This is a story that takes place immediately following the Epilogue in Book Seven. If you haven't finished reading through the 7th book, there WILL be spoilers. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling! Her characters (with a few exceptions), based on events in her books, her places, etc.




Harry awakened.

He lay there beside Ginny--still breathing peacefully in her sleep--and tried to forget why he had jerked back to consciousness.
A hawthorn and unicorn hair wand, abandoned after battle for its former master to crawl back to....

A pale face in the papers that bared headlines in the middle sections, screaming of the shame of the Malfoys....

A small, smirking article about the birth of Scorpius Malfoy four months after the marriage of his parents....

A pale face that differed from the one in the papers on a tall man in King's Cross Station beside his wife and child....

And a high, laughing, cold voice ordering Draco Malfoy to torture and kill. The same voice that still entered into the worst of Harry's nightmares, but sometimes alternating with a new voice--unrecognizable.

Then that final vision....

He shuddered.

"Harry?" Ginny had sat up to look at him; he pushed up beside her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." He offered her a false smile. "Just nightmares, Gin." She put her arms around him, leaning against his chest. "Want to talk about it?" "No." He stroked her hair, his smile softening into a gentler version of the real thing. "Okay."

Sometimes, Harry wished that Ginny would push; struggle to get to the heart of the matter instead of letting him evade it. But he knew why she didn't. He hadn't wanted her to, especially immediately after the war, and she had been trying to respect his desires. He couldn't fault her for that.

He sighed as he lay back down and returned to sleep.

The next day, they got a letter that Harry had been half-expecting from Al. It tearfully described his trials under the Sorting Hat. Despite his best efforts, the hat had declared him a Slytherin.

Ginny recoiled a little. It was one thing to hear that your husband could have been in Slytherin. And it was another thing, not so horrible, to name one of your children for a Slytherin hero. But it was something completely different to hear that your child had gone into the Serpent's House--belonged there, even. It was less awful for Harry, perhaps because of his personal experiences. He was a Parselmouth--that skill had not deserted him with the Horcrux--had used the Unforgivables, and had barely managed to argue himself out of Slytherin. Although he hadn't necessarily enjoyed any of these experiences, he at least understood that having a few "dark" traits didn't make a person Dark. Ginny's closest step into darkness had been her possession by Tom Riddle--an event that she was unlikely to ever look upon fondly.

"What is it?" asked Lily. "A letter from your brother." Ginny smiled for her, but Harry could tell that it came primarily from a desire to comfort Lily, not because Ginny was truly accepting of Al's placement. "Al's in Slytherin." Lily lowered her eyes. "Oh," she said quietly, returning to her breakfast. Harry stifled an irritated sigh.

After the war, "Slytherin" had become synonymous with "evil". Although Harry had attempted to make it clear that Severus Snape had not been a traitor, but was truly a hero--that Narcissa Malfoy had deliberately lied to Voldemort and saved Harry's life--all that had happened was that the newspapers sighed even more, adding mercy and modesty to his many charms.

He remembered being eleven--remembered how he, too, had feared Slytherin House. And the stigma had only grown in the past twenty-six years; it was no wonder that Albus was so ashamed. Harry would just have to do all that he could to ensure that his son didn't grow estranged from the rest of his family.

The next letter, that evening, was more resigned. Scorpius Malfoy was showing a curious interest in Al--considering Draco's initial fascination with Harry, that wasn't really surprising--James had toned down the teasing and was trying to demonstrate that he would not abandon his brother, the rest of Slytherin was watching him warily, and the professors were fair.

Ginny was already in bed, murmuring about a "headache". Harry went to join her. He knew that, soon, they would need to discuss Albus's place--in Slytherin and in their family.

But not tonight.

Althought I don't read Harry Potter fanfic so unfamiliar with what many authors wrote about, I like your story. Still you should write in more details, with more descriptions, I think. The subject was good, by the way.

Thank you. XD I'm not done yet, actually--that's the first section of what I have written. I have to finish the second section, and then I'll post that. But I've been reading some of it over the past few months--some of it good, some of it.... Less good, to be polite. But I decided I'd give it a try. :O I'm glad you like it so far.

Edit: Looking at my previous two posts, I can definitely tell the difference between a hand-written page and a full page in Word.... :sweat:

Astoria Greengrass placed her hands on her hips. "Draco Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?" Although the answer was obvious from the red envelope in front of him, she wished to force him into admitting it.

"Detention!" he snarled. "Within the first week! And with the Potter child, no less!"

Astoria's anger grew. "Harry Potter is the savior of the wizarding world. If it weren't for Potter, you would be dead."

Draco winced. Harry's announcement that he had defeated Draco in the middle of the Great Hall had lost the Malfoy family the remaining respect that they had had left to cling to. Howlers, sneering letters, photographs of he and his family at their most private--that summer had been enough to make Draco decide not to return to Hogwarts--only to discover that he was required to re-attend under Ministry supervision as a known Death Eater.

He didn't even have the Dark Mark anymore. Voldemort had been too contemptuous of him after his failure; he refused to give such a weakling His Mark.

Of course, Draco bore a different Mark on his arm now. Although he and Astoria Greengrass had been betrothed from birth, the details of their marriage were less concrete. That had been one of her demands--a living tattoo on his arm in the place of the Dark Mark, meant to burn him if either he or she were unfaithful.

When Draco heard her list of sweetly-voiced commands, he had attempted to appeal to his parents. Lucius had sneered and turned away as Narcissa sharply reminded Draco that the family, the Malfoy line, was more important than any minor discomfort he might face for now.

He was drawn out of his self-pitying reverie as his vision began to black out at the edges.

"You weren't listening," his wife chided him. The dots faded from his vision as he gave her a little bow. "My apologies." She smiled coldly, knowing the motivation for and true sincerity of his apologies.

"Draco, you've never properly thanked Potter for saving your life, have you?" He jerked up to glare at her. "Since our boys are becoming such close friends, it would undoubtedly be to our benefit to ask both he and his wife over." She smiled as Draco silently crumpled the envelope he had been preparing to send Scorpius a Howler in to begin a new letter. The words did not rise so easily in this one, but with his wife sitting across from him, he had no choice in the matter.

"For Potter." He gave his owl the letter and turned away as the bird swooped out the window.


/~/


Harry raised his eyebrows at the letter in front of him.

Harry and Ginerva Potter:

I'm sure that by now you have heard of your son Albus's developing friendship with Scorpius, the son of Astoria and I. We thought that you might enjoy meeting with us so that we could discuss how their relationship might affect our own. Please send your reply back by my owl.

Yours,
Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass


"Well, there's no question of it, Harry. Of course we won't be going," said Ginny, looking more flustered and concerned than she had yet this week. Lily was in the garden, playing. "After all that Malfoy did to you--me--all of us--in school? And his father? I know that you had to develop a working relationship with him for a time, but there's a line between civility and visiting each other on weekends." She looked at the owl distrustfully as it hid its head behind a wing. "Who knows what he has planned...."

"Gin, he has a point. If Al really is making friends with Scorpius, it would be good for them to see that their parents can get along a little--can you imagine how much it would have hurt for Ron if his parents had never let me visit because they hadn't liked mine?" Harry didn't exactly feel like jumping for joy at the idea of visiting Malfoy, either--but he was willing to make a few sacrifices for Al's happiness, especially when it was so very fragile at the moment.

"That would have never been a problem, Harry! Your parents never tried to kill ours! They never--never served some Dark Lord and then crawled around without having the guts to admit it," she spat.

"Gin, Al's in Slytherin with a lot of kids who have parents that fought on that side of the war. He's probably going to make friends with a few of them," Harry told her. He had known that it would be hard to convince her that the Slytherins weren't all evil--especially when he wasn't perfectly convinced himself--but she was harder to persuade than he had thought she would be.

"He doesn't have to make friends with them or anything, though!" She sounded close to tears. "He can just make friends with the Gryffindors, or--or the Ravenclaws, or something! But not the Slytherins." "Gin." He moved to her, wrapping her in his arms. "If you don't want to go see Malfoy, we won't." She shook for a moment or two as he held her. "But Al will probably make friends with a few Slytherins--one or two. And just because their parents were evil, murdering bastards doesn't mean that they will be. Sirius, Regulus," he reminded her. She sniffled in his shoulder.

He moved away for long enough to pen a response to Malfoy.

Draco,

I'm afraid that the invitation is a little much for now. Maybe in a few months. Thank you for the kind thought, however.

I hope that you and your wife are well.

Sincerely,
Harry Potter

I really liked

Thank you. I'll probably update it again sometime within the next few days.

Draco raised his eyes at the letter in front of him. He had thought that Potter was less obvious than this, even now--but maybe eighteen years wasn't enough to improve his skills in secrecy. Perhaps after thirty-six, he would finally be able to tell a lie properly.

He had noticed things; oh, yes. It wasn't just the Malfoy family that the world held in contempt--it was Slytherin. Slytherin and snakes and the whole rotten core. Astoria merely laughed when he mentioned it in passing--her family was wealthy enough that it didn't matter, and she could rely on her beauty and wit to get by. She didn't care if it meant that their son--

But he choked that resentment down. No, Astoria didn't care for Scorpius; he had known that for years. She had been willing to provide the Malfoy family with an heir and had been more than willing to cart him around, showing him off at her parties and celebrations. But she did not care about their--his--son. And if Scorpius's lot was harder because of the mass hatred of Slytherin, well, at least he was a Malfoy. She could always divorce herself from the family and this whole mess.

Yes, Astoria was making quite an issue out of the fact that the end of their arranged marriage was approaching. Although they had been betrothed since birth--no way to get out of it, no way for her to escape--marriages such as these only had to last for twelve years. She would be free by January at the earliest, and she was making wide indications that a heavy bribe would be required to maintain her presence--both her place in the household and as Scorpius's mother. And if it weren't for Scorpius, Draco would welcome her departure--but Scorpius did not understand that his mother didn't love him. He thought that she was simply cold, like his paternal grandparents.

Scorpius was at least managing to make friends, though--and Potter's elder son was attempting to be welcoming, from the letters that Scorpius sent. One accepting Gryffindor could be the key to ending a lot of the rivalry.

Draco looked up to see Astoria smiling and waving as she left with a tall boy that Draco seemed to remember as being a Hufflepuff--a year or two behind him, closer to her age than his. On cue, the man scowled. As they made their way out of the mansion, he sighed. Then again, maybe not.


~/~/~/~/~


"Harry James Potter, what are you doing?" They were already nearly late--James was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Keeper this year, and this was his first game. They had decided to go--Lily stayed with Hermione, who had never really cared for the game. "Just looking around," Harry called back quickly from the house.

He'd had the nightmares again last night. The new voice was becoming more prominent than Voldemort's; he wasn't sure whether to be pleased about that, or not. He was sending an owl to Kingsley in the hopes that Kingsley had heard something--could find out something--about some Dark witch or wizard attempting to rise to power in the same way that Voldemort once had, but he was already fairly certain of the response that he would receive.

"I'm coming, Gin," he told her as he left the house. She gave him a smile more pleased than any he had seen so far this week.


~/~/~/~/~


The cheering was louder than he had remembered it being--but most of the time, he'd been on the Quidditch pitch, not concentrating on the sounds of the crowd. Slytherin was the opponent, and Harry was trying to remember if the House rivalry had been nearly so vicious when he was in school. Alright, some of the Slytherins had been right arseholes, but not all of them. And some of the Gryffindors had been just as annoying--and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had varied with the weather.

But he didn't remember any of the Gryffindors being as violent as they were today--or, at least, he didn't remember any of them initiating the violence. The Beaters were racking up fouls--and the Slytherin team didn't have the opportunity to reciprocate. Although Gryffindor was ahead primarily on its own merits, the bias was obvious. What was worse was the attitude of the adults.

He was trying to see who was on which team--to see if he perhaps recognized any of the students as friends of his children or children of his friends--when he recognized the small green-and-silver blur circling the pitch to find the Snitch.

"Gin," he said urgently, pointing. She followed his eyes and his hand. "Isn't--that's Al!" Although Albus was a good flyer, the rules prohibiting first years from playing were still in place--although loosely observed. He understood that it was possible that Albus was the best choice for the position, but why? Al was a great Seeker, but he would think that somebody--anybody--would have protested a first year becoming the Seeker. And he would have thought that there would be a great fuss about "The Chosen One"'s son becoming Slytherin's Seeker....

And he would have thought that Al would have told them.




A/N: So many rhyming words. Quidditch. Snitch. Pitch. :lol:

“Dad,” said Al. “That was a great game,” Harry told him. “I took too long to catch the Snitch,” said Al fretfully. “No one believes that,” Ginny said. “Al, why didn’t you tell us that you were on the team?” He shrugged. “I thought you might make a big deal out of it. And—” he sighed. “James is on the Gryffindor team. So I figured you’d be cheering for him.” He looked up with a hint of a smile on his lips. “I didn’t want you to be too disappointed when you found out that he’d be losing.” “Al,” said Ginny reprovingly as Harry held back a snicker. He’d always rather enjoyed his youngest son’s self-confidence.

“Mr. Potter,” said a voice that Harry recognized. Ginny stiffened beside him—and he was sure that he had done the same—before they turned around. But Draco was not facing them; he was bent down just a bit to talk to their son.

“That was quite a fine game. It was nice to watch Slytherin house soundly beat Gryffindor, for once.” “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” said Albus. “There was never a chance of that happening when I was in school, of course,” said Draco as he straightened. “Are you likely to accept Scorpius’s invitation? Not for the whole break, of course, but for a fraction of it?” “I have to speak with my parents first,” replied Albus neutrally. Harry’s eyebrow raised. “Of course you do. And with the fact that my permission for the invitation only arrived this morning, I should not have expected you to have done so yet. My apologies for rushing you, Mr. Potter.” Harry’s other eyebrow raised—mainly at the fact that Draco was managing to be courteous to his son. Not only a Potter relation, but an eleven-year old… It was more than he would have expected from the man. “Good day to you then. Mr. Potter. Mrs. Potter,” he nodded to Harry and Ginny. Harry felt Ginny relax as Draco walked away from them both.

“Invitation?” he asked Al. His son nodded, biting his lip a little as he looked at his mother’s face. “Scorpius invited me to visit him over Christmas break,” he said quietly. “He just asked me before the game.” “Hmm,” Harry responded. “I know that you and his Dad had problems in school—but Scorpius is great, Dad, really,” said Al. Harry knew that he was probably emboldened by the fact that his parents hadn’t started to yell yet. “Al, his father was a Death Eater,” said Ginny. “So were his grandparents.” “His mum wasn’t!” “Al, we’ll think about it,” said Harry. “We’ll need to talk about this in private, and with Lily and James. Alright? You should probably go and celebrate,” he added with a smile. “I’m sure Slytherin gets just as excited about winning Quidditch matches as Gryffindor used to.” Al smiled a little, before turning to wander off. James walked up to them out of the crowd.

“Have you heard about Scorpius making friends with Al?” Ginny began. “Yeah. And I think he’s serious,” said James. His older son—although more the prankster—had been fairly serious for his age, and so Harry usually took his word into consideration. Ginny, however, took a more Molly-like approach. “James, you don’t know the Malfoys,” she told him. “They’re tricksters—liars—he’s just trying to get on Al’s good side.” Harry restrained himself from snapping at her with an effort. “Mum—” “No. You played very well today, James, but you’re just wrong about some things,” she said. “Harry, we should be going,” she directed at her husband. He gave a nod. As she began walking away, Harry took advantage of the brief pause to tell James, “I’ll try to talk to her. It’s not her fault—it’s the way that the world’s been for years. I’ll see what I can do. She’s right about that, though. You did play well.” He gave his elder son a half-smile before starting after Ginny.

He could tell that James was staring after them, but he wouldn’t start a fight with his wife so publicly. That was just the thing needed; papers splashed with headlines about him again. The Weasleys didn’t need that sort of publicity, either. The inevitable confrontation—because he wouldn’t let this lie—could wait until they got home.

“Harry, we are not letting Malfoy—”

“Ginny.” He gestured with his head towards Lily. “Maybe we could discuss this somewhere else?” She fumed. Although a much-denied part of him perked up at that and told him exactly how beautiful she was when she was feeling passionate about something—and how he could cheer her up—he mentally told it to shut up. “Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He bent down and picked up Lily. “Daaad!” she protested. “Well, if I can’t scoop up you, who can I scoop?” He put her back down, looked around, and playfully picked up Ginny. “Harry!” She let him know by her voice—and by tightening her hand around her wand—that she wasn’t in a joking mood at the moment. “Fine, Gin.” He let her back to the ground and she glared at him. “Lily, why don’t you go into the living room and read your book for a while.” She looked between them suspiciously. “Go on,” Ginny urged her. She did, but continued to glance back at them.

“Harry, we are not going to let Al go and stay with the Malfoys!” “Gin, his wife was never involved in the war.” “And his father killed Dumbledore—” “Snape killed Dumbledore, on Dumbledore’s own orders.” “Snape was life his—his favorite uncle or something, Harry. They were both Slytherin! Maybe Snape faked those memories! Maybe… I don’t know; maybe he just did it so that you’d trust him!” He still hadn’t told her about seeing Dumbledore when he died—to be honest, he hadn’t talked to them all that much about when he’d died. They had assumed that he’d rebounded the curse again, Narcissa hadn’t bothered to deny the truth, and any of the Death Eaters were automatically disbelieved. “Gin, he was dying. I don’t think that there was much that he really wanted me to do.” He hadn’t told them the details of Snape’s memories—he didn’t think that anyone would believe him, not with the mood that they’d had after the war. “He wanted you to go to You-Know-Who!” He threw up his hands. “And you did, Harry!” “He’s been dead for eighteen years, Ginny! Say his name! His name is Voldemort!” She flinched, as everyone still did. He had tried to be polite. He had tried to understand that everyone needed a little time. But it had nearly been twenty years, and they weren’t even prepared to say his name. Things had been getting better—they weren’t perfect yet, no, but they were improving—and they still jumped at shadows.

“Harry, please,” she protested quietly. “We talked about this.” They had, a year or two after Voldemort’s defeat. She wasn’t ready to hear his name yet; she still wasn’t quite recovered from his possession of her in second year. And although that had been nearly ten years earlier, he could understand that. And when the rest of the world still wasn’t ready to hear his name after ten years—he was a little disgusted with the rest of them, but they had endured nearly forty years of suffering. Maybe a little more or less; he’d never quite been sure about the exact dates. He could understand their wariness; he could make allowances for them. They were willing to do the same thing for him; he could be considerate. They’d allowed him to return to Hogwarts for his seventh year—he’d gone with the rest of them; practically everyone else had shown up. (Except, of course, for those who were gone.) He’d wondered if Malfoy would dare—but it wasn’t so much a question of daring as of being forced to. He’d heard the Ministry edicts, and didn’t quite agree with them—if nothing else, it wasn’t fair that the students who had benefited so much under the rule of the Carrows would be able to enjoy the same luxuries that the students who had been tortured did. But he understood that none of them had really gotten an appropriate seventh year; certainly none of them had been able to take their NEWTs. He’d even come to pity the Slytherins over that year; that was definitely a side effect that none of them had foreseen.

“Gin, it’s been almost twenty years.” “I know, Harry, I know, but—” “But what? What is there that’s still bothering you after twenty years?” “Harry, it’s just too soon for me. I’m sorry.” He restrained his anger. He didn’t say what he’d been thinking—that she’d been alive longer since his defeat than she had been prior to it, and for most of that time, he’d been presumed dead, anyway. “Look. Ginny.” He grabbed her hands and got her thorough attention. “I’ll go to dinner with Malfoy. Just him. And we’ll talk. Do you really think that after everything he did in school, he could lie that well to me?” “Harry, you’re so trusting. I’m…” She sighed. “I’m afraid that you’ll try to believe something that’s not true; that he’s going to manipulate you. He was Slytherin.” Not for the first time since the war, he wondered what things would have been like had he not feared Slytherin. If he’d allowed the Sorting Hat to place him there—and not in Gryffindor—things might have been different. Slytherin might not be in the hole that it was in now. He might not be married to Ginny—he cut himself off. That was a road that he didn’t want to go down.

“Gin. He was Slytherin, but I was Gryffindor.” The upside was that everyone believed in Gryffindor goodness as firmly as they believed in Slytherin’s evil. She smiled, seeming to melt a little. “You’re right, Harry.” He drew her closer to him in a hug. If nothing else—and he wouldn’t admit this to anyone—it would be nice to talk to someone who didn’t worship him. Despite Malfoy’s cool politeness today, he was certain that he could be less civil in a private meeting.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Draco Malfoy,

You sent an invitation to myself and Ginny a few weeks ago. Although Ginny is still unable to meet with you—work and our daughter take up a rather large portion of her time—I wouldn’t mind meeting with you alone before we have a larger gathering with our wives. Let me know if there’s a time and a place that would work for you.

Harry Potter

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Draco stared at the letter in front of him. Surely Potter wasn’t serious. Astoria smiled as she saw the signature. “There. You see, Draco? Not so hard, after all.” He sat back in the chair. “After his earlier response, this is undoubtedly a joke.” He tensed as he felt the mark on his arm begin to tingle. “Draco,” she said. “I think you should continue this exchange with Potter and meet with him somewhere. She tipped his chair back suddenly and looked down at him. “And I don’t want to read in the papers about how you got into a brawl with him. That would reflect very poorly on me, husband dearest.” He restrained his first response. “Of course,” he replied. She smiled and let the chair return to its normal position.

“Don’t let me hold you back, Draco. I’m sure you’re anxious to meet with Potter.” She walked away, but he knew that if he ignored Potter, she would find out. He was a prisoner here far more than she was. “Oh, and Draco?” He turned to face her as she stood at the exit of the room. “Yes?” “I’m having my lawyer begin the divorce process. I take back everything that I came to the marriage with. You may keep our son and your monies… What there are of them. Don’t worry, darling. I wouldn’t dream of fighting you for custody.” She disappeared from his line of view and he took a few minutes to calm down before he thought that he could possibly begin to write a letter responding to Potter.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Harry looked down at the letter.

Harry Potter,

I would be delighted to meet with you. There were words exchanged in our school days that I feel were inaccurate, and would not mind refining. Not only that, but as our sons grow closer in their friendship, it might behoove us both to discuss the Wizarding world’s position relative to ours. I don’t quite know how you feel on the matter, but I do not want to deal with receiving Howlers regarding my son’s relationship with yours. I would never want to be accused of attempting to corrupt such a paragon of integrity as yourself and your family.
Much of my time is spent idle, and I await your response with a time convenient for you. My sole request is that we meet in a more neutral setting than your household or mine could provide, but I will rely upon your discretion.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

He hadn’t remembered Malfoy ever being so deferential in the past—not even to Snape. He knew as he thought it that he was lying to himself—he knew of one individual that had demanded Draco’s fear, if not his respect—but that was a different story. It was possible that Malfoy was frightened of him, especially given Harry’s celebrity and how much reason he had to look at Malfoy fondly. He hoped that Malfoy would get over that for the meeting. Not that he was looking for a fight—well. Maybe he was. All that he was sure of—and would admit to himself—was that he was looking forward to dealing with someone who didn’t stare at him with hero-worship in his eyes. Malfoy could provide that much.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Potter’s letter was very simplistic—but that much could be forgiven. The meeting ground wasn’t as neutral as he would like, but it would do well enough. He rose and put on his travelling cloak. “Astoria, I’m leaving,” he called to her. “Have fun with Potter, my dear.” She kissed him on the cheek before meeting his eyes. “Not too much fun, of course.” “With Potter, there’s no chance of that,” he muttered as he left. Although his marriage was not fulfilling in any expectable way, there was zero chance of a relationship with Potter even without his wife’s mark disfiguring his arm. He fully expected the hero to ask to see if Draco had the Dark Mark, and looked forward to the confusion that would rise in his eyes at the sight of his real mark. Although Weasel and undoubtedly Granger would probably recognize it, Potter would be unlikely to. He could be pleased for that much—that he could explain it rather than relying on a twisted explanation from unrealistic parents or a stiff text.

His Apparation took him to the proper location. Although it wasn’t the restaurant that Potter had proposed, it was on the street near to it. He had never been more grateful for his skill at the Disillusionment Charm, not even when it enabled him to hide from Muggles without being forced to disguise himself. His year after Hogwarts—without magic—had allowed him to see how hated he truly was by the rest of the world. His parents were finally physically free from Azkaban, but they would have been safer inside. At least he knew that the Ministry’s guards were required by law to be less horrible than the people outside, and their unforgiving attitude wouldn’t affect his parents.

“I’m here to meet with Harry Potter.” He walked into the restaurant and attempted to speak quietly with the maitre‘d. “Really?” The man looked up and down his figure with naked contempt. “You to dine with Mr. Potter? You must believe that we’re fools here, Malfoy.” Draco didn’t miss that the respect afforded to Harry was not given to him. “Frances.” Harry had come out of a room at the back, his tone reproving. “I told you that I had a guest meeting with me.” “Of course, Mr. Potter. But—” “Do you really think that you know better than I do what Draco Malfoy did during the war?” His eyes hadn’t met Draco’s yet, but he wasn’t entirely sure that this was a good idea anymore. If Potter really felt anywhere near the level of disdain for him that he was implying, then perhaps this meeting was already doomed. Perhaps the savior was merely waiting to serve him “justice”. He couldn’t help but refer to Potter with these mocking titles, even in his own head—especially in his own head. He was the only person that would hear them without telling him, in one way or another, that Harry Potter was above him in every way. Even his parents shook their heads and silenced him whenever he mentioned that perhaps Potter wasn’t the source of all goodness.

“Of course not, sir. Please, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Follow me.” The man led them back to the room that Draco had seen Harry enter from, and nearly smirked at the discomfort Frances had in granting him any title at all. He restrained himself, of course, as Malfoys were not only capable of but expected to.

“Malfoy.” Harry sat across from him, watching as Frances shut the door. He had already taken the precaution of casting charms and wards so that no one could possibly eavesdrop or listen in on their conversation. “Potter.” Malfoy seemed wary of him—which made sense. Harry blinked and looked at the table. It wasn’t the best of places to start, but it was a place that he needed to go. “I never thanked you for the use of your wand during the war,” he began. He heard Malfoy make a sound—something repressed—and looked back up. “I know that what I said during that last battle didn’t help you any. And I’m sorry for that.” He noticed that Malfoy looked slightly startled by that for a second before refining his emotions once again. “As long as we’re granting each other truthful statements, Potter, I doubt that it would have made much of a difference had you never spoken.” It was the truth; he didn’t think that even the Dark families who had allied with the Malfoys before would have granted them much—or any—respect, remembering how Voldemort had treated them and how they had cringed before him. He could barely respect them when he remembered that, and that included the fear that Voldemort had provoked. The things that Voldemort had done… He wasn’t going to think of those, and he wasn’t going to discuss those with Potter. He yanked his thoughts away from that track.

“Maybe not, but I don’t think that it helped, did it?” Harry didn’t want to just let it go. He didn’t want Malfoy to defer to him; he was so sick of it. The Weasleys did it. People he’d never met did it. Everyone did it, right up to and including the Minister of Magic. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he could walk into the Wizengamot one day and tell them that they were all disbanded and he was taking over—and they would let him do it with smiles. The only matter that they didn’t listen to him on was the matter of who was guilty of what after the war. He barely held any sway in public opinion, as everyone assumed that he was just being a kind and forgiving soul. They seemed to have forgotten that he had cast the Cruciatus curse at Amycus and meant it, that he had killed Voldemort, that he had actually used the Imperius curse, and that the only Unforgivable curse he had not used yet was Avada Kedavra—the one curse that he had been expected to use, and would have been forgiven for in that war.

“Not very much, Potter.” Draco was reluctant to begin any sort of a confrontation; he didn’t know what Potter wanted. Not that he really cared about Potter’s confused desires—but he knew that the man could and probably would make life very difficult if he chose to. He also didn’t want Scorpius to lose one of his only friends because the great Harry Potter decreed it so. He wasn’t sure if Harry was truly that petty—but it was possible, and he didn’t want to take that risk. Scorpius was one of the only important parts of this world anymore, and the only person that Draco truly cared for.

Harry leaned forward on the table. “Does Scorpius have any hidden agenda?” Draco sat back, astonished. “What?” “Any agenda with my son? Did you instruct him to get on Al’s good side, or…” He drew himself back up. “I can assure you, Potter, that surprise would not be the way to draw it out of me, if I truly had any devious plans on your son. I can also assure you that, to the best of my knowledge, Scorpius is just attempting to find a true friend in Albus. A task that I’m sure you can acknowledge as difficult for your children as well as my son.” Harry nodded. He had been far too reluctant to let his children play with anyone except for their cousins and close family friends—like Teddy—because he knew how easy it would be for someone to get close to them as “Harry Potter’s children” rather than for themselves. He feared that it had happened in Hogwarts, but he could do nothing about that. After eleven years, he hoped that they would be able to handle themselves. And he could see that Scorpius had probably had problems of a similar nature—not out of desire to be close to Draco Malfoy’s son, but the desire to use him in order to hurt Malfoy.

“And that’s it? What about you inviting him to your house over Christmas break?” Draco would have winced, were it not for the fact that Potter would almost definitely take it the wrong way. He had been right; Potter had gained no subtlety in their time since Hogwarts. It was a shame, really. “I allowed Scorpius to invite him. It was Scorpius’s decision, not mine. Believe me, I did think on the matter before giving him my permission.” And that was certainly true. There would almost undoubtedly be headlines, and there was the additional fact that Scorpius was still unaware of. Astoria would almost certainly leave over the break, and Scorpius would learn exactly how much his mother cared for him. Having a stranger there at that time wouldn’t help at all. But Albus could always be sent home, and he was curious to see how the children acted in each other’s presences. For that—and perhaps for the fact that Scorpius had finally made a friend—he was willing to allow the younger Potter to visit.

“I see.” Harry relaxed a little. He believed Malfoy—that was about what he’d thought in the first place; Ginny was just being paranoid. If nothing else, Malfoy had to know that he would be in Azkaban for life—possibly executed—for kidnapping Harry’s son.

“Did you want anything else, Potter? Or did you merely desire to interrogate me regarding my son?” “I was worried about Albus. If you think about our pasts, Malfoy, aren’t you even a little worried?” Draco shrugged. Yes, he was a little worried—but only that he would wind up being civil to Potter and the Weasley brood for the sake of his son. That was really all. Considering Potter’s lack of skill at subtlety, he doubted that his son had enough of it to hoodwink Scorpius into a convincing friendship—much less one that had endured for over a month already, given their physical closeness. “I’m not very worried, Potter,” he lied.

“So.” Harry cast around for small talk. “What’ve you been doing with yourself since the war?” He didn’t think that the nightmares were much more than that—but it was always possible that Malfoy would come out and say, “torturing and killing on another crazy man’s word”. It was also possible that Malfoy had enchanted elephants to come bursting through in toe shoes and do a ballet any second now. Malfoy gave him an incredulous stare and Harry realized the ridiculousness of the question.

“Did you really want to know, Potter?” His voice was vicious, the way that he had rarely heard it. He hadn’t heard it much in school—then it was usually condescending or full of pride. Whether stung pride or triumphant pride, it was a quality that had made him so… Malfoyish. Without it, another part of Harry’s world was gone. The real world, not the world that wouldn’t hold him accountable for any of his actions.

“Malfoy, I—”

“No, no, it’s a fair enough question. I’ll ask you the same one when I’ve finished. I’d truly love to hear your response.” Harry heard the venom in his voice, and he realized that he didn’t really want to hear Malfoy’s response.

“After the war was over, we were taken away to interrogation. I was almost eighteen at the time—and I was tried for everything, Potter. I don’t mean everything that I did, I mean everything that I wasn’t even capable of doing. I’m sure you know, don’t you? You knew about Dumbledore and me; you knew that I was supposed to kill him.” “You aren’t a killer, Draco.” “And I couldn’t. Snape did it for me. Snape got me away—and we went home—but it wasn’t home anymore. Do you know what that’s like? I had always been happy in the Manor. I had always known where I was and who I was. Not anymore. Not with Voldemort there.” Harry jerked, but held his comment in. “Then every day was torture. If it wasn’t for me, it was for me to do. If I didn’t torture them, he’d put me under Imperio and make me do it anyway. I’m not just talking about the Cruciatus, Potter. He twisted innocent curses—” Lumo cast under the skin, Wingardium Leviosa cast on a specific organ of the body and making it flutter around inside until it burst through the flesh with the assistance of a strengthening charm “—and did other things with me. I killed, Potter. I killed our classmates. I killed people who were younger than we were, younger than our children are. Each and every time. He’d managed to twist Imperio, too.” He gave a shaky laugh as he remembered that part—not that it was ever far from his mind. “He’d managed to twist it so that some of my thoughts were what he wanted me to think. Even a decent Legilimens would’ve thought that I was willingly performing the actions.

“Oh, but I’m sorry, Potter. You asked for after the war. After the war, my parents and I were taken away. Everyone thought that we were guilty of more than we really were—my father tried to lie low after his failure at the Ministry. He didn’t even have a wand. My mother was never marked, and neither was I. But that didn’t matter; we were Death Eaters all the same. And it didn’t matter that she saved you in the forest. I know about that, Potter. She told me before they sent her away to Azkaban. The only reason that I was recommended leniency is because I fought in the final battle—and no one told them which side I was on. So I got tossed back to Hogwarts for the first year, and had my wand stripped from me for the second year. Of course, it was returned to me eventually. I had Aurors guarding me while you were undergoing your training—” “Harry Potter’s going to be an Auror, boy. Maybe he’ll be in charge of you then. Heard you two got into it at Hogwarts; he’ll finally show you who’s really in charge…” “—and for a full two years after Hogwarts. I couldn’t get a regular job—and I needed one, because the Ministry had removed almost all of our funds from our vaults, both money and items, as war reparation funds. We didn’t have much left before that; Voldemort had drained it all while he was living with us. And then came the wedding.

“I was engaged to Astoria when she was born. The details of our wedding waited until we were both of age, so that it could be arranged to our advantage. She wasn’t happy about having to marry me, given my reputation and financial status, so she was allowed to make most of the rules. Only one child. She would remove all of the money she brought to the marriage after our divorce. I am not allowed any infidelity, while she is permitted to do as she wishes. This—” he slammed his arm down on the table with the Mark visible “—is a device of her choosing. It allows her to control much of my physical state, and causes me pain when either she or I disobey our marriage vows. On the first day of the year of our eleventh anniversary, she is permitted to divorce me. I would keep custody of Scorpius. She would keep everything else. That’s this January, Potter. She will be leaving on January first of next year. Needless to say, I have remained faithful throughout this entire farce of a marriage—and she hasn’t. The reason that our son was born four months after the wedding was so that he would actually be in Hogwarts when the marriage dissolved—so that he would be able to distract himself when he knew that his mother was gone, and never returning.

“My parents were only released from Azkaban six years ago; they were in there for twelve years. None of us can walk down a public pathway in the Wizarding World without receiving threats. Neither of them is permitted a wand. My mother may as well be dead. I have been harassed for the past eighteen years, and it will not end while I am alive. What’s worse is the fact that my son is undergoing the same treatment—not even for a war that he unwillingly fought, or a war that he was forced to fight, but for a war that he reads about in the history books and was never involved in. That’s been my life since the war, Potter. How was yours?”

Harry sat back and stared at Malfoy. There had been so many things that he’d wanted to say during the speech. He had known that the Malfoys had been treated unfairly—and although he’d attempted to intercede, he had gotten nowhere. He knew what everyone else knew—but he didn’t know the details about Malfoy’s marriage with Astoria, and he hadn’t known that the Aurors had tormented Malfoy. If he’d thought about it, perhaps he could’ve found out. But he never did.

“Malfoy, did they…” “I don’t want your pity, Potter. Although I despise admitting it, the life I would have lead without Voldemort’s demise would have been shorter, and—as difficult as it may seem at times—much more unbearable.” Harry remembered, although the amazing fact hadn’t really been behind his mind for long.

“You say his name.” “Voldemort? It seems that I’m one of the few who deigns to. Everyone else is still too busy fearing a dead man.” “I’ve noticed. Do you think there’s anything… Anything behind this?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “If you’re asking whether or not I believe there to be anything mystical in nature behind the animosity that I and the other Slytherins have experienced since the war, I really don’t know. I would like to say yes, but it’s possible that the general populace is truly that unintelligent.” Harry bit his tongue; these weren’t thoughts that he hadn’t already had. “However, given the combination of that and the celebrity that you and your schoolfriends have enjoyed? I’d say that it’s more than likely.”

“Is it really that unlikely that someone would think I was a hero?” Harry asked. He wasn’t even all that upset with Malfoy for his insinuation; this was a question that he’d been thinking about himself for the past few years. “I meant the level of celebrity that you and your friends have enjoyed, specifically. As well-acclaimed as I would expect you to be for your antics, I wouldn’t have thought that the adoration would be this universal.” Malfoy leaned forward on the table.

“I repeat my question, Potter. What have you been doing since the war?” Harry looked down.

“Hiding, mostly. There’ve been a lot of people interested in my life… I tried to testify at your trial, Malfoy. And your mother’s. But no one wanted to hear it; they wouldn’t even let me in the courtroom.” “Those Death Eater scum’re going to get what they deserve. Don’t you worry about it, Harry!” “And Hogwarts was pretty bad, too. McGonagall and some of the other professors were fair, but most of the students worshipped me. Even people that I already knew were going crazy about it.” He paused, not wanting to speak of his fears with Ginny—but given what Malfoy had shared with him, it seemed fair to share something equally sensitive in return.

“I still don’t know if the reason Ginny wanted to get married right away had anything to do with it or not. We were involved before the end of the war—but she just got so intense afterwards.” He didn’t meet Malfoy’s eyes. “Ron and Hermione got just as bad, in the end. And they’re all so afraid of Slytherins now…” He shook his head.

“So you’ve been hiding? I thought you were an Auror, Potter.” There was disappointment in Malfoy’s voice, as though he’d expected Harry to be trying to do something.

“I am—was.” He’d wanted to stop when he’d seen the horrors that the Aurors were allowed to carry out on suspected Death Eaters, former Slytherins, even people that might’ve been terrorized into working for Voldemort. When he’d tried to talk to Kingsley, the Minister had just told him gently that he needed a break. “The Minister told me to go off and rest for a few weeks, maybe a few months. He thought it was because of Al starting at Hogwarts.” He finally looked up at Malfoy.

“Did you even try to tell him the truth, Potter? Or were you too afraid to?” Harry curled a lip slightly. “I did! He just wouldn’t listen.” There were feelings of guilt—when he realized that no one would listen to him, he had stopped trying to make them and now he wondered if it would’ve made a difference to keep trying—and of resentment—Malfoy, of all people, lecturing him on morals—and then guilt circling back because of the resentment—Malfoy had reason to lecture him.

There was a tiny fraction of him that wondered if Malfoy didn’t deserve this for his treatment of Muggleborns; after all, this was what he had once said they deserved. But that fraction was his smallest and most cynical side, not the side that had seen everything and shrunken away, hating it and himself.

“Maybe you should’ve tried a little harder.” Malfoy cracked a little, showing more of his actual emotions towards Harry than bitterness. “I’m sorry, Malfoy.” And he really was; he never thought that he’d feel anything warmer than pity towards Malfoy—certainly not guilt or empathy. “Do you have any idea what the spell could be? I’d ask Hermione to help, but she’s busy with the kids…” His voice trailed away and Malfoy picked it up.

“And she wouldn’t know what was wrong, anyway. Would she? Even your friends aren’t seeing it the way that you and I are. What’s so special about you?” He’d narrowed his eyes and was now sizing up Harry. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I defeated Voldemort?”

“No,” disagreed Draco. “You defeated part of Voldemort. Don’t look at me that way, Potter. I’ve had a lot of spare time over the past few years; I’ve been trying to discover what this mass paranoia is really about, and I’ve been looking up information on Voldemort. He was interested in the soul. I did talk to Snape before the end.”

His mentor had revealed the truth only when he thought that Draco was a good enough Occlumens to conceal it from Voldemort himself, and even that hadn’t been more than a month before his death. It had been after the heroes escaped from Malfoy Manor, but before Voldemort had gone crazy over the news of a cup missing from his aunt’s vault.

“So you know about the Horcruxes?” No one else did, not even Ginny. He hadn’t wanted to talk about them at first—and she hadn’t wanted to later. It was an awkward topic to bring up.

“Yes. And although he wasn’t a Horcrux technically speaking, he may as well have been. He was a shard of his true self, Potter. Yes, you killed him—but so did your friends, and so did Longbottom.” “So did Dumbledore,” added Harry quietly. Malfoy gave him a strange look, but said nothing about that. “My point is that it shouldn’t have made you immune to this—whatever it is. Or that even if it did, it should have left them immune, as well.”

Harry sat back in the chair and frowned again. It was nothing that he hadn’t puzzled over—although he’d admit that he thought more of Voldemort himself than of any of the other Horcruxes, and what Malfoy said made sense. He also thought again of something that had occurred to him over the years, and spoke it for the first time.

“There is no guarantee that he’s really gone.” Malfoy looked up sharply. “What are you talking about, Potter?” Reluctantly, he went on. “Dumbledore thought that he’d only split his soul into seven parts. But… There’s nothing to prove that, really.” Draco closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself.

“What were the Horcruxes, Potter?” “I thought that—” “Snape didn’t tell me everything. What were they?” This was getting into territory that so few people knew about. Even Ron and Hermione only had most of the story, really.

“There was the diary back in second year.” Malfoy looked blank. “It possessed Ginny; made her open the Chamber of Secrets and petrify people.” Now he nodded. “There was the ring,” Harry continued—more to himself than to Malfoy now. “There was the locket, the cup, the diadem, his snake, and…” This wasn’t hard, not at all, he told himself. He’d gone into the Forbidden Forest knowing that he was going to die, and there was no reason for this to be harder than that had been. “There was me,” he finished. Malfoy looked up.

“Potter, I’m afraid that you’re not dead,” he said. “You may not be—” “He hit me with Avada Kedavra in the forest. When it killed me, it killed the bit of his soul that was in me—but it left me alive, because of the Deathly Hallows.” Malfoy snorted. “Because of the Deathly Hallows? Potter, that’s a children’s story.”

He had managed to make Ron and Hermione stay quiet about that. They couldn’t keep the story about the Elder Wand silent, because too many people had heard him talking with Voldemort in the Great Hall. But they had never brought up the Resurrection Stone, or his amazing cloak.

“You know that I have an invisibility cloak,” said Harry quietly. “Yes.” “My father had it—and it works exactly as well now as it did when I got it twenty-nine years ago.” “That’s uncommon,” said Malfoy.

“And the resurrection stone was embedded in the Peverell ring. That was one of the Horcruxes—it’s what poisoned Dumbledore. Did Snape tell you that he was dying? Dumbledore,” clarified Harry. “He was dying when you went to kill him.”

“Yes. He did.” Draco still didn’t like to think of Snape. “He told me that Dumbledore had managed to poison himself with one of the Horcruxes.” “It was the ring,” repeated Harry. “And you know as well as I do about the wand.”

“I remain unconvinced, Potter.” And he did look skeptical. “There’s nothing to say that just because you managed Expelliarmus on him, it was the Elder Wand.” “The Stone worked,” insisted Harry. “I saw—people—when I was going through the forest to let him kill me.” “People?” “My parents. Other people that were dead.” Malfoy looked a little paler, but retained the skeptical stare.

“Potter, you were on your way to die, and you were exhausted from a battle. It’s possible that you were hallucinating. Or—you’re fairly powerful—that your magic, on its own, did something that it thought would ease your path.” Harry shook his head. “You’re wrong.” Malfoy leaned back. “Maybe I am,” he admitted. “But you might want to think about the fact that you’re basing this on an ancient myth—Potter.” His eyes had widened. “You’re descended from the Peverells.”

Harry smiled. “So’s everyone else, from what I hear.” “Not what I meant.” Malfoy shook his head more jerkily than he usually would; this thought had startled him badly. “How did Voldemort gain access to the Resurrection Stone?” Harry shrugged. “His grandfather said that they were descendants—” “Yes, Potter,” hissed Malfoy. “Descendants like you?” Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Where’s—”

“Potter, think of Voldemort’s most famous ancestor. You were at school with me. You know how he possessed Wea—your wife. If they were direct enough descendants to have one of the ancient artifacts of that line—and so were you—think, Potter!” he exploded at Harry’s incredulous face.

“Malfoy, you’re not saying that I’m—” “You could be one of Slytherin’s heirs.” Harry swallowed. “Malfoy, that’s—”

“Listen to me!” He was agitated. “There were other legends of Slytherin; I never got to hear all of them. They’re usually passed down in the later years, and I was distracted during my sixth. But there’s something about Slytherin line’s one similarity to a phoenix; they rise again.” He remembered his father laughing about Dumbledore and his phoenix—and the order of that same name. “He’s not necessarily…”

“You got rid of the Horcrux.” “I did—” “But you still speak Parseltongue, don’t you.” He was leaning forward again, staring into Harry’s eyes. “You do.” Harry hadn’t told anyone yet—they all assumed that his ability was gone, and it seemed to worry them, so he just never brought it up. “That should have left you with the Horcrux. We need to go to Hogwarts.” He stood up, nearly knocking over his chair.

“Malfoy, you’re—Malfoy!” The blond was on his way to the door, and Harry hurried after him. “Why do we need to go to Hogwarts?” Draco spun to face Harry again. “You need to go into the Chamber. You have to.” He looked frenzied, and Harry stepped back. “There are supposed to be all manner of things down there. Not just the basilisk, but treasures, powers of Slytherin—I’ve even heard the rumor that Slytherin himself was buried down there.” Harry eyed Malfoy. Wandering around in the Chamber of Secrets was not his idea of a brilliant afternoon. He’d envisioned light discussion with Malfoy, not a secret adventure-tour. But he had to admit that Malfoy had a point—if only in that the Parseltongue ability should have left him, and it hadn’t.

“What about getting into the school?” Malfoy threw him a scornful glance. “McGonagall won’t bar you, Potter.” Harry reluctantly pulled his cloak more tightly around himself as they left.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Draco looked over his shoulder at Potter. If this went well, he might even be able to bring up the topic that he’d mulled over repeatedly since the war’s end—a memory that he clung to, since it could be the answer to all of this.

“Phoenix? They think that they’ll rise again?” Voldemort shook his head and laughed, sounding almost as mad as Bellatrix. Draco shrank back into the shadows, hoping that the Dark Lord hadn’t noticed him. “I’ll show them a—chop off one head and more spring back—”

He hadn’t heard anything else. But it had been enough to make him more than a little wary. Of course, it could have simply been that he still didn’t believe anyone would discover his Horcruxes, and that he was talking about those. But he doubted it. If Potter proved amiable enough, he could ask him about that.

Great job. Is Voldermort dead or will we find out?

Ha. </3 When I update again, it'll come up. (When I update again, it will be to finish the whole thing. Which will take a while. I kind of suck like that sometimes. Sorry.)

It's okay. I like the suspense. It actually answers my question, too.

I like it so far. Very well-writen and detailed.
But... now I want to sit down and watch all of the movies. I think I'm going to go ahead and start on the first one right now, lolz. ;)