Title: All That's (Not) Forgiven
Author: 
maraudersaffair
Team: Epilogue
Prompt: 3. A poisonous toadstool never changes its spots.
Wordcount: 7,750
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of heterosexual sex (Ginny/Harry)
Summary: While training to be an Auror, Harry must assist the Malfoys in rebuilding the Manor.
Author's Note: A great thanks to my beta, marauderswolf
All That's (Not) Forgiven
The office was not too small and a bit messy, with the strange scent of aged body odour, tea leaves and dusty parchment wafting through the room. Maroon drapes and other fixed fabrics was the source of the odour – years of men leaving their unique musk causing the air to be almost unbreathable. Dreary London light filtered through the glass block window. Filthy rain tracks and thick dust smudged the glass, altering weak sunlight into cold shadows.
As Harry stood in the centre, waiting with nagging tension for his training Auror, he felt the tip of his nose freeze between each exhale of his warm breath. His fingertips tingled and he took a step to his left, dangling his hand over the flames of a brass candelabra perched dangerously atop a mountain of parchment. He tucked his right hand into the pocket of his coat, pressing his palm flat against his wand. The chipped wood was cold and he shifted his stance so that his hand fell against the warmth of his clothed stomach.
A subtle cold in the room reminded Harry that he was in the Ministry, meeting with the man who would ultimately decide if he was ready to become an Auror. This meeting was important; however, it seemed Harry couldn't shake himself from a drowsy euphoria that had happily stayed with him from the night before. He could still feel Ginny's warm breasts pressed against him, her skin so soft and responsive. His body felt awkward and lonely without her near him, and there was just something missing at the edge of his brain at the moment. Maybe it was the confidence that Ginny seemed to evoke from him. Without her, Harry wasn't certain if he could even greet this man without buggering it all to hell.
His feet had begun to tingle when the doorknob turned and a large figure slipped into the room with a quiet click of the door. The man moved with astonishing silence for his enormous stature, his large boots shuffling softly against the worn carpet. He swerved around behind his desk and looked at Harry with curiosity, his shoulders leaning slightly forward.
Harry shifted his stance and smiled faintly. "'ello," Harry said with ease, hoping his external confidence impressed his training Auror.
Squinting, the man took a step back and crossed his arms, his features drawn together in an unreadable expression. Harry couldn't tell if he was angry or not. The man had what one could call a severe face, but the dark brows and slight sneer had nothing when compared to Snape. Oh, God. Was this man going to be like Snape?
"I'm Maurice. It seems you have completed the first part of the training to become one of the Aurors presiding under the Ministry of Magic and Department of Magical Law Enforcement; I will guide you through the second half of your training. Stop me if I'm going too fast. I'm not good at this sort of thing, that's probably why I'm stuck here with you and not out actually doing my job." Maurice paused to take a deep and slow breath. "But that's not to say that I don't love every minute of this. I'm not saying that."
Harry blinked at him, wondering if Maurice was joking. The tone of his voice hinted at sarcastic humour, but Harry had never been good at reading people. He nodded in response and felt like a complete idiot when he saw a slight smile cross Maurice's lips.
"So, this part isn't about books." Harry's expression brightened and Maurice added quickly, "It's not about Defence either. We need to know if you can work well with the common wizard." His smile grew at Harry's confusion. "New. This whole part is new. Before the war, the Ministry couldn't care less about how its Aurors were viewed in the community. But then, Kingsley got his hands on some writing about this Muggle – Robert Peel."
Harry raked his brain for anything about Peel. Nothing. "Erm, who was he exactly – sir?"
Maurice twisted his large finger in front of Harry's face quickly. "Don't you dare call me 'sir'! Got it? I'm the only fucking friend you got right now in the Ministry – the only person who will mean anything in the next coming months. You want to be an Auror? Then I am the best fucking friend you will ever have!"
Once more, Harry was left blinking at him, wondering if he was joking this time or not.
Maurice surveyed him from under his thick brow, eyes uncomfortably intense. Harry felt his own eyes swerve in their sockets, trying to decipher what Maurice meant by staring at him in such a way. Looking away, he shifted his stance and dragged his hand back to rest on his wand for comfort. The man was absolutely nutters.
Suddenly, Maurice was laughing and his voice boomed throughout the room in a taunting way and Harry's cheeks redden with embarrassment.
"Will you be attending the trials this afternoon? Lucius Malfoy's fate seems to interest you."
It took the Wizengamot a year to prosecute Lucius Malfoy for the crimes he had committed during the first and second wars. One could blame the delay on his flight to an undisclosed location in Eastern Europe. Harry had heard that he was eventually found in both Bulgaria and Serbia, but why anyone would want to flee to those countries, especially someone like Lucius Malfoy, baffled Harry and he had decided to dismiss the claims. However, there was just so many suspected Death Eaters to prosecute and the poor souls who had been forced to help them that Harry wouldn't be surprised if the Ministry had allowed Malfoy to stay in hiding until they were ready to accommodate him.
Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Of course it interests me, but no more than any other Death Eater."
"Former," Maurice added gruffly.
Harry tipped his head slightly, his chin jutting forward. "Pardon?"
"Voldemort is deader than dust now, Potter. There is no more Dark Lord and there are no more Death Eaters. So, in terms of use, Malfoy is a former Death Eater."
Something about the way Maurice dismissed Voldemort's death made Harry squint at him. "If I may ask – what did you do during the war, Maurice?"
"Slept," Maurice barked. "And don't call me Maurice. Call me Booth."
"Why?" Harry asked, perplexed.
"Because that's my name."
Blackened footprints fell atop one another on the white marble floor. The mess created a strange path to the courtroom and tattered pamphlets lined the winding corridors. Beggars stood outside the Ministry, selling the pamphlets for a knut apiece. It astonished Harry that people actually bought programmes as if the trials were held at the West End and not in some dungeon like courtroom. The trials of former Death Eaters were big news however, and Harry had to remind himself that not everyone was no longer shocked by the war.
It was as if Harry had been desensitised by everything he had experienced during the war. He would have stayed at home, hidden in his room at Grimmauld Place, if he had a choice, but he knew that showing interest in governmental proceedings would help his chances at becoming an Auror. The whole thing was a pain in his arse, if he was honest, even if it was Lucius Malfoy on trial today.
The twin doors stood open as people streamed into the courtroom. White fingerprints smudged the black marble as people unconsciously trailed their fingers across the doors as they passed. Harry easily spotted Hermione, but it took him minutes to squeeze around legs as he made his way to the middle of the bench.
"Pardon, pardon – excuse me, pardon, pardon," Harry whispered, ignoring how people froze when they realised who he was.
Hermione looked at him expectantly. "So?" she whispered, leaning in as the murmurs grew louder. "How did it go?"
Harry nudged his bum into a tight seat and the woman next to him seemed to jump as their thighs accidently slid together. Ignoring it, Harry shrugged and said, "Dunno really. He's a strange bloke, that's for sure. I think he was taking the piss during the whole thing."
Frowning, Hermione said, "What is wrong with him do you think?"
"Dunno, but he said that he slept during the war when I asked him what he had done. I mean, really. Really? What nerve."
A line etched itself in between Hermione's brows. "Maybe he was just trying to feel you out."
"Funny way to do it, don't you think?" Harry whispered back, aware of the woman next to him breathing on his face as she tried to listen in. Her breath smelled like morning tea and it made Harry's stomach clench with disgust.
Hermione's expression became stern. "Well, it doesn't matter. Do what he tells you and allow him to do whatever he wants. This man is what will get you through the training. Remember, you are very lucky."
"I know," Harry responded, irritated.
Sunlight flowed through the high block windows that were ground level on the outside. He watched as specks of dust floated within the sunlight and how the combination illuminated Hermione's bushy hair. He blinked away boredom and swallowed slowly, trying to rid himself of a powerful indifference. The feeling still astonished him – with everything he had gone through, how in the hell could he feel this strange tiredness? He wanted to be anywhere but here – the war was over. Why did this still matter?
Through the low hum of voices, he felt the pressure of someone staring at him. This was a different sort of stare; it had an expectancy that made his skin itch. His cheeks tingled with warmth as his eyes locked with Narcissa Malfoy unexpectedly. Her eyes were clouded with an unidentifiable emotion, but Harry could only guess at what sort of emotions were surging within her right now. Her face was pale and slick with sweat, her thin chest rising and falling quickly.
Without breaking eye contact, Mrs Malfoy raised a steady finger and beckoned him over with a curling motion. He didn't understand the feeling that swam in his stomach as he obeyed. Was it disdain? Anger? Pity? All he knew was that he didn't like it, and it felt like eternity as he once again scooted through the rows of people.
Mrs Malfoy's shoulders straightened as Harry approached, and for the first time, he realised the height the woman possessed.
"Mr Potter," she greeted, her voice brittle, but she took his hand within hers and asked, "Could you possibly spare a few moments? I need to converse with you."
Up close she looked sickly, her skin blotchy and the colour of egg whites. Her cheeks and forehead were covered with a thin layer of moisture, as if she had come from a shower. She clasped and reclasped her hands, and her head bobbed slightly with nervousness.
Suspicion tugged at Harry's stomach muscles. After a moment, he replied, "Sure, why not. Where do you want to talk?" Though he had no desire to be alone with Mrs Malfoy, the sheer discomfort of everyone staring at him made him want to escape from the courtroom as soon as possible.
Her eyes moved quickly without her head following. "Right outside would be sufficient."
Bending his head forward so he didn't have to see the crowd, Harry walked out of the room, his trainers shuffling against the floor. He stopped abruptly at the corner and stared at Mrs Malfoy as he waited for her to speak first.
She twisted her hands together once again. "Forgive me," she said, her head whipping around the corridor. "Could we walk a bit further?" She lifted a thin finger and pointed down the corridor. "Perhaps down there?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. Was he being set up? For a split moment he thought of refusing, but then Booth's words came to mind. He was right, after all. The war was over. Shrugging to mask his suspicion, he said, "Sure. I don't care."
There was someone now standing at the end of the corridor, and Harry hesitated for a moment in surprise. The figure was tall, blond – very much similar to the woman he was following. Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy turned, his pointed face pinched and expressionless. So much had happened to them since they first met. It was astonishing, actually, and Harry felt as if he was walking toward a complete stranger.
"Potter," Malfoy said, his voice bland. The tone was different than the one Harry was used to hearing from Malfoy; it was more lifeless than bored. Harry couldn't stop himself from shivering.
"Malfoy," Harry answered, hesitating for a moment before reaching his hand out. Malfoy stared at it with interest before clasping it gingerly within his own. His palm was cool to the touch and rough, as if he had been working with his hands.
Mrs Malfoy hovered behind Harry, and Malfoy brought his eyes up to stare at her. Something nonverbal passed between them and a moment later she was gone.
Shifting his weight uncomfortably, Harry was the first to speak. "So," he said, looking anywhere but Malfoy. There was a difference within his features that made it hard for Harry to look. Later, Harry would describe it as maturity and forget about it, but now, a sickness was turning within his stomach. Could it be true that Malfoy had grown up?
"You must be wondering why you're here." His lips barely moved as he spoke, and Harry found himself focusing on them instead of looking into his eyes.
"Yeah, I thought I was speaking to your mum."
There was a brief silence before Malfoy said, "Have you met with your training Auror yet?"
Harry's eyes flew to Malfoy's and tightened in suspicion. "How do you know about that?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I've been wasting time around here for ages. Well, with my own trial and my father's, and all the family friends'."
Confused, Harry said, "But there wasn't a trial for you."
"Sure, not a trial. But there was a conference."
Incredulous, Harry said, "A conference?" He almost smiled and his voice was filled with sarcasm.
Malfoy glared at him. "Yeah, a conference. The Wizengamot decided that because most of my crimes were committed when I was underage, there wouldn't be any trial. But the conference was bad enough."
"What happened?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He couldn't help it – his curiosity was bubbling within him. He wondered if this so-called conference was anything like the hearing Harry had to endure because of the dementors.
Malfoy shrugged before saying, "I was in a smaller courtroom, surrounded by old hags. It wasn't anything special. They asked me lots of questions and when they decided that my remorse was sufficient, they placed me on probation."
"What kind of probation?"
Surveying him with those icy eyes, Malfoy paused for a moment before answering. "Community service. Kingsley sat me down and talk to me about this Muggle – Robert Pile."
"You mean Robert Peel?" Harry rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
Malfoy waved his hand in the air dismissively. "Yeah, whoever." His face darkened for a moment before he said softly, "But it's preventing me from becoming an Auror for the time being."
Harry laughed outright at that. "An Auror." His voice trembled with humour. "Why the hell would you want to become an Auror?"
"What? No one besides you can become an Auror? Why is this so funny?" Malfoy's voice had risen with anger and it appeared that he was biting the inside of his mouth.
"What the hell do you want?" Harry snapped, his laughter forgotten. Hermione must be wondering where he went.
Silently, Malfoy took a deep breath and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. "I know part of the Auror training is community service. I also know that Maurice Booth has assigned you to assist my family in rebuilding the Manor."
"No fucking way." Harry gaped at him in horror. "Why in the world would he do something like that?"
Malfoy smirked at him. "I think – I know that he wants to see if you have a vendetta against all the former Death Eaters." He paused and his smirk seemed fixated on his face, the light within his eyes diming for a moment. "It's a logical fear. A lot of people would love to see ours arses hanging from the Great Hall ceiling, but Kingsley wants everyone to be a big happy family again."
Breathless, Harry asked, "How do you know all this?" He hoped that Malfoy was just fucking with him.
"Boredom. Spent a lot of my time during the war eavesdropping. Became pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. Been sneaking around the Ministry for months now."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the revelation had left him speechless. How long would he be working on Malfoy Manor? Not for his whole training, dear God? Harry was disgusted.
"What do I need to do at the Manor?" Harry asked, his tone vicious.
Apples of colour bloomed across Malfoy's cheeks. It took him a moment to smirk. "I'll let you find out yourself."
For a quick moment, Harry thought of rushing back to Booth's office to demand a confirmation. But there was no way he would give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing he had disturbed Harry.
Harry smiled with pressed lips. "Well, that's fine. I guess I'll see you there, eh?"
Something indecipherable flashed across Malfoy's features.
"Fucking hell," Harry muttered, as he seemed to be engulfed by the darkness. He fumbled for his wand for light, but a hand floated within his view and grabbed his shoulder. Terrified, Harry thought to scream but was interrupted when an impatient voice met his ears.
"Potter, you idiot. Stop your twisting." Light suddenly flowed from Malfoy's wand, illuminating his pale features.
"Christ, Malfoy," Harry gasped, his heart still thudding within his chest, "you scared me half to death."
Malfoy wrinkled his nose at Harry's words. "I apologise, but I didn't want to risk you trying to get through the gates."
For the first time, Harry looked about at his surroundings. His head throbbed as he tried to make out the gates up ahead, but Malfoy's wand light and the stars above was no match for the darkness. "Why?" Harry asked, using his freed fingers to rub at his temple.
Malfoy took a deep breath. "Because – the enchantment left by the Dar – Voldemort is still intact. Anyone who is not loyal to him will die if they try to pass." He observed the curiosity on Harry's face and continued, "Their intestines explode without warning."
"That's disgusting." Harry grimaced and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image. Clearing his throat, he said, "So – Malfoy. I got your note, I'm here. Now what do you want?"
Smirking, Malfoy said, "I heard you start on the Manor tomorrow." He paused as if to soak in the victory. "I just wanted to show you around before the real work begins."
Groaning, Harry scrubbed his face with both hands. "All right, but make it quick. Gin is waiting for me in bed."
"You did not just say that. Please wait for a moment as I Obliviate myself."
"Oh, shuddup. You are just jealous!"
Malfoy's eyes widened sarcastically. "I wouldn't touch that Weasley girl with a pole. I might get fleas."
Harry couldn't help but smile. It was good to know that not everything about Malfoy had changed.
"And this doorway, well it used to be a doorway until it was destroyed." Malfoy and Harry stood on the second floor, almost an hour into their tour of destruction.
His head throbbed from all the things that he would have to do. He was utterly overwhelmed with the carnage he saw, everything from horrid curses to trashed rooms. All of the Malfoy heirlooms and valuables had been pillaged, and what was left was either destroyed or not worth anything.
"You have been living here?" Harry asked, astonished.
Shrugging, Malfoy glanced down at his feet and shoved his hands inside his robes. Bits of hair fell into his face and Harry was struck by the insecurity of the pose. God, Malfoy seemed like he was just as defeated as he was in sixth year. An icy pressure squeezed at Harry's heart.
"We have been under house arrest since the end of the war," Malfoy responded quietly, still not looking up. His shoulders visibly shook as he inhaled deeply. "And with Father away, there was no one here to help us."
Harry was confused and uncomfortable. Absurdly, he had the urge to hug Malfoy and say something stupid like, Don't worry, I'm here to help you now. But the thought was gone in an instant and Harry was left blinking in self disgust. Was he actually feeling sorry for this prick? Harry must've been out of his fucking mind.
"Well, we'll get the Manor back to liveable conditions in no time. My future depends on it." Harry began to laugh to ease the tension, but a strange noise made him stop immediately, his throat choking around the extra air. "What in the hell was that?"
Malfoy looked up and something like delight crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by downcast eyes and a deep frown. "Oh, him? It's nothing."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? Who is it?"
"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't care," Malfoy responded quickly, his breath coming quick. A look of anticipation appeared within his features, despite his obvious intention of straying away from the emotion.
"Will you just tell me what is going on?" Harry said, exasperated.
Malfoy grinned at him. "Okay, but I warned you. It's nothing that will concern you."
Nudging Harry out of the way with his shoulder, Malfoy stepped to the left and grasped the bronze doorknob, pausing for a moment to look back and say, "Are you sure?"
There was no way Harry could not look now. "Just get on with it!"
Snickering, Malfoy creaked open the door and pressed himself against it to allow Harry to pass. Blinking, Harry was unsure about what laid in an enormous bed, black spots exploding within his vision as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim candlelight. Someone or something moaned softly, then tossed to the side and let out an ear bleeding snore. Harry's heart thumped painfully within his chest. Was Malfoy keeping a deadly monster in this bed?
"What is that?" Harry asked, his voice too high for his own comfort. He took a cautious step toward the bed, but Malfoy shoved him forward with poking fingers.
"It's Goyle. Don't be afraid, you idiot!" Harry looked back and saw that Malfoy had a look of saddened anxiety on his face. It turned Harry's stomach to witness it.
Goyle's face was unrecognisable. Bloated and purple, the swelling of his cheeks ballooned over his eyes, most likely obscuring vision. His lips were red and horribly chapped, a line of dried blood trailing down the middle.
"What happened to him?" Harry asked, his expression dumbfounded.
"He was attacked." Malfoy's voice broke and he cleared his throat loudly before continuing. "Outside a dingy pub, the poor fool. Whoever did this knew he was a Death Eater. There's a clear bite on his Dark Mark."
"Someone bit into him?" Harry couldn't hide his disgust.
Malfoy put a hand on Harry's shoulder, forcing him to turn around. His expression was filled with dark intensity, the yellowy candlelight caving into his sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes. The blackness under his eyes looked like costume makeup.
When Malfoy spoke, his voice was strong with insistence, and he stared unblinking into Harry's eyes. Warmth bloomed across Harry's face. "He's been lying there for three days now. St. Mungo's refused to treat him because of his past. You must help him, Harry. You must." Malfoy shook his shoulder to punctuate the last two words.
Harry seemed to snap out of a trance when Malfoy used his first name. He pushed Malfoy's hand off his shoulder and said, "Okay, stop the dramatics. I'll go to St. Mungo's and see what I can do."
"Right now?"
"Yeah, I guess right now."
Without warning, Harry felt Malfoy's warm arm wrap around him and the uncomfortable squeeze of Apparation. They appeared in a brightly lit corridor and Harry was left gasping for air. "Bloody, fucking hell, Malfoy! Give me some sort of warning before you do that!" Harry bent forward and rested his arms on his knees, trying to stop his brain from exploding.
"Shh, Potter. We wouldn't want people to hear that sort of language coming from their Saviour, now would we?"
Ignoring him, Harry rubbed at his head and looked at the signs. "Come on, the patients' desk is this way."
"Are you insane? I can't be seen with you!" Harry stopped and turned around to see Malfoy with his feet planted in place and his arms crossed over his chest. "If they saw me with you, they'd think I'd put you under the Imperius curse or something!"
"Fucking actor," Harry said under his breath as he stalked away. The woman's eyes bulged out of her head when she saw Harry approaching. "Hi, I need to get someone treatment."
It took her a moment to respond, her breath coming fast. "What's their name, sir?"
"Gregory Goyle. He was attacked."
Her brow furrowed deeply. "I'm sorry, sir. But I have already told Mr Malfoy that there just isn't room for him."
Harry looked at her incredulously. "How could there be no room for a patient in a magical hospital?"
Something within her attitude changed, and she leaned forward, resting her arms against the desk. "If I were you, Mr Potter – sir, I'd stop worrying about scum like that and focus on things more worth your time."
Harry was rendered speechless. "But – wait! How could – what do –" He had no idea what to do. The woman had turned her back to him. Blood rushed from his head, his fingers curling with rage. His vision blurred for a moment, and he couldn't think of anything else except walk back to Malfoy.
Malfoy's face was horribly red. "I told you, didn't I? That blasted wench! Her face should be ripped off and fed to her!"
Defeated and astonished, Harry left Malfoy and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.
Once home, he stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed with a sleeping Ginny. He wrapped himself around her small frame and squeezed his eyes closed to rid himself of the look of disgust on that woman's face at the thought of treating Goyle. Some things were just too hard to forget, he supposed.
Anger and confusion drummed softly within his consciousness.
"Why the fuck is it so hot in here?" Harry groaned, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand before it dripped into his eyes. He squinted through his sweat-covered glasses, determined not to clean them for the tenth time in the past hour.
"We – can't – use magic in – here. Too dangerous," Malfoy heaved as he pushed up on a heavy woodened door. They had been forced to reconstruct the whole door frame by hand – without the use of magic. This was complete hell to Harry. It reminded him too much of his days with the Dursleys.
"Will you keep the door steady so I can mark where the damned hinge is supposed to go?" Harry was irritated and sweaty, and definitely not in the mood to fuck around. He crouched down on his knees and with a pencil drew two holes for the screws to go.
"My arms hurt," Malfoy complained, the door wobbling slightly.
"Shuddup and help me, you ponce!" He retrieved the screws and driver from his pocket, his wand forgotten on a table across the room. "Don't allow that door to move or the measurements will be fucked up."
"God, you are such an arsehole," Malfoy said viciously, but the door stopped its movement.
When the door was finally in place, Harry stepped back and sighed deeply. He lifted up the end of his shirt to wipe his face on, and when he looked at Malfoy, he found Malfoy's gaze fixed on his showing stomach. White heat scorched his throat and his mouth went dry. Malfoy's slightly gaped mouth, the look within his eyes, made something heavy and intoxicating pound in his abdomen.
Their eyes locked and he couldn't ignore the heat within Malfoy's expression. They stared at one another for a long moment – too long.
"Tea?" Mrs Malfoy's voice echoed through the room and broke whatever was going on between Malfoy and him.
"Yes, Mother," Malfoy yelled back, "We'll be down soon." He finally looked away from Harry and turned his back, his smooth neck arching forward as he looked down at the ground.
Fuck, could the situation get any worse? Harry sure didn't think so, especially when he had to pull at his trousers to give his prick some room. He didn't – couldn't understand the emotions rushing through him. Was it guilt? Excitement? Hatred? Everything he had assumed that was never going to change was morphing to the point that he felt like he didn't know himself anymore. Things like personal opinions, how he viewed Malfoy and everyone else on the evil side. The Evil side, because evil wasn't supposed to be the victim.
"How is Goyle doing?" Malfoy asked his mother, sipping tea from a chipped porcelain cup.
Harry was uncomfortable sitting in a wobbly chair, surrounded by Malfoys. The portraits that remained stared and sneered at him from all angles, and it was disheartening to feel as if he didn't belong.
"The same. His breathing is still uneven and he is still unconscious." Mrs Malfoy's voice was quiet, sombre. She stared into her cup of tea without blinking, her facial movements limited.
"Have you tried calling a private Healer?" Harry asked, his voice hopeful.
Malfoy and his mother laughed bitterly. "Even if we had tried, it's not like they would even answer our Floos or letters. The last thing anyone wants to do is to associate with us." Malfoy's voice was terse and hard.
"But you haven't tried?" Harry glanced to their faces. "Do you have a working Floo?"
"Yes," Mrs Malfoy answered quietly, "but you shouldn't try. I'm telling you right now they won't come."
Determination clouded Harry's mind and he swiftly stood and set his cup down, pointing in the general direction of the door. "Where is it?"
Malfoy was staring at him with slightly widened eyes. "Through the corridor, to the right."
Harry marched through the doorway and down the corridor. He turned into a sparely furnished room. The fireplace was lavish and big, white stone standing proud with intricate carvings. Without thinking, Harry threw in some powder and said firmly, "Private Healers in the vicinity."
After a few moments a woman's head popped into the green flames, her hair neatly curled. "I'm sorry, but we are unable to provide service to you now – or ever. Good day."
"What the fuck!" Harry blurted out, infuriated. "Next!"
The same woman popped up again, saying the same line, her voice never changing.
"Fucking hell," he groaned, smearing grey powder on his face as he rubbed his temples. There was no way he could give up now.
"I don't have a clue what I'm doing," Harry said into his bubbly pint, shaking his head.
"It's obvious you need some kind of help," Hermione answered. "Maybe you can talk to someone in the Ministry about Goyle – or at the very least, have someone come out to break all those curses on the Manor."
"What you need, mate," Ron said, burping, "—is a brain. I don't understand why you care so much. You should be focusing more on my little sister."
Harry squinted at him. "What do you mean?"
Ron shrugged as if to give himself time to back pedal. "I'm not saying anything – but you should go home once you are done here."
Coldness swept through Harry's body. Did she know? Know about what exactly? Harry thought quickly, guilt and anger sweeping the iciness away. He had done nothing wrong – nothing. So what if he was growing close to Malfoy? It didn't mean anything.
He looked at Hermione instead. "Could you possibly come with me to talk to this last Healer? If he doesn't agree to look at Goyle, I don't know what I'll do."
Hermione nodded, her expression saddened. "I will." She grabbed the pint out of Harry's hand. "We have to do it now, before you get drunk or I lose my nerve."
"Why would you lose your nerve?"
"Because," Hermione answered, standing up and fixing her robes, "I can't believe I'm actually going to help a Death Eater."
Oh, right. Harry had forgotten that detail. What the fuck was happening to him?
Very few people roamed Diagon Alley during the time Harry and Hermione moved as slowly as possible without acting as if they were afraid of approaching this Healer. He had chosen to seek help on a weekday, between lunch and dinner, because he wanted to avoid the staring crowds and had thought the Healers would be more likely to think logically if they had just eaten a nice lunch. How wrong could he have been?
Harry had visited four Healers before meeting up with Ron and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. All of them had been almost giddy at the chance of treating him, but the moment he said he was here for Goyle, they had refused to provide service. It frustrated and battered his morale, and when Hermione and he stepped into the small office of a Mr Quilton Marslon, Harry had little hope of hiring this man to look at Goyle.
A scribe greeted them from his desk. His smile was small and curious, and his dark eyes glittered with anticipation. "How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if I could see Mr Marlson about treating a friend of him." Hermione's head whipped to look at him, but he was distracted by a golden plaque on the wall behind the scribe. A poisonous toadstool never changes its spots was carved into the shiny metal, the message almost disguised by the gold.
Fuck.
" – Marlson has personal time right now, but I'm sure we can make an except for Harry Potter. You are Harry Potter, right?"
Harry nodded, and the man's eyes seemed to glitter even more.
"Just one moment. Please have a seat while I alert Mr Marlson."
Harry glanced at Hermione and found her eyes on the golden plaque as well. "Disgusting, isn't it?" he said, watching for her reaction.
She grimaced and nodded. "That phase is utterly bigoted. I can't believe they put it on the wall for everyone to see."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his voice weak. There was no way Marlson would treat Goyle if that plaque was an example of his thoughts.
"The Harry Potter? Blimey, I can't believe it!" Heavy footsteps sounded through the room. Harry looked up and found a large man in the doorway, hesitating as he stared at Harry. The look on his face was greedy and excited. "Pleasure, sir," Marlson greeted, stepping forth quickly to shake Harry's hand. He ignored Hermione. "It's a mighty honour for Harry Potter to be in the office. Thank you, sir. Thank you!"
Harry smiled thinly. "I was hoping I could speak to you about a friend of mine. He's in need of treatment, but I've had trouble finding Healers to see him."
Marlson clasped his hands together. "Eh, so it's a mystery? No one knows what's wrong with him?"
"Not really," Harry responded slowly, his heart rate speeding up. "He was badly beaten."
"Oh!" Marlson said excitedly. "A victim of desperate Death Eaters, I see! Well don't worry, whatever they did to him I can fix!"
Harry glanced at Hermione to find her staring at him. There was a pause before he managed the courage and stamina to look away from her and respond, "It's not – exactly like that. His name is Gregory Goyle and he was beaten because he's a former Death Eater." Harry closed his eyes, reading himself for the fifth rejection of the day.
There was an impregnated silence. "Oh." Marlson's face reddened. "You're asking me to heal a Death Eater? Me? I'm almost offended that you think I would do such a thing."
Anger surged through Harry, clouding his mind and senses. "Offended you? How can you be offended when you won't help another human being? The former Death Eaters have feeling as well. He's going to die!"
Marlson didn't bat a lash and pointed a finger at Harry and Hermione. "You should be ashamed to even associate with those monsters! They destroyed our lives. I can't believe you of all people would think it was the right thing to do to associate with them!" Marlson heaved a shuddering breath after his tirade.
Hermione placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Look, I don't want to argue with you. I'll pay handsomely. I'll pay three times the normal payment. I'll pay any price. Please, just do it. See him for a man and not a monster."
Greed transformed Marlson's face. "Pay five times the normal price and I'll do it."
Harry sighed in relief. "Deal." He stepped forward to shake Marlson's hand, and as he stared into his face, he thought he knew who really was the poisonous toadstool.
"Gins, I'm home." Harry was mentally and emotionally tired, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed with Ginny and forget about the whole ordeal. "Gins, where are you?" Silence answered. Walking into their bedroom, he froze when he saw luggage sitting on the bed. A suitcase lay open against the blanket, most of Ginny's clothes packed magically.
Ginny was standing in the adjoined bathroom, her makeup bag hanging limply from her hand. Her worried expression transformed when she smiled at him brilliantly. "Guess what, Harry? I'm going to Japan for training!"
Harry's thumping heart seemed to erupt in his chest. "What?" he said weakly, his mind staling. "Japan? Why?"
Ginny jumped into the room and twirled around on her toes. "I was accepted into their training program there. Isn't it amazing? If I complete the training, then there's no way I wouldn't be drafted!"
Stunned, it took Harry a few moments to find his tongue. "But – you will be away from me. Doesn't our relationship mean anything to you?" Harry felt a heartbreaking anger form within the pit of his stomach. He was a complete idiot, spending all this time worrying that somehow his demeanour with Malfoy would hurt Ginny, when all along Ginny had been planning to move away from him. "How long will you be gone?"
Ginny's lips trembled and her face had reddened with fury. "How can you be so selfish?" she asked viciously, her voice rising. "I will only be gone for about six months. It's not the end of the world!"
"Six months! Six months! Are you insane?" Harry yelled, his hands curling into fists at his side. "What about us? We are supposed to get married!"
"Well you haven't even proposed yet!" Ginny raged back, stomping over to her suitcase and slamming it shut. Angry tears streamed down her face. "Do whatever you want, Harry, but I'm going to Japan. I've wanted this for so long. You know that. I thought you would be happy for me." She paused for a moment to stare down at her hands, then covered her face with them and cried openly.
Selfish? She had the nerve to call him selfish when she had decided to go to Japan for six months without talking to him about it? How dense could've she been? Harry threw his hands into the air and stormed out of the bedroom. He didn't stop until he had Apparated to the Manor.
Panting, he drew his wand and followed the bricked wall back to the rear entrance. His footsteps made a loud crunching against the fallen leaves and rocky dirt, and he wasn't surprised to see Malfoy waiting for him in the destroyed garden. It was a cloudy night and Harry could barely make out Malfoy's face. He waited for Malfoy to say something about his visit, but only harsh breathing sounded through the air.
Harry swallowed roughly and said, "I have good news – found a Healer that will treat Goyle. I had to pay five times more, but I think it's worth it." He tried to laugh, but he choked around the air in his throat when a calloused hand brushed against his cheek.
Arousal bloomed inside his abdomen, and he felt his mind completely shut down. He wanted this – at least he thought so. He was tired of fighting everything, everyone, every thought.
Malfoy cupped his hands against Harry's face and leaned forward, breathing hurriedly. His breath was damp and his eyes were closed tightly. The colour of his face was so very pale, almost sickly in the darkness of the night. Harry would've said that the white skin shone, except the deep, almost bruised circles under Malfoy's eyes dimed his face.
"I want to kiss you for some reason," Malfoy said quietly, his fingernails digging into Harry's flesh. "I want to kiss you, but I don't think it would be a good idea."
Harry didn't say anything, and Malfoy opened his eyes, searching for a clue in Harry's face. After a long moment, Malfoy asked, "Do you want me to kiss you?"
Pressing his eyes closed, Harry took a shuddering breath and nodded. He felt the muscles in his neck move, but it didn't register in his brain. All thought processes had come to a halt. He didn't care what Malfoy did, so as long it made this emptiness he felt at the moment disappear.
Leaning forward, Harry brushed his lips shyly against Malfoy. It felt as if his heart had jumped to his lungs and squeezed the air from him. Malfoy shuddered and wrapped his long arms around him, pressing up against him. Harry felt his erection press against his own, and his brain swerved in its cavity. A pressure in his knees made his legs tremble, and he pulled away in fear of falling down. Light from his wand illuminated Malfoy's face, and there was wetness at the corners of his eyes.
Malfoy's tears brought Harry back to reality. He didn't want to hurt anyone – especially Ginny. How could he punish her by kissing Malfoy? She would never understand, and he doubted Malfoy would either.
"We can't do this," Harry said, his voice firm. "I can't do this to Ginny."
Without warning, Malfoy's hand wrapped around Harry's neck and squeezed. He shoved Harry back against a garden chair, and he felt the sharp metal bite into his lower back. "Yeah?" Malfoy said, his voice trembling, "And what about me? Huh? It seems that no one fucking cares about me anymore. I'm just a forgotten fool, aren't I?"
Harry was too shocked to respond, and just nodded mutely after a long moment of staring into Malfoy's dead eyes. Malfoy released him with a snarl and turned around, wrapping his arms over his head and bending forward until his face pressed against his chest. Harry stared at the elegant arch of his back, speechless. What could he do?
"Hey," Harry said, unsure of himself, "No one has forgotten you. I'm here, aren't I?" He rested his hand against Malfoy's back and realised the man was crying.
Malfoy laughed bitterly. "I'm nothing without my father. And soon he'll be thrown into Azkaban forever, and Mother and I will be trapped here to rot."
Pausing, Harry realised he had never thought of Lucius Malfoy in that way. He guessed it made sense for Malfoy to be unable to survive without his father.
Turning around to face him again, Malfoy rubbed at his eyes and stared heavily at him. "Please, please testify at my father's trial. It's the only way he has a chance of getting a reduced sentence."
Indecisiveness tore at Harry's nerves. But what about all the horrible crimes Lucius Malfoy had committed? What about his victims? "I just can't do that. I'll go to the Ministry and ask for some curse breakers to work on the Manor. I'll even run around Diagon Alley for a whole day so that Goyle may have a chance to live. But I can't do that. It's not fair to all the people your father destroyed."
"Fair? What's fair? I'm stuck here, without a future, without a father. Without anything! I didn't do anything wrong my father didn't either. We were trapped, I tell you. Trapped!" Malfoy's face was livid and his eyes crazed.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Right, and your father had no idea what Voldemort's plans were for the world. I don't believe it."
A poisonous toadstool never changes its spots
Strange how Malfoy thought he hadn't done anything wrong. Same as how Marlson and everyone else thought it was best for Goyle to die. They all thought their unhappiness was someone else's' fault. No one changes, similar to how a toadstool's spots never change.
Harry sighed as he realized he would never have to stop fighting, not when everyone allowed their assumptions to prohibit them from changing. It was strange to have a problem he knew he could never solve.
"I'm going home," Harry said, mostly for himself. "Hopefully Ginny will still be there once I get back."
Malfoy sneered. "You won't come back, will you?"
"No, I'm coming back. I'll also keep my word and get some curse breakers here. We can't repair this house without them."
Harry Apparated away.
***