| Chapter 11: Relation |
It having been such a ridiculously long time since I updated this, I thought I should offer a few reminders about the SPWverse, namely that I pretty much finished the rough draft before HBP came out, so some characters are doing different things than they ended up doing in HBP or DH:
Also, the time line is shifted so that the trio's Seventh Year takes place in 2003-2004, to line up with the legalization of gay marriage in Massachusetts that spring. Hermione has a gay aunt in Massachusetts who got married to her longtime partner in Chapter 6. At the end of Chapter 11, Hermione and Ron received an invitation to their wedding celebration in July, along with an interesting letter from Aunt Emma ...
Persephone P. Williams.
Persephone Potter Williams.
Harry paced back and forth in the corridor, bare feet slapping roughly against the stones.
There's a funny coincidence, in that Persephone's middle name is Potter, but that's a common name, right?
Slap. Slap.
I don't suppose your friend Harry might have a long-lost cousin in America?
Slap. Slap.
Better to ask what her friend knows about his own family: dead parents, insufferable Muggle aunt and uncle and cousin. Precious bloody little, that's what her friend knows about his own family.
Slap. Slap. SLAP.
Dead godfather, absent godfather-not-quite-in-law, dead Potter grandparents. A distant cousin, still living, that no one had ever brought to his attention?
Slap. Slap! Slapslapslapslap. Slap.
Well, Harry would have known, wouldn't he? After all, no one had ever kept from him - at least since he'd got his Hogwarts letter - that his parents had been wizards, nor that he was a wizard himself, nor that he was the Chosen One, according to a secret prophecy recorded before his birth.
Well. Maybe some things had been kept from him, hadn't they?
THUMP.
Teeth on edge from angry frustration, Harry brought his fist down heavily on the door that had just appeared on his right. He leaned against it for a long moment, breath rushing in and out of his lungs in ragged panting that was almost sobs. What point could there possibly be in opening this door? What could this Room offer him, tonight, that would answer any of the myriad questions swirling in his brain?
It was funny, how he hadn't even meant to come up to the seventh floor, nor had he consciously sought out the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy and the trolls.
Thump. Pantpantpant. SOB. Pant. Thump.
His bare feet were tender and numb from the cold of the stone floor. He'd been walking unshod, again, in that same sort of attempt at feeling his connection with Sirius's memory, but tonight it was only frustrating him more. It wasn't enough to touch the same stones Sirius must have trod when he snuck into the castle as Padfoot. Harry wanted Sirius there with him. He wanted Remus there. He wanted anyone, at all, who could give him some hint: Was there any chance that this woman, who had just married his best friend's favourite aunt, was related to Harry's father?
Afraid of losing the Room if he broke contact with the door, Harry dug his fingertips into the smooth, heavy wood and banged his knee heavily against it, as though the door were personally responsible for his inner turmoil and injuring it would bring him any solace at all.
Thump! Ow. Bugger!
It had been one thing, while Voldemort had still been a threat, for those concerned with Harry's safety to have convinced him to stay with the Dursleys because he needed the protection of his mother's blood. It was another thing now, though, if he still had Magical family, and had never known.
He rolled halfway over, now leaning his back against the door, and leaned over to clutch at his smarting knee. He swiped angrily at the tear that bothered the side of his face as it trickled down from his eye.
Bugger.
Harry had given up sleeping hours ago. He'd tossed and turned deep into the night, blaming Ron and Hermione for telling him and then blaming them for not telling him sooner. He blamed Dumbledore for cutting him off from the wizarding world as a baby, and Voldemort for killing his parents, and Draco for distracting him when he should have been back in Gryffindor Tower finding out about this, and Snape for giving them both detention.
He blamed Persephone - whoever she was - if she even had anything to do with him - for never contacting him. Or hadn't American witches and wizards heard of 'the famous Harry Potter?'
Harry stood up suddenly, wrenching his sore knee in the process.
Hermione is Muggleborn, he thought, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him up until now. That means Emma is probably a Muggle, which means Persephone might not even be a witch and it could all be a giant coincidence.
He inhaled deeply, feeling his lungs expand his ribcage. Light was invading the corridor as the night pushed toward dawn. He could see the edges of the stones gain definition along the walls, and the torches dim in their sconces.
Harry turned around again to face the door and hesitated with his hand on the knob. He tried to remember exactly what he'd been thinking as he'd paced up and down before this wall. He needed more than a roomful of chamber pots or a safe place to practise defensive spells.
He needed answers about his family. Could the Room of Requirement give him that?
What was behind that door?
Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, keeping them shut as he wrapped his hand around the knob. He turned and pushed forward, simultaneously afraid to look and unable to resist entering.
On his first blind step inside, Harry tripped on the corner of the rug, stumbling slightly.
His eyes flew open, but he didn't see the chair or the fireplace or the shelves of books that greeted him. What he saw was an image in his memory, from that tangled-up dream: Draco's dismissive expression as he plucked a juicy, ripe pomegranate from Harry's befuddled hands and tossed it aside.
It triggered another memory, from much farther back, before Hogwarts. It itched at a part of his brain that hadn't been visited since he had read the Greek myths in his Muggle primary school.
Harry rushed to the bookshelf, immediately putting his hands on the large, dusty volume which had appeared there, seconds earlier. He opened it hurriedly, flipping pages until he found the entry he sought:
Persephone - Queen of the Underworld. Abducted by Hades, who was infatuated by her. Her mother, Demeter, goddess of nature, turned the world to cold and ice in her grief. Finally, Demeter won the case for Persephone's freedom, but before she could be released, it was discovered that Persephone had eaten six seeds of a pomegranate. Hades decreed that anyone who had eaten the food of the Underworld must remain there forever, but after hearing Demeter's renewed pleas, agreed that Persephone might be allowed to go back to Earth, but must return to the Underworld for six months out of every year - one for each seed. Thus, each year, Demeter again plunges the world into ice and snow for six months to mourn her daughter's imprisonment.
Harry dropped the book on the ground and sank heavily into the soft, velvet armchair.
It could be a giant coincidence that Harry had dreamt of a pomegranate only weeks before learning of the existence of a woman whose names were Persephone and Potter. It could be a giant coincidence that this Persephone had married the favourite aunt of one of Harry's best friends, and had been startled at hearing Harry's name mentioned the previous week.
It could be. But it was looking less and less coincidental by the moment.
Harry raked his fingers roughly through his hair, then grabbed his glasses off his face and polished them on the sleeve of his robes. He was grateful for the time alone to think, although he hadn't the slightest idea what he should think about any of this.
It could be brilliant, though, couldn't it? he couldn't help thinking. It was terribly inviting, the possibility of having something more of a family than a dusty cupboard or an album of moving photographs. If Persephone P. Williams really was related to James Potter, then the warm feeling trying to bloom in his chest could grow to be something permanent.
When he replaced his glasses on his nose, motion by the open door caught Harry's attention. Ron was standing there, posture open and slouched, clutching the Marauder's Map in one hand.
Which made Harry realise that he hadn't really wanted to be alone, at all.
"I woke up and you were gone. When you didn't come back, I looked on the map and couldn't find you anywhere. I thought maybe you'd come here ..." Ron trailed off and looked around. Harry could tell that he'd noticed the dropped book on the floor, but clearly had no idea what knowledge it might have offered. Ron's eyes returned to Harry, looking lost and apologetic. "You alright?" he asked lamely.
Harry shrugged. He supposed he probably was alright, but he wasn't sure of it at all.
His eyes settled back on the book, his mind on the pomegranate in his dreams. How could he be sure that the dream and the woman in America were related to each other at all? How could he find out?
"What's all this?" asked Ron, taking a step further into the room, angling his path toward the bookshelves and away from Harry.
Harry shrugged again, more smoothly than before. He knew the shrug was a lie, but really, he hadn't had a chance to work out what use any of it might be to him.
The thing of it was, Harry realised, this room really wasn't offering him what he wanted. He didn't want some printed family tree or genealogy study to link him to a woman across the ocean. He wanted someone who mattered to be the one to tell him. Apparently, that was one thing the room simply couldn't provide.
Ron was pretending to read the spines on one of the higher shelves, but he made a poor job of trying to sneak glances at Harry in the process.
Harry saw himself then, as though frozen in time, a copy of a copy of a copy of a thousand moments passed before in postures exactly like these: Harry, strung tight and tensed to explode, with Ron standing nearby, watching and waiting, reading all the signs to find a signal of when he might be allowed to step closer and help.
They were going to be related, in some roundabout way. Ron was going to be married to the niece of the wife of Harry's ... whatever Persephone might turn out to be to him.
Harry liked the idea of being part of Ron's family, at last. He let the thought lighten his heart, pushing away the questions and doubts and frustrations.
The moment Harry's body language relaxed, Ron's did as well. With two loping strides, Ron was standing at his side, as though he had been there all along and Harry had simply been too distracted to notice.
"Breakfast," stated Ron, hauling Harry up and out of the chair. He took Harry by both shoulders and steered him toward the doorway.
Harry started to dig in his feet, unsure he was completely ready to turn away from this great font of knowledge, as inadequate as it seemed at the moment. When he tried to look back at the rows of tomes, Ron gave him an extra shove.
"The call it the Room of Requirement for a reason, mate," said Ron, looking pointedly at Harry, whose eyes weren't used to focusing at such a close range as the distance between his glasses and Ron's long, freckled nose. "If you need it, you can come back. But first, breakfast."
Harry's stomach chose that moment to give a very loud rumble.
And so it was decided.
They descended to the Great Hall. Harry followed without question the twists and turns Ron chose along the route, avoiding this trick stair and that false archway. He let his mind focus on porridge and eggs and kippers and maybe some coffee. He let his shoulder occasionally bump against Ron's, where there was support and friendship and a certain welcome degree of warmth.
The sunlight that angled through the dusty corridors was colouring toward gold as it broke through the pale morning haze. Harry had officially been up all night.
Hermione joined them at the top of the final staircase, one story from breakfast. Ron took her hand, interlacing their fingers and pulling them to brush briefly across his lips. Watching them, Harry felt a smile well up from some warm place deep inside him.
It really was the most abhorrent timing that Draco had to be at breakfast so early, for probably the only time in his seven years at school. It really was the most abominable luck that he had to be sitting at the end of the Slytherin table closest to the door, facing the entering students.
Ron and Draco scowled at each other at the same moment that Harry felt his own face go tight with uncertainty. Draco's silver eyes darkened to shadow at seeing Ron and Harry walking so close together. Harry really wished the men in his life wouldn't have to come over all jealous, every time they saw each other in his presence.
Hermione gave a quick and cursory wave to Draco, probably only out of loyalty to Harry, then steered Ron and Harry toward the Gryffindor table. As they passed, Draco's eyes caught Harry's. Watching Harry pass by without pausing, Draco's eyes flickered with hurt confusion before hardening to something opaque and foreign. Harry supposed he would need to tell Draco something about all of this as soon as he could, although he currently didn't really know that there was anything to tell, or whether there was any real reason Draco needed to know.
For now, he needed to stay with Hermione and Ron.
"I can't wait until I never have to see that puffed-up, worthless, arrogant prick ever again," pronounced Ron as they took their seats.
Seeing the look on Harry's face, Ron added, "Sorry, Harry. I know you want to be friends with the bloke now, but I don't think I'll ever be able to stand him. Please say I won't have to have a pint with him after work or anything like that."
Hermione's eyebrow arched challengingly at Harry when Ron said the word 'friend.' She had obviously hoped Harry might have broken the news by now. Harry knew it couldn't wait much longer, but he also knew he couldn't handle that conversation after the night he'd had.
"Maybe he'll be at Auror training with us," commented Hermione quietly into her coffee.
Ron's eyes went wide. "Is that what he's doing when he leaves school? It isn't, is it Harry?"
Harry hadn't the slightest idea what Draco's plans were for after school. He shrugged, and stabbed miserably at his porridge with his spoon. His eyes wandered out across the Great Hall.
The sunlight, this early, was exactly the colour of Draco's hair.
"Hermione," said Harry suddenly, ignoring Ron's annoyed expression, "your aunt is a Muggle, isn't she?"
Hermione gave Harry a sort of shrewd half-smile that let him know he'd stumbled into a useful line of inquiry, and that she was pleased he'd had the presence of mind to think of it.
"My father's side is all Muggles, that part is for sure," she began. "My mother is definitely a Muggle, but she did know a bit about our world already, when I got my first Hogwarts letter. She told me a little about it, a few days before I left for school."
Ron and Harry exchanged a look of surprise. Most of the Muggleborns they knew had come from entirely non-magical families, and had been completely befuddled when they'd first learnt about their own magical talents.
"What she said was that my grandmother Martha was a Squib. I did some genealogical research later, and found out that she and Marietta Edgecombe's grandmother were sisters - yes, I know." This last was directed at the twin expressions of disgust on Ron's and Harry's faces. None of the three of them was at all fond of Marietta, who had been the one to tell Umbridge of the existence of the DA during Fifth Year.
Hermione continued, "Last summer, I found some of the letters Great-Aunt Mildred and Grandmother Martha wrote each other when Mildred was at Hogwarts. I learned that Grandmother was really crushed about being born without magic, and left home as soon as she was old enough.
"Mum hinted recently that Emma might have a tiny touch of magical talent. Not enough to have been invited to Hogwarts, nor to be able to do magic properly, mind you. Grandmother was always very jealous of her because of it, though, and they always had a strained relationship. I know that Emma moved to America when she was ready for university, and never came home while Grandmother was alive. She and Mum were always close, though, and Grandmother died when I was a baby. That's why Emma visited us so much when I was growing up, and like I told you, invited me over to Beverly for a summer when I was six.
"Now that I think about it, I suspect she chose to live near Salem on purpose. I think she likes being where the magic is."
Harry absorbed this story with great interest. If Emma had some penchant toward magic, it was that much more likely that Persephone did, as well.
"But she isn't a witch?" asked Ron.
Hermione tilted her head to one side for a moment, then shook it slowly. "All I know for sure is that she's a librarian at Endicott College, and that she met Persephone at a coffee shop in Salem, only a week or two after finishing at Smith College. She says it was love at first sight - they looked at each other, and just knew."
As she finished speaking, Hermione favoured her fiancé with a warm smile, grazing his morning stubble with the backs of her fingers. Ron smiled and caught her hand with his.
Harry's eyes automatically sought Draco out again. He was still lounging over his breakfast, apparently in comfortable conversation with Millicent and Pansy, while Morag MacDougal scowled at the three of them from a few seats further down the table.
Ron's next words brought Harry's attention snapping back to the Gryffindor table. "So you don't know whether Persephone is witch or Muggle, then, do you?"
Hermione shrugged, stirring the dregs of her coffee listlessly with the tip of her spoon. "It had honestly never occurred to me to wonder, until yesterday. All I really know about Persephone is that she is also English, as you saw in Emma's letter, and that she's a teacher. I don't know where, though. I only met her when I was little, and it was summer, so school wasn't in session."
Ron looked surprised. "She didn't come with Emma, to visit you?"
"Emma always said that Persephone hates airplanes. She hasn't been back to England since she left as a young girl." Hermione considered this quietly for a moment. "I don't know why she left," she finally added, softly.
Harry gave his plate a halfhearted shove, signalling that he had finished eating. The largely untouched portions vanished from his dishes, leaving only the mug of cooling coffee in his hand.
"I only wish I had some way of knowing if she's really a Potter," he muttered miserably. "Really my sort of Potter, I mean."
Hermione came out of her momentary reverie, and met his eyes. "I'll tell you one thing I do know, though: Emma has always had uncannily good instincts. Something about the way she worded her letter makes me think she believes you two really could be related. And if something about Persephone's reaction was what gave Emma that idea, then she's probably right." When Harry looked at her dubiously, she added, "Look, she was right about Persephone being the one for her, when they met. And she's been right about other things, as long as I've known her. I think that's how her touch of magical talent manifests itself. She's just ... extra-perceptive, somehow."
Harry poked at his coffee cup, making it move fractionally around the tabletop. "That's fine, for her, but how am I supposed to know about Persephone? Whether she's my cousin of some sort, or even a witch, I mean?"
"You could always ask her," offered Hermione.
Harry's mouth fell open slightly. He stared stupidly at her for a long moment.
"Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind," she insisted. "Just write her a letter, and find out."
Harry continued to stare. Finally, his mouth caught up with his mind. "'Just write her a letter, and find out'?" he parroted incredulously. "Doesn't that break about five hundred different wizarding laws, asking the question alone? What if she's a Muggle, and I only end up making her think I'm some sort of crackpot?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You don't ask her, flat out like that, silly. You say something like, you're a friend of mine from school, and ... well, I'm not sure," she admitted. "I haven't ever told Emma what kind of school I attend, to be honest. I'll help you, though, if you want. If she is a witch, your name alone should be enough of a clue for her - that's one advantage of being famous, at least - and from there it should be easy to find the answers you need."
Bless Hermione. If only life were ever that simple. As if it had ever been easy for Harry to find the answers he needed.
He brought his coffee cup to his lips, sipping at the tepid liquid and grimacing as he swallowed.
"You know that stuff is horrid for your nervous system, don't you?" asked a gently drawling voice from behind him.
If Harry hadn't recognised the voice already, the look on Ron's face would have been enough to reveal the identity of the new arrival. He hadn't even seen Draco get up from the Slytherin table.
Harry turned his head, and smiled up at his boyfriend. Draco's hand rested gently on Harry's shoulder, and Harry could tell the long fingers were itching to stroke his disheveled hair.
What an impossibly inconvenient time to fall in love.
Harry peered into his lukewarm coffee, then back up to Draco's face. "Beats being marked for death by the Dark Lord," he commented, making everyone at the table cringe.
He never had been good at making jokes out of tense situations.
Draco leaned around, borrowing a seat next to Harry at the table. He was looking very intently at Harry, as though nothing else mattered, or even existed, in all the world.
"I wanted to talk to you, for a moment, before your first lesson." His eyes didn't bother to acknowledge Hermione or Ron.
Harry did take a quick glance toward his other friends. Hermione looked resigned, with a tinge of amused indulgence. Ron only looked annoyed.
"Sure," replied Harry, still focusing his gaze on Ron. "I'll meet you two at the greenhouses," he said clearly, then placed his cup down and pushed back from the table. Before they stood, he gave Draco's knee a quick squeeze under the table.
"See you, mate," said Ron deliberately, watching the pair with narrowed eyes until they had left the Great Hall.
Draco began walking more briskly, so that Harry almost had to jog to keep up. Draco strode purposefully out the front doors, around to the left through the courtyard, to a small growth of shrubbery which was covered in delicate, lilac blooms. The air smelled fresh and clean and the sky was a bright, clear blue.
Harry had hardly finished taking a deep breath, when Draco's arms were wrapped tightly around him and his lips buried in the soft hollow at the side of Harry's neck. Harry sighed and threaded his fingers into the roots of Draco's hair, running his other hand lightly back and forth over Draco's stubbled cheek, as Hermione had done earlier with Ron.
They weren't like Persephone and Emma. Harry hadn't just known, when he had met Draco; it had been a long, difficult road to bring them to this place.
He had to admit, though, that it was a perfectly lovely place to be.
Draco exhaled a warm puff against Harry's throat, and pulled him even tighter. "I missed you all night," he murmured into Harry's skin. "I wish you could have stayed with me."
It took Harry a moment to remember that it had been only last night when Draco's fingertips had ventured under his t-shirt during their few stolen moments alone in the Slytherin seventh-year dormitory. He closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to lose himself in the remembered pleasure.
The mental image of Crabbe snoring away in the next bed was more than enough to spoil his mood, though.
Draco loosened his grip and stepped back a pace when he heard the scoffing noise come out of Harry's throat. His expression was deeply wounded. "That was stupid," he muttered bitterly. "Forget I said it."
"Draco," soothed Harry, "it's only that I don't relish the idea of sleeping in the same room with your dormmates. It's not that I didn't miss you."
As the last sentence fell from his mouth, Harry realised how true it was. As he'd agonised over the new information all night, he'd ached for some friendly company to help him through it. He wasn't ready to tell Draco about Persephone, not yet, but he was amazed by how much better it felt to have Draco's warm body radiating heat into his own. The simple fact of human contact made Harry feel less isolated than his problems usually did.
Draco was already smiling his concession when Harry leaned his forehead onto Draco's shoulder, pulling him close again. "I did miss you," Harry repeated.
It was terribly awkward, that burying his face against his boyfriend's chest squashed and smudged his glasses and made them dig into the bridge of his nose. It was decidedly inconvenient that Harry was taller than Draco, even by an inch or two, because it meant having to bend his back uncomfortably in order to maintain the position he'd created.
It was positively blissful, standing in the screen of a fragrant, flowering shrub, on a gloriously sunny June morning, being held by Draco Malfoy.
It was also time for Herbology.
Harry lifted his head and placed a gentle kiss on Draco's lips. "See you at lunch," he said simply.
Draco pressed back into the kiss for a moment longer, then nodded as he broke away. "See you at lunch," he agreed.
***
I'm going to have to tell him.
Ron was wrist-deep in dragon dung, scowling at the stench of the squelching mush that clung to his gloves.
It was all too obvious that the fertiliser wasn't the only thing making Ron scowl.
I'm going to have to tell him, thought Harry again.
Hermione chose that moment to shoot Harry a pointed look. It was the same pointed look she'd shot him when he'd arrived two minutes late at Greenhouse Three, losing five points for Gryffindor and earning himself some unusually sharp words from Professor Sprout. There were only a few lessons left before N.E.W.T.s started, but some of the seventh-years had nonetheless made a habit of becoming lax in their attendance at lessons as the weather had improved. Harry was not one of those seventh-years, as a general rule, but he was unlucky enough to be late on the day when easygoing Professor Sprout's temper had finally snapped.
He really was lucky she hadn't made it fifty points, instead.
As they cajoled and wheedled the tigerlilies - which were much more deserving of their name than their non-magical cousins - to release their roots so they could be repotted, Harry and his friends worked in a tense silence. Thanks to Harry's tardiness, Gryffindor was now ahead of Ravenclaw by only ten points.
He couldn't let Ron down. He'd promised himself. It was the one thing he wanted to accomplish before leaving Hogwarts - that Ron's vision from the Mirror of Erised would become reality.
"What were you talking with Malfoy about for so long, then?" asked Ron brusquely, grimacing as the tigerlily tried to kick dragon dung back into his face.
I am going to have to tell him.
But Herbology was hardly the time nor place.
"Do you expect that I tell him everything you say to me?" Harry asked Ron quietly. He measured his tone of voice carefully; he was absolutely not keen to start a row.
"You'd better not!" replied Ron, quite a bit more sharply than Harry had hoped.
"I don't," Harry assured him. "And I don't think he'd want me to tell you everything he says, either."
That was as close as Harry was willing to come to lying to Ron. As a matter of fact, Draco would probably be happier if Harry would allow their relationship to become public knowledge. Draco was tacitly following Harry's lead, but it was Harry who was being careful not to let on that their friendship had become quite a bit more.
Before it could be public, Ron would have to know. Harry would have to tell him.
None of this meant that Harry had any illusions that Ron would react well to the news.
Ron was busy grumbling at the tigerlily, which was kicking and clawing as Hermione tried to lower it into its new pot.
"Oh, stop it, you!" huffed Hermione suddenly. The tigerlily let out an unmistakable roar, and tried to bite through her thick gloves. Harry clung to the pot with all his might so that Ron could be free to help Hermione wrestle the uncooperative plant into submission.
In the melee, their disagreement was temporarily put aside.
By the time the double lesson had ended, the entire N.E.W.T.-level class was exhausted, sore and filthy. Harry had barely possessed the energy to perform one of his well-practised Cleansing Charms on himself and Ron (Hermione, naturally, could manage her own), so that they could go to lunch without fearing they might taint their food with dragon dung. Clean or not, Harry was pretty sure he had no appetite, whatsoever. His arms and legs were shaking from the exertion of warring with the surprisingly strong plants. He had half a mind to skip lunch and head straight to Gryffindor Tower so he could kip on his own bed for half an hour before Charms.
Only, he'd told Draco he'd be at lunch.
As it happened, he didn't even make it inside the main doors.
"Good afternoon Granger, Weasley. Harry." Draco stepped out into the sunlight when the trio were barely a few yards from the entrance to the castle.
He took a long look at the three miserable Gryffindors. "I am so glad I didn't take Herbology for N.E.W.T.s," he added.
Harry noticed Hermione's knuckles going pale as she must have gripped Ron's arm with all her might, to keep him from lunging at Draco.
"Pity," commented Hermione blithely. "It would have brightened my day to see you matching wits with the tigerlilies. Think you could have handled them?"
Harry tensed himself to break up a fight, before he noticed a playful glint in Hermione's eye. Draco must have noticed it, as well, because his smirk contained a twinkle of camaraderie.
"I don't think wit is as much the issue as brute strength," answered Draco lightly. "It's a shame I didn't get to see Goyle's performance today."
The student in question walked by at that moment and nodded tiredly at Draco. Harry could have sworn he saw the faintest glimmer of a smile ghost across Ron's expression in response.
It had been funny. Poor Goyle. Morag had had to perform the Cleansing Charm on him twice, and he still looked a bit grubby for his pains. She was trailing after him now, and glowered at Harry on her way past his group.
Harry was pretty sure her parents had been Death Eaters, as well. She was one of the Slytherins who would probably never be on friendly terms with him, and he knew he simply had to accept that. No matter what he did, there would always be someone who would resent him.
The silence was broken by a booming rumble from Ron's stomach. Hermione stifled a giggle. "Right," Ron said. "Lunch. C'mon, Harry."
As Harry made to follow Hermione and Ron, Draco stepped forward and blocked his path. "You got him for breakfast," Draco said evenly to Ron. "He's mine for lunch."
Ron raised his head slightly, clearly taking full advantage of his greater height.
"Here's the thing, Malfoy. I don't trust you. I don't plan on trusting you, anytime soon. Or anytime at all, really."
He took a step forward, cutting off Draco's retort. "As long as we've known each other, you've taken every opportunity to insult my family, Hermione's lineage, and Harry's parents. Your father tried to have my father sacked and my sister killed. You tried to have Hagrid sacked, multiple times. So when it comes to my friends, I can't see where you've earned any trust at all."
Draco opened his mouth again, but shut it when Ron advanced further toward him and continued:
"Harry's decided he wants to be friends with you, fine. I want to see him happy, so I'll try to be civil toward you. But don't think for a moment that I'll ever like you, or ever believe that you have anything but the worst intentions." Ron took one additional step forward, putting him close enough that Draco involuntarily fell back a pace. "You'd better prove me wrong about you. Because if you don't, you'll wish you'd never set foot in this castle."
A startled silence met this outburst. Harry found himself oddly - yet familiarly - torn between wanting to hug Ron and wanting to thump him. Hermione, for her part, looked bewildered, while Draco wore a cool expression that gave away none of what he was thinking.
"Very touching, Weasley. I'll take that under advisement. Meanwhile," he turned to meet Harry's eyes, "my friend Harry and I are going to have a picnic." For the first time, Harry noticed that Draco was carrying a small sack, full of what must be lunch.
Draco's eyes had gone dark on the word 'friend.' Without another word, he turned and started to walk away, across the grounds.
"I'll meet you two in the common room before Charms," Harry told Ron and Hermione, then hurried to catch up with Draco.
Draco passed the shrubbery whose shelter had contributed to Harry's tardiness that morning and lead the way out a side exit from the courtyard, to a soft, sunny patch of grass near the corner where Harry had read his first letter from Charlie. The sack was opened and a blanket was produced, which was spread on the ground with a quick flick of the wrists. A loaf of crusty bread, some cheese and sliced salami, a couple of apples and a flask of pumpkin juice were all deftly laid out. Draco worked quickly, without speaking, and stood to one side to admire his work when he was finished.
Harry attached himself quickly to Draco's back, hugging him tightly about the ribcage and whispering into his ear, "You've been busy."
"Nothing's too good for my boyfriend," he replied, obviously trying to hide the pride in his voice at Harry's approval.
The word 'boyfriend' still sounded so thoroughly odd to Harry. He was getting used to it, but it still sounded odd.
And it raised an important point.
"I'm going to tell Ron," he murmured, without letting go of Draco. "I'm going to tell Ron about us, and then I want to tell everyone."
The silence stretched out. It continued for so long, that Harry became quite thoroughly worried.
"Weasley really is very important to you, isn't he?" asked Draco at last. His voice sounded oddly flat, and Harry thought again of the hurt tone in Draco's voice when he'd echoed Ron's word 'friend' a few minutes earlier. After their talk about this the other day, Draco must've thought Harry would have got around to telling Ron by now. He probably should have done, but then, he'd had an idea that Ron's feelings about Draco might be, well, something along the lines of the speech he'd made just now.
"Of course he is," answered Harry.
Draco remained silent a long moment more.
"Why?"
Harry shrugged. "He's my best mate." He paused to consider how to elaborate. "I ... I don't know who I'd be without him."
Harry could feel Draco's chest flexing and tensing under his hands. He knew there was something more Draco wanted to say.
When he did speak, Draco's voice was barely audible. "Were you ever ... I mean, were you and he ... you know ..." He trailed off, but his ribcage remained tight and locked.
It took Harry a moment to work out what Draco was asking, and once he had, he burst out laughing. Draco tried to pull away, probably annoyed, but Harry held him tight. "Ron? No, it's always been Hermione for him, as long as I can remember." He smiled, brushing his mouth against the nape of Draco's neck. "And I didn't even know I was gay until you kissed me," he whispered breathily.
Draco squirmed around in Harry's arms until they were facing, and pressed his hands against the small of Harry's back. He fixed Harry with a decidedly naughty gaze before dropping his eyelids shut and drawing a long, breath-stealing kiss out of Harry's lips.
When the kiss finally broke, Harry's skin was on fire. If Draco hadn't gone to so much work to arrange this lunch, he would have pushed all the food aside to tackle Draco right there on the blanket. It was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling, in any case.
Draco placed one hand on Harry's jaw, steadying his face to lock their gazes. "Good," stated Draco clearly. "I want you to tell Weasley, then." He turned away to survey the spread of food he'd provided, and crouched down to pick up a plate of cheese. "St. André?" he offered, looking up.
Harry lowered himself to sit next to Draco. "Sounds delicious."
***
The contented smile Harry had worn throughout lunch with Draco was firmly fixed on his face by the time he made his way to Gryffindor Tower. He ran his fingers through his hair as he approached the Fat Lady, picking out a few stray blades of grass that adorned him after a quick post-lunch tussle with Draco.
Having a boyfriend was fun. He should have tried it far sooner.
Of course, as had happened so many times before in Harry's life, his contentment barely lasted a few seconds after he passed through the portrait hole.
Ron stood there, tense and angry, facing off with Hermione whose hair appeared even frizzier than usual in her obvious exasperation. Ginny, Seamus and Dean huddled in their couches nearby, clearly trying to avoid getting involved.
Hermione turned immediately toward him and said, "Harry, since Ron seems to think what he did today was perfectly reasonable, I, at least, would like to apologise for his behaviour."
"Don't you apologise for me, I had every right to tell Malfoy what I think of him!"
"Ron, for once in your life, try having an ounce of tact, a modicum of consideration for anyone else's opinion other than your own! Obviously, Draco is really important to Harry, he's only just come out, he's never had a boyfriend before!"
Hermione's hand had flown to her mouth almost before the deafening silence could fall. Everyone stared at Harry, openmouthed, even Dean and Ginny, who were doing a very poor job indeed of pretending not to listen.
Harry's ears seemed to be ringing. He replayed the last minute in his mind, hoping he'd hallucinated what Hermione had blurted out.
"Oh my goodness, Harry, I can't believe I said ... I'm so sorry ..."
But Harry was hardly even hearing Hermione. He couldn't take his eyes off Ron.
Ron's mouth worked like a fish for several moments, before his voice finally formed the word, "Your ..." He swallowed, took a deep breath and said again, "Your ... boyfriend? You're ... going out with Malfoy? With Malfoy, Harry?"
"Ron -" began Hermione, but Ron rounded on her.
"You knew?" he asked, his tone increasingly strained. "You said you'd be with me always, and you couldn't even be honest with me now?"
Harry felt his stomach fall out the bottom of his ribcage. Ron looked so wounded, worse than Draco had looked earlier. Two of the most important people in his life were hurt, and all he wanted was to fix it.
Hermione, however, stomped her foot loudly. "Oh, stop being stupid! I've been Harry's friend as long as I've been yours! If he wants me to keep a secret for him, then I'll do it! And meanwhile, what with you making speeches like you did before lunch, it's no wonder Harry didn't want to tell you anything."
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Ginny cut through first.
"Are you really going out with Malfoy, Harry? Have you got amnesia or something? Only I'd though you might have remembered one or two of the times he'd insulted us all, attacked you, tried to sack Hagrid, worked alongside Umbridge with the rest of his Slytherin friends ..."
"What, is this speech genetic?" asked Harry, but Seamus jumped in before Ron could retort.
"Got something against going out with Slytherins, then, Ginny?" he asked in a dangerously quiet voice. "Go on, then. Tell us what you really think."
Ginny turned on him so quickly, Harry was surprised no one got whiplash.
"You want to know what I really think, Seamus?" she asked, her temper rising in a scary imitation of her mother's, "I think you're mad, too. Millicent was part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, or have you forgotten already? Then again, you weren't exactly on our side through most of that, either, so maybe you -"
"Look, Gin -" Dean tried to interject, but Ginny talked over him.
"We were in a war, Seamus, and you were against Harry because your mum was enough of a fool to believe what she read in the Daily Prophet, and now you're going out with someone who would probably have fought for the other side, if she'd been given a chance!"
"She didn't," said Harry immediately, hoping to placate Seamus before he could rise from his seat. "She didn't choose Voldemort - oh, will you all just stop jumping when you hear his name! Millicent didn't join Voldemort, or she'd be like Draco's parents. From what I hear, her parents weren't even Death Eaters, so you can't know which side she would have chosen."
"No, we can't," confirmed Ron. "We can't know she wasn't about to sign up with all her little friends, either."
"NONE OF THEM 'SIGNED UP!'" exclaimed Harry, exasperated. The echo of his shout ricocheted around the room, making all five of his friends wince.
"Yeah -" began Seamus, but Dean silenced him with a look and a hand to the sternum.
Harry took a deep breath. He was so tired of fighting, he wanted to crawl under the hearthrug and hide there until July.
"Fine. Ron, you're right, I should have told you earlier. But it's only been a few days, since the weekend, we weren't more than friends when you asked me, and you've been so opposed to my even being friends with Draco, I didn't know how you'd take it. I wanted to know it was really going to work, between us, before I had to deal with fighting you over it."
Ron's face remained closed and dark. "You still should have told me. I thought I was your best mate."
Harry let his arms fly out from his sides. "You are my best mate. But you've made this really hard on me. I shouldn't have had to feel like there was something I couldn't tell you. Did you think of that?"
Ron looked angrier yet, but said nothing. Hermione took a small step toward him, nodding slightly to Harry as she did. But Harry wished she'd stay out of it: she'd done enough damage already, in his opinion.
"Gin," came a quiet voice, "think about how hard the war was on your family. Would you have chosen to get them involved, if you'd had a choice?"
Everyone turned to look at Dean, who was peering searchingly at his girlfriend.
"How can I answer that?" Ginny asked him. "How can you even ask me? How can you take his side, when he was against Harry most of your Fifth Year?" She gestured angrily at Seamus.
"I'm not taking his side," explained Dean quietly. He turned to his best friend. "She has a point. You'd known Harry for four years, and you believed what a newspaper said over his word. And now you're going out with someone who might have fought against us, given the chance."
"She wouldn't," said Seamus. "I know her. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"She wouldn't," agreed Harry, looking evenly at Seamus in support.
Ron scoffed. "How do you know, Harry? Or are all the Slytherins suddenly perfect angels, now that Ferret Boy has wormed his way into your trousers?"
Hermione said, "Ron!" but Harry barely heard her.
Ron might be hurt, but he was bang out of order making comments about Harry's trousers. The blood was roaring in Harry's ears as he stared into the angry eyes of his supposed best mate.
He'd had enough of this for one day.
Harry stormed back out of the common room before anyone else could speak. At least he would be on time for Charms.
***
Afternoon classes were predictably horrid. Ron wasn't speaking to Harry, and only sporadically to Hermione. Seamus wasn't speaking to Dean, and Harry wasn't speaking to anyone. Professor Flitwick ended Double Charms early because all the anger in the room was causing the Flagrate charms they were practising to go horribly awry. Hannah Abbott was sent to the Hospital Wing with second-degree burns on her arms and face, and the rest of the class were shooed off toward History of Magic, where they could do less damage.
Professor Binns, as always, noticed nothing at all about the mood of the students during his lesson, but Harry found the hour interminable when he had no one with whom to play hangman or noughts-and-crosses.
The moment they were dismissed, Harry stormed out of the classroom and down the corridor in a random direction. He didn't care where he was going, only that he wanted to get as far from his dormmates as humanly possible.
Stomping around a corner somewhere on the second floor, Harry found himself in a quiet, dusty, sunlit classroom. It was occupied. Someone was sobbing softly by one of the far windows.
Harry froze in his tracks. One thing he had never done well was deal with crying women.
Millicent looked up and saw him standing there. "Oh," she said. "Hi."
She didn't sound thrilled to see him. Still, she was speaking to him, which was better than most of his friends were doing.
"Hi," he said stupidly, trying to decide whether he should approach her or leave.
"What are you doing here?" she asked blearily, but without challenge.
Taking that as a cue to go, he muttered, "Sorry," and turned back, but stopped when she spoke.
"No, it's alright. I actually was curious why you came to this room. I come here sometimes, and no one else ever does."
Harry shrugged and walked over to her. "I was trying to get away from people," he answered.
"Poor job you've done of it." Her voice was gruff with tears, but a trace of a smile ghosted over her face.
He shrugged again. "You're not the people I was trying to get away from."
Millicent wiped her eyes, pushing her hair out of her face, and looked at him directly for the first time since he'd walked in. Her dark brown eyes examined his expression and posture before returning to meet his gaze.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here, and guess that things in Gryffindor this afternoon were almost as pleasant as things in Slytherin," she said.
Harry leaned against the table, next to her. On the sun-dappled grounds outside, a group of first- and second-years were chasing each other back and forth, apparently vying for possession of someone's bright red handkerchief.
Inside the deserted classroom, Millicent was watching Harry patiently.
Harry tugged on a strand of his hair, letting out a tired sigh. "Got it in one," he replied.
Her steady eyes never stopped boring into him. It was unnervingly like talking to Hermione.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours ..." she finally offered, with a teary grin.
Harry started for a moment, before he realised Millicent was speaking metaphorically.
She clearly had a much quirkier sense of humour than Harry would ever have expected. He was starting to understand what she and Seamus could possibly have in common.
He shook his head with a glimmer of amusement. Something about her sniffly pride made him trust her outright. That, and the strong suspicion that she could understand exactly how he felt.
"Ron found out about Draco and me," he told her. "He's no fan of Draco's, of course, but mostly he's angry I didn't tell him sooner. And ..." Harry halted in his train of thought, not wanting to add to Millicent's misery.
She gave him a lopsided smile. "Let me guess: Seamus stood up for you, and Ron jumped down his throat about going out with me?"
Harry was surprised to feel a chuckle escape from his chest.
"It was Ginny who jumped, actually," he corrected her. "Which meant Dean got stuck in-between them."
"Thomas?" asked Millicent, surprised. "I'd thought he'd be on your side, since he made that painting of you and everything."
"Painting?"
"Yeah," she prompted. "The one of you lying in the grass, that he made a few weeks ago."
Harry hadn't thought about Dean's art since the night he'd seen him working on it in the dormitory. Looking back on that weekend, he realised the row between Dean and Seamus, at the time, might have had to do with Seamus and Millicent's relationship.
That would explain a lot of things, actually.
Millicent continued, "You know, the one he sold to Draco."
Harry's thoughts tripped over themselves and came to an abrupt and thudding halt.
He stared at her stupidly. When he finally could think again, the questions swirled around him like mayflies. How? When? Really? But then ...
"That's when I knew how Draco really felt about you," Millicent continued. "I had noticed some signs, but Draco's been keeping to himself so much the past few weeks, you can't get much out of him. So I told him about the painting - Seamus had shown it to me - and next thing I knew, Draco was hiding it behind his wardrobe."
Behind his wardrobe. Harry's mind obediently displayed the image from the night before: a flash of green, barely noticed in passing as Harry snuck out of the dormitory.
Draco bought Dean's painting? Of me? A warm, fluttery feeling was trying to bloom in Harry's chest, but he was afraid to let it be real.
Millicent was smiling at Harry now. She really was very pretty when she did that. Not pretty like Lavender or Parvati, of course, but in a different, deeper sort of way, where you didn't care that her jaw was square and downed with dark-brown fuzz, or her shoulders broader than her boyfriend's. Harry could actually see why Seamus would have fallen for her.
"He's crazy about you, you know," she was saying. "He's completely head-over-heels. I've never seen him like this."
As her words were sinking in, lightening Harry's spirit, Millicent's own expression darkened.
"Morag's furious, of course. She's been mad for him since she saw him on the train, First Year. I remember, I'd only met her when I'd got to the compartment. Two hours into the trip, he stopped in, acting like royalty, the way he always used to do. He knew her family, so he'd guessed she would be a Slytherin, too, and treated her like a princess. When he left, she looked right at me, and said, 'You see that boy? I'm going to marry him.' So you can imagine, you're not her favourite person right now."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Millicent spoke again before he could.
"She thinks I'm a traitor, for being with Seamus, and for being supportive to Draco about being with you. She thinks it's a scandal and a travesty that Draco's gay - 'supposedly gay,' she says." She gave a long, wet sniff, wiping angrily at one eye.
"I know she only said those things to me today because she was angry ..." Millicent's voice trailed off for a moment, before she found it again and looked up at Harry. "They still hurt, though, you know?"
Harry knew. He nodded silently, eyes drifting back to the younger students playing chase outside.
The laughter and shouts drifted up to them, muted but unmistakable, even at this distance. Harry watched as Euan Abercrombie's miniscule younger sister wrenched the handkerchief from a Slytherin boy twice her size, and scampered away, mouth wide open in her glee. The boy's eyes lit up with mischief as he careened after her.
They were all really enjoying themselves out there. Harry allowed the corners of his mouth to curve upward of their own accord.
Millicent's straightforward tone interrupted his thoughts. "You're alright, aren't you, Potter?"
Harry blinked, and met Millicent's even, appraising gaze.
"I admit, I thought Draco was a nutter for taking up with you, but I'm starting to see why he would bother."
"Cheers," answered Harry, half-sarcastically, taking the compliment for what it was. "Actually, I was thinking the same about you and Seamus."
"Right." Millicent flashed Harry a disarmingly crinkly grin. "Well, I've carried on blubbering enough for one day. I'm going to go find Morag and see whether she's rediscovered her decent side yet."
She swung her legs forward and hopped off the table, crossing toward the direction from which Harry had entered. When she caught Harry's incredulous expression on her way by, Millicent let out a bray of a laugh.
"Thought Morag and I would now be enemies, never again to trust one another, did you?"
Harry ducked his head slightly. She'd got it in one, again.
Millicent read his expression and shook her head in amusement.
"She's alright, Morag," she commented. "Bit of a bitch, of course, but that's only part of who she is. She's completely moonstruck, you know. Has been since she was eleven. Imagine how Weasley would feel if Granger had taken up with Pansy instead of with him?"
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or to retch at that mental picture. The look on his face must have shown his response without words.
"Exactly," stated Millicent. "Like I said, Morag's alright. But I still suggest you keep your distance from her, Harry. I'm sure you can see why."
Harry smiled. For some odd reason, he was particularly glad he'd run into Millicent today.
"Cheers," he said, more sincerely this time. "Good luck, then."
Millicent gave Harry a look as direct and piercing as any Hermione could offer. "Good luck to you with Weasley," she responded, then turned the corner and was gone.
***
This time through the portrait hole, Harry was greeted by a much more peaceful scene.
Dean and Ginny were curled together in a single armchair, each reading a book. Their fingers were intertwined, the spines of their books resting against each other.
Seamus sat in the next chair, heels propped on the arm of Dean's. He was carrying on a relaxed conversation with Ron, who was sitting at one end of an overstuffed sofa, absentmindedly rubbing Hermione's unshod feet, which he held in his lap. Hermione, naturally, was skimming a textbook and taking notes.
When he entered the room, all five of them looked up. Harry's eyes went directly to Ron's.
Ron gave him a slight nod and half a shrug. It wasn't much, but it said enough: We're alright, mate. How else could we ever be?
Harry thought of Millicent, and briefly wondered how she was faring with Morag. He knew he had it much easier than anyone who didn't have Ron Weasley for a best mate.
Harry smiled and tromped over toward his friends. Hermione bent her knees to make room for him on the sofa between herself and Ron.
He dropped his bookbag on the floor and sat down heavily.
"We were wondering when you might come home," commented Ginny lightly, looking up from her book.
Harry looked around, to find wary but friendly expressions on all the other faces.
"Yeah, I'm back," he replied. "Draco will understand if I don't see him tonight," he said carefully, watching for Ron's response.
Ron shook his head. "You really have the strangest taste in blokes, Harry," he said with a slightly strained grin.
Harry punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I could say the same for Hermione," he teased, earning himself a playful shove from Ron and an amused snort from Ginny.
"Does this mean I have to be nice to him?" asked Ron apprehensively.
Harry grinned at him and shook his head. "Not right away," he assured him. After a moment's thought, he added, "I think he's willing to try, though. If you'll give him a chance."
Ginny levelled her gaze at Harry. "Just make sure he knows, if he does anything to hurt you, he'll be subject to the wrath of eight angry Weasleys."
"Eight?" asked Harry, who was occasionally pretty quick with numbers.
"Percy's pretty useless," clarified Hermione, glancing up from her notes. "But Molly and Arthur will definitely join in."
"Anyway, it'll be back up to nine in a few years," added Ron with a warm smile for her.
Hermione's face lit up in response. Harry didn't blame her; it was an attractive idea, getting to become a Weasley.
Harry instinctively looked around to where Ginny and Dean were snuggled together, but Ginny, on perceiving his unspoken question, only broke up laughing.
"Oh, go on," she said, wiping her eyes. "Unlike some brothers I might have, I'm in no hurry to get engaged." She shot a wicked sideways look at Dean, who cracked a smile that, to Harry's eyes, looked quite relieved. Seamus chuckled at him while Ron watched him with a clear air of brotherly protectiveness.
In the ensuing calm, Harry's stomach chose that moment to give a resounding grumble.
Ron cocked an eyebrow at him. "Malfoy not feed you sufficiently at lunch?" he asked.
Harry mimicked his expression. "Do you really want me to answer that?" he parried.
The look on Ron's face as he considered the point really defied all description. Any response he might have made was lost in the general shuffling and shifting as the six friends hauled themselves out of their seats to make their way toward dinner.
Harry let out an enormous yawn. He hadn't forgotten that he'd been up all night worrying about Persephone Potter Williams and what, if anything, she might mean to him. At the moment, however, he was content enough to go to dinner with his friends, and save other questions for another day.
As they headed down to the Great Hall, Harry found himself falling into step beside Ron. He relaxed into the comforting rhythm of their footsteps, a smile settling onto his face. He had Ron back. That was enough accomplished for one day.
Thank you for reading! Please especially feel free to comment or email about any errors or oddness that you find in any of the remaining chapters as I post them, since I am putting them all up rather quickly.
Incidentally, Morag MacDougal is a Slytherin in this fic. I think she is actually a Hufflepuff, but I didn't know that when I was writing this and needed another female Slytherin, so there you go.