did you send it, Draco?”

            Draco looked away and sat there with what looked like a blush prickling down the side of his cheeks and neck. Harry was getting familiar with that blush, lately, since they’d started reconciling with Lucius, or perhaps he should say the process of reconciling with Lucius. “An hour ago,” he muttered.

            Harry nodded calmly. “And it’s early in the morning. We got up early because you wanted to send the letter and have me read it over before you sent it—”

            “I know that—”

            “It was just that you seemed to have forgotten when you sent the letter. So I was reminding you in case you forgot.”

            Draco glared at him. Harry went on with his interrupted sentence, after a moment, when it became clear that Draco wasn’t going to say anything. “So he might still be asleep. Or he might be contemplating the letter and how to answer it. Or maybe he’ll Floo us and invite us over that way. You don’t know yet, so try to relax.”

            “There’s no way he would Floo us. He would never lower himself to such a gesture when he thinks he’s in the right—”

            There was a small, distinctive sound in the drawing room. It might, Harry thought, trying to contain his laughter, if you strained your ears and listened a little in silence the way Draco was doing right now, resemble a Floo connection opening. If you listened.

            “That won’t be him,” said Draco, pushing his chair back from the table and scowling at Harry as if he had altered the fabric of the universe, including Lucius Malfoy’s character, for his own amusement. “It’ll be one of your stupid friends, come to harass you about getting back together with Weasley’s sister.”

            “That was only Ron. And only once.”

            Draco opened his mouth to say something about it anyway, but Kreacher popped up then, bowing, and Harry turned to him with a delicious sense of getting the last word, which he had to admit didn’t happen often. Not with Draco, anyway. “Yes, Kreacher? Who is it?”

            “Master Lucius Malfoy.” Kreacher’s eyes were darting back and forth between Harry and Draco as if trying to figure out which one of them had invited Lucius over, and how upset he had to be. “He says he is wishing to speak to masters.”

            “To both of us?”

            Draco made no secret of his disappointment, and Harry reached out and placed a steadying hand on Draco’s arm before he could start yelling. Draco sat back and closed his eyes, but then nodded. Reassured, Harry faced Kreacher. “Did he give the reason why?”

            “No. He only said he is wishing to speak to masters.” Kreacher looked anxiously back and forth between Draco and Harry. He wanted to do everything he could to make Draco happy as well as Harry, Harry knew, but that didn’t mean he understood Draco’s anxieties.

            “Good. Then we’ll come in and find him. Please seat him in the drawing room.”

            Kreacher nodded and vanished. Harry turned and drew Draco to his feet, shaking him by the hand a little when he tried to sit back down. “You wanted to see him.”

            “I wanted to see him alone. If he’s coming to talk to both of us—it might be to declare a blood feud, or he might want to insult both of us at the same time—”

            “We don’t know yet,” Harry pointed out. “And until we know for sure, it’s useless sitting here and speculating.”

            Draco gave him a wounded, offended look, but Harry only kept holding his hand out with a determined expression. Finally, Draco gave a great sigh and placed his hand in Harry’s.

*

            Kreacher had seated Lucius in the most elegant chair in the drawing room—which wasn’t the most comfortable one—and brought a plate of inferior sandwiches on the best china in the house. Harry grinned a little as he sat down in front of Lucius. It appeared Kreacher couldn’t decide whether to serve Lucius well as a pure-blood or punish him for making Draco upset, so he’d compromised.

            “Mr. Potter.” Lucius looked at him for such a long time that Harry wondered if he hadn’t come intending to speak to Draco at all, or had changed his mind at the last minute. Then his eyes shifted to Draco, and he nodded.

            Draco sat down on the edge of his chair with his hands gripping it. Harry hadn’t expected much different, really. He took a seat between the two Malfoys but closer to Draco, and waited to hear what Lucius had to say.

            It was silence, for minute after minute. Maybe Draco was getting impatient, or was supposed to be impatient, but he honestly didn’t show it. He sat there and waited, although Harry could see a gentle vibration starting up in his leg.

            Finally, Lucius said in what was almost a whisper, almost a deferential whisper, “I find it hard to forgive you for the things you did to me, Draco.”

            Draco flinched and waited. Lucius nodded as if he wanted to see those words go home and hurt, and added, “But I will have to.”

            “Why?”

            Harry covered his mouth a second later. He’d meant to leave that question up to Draco, not blurt it out himself.

            On the other hand, Lucius didn’t seem to notice Harry had spoken at all. His eyes were locked on his son, not looking away.

            “Because you are my son,” said Lucius. “There is no one else in the world I am so linked to. Except the house-elf.” For an instant, his face settled in harsh lines. “Sometimes he watches me as if remembering what it was like to be me.”

            “Have you punished him?” Harry asked. For Dobby’s sake, and Kreacher’s, and even Hermione’s, he had to ask.

            Lucius gave him a look as sharp as scorn could make it, and turned back to Draco. “I do not want to spend the rest of my life not knowing what I don’t remember. Mr. Potter told me that he couldn’t recall most of his memories, and would never be able to—”

            “It’s more than that,” Draco interrupted, his eyes and head both absurdly high. “He gave up the chance to recover his memories when he could have. That was one thing Weasley—the magical theorist—told him might be able to happen with the ritual. But he sacrificed the chance so you could be free of the house-elf.”

            Lucius stared at Harry now. Harry looked back. He didn’t know what Lucius’s next move would be, but it might be almost anything, so he made sure he had his wand to hand and was sitting there looking unthreatening at the same time.

            “Why did you do that?” Lucius asked.

            “Because I’d already become reconciled to the notion that I wouldn’t be able to get my memories back,” Harry answered, ignoring the sharp nudge Draco gave his ribs. He knew what Draco wanted him to say, but Harry wasn’t good with lies, not the way his old self had been. “And it was important to Draco that you have the chance to win your freedom. What Draco wants is important to me.”

            “You wouldn’t know it, from the way you ignore me,” Draco muttered.

            Harry smiled encouragingly at him. Just because he’d ignored the nudge didn’t mean he ignored what Draco wanted in general.

            “You make an interesting point, Mr. Potter.” Lucius’s eyes were flat and shiny, like buttons. Harry remembered hearing that he could charm most people in the Ministry, that he didn’t even need to use the Imperius Curse. At the moment, Harry wondered how he’d managed. “What would you do for Draco?”

            “A lot of things. But none of them because you threatened me, or him.”

            Draco groaned and hid his head in his hands. Harry continued to ignore him patiently, eyes on Lucius. He needed the man to think about this.

            Lucius slowly leaned back in his chair. Either he was too occupied to think about the discomfort of the chair or he didn’t think it was uncomfortable. Maybe he has half-a-dozen at home. Because how things look is most important, right? “You mean that if I threaten never to invite Draco home again—”

            “Draco can choose what he wants to do, in that case. But I won’t let you threaten me into acting recklessly.”

            “Some might say that coming to see me the other day was reckless.”

            Harry smiled at him. “Would you? If so, that’s good to know, and I won’t do it again without bringing along a few artifacts from here that the Blacks left behind. They might have interesting effects on you.”

            Nothing about Lucius’s face suggested that he had really heard Harry’s suggestion. He turned and faced Draco, and even Harry had the sense to shut up. Just as he wasn’t going to do certain things because Lucius threatened or suggested them, he didn’t want to cost Draco something because he had said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

            “You know how much I care for you,” Lucius whispered.

            Draco remained strong in the face of that appeal, to Harry’s astonishment. His hands trembled a little, which Lucius probably saw, but his voice didn’t as he said, “Not enough about how.”

            Lucius understood the implied question, which Harry didn’t, not right away. His face darkened and he said, “You are my son.”

            “Not good enough right now. What does that mean to you?”

            “It means—that you are someone I cannot turn my back on, as much as I might want to.” Lucius’s fists were trembling, but he kept them low down at his sides, and Harry was only sure of the tremor because he was sitting so close. “Someone I must have as part of my life. I do not always want him as part of my life, but there he is. There you are.”

            It seemed to have been the combination of words Draco was waiting for, because he rose with a low sob and stood there. Harry thought he might walk over and embrace his father, but he didn’t. He remained still, raptly searching Lucius’s eyes, for a few minutes, then sank back on the couch and whispered, “If I had had any idea of that when you were telling me that I had to marry someone…”

            “I didn’t feel it the same way then.” Lucius finally shut his eyes, something Harry would have done a long time ago if it was him, and shuddered slightly. “I think Mr. Potter is right. My years as a house-elf changed me. There is no room for lying now, for dissimulation, not in the way I used to practice it. I—must ask you to forgive me, Draco.”

            He was grinding his teeth on those last words, Harry thought, but Draco didn’t seem to notice or care. He crossed the distance between him and Lucius fast enough that Harry was left blinking at a blurred flash of his movement, and grabbed his father in his arms. Lucius held him there, awkwardly, and Draco said, “I forgive you, too. I think you probably know that, but I want you to know…”

            Harry could translate those words, and hoped Lucius could, too. Telling Lucius in those words meant Draco was no longer afraid or ashamed of saying he had forgiven him.

            Tentatively, Lucius embraced Draco. And Harry quietly stood and slipped out of the room, feeling, in a way, that he had already seen too much. He could always count on Draco to tell him more that he needed to know later, if he needed to know it at all.

*

            “I think maybe you could be good after all.”

            Harry blinked and turned to Teddy. He’d been watching Draco talk with Andromeda on one side of the table in Andromeda’s back garden and Hermione on the other. So far, no fights had broken out, but Harry had to admit that he was looking for them all the time. It was only luck that it hadn’t ruined the Quidditch match he played with Teddy.

            Teddy, who stood now holding his broom and staring up at Harry with a thoughtful frown on his face. Harry asked, “What do you mean?”

            “You play good Quidditch.” Teddy frowned down at the ground, and his hand moved restlessly back and forth on his broom. “And you’re not—you’re not him. But you’re not trying to be him, either.”

            “I thought that would be a waste of time, since I’m not him,” Harry said. It was the truth, but he probably wouldn’t have spoken it if Teddy’s words hadn’t startled him so.

            Teddy looked at him. His eyes were brown today, with maybe a dash of hazel, and they squinted against the sun. “I thought you wanted to. When you heard about what a good godfather he was to me…”

            Harry shifted his weight uneasily. He and Teddy still weren’t very sure around each other. Draco was better with Teddy, maybe because he could remember so many things of the last ten years that were casual and tripped Harry up without him even thinking about it. Harry had been reading back issues of the Daily Prophet, but it wasn’t the same as living through those years.

            So, most of the time when Harry visited Andromeda and Teddy—or even when they all got together with his friends, like today—Draco was the one to talk to Teddy. He did it with a smile and bright friendliness, and Teddy seemed content enough, and Harry knew he couldn’t be a substitute for Old Harry. So, other than offering to play Quidditch with Teddy today, he’d stayed out of the way.

            Maybe offering to play Quidditch with him helped more than I knew, Harry thought, with another glance at Teddy. He seemed to be hesitating over something. Maybe he was finally going to ask Harry the kinds of questions Harry knew he would have asked long ago, in his place.

            Instead, Teddy shook his head and changed his features. His hair stayed the same, bright blond in honor of Draco, but his eyes turned the intense green Harry saw looking back from the mirror so often. He stared at Harry and waited for some comment.

            Harry knew he would go wrong if he tried to make it too heavy. He contented himself with grinning and tugging on a lock of Teddy’s hair instead of searching for great, grand words. Old Harry was the one who’d used those, and Harry couldn’t.

            “Looks good.”

            Teddy blinked and said, “Really? You think so?”

            “Yes.” Harry turned around and nudged Teddy towards Draco, who was now leaning back and listening as Hermione and Andromeda debated something. “Go torment Draco. See how long it takes him to notice.”

            Teddy looked startled, and then grinned. He bounced off and leaned on Draco’s elbow. Draco touched his shoulder without looking away from the two women, and Harry grinned himself and began to count under his breath.

            He reached twenty before Draco glanced at Teddy in a more than casual way, and then he jumped out of the chair, swearing. Harry grinned and strolled up behind him. “It’s just the way he wanted to change his eyes,” he said. “Teddy is a Metamorphmagus, you know.”

            Draco stared hard at him. “You know that’s not why it hit me so hard,” he said.

            Harry paused, and then slowly inclined his head in acknowledgment. Draco had made it clear that the one thing he regretted giving up to be with Harry was children. Teddy looking like a mixture of them right now had been a somewhat cruel joke.

            But if they had to give up and break apart when the first time a joke fell flat, they never would have got together at all. Harry held out his hand, and Draco sighed and clasped it and rolled his eyes.

            “I thought it would be funny.”

            “It wasn’t.”

            But Draco’s tone was already softer, and he leaned against Harry and put an arm around his shoulder. Teddy only watched them with his eyebrows raised before he shook his head again, visibly dismissing the follies of adults, and went to beg biscuits from Andromeda.

            Harry happened to look up in time to catch Ron choking on his tea as he watched him and Draco. Harry found himself blinking like Teddy, caught in a breathless moment where he honestly wasn’t sure what would happen next.

            Then Ron rolled his eyes and lifted his teacup in a salute before he went back to reading the Daily Prophet. Harry relaxed and leaned harder against Draco.

            And Draco swayed but remained standing upright.

            And Teddy was already stuffing biscuits down his throat while he asked for another game of Quidditch, while Andromeda watched him indulgently. Harry decided that the misstep wasn’t enough to ruin the afternoon.

            No need of lies. Just him, and me, and us. All of us.

            The End.

*
            Severus1snape: Well, I hope this reconciliation went a little way toward achieving that goal for you.
            SP777: I saw no point in doing it. It wasn’t the main point of the story, and I didn’t want to start another subplot.
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The Dust of Water