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Learning Life Over	By : Meander Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 69712 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 51
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Chapter 52- A Normal Life

�� Harry
hesitated for a long moment. It was the first time he�d been to Quality
Quidditch Supplies in eleven years, and the first time he�d been to any
shop in Diagon Alley when he wasn�t coming on official Auror business. He did most
of his shopping in other parts of wizarding London, where people had slowly
grown used to him and mostly paid no attention now.

�� But there
was no shop that sold as many fine new brooms as Quality Quidditch Supplies
did.

�� And he
wanted a new broom. He�d burned his Firebolt the night Voldemort died, along
with the Invisibility Cloak.

�� He gave
himself a stern shake, reached out, and laid a hand on the door. He could
do this. In fact, he intended to do this. Draco�s betrayal wouldn�t break him,
because Harry wouldn�t let it. He would live. He would show that he
could apply the lessons he�d learned outside Malfoy Manor. To do otherwise
would give the victory to- well, not to Draco, maybe, but at least to his own
dependence on Draco.

�� He stepped
in and didn�t immediately see the owner. Brooms crowded the walls, and the odor
of polish made Harry wrinkle his nose. He touched the bag of Galleons on his
belt, a good portion of his Gringotts account, and called, �Hello?�

�� Just a
moment, just a moment,� a grumbling voice answered him. Harry smiled slightly
and turned to examine the brooms. A Flameflare caught his eye, but he shook his
head to dispel those fantasies. He didn�t have enough money to afford one. He
probably didn�t have enough to afford a Firebolt, unless their prices had
changed drastically in the last decade. A Nimbus would be enough.

�� The
shopkeeper strode out at last, and stood looking at him. He was a heavyset man
with brown eyes that squinted as if he were peering down a bristle at a broom�s
broken tail, and his face was marked with the lines of sun and wind. His eyes
widened, though, when he caught sight of the scar on Harry�s forehead.

�� Harry felt
his shoulders tighten. He pushed the incipient fear away. Yes, he had known
what would happen when he went shopping in Diagon Alley without a glamour. That
didn�t matter. He couldn�t control the way other people reacted to him.
He could only control what he did.

�� Harry
Potter,� the owner breathed, without, at least, the sound of adoration in his voice.
�Never thought I�d see the day.�

�� Harry
coughed under his breath and nodded to the Nimbus 2002 he�d just been
examining. �I�d like to buy this one.�

�� The
shopkeeper shook his head, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance had just
afflicted him. �I heard about your Quidditch skill, back when you were still at
Hogwarts,� he said. �That isn�t the best broom for a Seeker.�

�� I know,�
Harry said. The Flameflare is. But he would not allow himself to think
about the Manor and what he missed there besides Draco. He had lived a simple
life for long enough, and he could get used to it again. �But I don�t plan to
play Quidditch, just to fly.� He gave a smile he hoped would be convincing.

�� The
shopkeeper surveyed him for a moment more in silence. Harry wondered if the
Nimbus cost more than he�d thought.

�� I have a
broom in the back that a new broom-maker just sent me,� the shopkeeper said
abruptly. �Gorlois Amberridge is his name, and someday, he�ll compete well with
the big broom-makers, so he will. He�s calling this one the Comet-Chaser. It�ll
just suit you, I think.� He turned as if he would fetch it.

�� Thank you,
no.� Harry made his voice firm, and didn�t waver even when the other man turned
back and eyed him incredulously. �I�d like to buy this Nimbus.� He took the
broom from the wall and laid it on the counter.

�� But you
deserve a better broom than that,� the man objected.

�� I want to
buy this one, though.� Harry leaned forward and fixed his most stubborn look on
the shopkeeper, the one that usually made even Draco throw his hands up in
disgust. Slowly, one eye on Harry as if he would change his mind at any second,
the shopkeeper sold him the broom.

�� Thank
you,� Harry said, and left with his new broom over one shoulder. Perhaps stares
followed him. He didn�t turn to look. He had just as much right to be in Diagon
Alley of a Sunday morning as anyone else, and he didn�t need to go under a
glamour, or change his behavior for anyone else�s comfort.

*

�� Draco
carefully set his quill against the parchment, and thought for a few moments.
What he was about to do wasn�t something he�d ever done before. Oh, he�d
written flattering letters to lovers scorned, to encourage them to return for
one more quick shag or stop spreading rumors about him, but those meant nothing;
he could lie in them or use pretty phrases they�d never call him on as easily
as he breathed. This, the letter he was about to write to Harry, meant
something else.

�� Dearest
Harry, he wrote, and then sighed and waved his wand to banish the words. No,
Harry would only take that as sarcasm.

�� He knew
what he needed to say.

�� He just
didn�t think he could control the way that Harry would react to those words, as
he�d always done with his lovers in the past.

�� So don�t
control it, the voice of his conscience said. Normally, Draco couldn�t hear
it speak through all the clutter in his mind, but there it was, and it didn�t
seem inclined to shut up any time soon. So he listened. Give him the choice
to reject the letter, if that�s what he wants, and even to misinterpret it and
see things that aren�t there. In the end, you know you can�t confine him. What
you want is his surrender. If he comes back to you of his own free will, he
won�t leave, but if he feels coerced or harassed, then you know he�ll probably flee
again the moment his principles overpower his lust.

��

�� Draco
tapped his fingers on the parchment and frowned at nothing. What his conscience
suggested sounded dangerously close to playing fair, which he�d never done in
his life.

�� On the
other hand-

�� Well, if he
won this gamble, he�d win all, and a far greater prize than a Harry lured back
to his side for a few nights of lovemaking. Besides, that kind of Harry would
ultimately turn away from him more firmly than the Harry of the moment was
doing. He just thought they were done with and Draco would stop pursuing him.
If he came back and then decided to stick to his principles, he would
actively fight the pursuit.

�� And Draco
wanted Harry to come home forever, when he came home.

�� Listen
to yourself. Do you know what a sop you�re being?

�� Draco
shrugged. He didn�t think he could stop being soppy, because this was different
from any other situation he�d ever been in. He wanted Harry with a patient,
slow-burning determination that was as far from mere stubbornness as the
obsession he�d developed for Harry two years ago had been from a passing fancy.

�� He leaned
over the parchment and wrote.

*

�� Harry
carefully studied the Quidditch Pitch before him, then nodded. He�d had to
study a map of wizarding London to find the nearest one, and ignore the sadness
in the back of his mind, that he�d lived close to one for years and didn�t know
it. But he was here now, and since it was still early, relatively few wizards
or witches crowded it. Besides, they were all darting around after practice
Quaffles or Snitches. Harry intended to fly above them, not participate in a
game.

�� He kicked
off from the western side of the Pitch, and had to close his eyes as the wind
ran sharp-nailed fingers through his hair. God, he�d missed flying.

�� He circled
higher, then higher, and higher still, getting used to the feel of the new
broom between his legs. The Quidditch Pitch danced below him, a solitary spot
of green in the midst of rising gray and brown roofs. Harry tested the broom�s
speed at starts and stops a few times, and decided he was ready.

�� He let the
restraints go.

�� There was
no need to race Draco here, or pace him, or make sure he caught the Snitch
before Draco did. Harry could fly as he liked, and follow the patterns in his head.
Arms and legs clasped close around the Nimbus, he fell straight down, then
turned so sharply to the side he nearly wrenched his shoulder.

�� His stomach
jumped. His breakfast threatened to come up his throat. The wind now felt as if
it would tear his hair from his skull.

�� Harry had
to choke back a whoop of exultation.

�� He twisted
again, and dropped promptly into a roll. He closed his eyes, so that he was
sensing and holding himself mostly with his muscles, and then snapped one arm
straight out, enough to somewhat halt the roll and change his progress. Up he
rose again, blinking as the wind stung tears from his eyes, and then he threw
himself forward.

�� The Nimbus
rolled with him, the handle dipping in front of him, the bristles lifting
behind, and for a moment he somersaulted hard enough to drive the breath from
himself. He was up in a few moments, however, turning neatly out of the
flipping and tumbling into a circle. He heard someone shout, but if that person
was shouting at him, they didn�t need to worry; Harry wouldn�t crash. Besides,
they probably weren�t shouting at him. He flew higher, and higher still, and
didn�t worry about it.

�� When he was
high enough that his lungs labored to breathe and a faintness intruded like
mist into his mind, he hung upside-down from the broom and studied the Pitch
below. By now, it looked like a stamp of green, no larger, and he couldn�t see
most of the wizards and witches circling on brooms, except for a few of the
highest.

�� Casually,
he began to pass himself back and forth across the Nimbus, leaving himself
dangling by two limbs, rolling over, and hooking the other pair back around.
His heart pounded in his throat, but he was conscious mostly of the
concentration he had to put into the effort, not the fear he half-felt. Then he
decided enough was enough, and he curled a single limb around the handle, his
right arm, and dangled there.

�� The Nimbus
gave little bucks and shudders, but continued to support him. Harry smiled. A
hard gust of wind could tear him away and send him sprawling to the ground
below, and even with his uncanny luck, he knew there was no way to survive
that.

�� He did not
care. He still felt calm and absolutely at home.

�� At last, he
swung himself back around and onto the Nimbus, and started to descend. Two
figures appeared on brooms flying rapidly towards him, and Harry stiffened. He
wondered if he�d broken some rule of the Quidditch Pitch, and they were about
to tell him he couldn�t fly here anymore.

�� Then he
reminded himself that, even if that was the case, it wasn�t the end of the
world. He�d find another place to fly, just as he could find friends after Ron
and Hermione, another Healer than Theresa, another job than the Aurors.

�� Another
lover after Draco?

�� Harry shook
his head briskly, so as to get rid of the thought, and pulled up, hovering in
front of the two people. One was a witch with frizzled blonde hair and a
permanently worried look on her face, but the man, who looked enough like the
shopkeeper from that morning to be a brother, flew slightly in front of her, so
Harry addressed him. �Yes, sir? Is something wrong?�

�� The man
examined him intently for a moment, and then his face relaxed into a hearty
smile. �My name�s John Bancroft,� he said. �And I came up to talk to you about
the display of stunt flying you just did, young man.� His eyes flicked up as
the wind tossed Harry�s fringe aside, and he added, �Or should I say, Mr.
Potter?�

�� I�m Harry
Potter, yes,� said Harry, and ignored a squeak from the witch. �And I wasn�t
stunt flying, Mr. Bancroft. I was- flying.� He shrugged. He didn�t know how to
explain it any better than that. He hadn�t thought he�d have to explain it,
unless it had broken rules of some kind.

�� Bancroft�s
smile only widened. �Even better!� he exclaimed. �Part of the problem we�ve had
is flyers who get too impressed with themselves, and start demanding things we
can�t give them. If you love flying for its own sake, that�s less likely to
happen.�

�� I don�t
know what you�re talking about,� Harry said, as gently as he could. Bancroft�s
manner reminded him somewhat of Draco�s in the first few days after he came to
the Manor, just assuming he would comply, and it made Harry bristle.

�� And then a
silver peg of loss stuck in the middle of his soul, and Harry found it hard to
draw breath. I miss him. God, I miss him.

�� Harry
ignored the emotion as Bancroft laughed and held out a card in his direction.
�Of course, sorry,� he said. �Sometimes I think everyone knows us by now, but
of course that wouldn�t be the case for a busy Auror.�

�� Harry
whispered a quick spell under his breath, so that the card would blow in his
direction, and read the names printed on it. SYLVAN & BANCROFT EXHIBITIONS:
THE BEST OF BOTH WIZARDS AND BROOMS.

�� We help in
testing new brooms,� Bancroft explained. �And in coming up with new tricks that
wizards can perform, and which the new brooms should be capable of. Stunt
flying, mostly, as I said. We�re holding an exhibition a few days from now. On
the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, as a matter of fact. Two of our best flyers
were injured in the last one. Would you like to appear, Mr. Potter? You�d be
compensated for your time, of course.�

�� Harry
hesitated for a long moment. Then he said, �All right.� The man seemed to have
judged him on his skill at flying, not his name or face. Even if the owner of
Quality Quidditch Supplies had told him Harry Potter had come to the shop that
morning, Harry had been too high for Bancroft to be certain the stunt flyer was
him, or even on a Nimbus.

�� Excellent!�
Bancroft then spent a moment eyeing his broom. �Are you sure that you wouldn�t
like a new broom to practice on? Some of the Flameflares are quite- �

�� I�m
attached to my Nimbus, thank you,� Harry said frostily.

�� The look on
his face must have been intimidating, because the witch squeaked again, but
Bancroft just put up a hand, smiling. �Of course. Well, then, shall we see you
at one-o�clock on Wednesday at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter? Please let us know if you
can�t come, since we�ll have to change the schedule.� He gave Harry a nod, and
then curved towards the ground. The witch followed him, with one last nervous
glance at Harry.

�� Harry bit
his lip thoughtfully, and swooped towards the edge of the Quidditch Pitch,
where an Apparition point waited. He did need money, and why not? It wasn�t as
though he had to do this forever, if it didn�t work.

�� He didn�t
have to do anything forever.

�� Except, it
seemed, miss Draco.

�� It has
to be over and done with, Harry told himself again, as he landed gently and
stretched out the aches in his arms. What would happen if I forgave him? I
could never know whether it was actually the right thing or whether I�d only
done it because I love him. And that�s intolerable. I can�t- I can�t be a party
to evil like that.

�� He resolved
to go home, and eat a pleasant meal, and not think about it anymore.

*

�� Of course,
his life wasn�t destined to be that easy. Two owls were waiting for him when he
got home. One had an envelope with the Ministry seal on it. Harry refused to
look at it, despite the barn owl�s dancing

�� The other,
a regal-looking eagle-owl, bore a letter from Draco. Harry recognized his
handwriting by now, and there was his name on the outside. He hesitated for a
long moment, staring at it, then roughly pulled it open. Doubtless, it would be
full of remonstrance and self-pity and self-justification, and Harry would be
right in not reading further than the first few lines

�� It wasn�t
like that at all.

�� Dear
Harry:

�� I said
that I wanted you to know why I tortured the Dursleys. This letter has the reasons.
Please do me the courtesy of reading it through. If you don�t want to reply to
it at the end, then I�ll understand.

�� I would
normally never have paid attention to the Dursleys. What Muggles do is of no
concern to me, unless they somehow find their way into the wizarding world, and
what you suffered didn�t matter to me, at one point in time. But then I found
out how much they shaped you into the person you were, the one capable of
shutting yourself off from the world for a decade, and I hated them.

�� So, yes,
Harry, this wasn�t some grand moral indignation that made me pursue them. I did
it because they hurt you, and I care about you, not about random
people in the wizarding world whose Muggle relatives might have abused them.
And they made you into the kind of man I had to work at to get what I wanted.
If you weren�t that way, you and I could have become friends and lovers much
more easily. And you wouldn�t have hurt so much.

�� I also
distrusted the way you talked to Theresa about your childhood. You seemed
intent on making it sound as gentle as possible, but it couldn�t have been
gentle, to affect you that way. So, instead of asking you about it in more
detail, as I probably should have, I just assumed it was horrible, and started
plotting my revenge.

�� I asked
an Auror who�d been sacked to track your relatives down, and then I went to
their house several times. I frightened them at first, then used mild curses on
them that I reversed, and finally advanced to- what you saw.

�� I�m
sorry, Harry.

�� Harry had
to look away from the parchment for a moment, and close his eyes. Then he
looked back, because the letter actually seemed to have a damn compulsion on it
that kept pulling at him to read.

�� I�m
sorry that I didn�t simply speak to you about my suspicions instead of acting
on them. I�m sorry I distrusted you when you were making every effort to tell
the truth to Theresa as you saw it. I�m sorry that I hurt people you obviously
still think are worthy of being left alone, even though I disagree. I�m sorry I
went behind your back and implied that your principles meant nothing to me.
That�s not true at all.

�� I don�t
pretend that this will be an easy reconciliation, Harry. But I want to
reconcile. I love you. I�m in love with you. And if mere obsession was enough
to make me snatch you from your old life and keep you in the Manor against your
will, imagine what my love is enough to make me do.

�� And now
I know you�re in love with me. There�s no way I can just give that up. Other
people fell out of your life through no fault of their own, Harry, like your
parents and your friends, or they never cared enough to get to know you in the
first place, like your relatives and Severus. But I won�t leave. I don�t intend
to leave. I don�t want another lover. I don�t want to let us drift into some
misguided silence because you don�t trust me and I can�t make enough of an
effort to show you how much I trust you and admit my mistakes.

�� So, as a
first step, I�m apologizing. Please respond to this.

�� Love,

�� Draco.

�� Harry�s
hand shook again, and he lowered the parchment with a hiss. The eagle-owl
blinked at him and hopped impatiently back and forth on the table.

�� Harry took
off his glasses and wiped at his face. The loss had redoubled itself, and he
wanted, frantically, to speak with Draco, to see him.

�� But how
can I know that�s the right thing to do?

�� After long
moments of thinking, he decided he couldn�t know. He just wanted to do
it, and yell at Draco instead of talking to him by letter.

�� Or- maybe
do something other than yell. Harry glanced at the letter again. He had to
admit he hadn�t ever expected Draco to apologize.

�� This meant-

�� He didn�t
know what it meant, yet. He thought he�d have to see Draco, for that.

�� But
there will most definitely be no touching, he thought, as he picked up his
cloak and the letter. And no grand gestures allowed to substitute for
actually being sorry, either.

�� No need to
wait for a reply,� he told the eagle-owl. �I�m coming to the Manor.�

�� The barn
owl from the Ministry hooted piteously at him. Harry removed the letter from
its leg and put it on the table. �No reply,� he told it.

�� The owl
flew out his window in a huff. Harry walked out the door with the eagle-owl
skimming triumphantly above his head. Maybe this was a horrible mistake, he told
himself as he walked towards his Apparition point.

�� But maybe
it wasn�t. He couldn�t quite dim the hope that surged up in his heart, though
he would have thought he�d learned how to do that by now.
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Learning Life Over