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Chapter Text

Ron’s Lemon

Ingredients:

• One recently-repaired 1950 VW Bug
• Three young adult wizards

Instructions:

1. Place wizards into automobile and wait, preferably behind a large wall or other shield.
2. Hope for the best
3. Serve cold (no working heater).

“Don’t forget to signal! Signal!”

Hermione’s hand tightened on the handle above the car window. Harry, leaning between the two front seats to look out the dashboard, felt himself heave to the side.

“I am signaling!”

“No, those are your hazards!”

Hermione’s other hand was on her wand. Harry, briefly, weighed it in his mind; on the list of the most dangerous things he’d done, this probably outpaced both fighting Voldemort and trying to outfly a dragon.

“Ron, the light!”

At Hermione’s reminder, Ron skidded to a stop just after the corner, throwing Harry forward; his seatbelt caught him just before he went over the divider entirely.

“I don’t see why I can’t just go, even if the light is red,” said Ron. He was the only one who hadn’t been thrown forward. Hermione, in the corner of Harry’s vision, seemed to be torn between checking her seatbelt or looking for her wand, which had slipped from her hand as they came to a stop. They were sitting at a crosssroads in the suburbs outside of London, the sun just beginning to set. “No one’s out here, anyway.”

The stop was indeed empty; Harry felt very thankful for it. It meant they were unlikely to run into anything, even if Ron’s focus was mainly on arguing with Hermione and fixing the radio.

“Because it’s illegal! You can’t just run lights, you could get fines or penalty points.”

“He doesn’t have a license, so I reckon it’s illegal either way,” said Harry, who agreed on the point of traffic violations but felt like Ron needed a bit of a boost.  Ron’s ears were getting a bit red, and his fingers were making a dent in the already-maligned steering wheel cover.

“I’d like to see a muggle auror try and give me a penalty,” said Ron. “If Madame Hooch couldn’t make one stick I don’t think some random bloke is going to, even if they have their gonnes.”

“That’s only the Americans, Ron, they’ve just got batons here,” said Hermione. “Let’s take a right, you could use some practice on your roundabouts.”

“What about my roundabouts?”

“Well, it’s just that you could do with turning a little smoother…”

The car squeaked threateningly as Ron peeled out of the light. “I drive just as smoothly as anyone! Harry’s not complaining- are you, Harry?”

“No, it’s great. Er, fantastic, really.” 

Ron turned around to face Harry. “It’s just like second year, eh? Only this time the car’s a bit smaller… do you reckon if I added a second extension charm-“

“Ron!”

Hermione’s shriek was louder than before, but it didn’t take effect- not before a loud thump sounded and Ron slammed on the brakes. This time, Harry’s seatbelt didn’t hold, and he ended up knocking heads with Ron as he was completely thrown forward, body strewn across the center console.

“Oh, Merlin, I think you’ve killed someone!” Hermione threw open the passenger side door, jumping out and grabbing for her wand.

“I’ve what?”   

Harry grabbed for his glasses, which had a crack on one of the lenses now, and scrambled over the console and out the same open door. Ron followed, the driver’s side door slamming shut petulantly (A habit it had acquired after Percy spent an afternoon attempting to magic the locks back to working order.).

Hermione was kneeling over the prone body of a boy- man, really- that seemed to be about their age, muttering anxiously under her breath as she worked to push him off the front of the car. “Help me out, I can’t lift him myself! He’s too heavy!”

The muggle they’d hit had watery blonde hair, leather jacket over muscley arms, and was muttering to himself as well, indistinct words.

Ron looked back and forth a couple of times, then pulled out his wand and pointed it towards the muggle. “Er, he should be a bit lighter now.”

“Thanks-“

Harry moved forward, helping Hermione lift the bloke up- he was almost all muscle, no wonder he’d brought the car to a stop- and tipped him over onto his back. That, however, was where Harry stopped being helpful.

Because this wasn’t just any muggle bloke. This was-

“…Harry?”

Dudley Dursley.

“Oh, bugger.”

“Well,” said Hermione, “I don’t think anything’s actually broken, so that’s quite lucky on your part. And it’s good that you’re already approved to know about the wizarding world, otherwise this may have been quite a shock.” She put away her wand; Dudley, where he was sat on the curb, seemed to still be a bit shell-shocked.[1]

“Yeah, erm, thanks…”

“And I am sorry about Ron, he’s just getting used to driving and I suppose he’ll take this as a hint to be more observant.” This was punctuated by a sharp glance towards Ron, who admittedly did look a bit guilty.

“Yeah, it’s on me, sorry mate.” Ron held out a hand.

“It’s, er, fine.” Dudley shook Ron’s hand, somewhat awkwardly. Harry had a strong sense of Déjà vu- was this how uncomfortable it had looked that afternoon he’d left the Dursleys?

“Anyway, I really ought to be going-“

“I really feel irresponsible just sending you off,” said Hermione. “You could come over for dinner, if you’d like? It would make me feel better to be able to observe you at least overnight, after a blow to the head like that.”

“Well, I-“

“And it’s been so long since you’ve seen Harry-“ Hermione glanced over at Harry, who felt a rush of regret about their last pub night, where he’d brought up that Dudley had been less shit the last time they’d spoken[2]. “That it would really be unfortunate if we left you out here, don’t you think?”

“Erm-“

“And if you’re worried about magical means of transportation, we’ll be driving back, so it ought not to be a problem at all.” She paused. “I’ll be at the wheel, so you shouldn’t worry about that, either.”

“I-“ Dudley paused. “Yeah, all right. I’ll just need to call my mate Pierce, if you don’t mind waiting for a moment.”

When no one made an objection (given that Harry and Ron were currently making confused eye contact and Hermione was glaring at them both, as if challenging them to make a comment), Dudley dug around in his messenger bag, pulling out a black blocky thing and dialing a number.

“Yeah, erm, I’ll be staying with my cousin tonight- funny story, really, I’ll catch you up later… yeah? Well, say hello…”

As Dudley spoke in the background, Harry and Ron crept over towards Hermione- Ron the first to break, as always.

 “Hermione, what are you thinking? Harry’s relatives are terrible, it’ll be like Percy staying over all over again!” Ron hissed.

“Harry said he wasn’t as terrible as usual, when he left, don’t you remember? And we’ve just run him over! The least you could do is offer him a place to stay!”

“He’s already GOT a place to-“

Dudley hung up, placing the blocky thing- some sort of remote phone, apparently- into his pocket. “All right?”

“Yeah, of course! I was thinking you could be in the back with Harry, and Ron and I will be up in the front!” Hermione grinned, but it was the sort of grin with a lot of teeth, and it was definitely mostly aimed at Ron.

As far as car rides went, it wasn’t Harry’s most awkward.[3] However, it did take a close second.  The entire way back to Grimmauld place, shoulder pressed firmly to Dudley’s- An extension charm could only do so much-  the only conversation they managed was a brief question about how Dudley was feeling (“fine, thanks”)  and if he was allergic to anything (“no, ta”).

As they pulled up to the house, Hermione parking smartly next to the curb, it occurred to Harry that Grimmauld Place- being a wizarding house- may not actually be visible to Dudley.

“Dudley, can you see number twelve?”

There was a pause. Then- “No. Am I- meant to?”

“Ah, bollocks.”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully from the front seat. “Sorry, we’ve not brought a muggle here before- squibs are different, and frankly I think it’s very interesting as a nature versus nurture question, you know, are they actually just capable of seeing magic because their eyes have been open to it their whole lives, you know- but, erm, I’m sure we’ll manage. Perhaps- Harry, maybe you could hold his hand, and lead him up the steps?”

Harry could think of very few things he’d like less than holding Dudley’s hand and guiding him up the stairs to a place he lived, but he supposed he would live. “Yeah, mind your step.”

Dudley’s grip was firm, his presence a lurking gaze on the back of Harry’s hand as they made it up the steps. His forehead was furrowed in concentration. One step, then two- and then Harry grabbed onto the knocker and swung open the front door. Dudley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh!”

“Can you see it, then?” Hermione closed the car door, following them up the steps.

“It was weird and fuzzy till he opened the door,” said Dudley. “It’s all clear now, though. It’s a- magic house, then?”

“Well,” Hermione said, “It’s an enchanted house, although some scholars argue that long-term magical residence can imbue structures with excess magical energy that can give them a sort of magical presence of their own, so to speak.”

Dudley looked blank at this, but nodded in all the right places; Harry could sympathize, given he’d spent 7 years of his life doing the same thing.

“You can put your coat here, careful not to disturb the curtain- and, erm, the kitchen is through here.” Harry paused, watching Ron enter the house and close the door, tapping twice on the bell they’d hung up near the door to let Mrs. Weasley know they were back safe; she got a bit twitchy when they went out with the car- something about Mr. Weasley and the Ford Anglia in 1984.

 It was all a bit surreal, really; like all of the bits of his life, past and present, were interfering with each other.  Hanging up Dudley’s leather jacket, Harry decided to do damage control and follow him into the kitchen.

Once he was sure that Dudley was sitting peacefully at the kitchen table, Harry opened the pantry door and stared in, hopefully. While the house never generated food itself- something about Gamp’s laws of elemental transfiguration, if you listened to Hermione- it would occasionally get pissy and get rid of whatever was in the pantry.

“Oh, you’re down here!” Hermione poked her head through the doorway, looking down the steps. “How is it, Harry?”

“Nothing.”

“I bet it was the bloody floor re-staining,” called Ron- it seemed he was still in the foyer. “It’s been waiting for us to leave so it could get rid of everything.”

“Oh, you don’t think so? But they look beautiful!”

“This house has no taste, it was built by the Blacks[4]. Reckon it still misses the house elf heads.” There was a pause while they all mulled that one over, ended by Ron coming round to look down over Hermione’s shoulder. “I vote we order in. I can’t be arsed to cook.”

“Oh, I suppose… I am sorry, Dudley, usually we’re a bit more organized.”

Harry shut the pantry door a bit more firmly than usual, then turned up towards them with a sigh. “Right, who’s placing the order?”

“Ron and I can do it, if you’d like to catch up!” Hermione, perhaps sensing that this was not actually what Harry would like to do, didn’t bother waiting for a response, instead disappearing back into the foyer. Ron followed, his distinctive footsteps getting softer as they both went out the front door.

Feeling as if he owed Dudley an explanation, Harry cleared his throat. “Er, we need to place orders from outside the front door. Otherwise deliveries can’t find us…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was another long silence. Harry broke first.

“So, er, what were you doing in Surrey, anyway? Didn’t Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon move out after all the, er, business?”

“Oh, they did.” Dudley paused, looking as if he were thinking something over. “Er, I’m not actually speaking to them, at the moment. Pierce offered to let me stay with him while I try and figure things out.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you piss them off that badly?”

The concept of this was so bewildering that Harry actually found himself getting up to make tea without really thinking about it[5]. As he attempted to get the kettle to sit right, Dudley sighed.

“I- well, I want to go to culinary school, and mum and dad aren’t especially… excited about it.” He scratched at the bottom of his chin. “Big blow up, really.”

There was something mean in Harry that absolutely delighted in the fact that Dudley- perfect Dudders- had managed to piss off Aunt Petunia enough that she had kicked him out. Yet another part was entirely bewildered.

“So they just- what, threw you out?”

“Well, I told them they could either accept my dreams, or I would go out on my own and I didn’t need them?” Dudley paused. “Course, I didn’t actually have a plan, so…” He spread his hands out. “I think they figured I’d show up after a day or so, but I do actually have mates- I’ve been sleeping on couches, mostly. Friends from boxing, secondary, you know.”

Dudley Dursley. Proving his parents wrong by rebelling and going to culinary school. Who would have thought?

“So you’re doing all right, then?”

“Well, I’m not homeless, but…” Dudley frowned. “Without my job at Grunnings, I’m a bit… broke. I can’t afford rent and culinary school, and transportation is a bloody pain. I was actually walking round trying to think of how to crawl back.” He paused. “And why am I telling you all this? Christ, Harry, sorry. Didn’t mean to spill all that on you.”

“I think I just have one of those faces,” said Harry.  Then, slowly, something dawned on him. “So, you were- what, about to call them? Ask them to take you back?”

“Yeah- I mean, I probably still will do, after dinner.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You just need somewhere to live, right? In London?” Harry paused, threw out his arms. “You’ve got one.”

“But-“Dudley scrubbed at his face with a large palm. “Harry, you don’t like me. Or you shouldn’t, at least.”

“A bit, yeah,” said Harry, “But I like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon less. And I reckon they deserve to know you can live without them.”

“You’re serious. I could move here.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got a spare room, and the busses do come round the corner down the side road.”  Harry placed a cup of tea in front of Dudley, holding his own mug between his hands to keep them warm. “What do you say? Are you in?”

A brief moment passed as Dudley looked down at the mug of tea- and then, smile widening, he looked up. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

A small hand met a large one, and Harry and Dudley shook hands for the second time. Harry felt the same swooping excitement he’d felt when he’d handed off the money to Fred and George for their joke shop. This might be a disaster, but it would most certainly be interesting.

“I hope you like Indian, Dudley!”

A clatter on the steps, and Hermione entered the kitchen. She frowned, looking between Harry and Dudley. “Is there something going on?”

“Dudley’s moving in,” said Harry. “Did you get samosas?”

Footnotes

[1] Or (VW) bug-shocked.

[2] Hermione as designated apparator was very dangerous, as she took it as an opportunity to ask about how you were really doing.

[3] That went to the time he’d spent in the backseat as Petunia and Vernon tried to escape the letters from Hogwarts.

[4] Incorrect- it was built by Muggles, although the Blacks certainly didn’t like that story floating around.

[5] Potentially a habit picked up via osmosis from Molly Weasley

Chapter Text

Dudley’s “Shepherd’s Pie”:

Ingredients:

• 6 to 8 turnips, potatoes, or whatever else you can retrieve from the pantry
• Cream
• Milk
• Butter (half a knob)
• Pepper
• Salt
• Onion, chopped
• Frozen carrots, corn, and peas
• Two cloves garlic
• Ground lamb

Instructions:

1. Ask cousin what he likes about Shepherd’s pie. Judge him a little bit.
2. Boil turnips, starting in cold salty water, until very soft with a fork.
3. Use utensil that looks a bit like a medieval torture device to mash turnips in the pot, along with a dash of cream, milk, a quarter of a knob of butter, and some salt and pepper. Add yolk of an egg if you have one, but you don’t.
4. Chop onion finely. Add significant dash of pepper and mix in with the package of ground lamb.
5. Check to see if the carrots, corn, and peas are defrosted. They are not, because basements are cold. Bugger.
6. Mix the carrots, corn and peas together, then heat up the other quarter of a knob of butter with some crushed garlic in the pan. Add frozen vegetables, then saute until all liquid is gone.
7. Form the lamb into patties, then fry in the same pan.
8. Plate with mashed turnips and vegetables.
9. Voila: a “deconstructed” Shepherd’s pie. Perfect for a weird, picky cousin that’s a little bit off of his rocker. Just a bit.
10. Eat on floor out of fine china.

“It’s a sunny day out on the field, although it doesn’t seem to be helping the cannons. Lee, I recall you mentioning that perhaps they just needed some wind- what do you think of their performance today?

Well, frankly, I don’t think anyone’s surprised… with their new coach, it’ll be a wonder if they score at all, although I’m sure we’re all on the edge of our seats to see how brutally the harpies take them down-“ The sound of the radio crackled out of the kitchen as Harry wandered downstairs, yawning. Hermione was standing in the Foyer, frowning at something in the mirror. “Harry, does this reflection look distorted to you?”

Harry leaned over to check. It looked about like he was used to- a bit blurry, but nothing all too different. “Erm, no?”

“Ah, it fixed itself as soon as you came round.” Hermione glared up at the rafters. “You know, Grimmauld, I’m the one that makes sure all the water and electricity bills are paid, you ought to be thanking me.”

There was no response from the house, although that was normal. Harry hovered for a second more, in case Hermione had something more to say, but when she went back to braiding her hair he headed downstairs. The radio was going in and out of service; Ron had been trying to make it work within the wards for months, although it still wasn’t consistent.  The man in question was at the kitchen table, eating a piece of toast as he rapped firmly on the side of the machine. “Bugger it all, you had no problem working in a tent- morning, Harry.”

“Morning.” Harry grabbed a piece of fruit out of the bowl on the table, taking a seat at the table as well as the kettle began to whistle. As he took a bite, something occurred to him. “Have you seen Dudley this morning?”

“He’s not got work, has he? Maybe he fancied a lie-in.”

True, Dudley was the type to have a lie-in. But Harry had a niggling feeling that his cousin wouldn’t sleep through the clattering noise of all three of them getting ready for work. Especially since the only room left was right above the living room. “Hm.”

“Well, I’m off.” Hermione’s heels clicked on the stairs as she hurried down into the kitchen and towards the Floo. “I’ve got meetings all through today, so I won’t be making it to lunch.”

Ron nodded, toast still in mouth, and Harry gave her thumbs-up. He stirred some sugar into his tea (which was always purchased as PG Tips, and yet always went through a metamorphosis into loose-leaf tea as soon as it was left in a cupboard overnight) and took a drink as Hermione cried “Ministry of Magic!”, stepping into the flames as they flared green.

“Are you going to floo with me, or did you want to check on our new roommate?” Ron stood up, finishing his toast and raising both eyebrows at Harry. Last night, he and Hermione hadn’t said much, just nodded vaguely when Harry explained, but Harry knew they’d need to have an in-depth conversation about it eventually.

“Yeah, I’m going to make sure he has a key and everything,” said Harry. “I’ll see you at the office.”

“All right.” As Ron turned towards the fireplace, Harry headed up the stairs, knocking on Dudley’s door after he had made it up the landing. It was the room that he’d stayed in with Ron, once upon a time; although it was nearly unrecognizable, now that it no longer was filled with magical creatures and objects that wanted to kill him.

A few minutes went by, with no response from Dudley; Harry’s mind went from mildly concerned to actually concerned. “Dudley, I’m opening the door, if you don’t mind?”

He pushed the door open, to see- a thrashing lump on the bed?

“Oh, bugger-“ Harry pulled out his wand, rushing forward to try and pull the covers off of Dudley. The embroidery on the blanket was twisting around into different shapes as it contracted around Dudley’s body. The blanket was green, too, which was new- Harry clearly remembered putting a Gryffindor blanket on the bed. He’d thought it was funny. “Relashio!”

The blankets thrashed once, twice- and then fell away from Dudley, leaving him a panting, red-faced, panicked jumble in the middle of the bed. His eyes met Harry’s- pupils shrunk down and everything. Harry was unpleasantly reminded of the incident with the dementors in Little Whinging. “Merlin- are you all right?”

A few deep breaths from Dudley, and then a nod. “Does that-“ He coughed- “Does that happen? Often?”

“I’ve never had a muggle stay here before, so it’s, er, new.” Harry had no idea how to deal with this. What was the proper etiquette for when your house tried to murder your cousin? Should he buy Dudley flowers, or something? A beer? “Sorry. Erm,  before you go to bed tonight we can ask Hermione. I bet she has some wards that will work on you?”

“Wards?”

“Magical shields.” Another awkward pause; now that Dudley was no longer in immediate danger, Harry figured he might as well put away his wand- but when he began to lower it, Dudley flinched, so he kept it up. “Merlin. I really, really am sorry about that. It’s never tried to kill anyone before.” Well, if you didn’t count Walburga’s Portrait. Or Kreacher.

“Very reassuring, that.”

Okay, he had a point. “I just- we’ll ask Hermione about it, all right? I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, all right.” Dudley sat up, limbs shaking. “Well, I’ll just, er, put on my clothes now-“

Something occurred to Harry. “Was that happening all night?”

“…It started around midnight?”

Oh, fantastic. “Right, we’ll- we’ll figure something out. I’ll just… let you change? Did you need a ride to your culinary school? I can drive you..”

“I can take the bus! But, erm, if you don’t mind staying-“

“Yeah, of course.” Harry turned his back to let Dudley change, pulling out the galleon Hermione had re-enchanted[1] and sending a message- DDLY ATCKED B GP. HLP? HP A few seconds passed, then it burned- WLL RSRCH. -H. A bit of the weight taken off his shoulders, Harry tucked it back into his pocket, turning around to see that Dudley was done dressing. It was still a bit shocking to see him in shape, especially given that he wasn’t in a grunnings uniform or anything. Instead, he looked like, well, a normal bloke. Outright disconcerting, really.

“Right, well-“

“I’ll just be-“

They spoke at the same time. After a second, Dudley said, “I’ll be leaving, then. Erm, thanks.”

“Really no problem at all,” said Harry. “Ah, one second-“  He rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out his key to Grimmauld place. A quick duplication charm, and there was a copy for Dudley. “If you can’t find the actual door, I should be back round five, so we’ll be able to figure it out then.”

“Great, thanks.” Dudley took the key carefully, as if it might sting him, and then dropped it carefully into his pocket. “Well, I’ll be. Heading to school, then.”

“Brilliant.” Harry, after a brief moment of consideration, decided to take the hero’s way out and head through the floo instead of following Dudley out. After another awkward nod at Dudley, he took the stairs two at a time, hurtling into the fireplace and stepping out into the ministry atrium, straightening out his robes as he went. At least he wasn’t a trainee anymore- otherwise, being this late would have cost him his badge for at least a day.

“Ah, thank you for agreeing to speak to us.” Harry was sitting in an armchair that was so soft it felt like it was actively working to consume him; it was going to be dangerous trying to get out of it.

The woman they were interviewing, an elderly witch, tittered and poured him a cup of tea. “Well, I never! Harry Potter himself, coming round, I could hardly refuse…”

“I still appreciate your cooperation with me and my partner, Ron Weasley,” said Harry, although he got the strong feeling she was mostly ignoring him. Instead she was just staring at him as he drank the tea, petting her poor cat- an obese, fluffy creature- with a firm grip. “Now, where were you when you saw this happening?”

“Where I saw what? Dear, do indulge an old woman, would you mind describing the final battle to me? It’s just that I’m never sure if all these books being published are telling the truth, you know that these publishing houses are just taking bribes! Why, in my day…”

“Where you saw the powdered pixie eyes being sold,” said Harry. “The crime you reported to the Aurors. Where did you see it happen?”

“Oh, I’m sure I mentioned over the floo… would you like another biscuit, dear?”

Harry sighed under his breath, exchanging a glance with Ron, who was staring out of the nearest window, ears red. Harry was the only one who had been offered tea, and she hadn’t even pulled up enough chairs for both of them to sit. “Yes, but it’s standard procedure to go over the whole event from the beginning.”

“Oh, sweet boy, you don’t need to do all of that auroring official business stuff with me! I’m just happy to have company.” The cat had begun to snore. Harry was horribly reminded of Umbridge’s office.

“It’s my job, Miss Mallana.”

In response, he was offered another biscuit. Ron, in the corner, coughed- perhaps sensing that Harry was about ten seconds from being very rude to an elderly witch. “Erm, Harry is very passionate about auror work… all of his experience fighting dark wizards… so you see, he can’t really talk about his heroic past unless he knows what you’ve been through?”

“Oh, well, I suppose I could go through it… I was just leaving getting my robes altered at Madam Malkins, who mentioned she fitted all of your robes, dear, I do love the sign they’ve got out front now, and when I left it was nearly ten o’clock, and I do get a bit turned around in the dark, although I doubt you understand, young as you are, so I did get a bit turned around and I wandered into knockturn alley! Now, I’m no spring chicken, but I did move to get out of there… but before I did, I saw two cloaked people exchanging something, and my knee’s always been a bit funny, so when I felt it began to twitch I knew there was something afoot…”

Harry felt his eyes begin to glaze over, a bit; it was Ron’s job to take notes, so he was really just there to nod along and try and keep her on track. He snapped back to attention when she put her hand on his knee, though. Why was it always the elderly ladies?

“Now, sweetheart, between you and me you look like you could use a bit of a break- I’m sure your partner won’t mind if you stay a little later and have some tea. Globby is quite attached to you, you know!”

Oh, Merlin. Harry sprung up as quickly as he could, covering up the fact he was brushing off where she’d touched him by straightening out his robes. “Erm, sorry, really must be going. Dark wizards to defeat, and all that.”

He could see Ron shaking slightly out of the corner of his vision; as they marched outside to apparate off of the doorstep, the pop of apparition was followed by Ron bending over and howling with laughter. “Harry, you had a real chance there! You ought to call her back!”

“Bugger off, you’re just mad cause she didn’t offer you tea.”

“She made me think of Trelawney! I thought she was about a second from reading your tea leaves.” Ron crossed his eyes and waggled his fingers. “You….. are destined…. To marry…. Me!”

“I’d rather she saw the grim,” said Harry. Ron just shook his head, wiping off the tears of laughter.

“Why is it always the batty old ladies that go for you? You really ought to start a mailing list, Harry. You could be the next Lockhart.”

“Only if you agree to lead my fanclub,” said Harry, knocking twice on the door of the department[2] before pulling it open and entering the main section of cubicles. After the war, they’d had to downsize; only the top Aurors had their own offices. He and Ron had neighboring cubicles, at least.

“Just the man I was hoping to see!” Seamus poked his head out from one of the other cubicles. “Harry, Shacklebolt wants you to redo the reports from case before last. Something about form 16-B.”

Great. At least form 16-B wouldn’t try and seduce him. Harry sighed, pushing off the top layer of his robes and pushing up his sleeves. Ron, from beside him, made a sympathetic noise. “I’ll tell the lads you couldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry looked over the form, miserably; he’d needed to fill it out in triplicate, apparently. Bugger it all. “Mind bringing back a sandwich?”

No response- he looked up, and Ron had already left. He leaned back in his chair, pulling off his glasses and massaging his nose as he felt the headache beginning to set in. It was only Monday.

It took until Wednesday for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to all be free for lunch; Harry wished that was less common, but no. It felt like it was more difficult to coordinate their schedules than ever, even if they worked and lived in the same place.

Still, lunch was off to a good start; they had the fish and chips special on Wednesdays, and an informant had finally come through for the pixie-eye trading ring they had been watching. Harry was confident he and Ron would be able to actually make progress before the week was up.

As he took his lunch tray, Harry looked for the corner table they always took; Hermione was already sitting there, halfway through a mound of paperwork. From behind him, he could hear a scoff from Ron.

“Hermione!” A couple of strides, and they were sitting down. Ron shoved down his plate, then shoved a muffin and a packaged salad towards Hermione. “You know, when we said we wanted to meet for lunch, it was implied we’d actually be eating, not doing work in a new and exciting location.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Hermione pushed aside her paperwork. “Thanks, Ron.” She shoved back her hair; it was frizzed from the rain they’d had the last few days, and a quill was behind one of her ears. She also flicked her fingers, casting their customary Muffliato.[3] “Urgh, my boss moved up the deadline for our submission of the new lycanthropic rights bill, and I’m trying to make sure we’ve got everything properly cross referenced…”

She began to open the packaging, then looked over at them. “You two look awfully pleased with yourselves.”

“We’ve got an actual informant.” Ron was midway through his chips already, grinning. “Finally. I feel like half the time we try and interview someone, they just swoon over Harry and their brains leak out their ears.”

“Thanks.” Harry took a bite of his fish. “Reckon we might be able to do a raid soon. We just need to catch them in the act.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re making progress,” said Hermione. “And speaking of helping people- Harry, what are you doing with Dudley?”

Ah. Suddenly it made a lot more sense why Ron had been so eager to get Harry out of the office for lunch on time today. They had been conspiring. “Yeah, erm- sorry if that seemed sudden. I just thought it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“The Dursleys were terrible to you, Harry! Every time my mum thinks about them half the plates in the house start shaking!” Ron waved a chip for emphasis. “You don’t owe them shit!”

“I think we’re just concerned that this is more of your saving people thing.” Hermione made serious eye contact with Harry; Harry sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying the Dursleys are good or anything. They’re still shit. But- well, if I let Dudley go back, he’ll just become one of them again, won’t he?”

“Yes, but it’s not your job to help him, Harry.” Hermione reached out, placing her hand on his. “We’re here to support you. If you think it’s best to keep him around, we’ll be all right. But- well, it seems like you rushed into it.”

“He’s been all right since he moved in! I know I don’t have to help, I just- you two are my family, but he’s the only person actually related to me that’s still alive and isn’t complete shit. I’d like to- I dunno, do what I can?”

“Well,” said Ron, “I still think he’s a shit. And I’m not taking that back.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, well, thanks.” He reached for a chip- and saw that there more on his tray than he’d started with. He turned to Ron, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Bribery?”

“You looked a bit stressed! I’ve got snacks at my desk.”

Harry shook his head, taking one of the chips- but he also smiled. Hermione made a sound that was suspiciously close to a coo at Ron, who was flushed with pride. Augh. Time to divert.

“Hey, is Seamus wearing a Bats jersey? Aren’t they playing the Cannons today?”

“He’s what? That traitor-“

Ron whipped his head around, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to give most of the chips back to him. “This has been brilliant, but I do still have paperwork to do.”

“Yes, well, I think we’ve covered it,” said Hermione. Ron pulled away from the table, heading over to speak to Seamus; she finished her salad, then stood up as well. “I’m happy to keep trying to help Dudley feel more comfortable at Grimmauld, Harry. But we’re on your side no matter what. If you think he ought to leave-“

“I just have to ask, yeah.” Their eyes met; Harry smiled, just a bit, and she nodded. As the charm dropped, Ron’s voice came back into hearing-

“Come on, the Bats might be at the top of the league, but the Cannons have personality-“

Some things never changed.

By the time Friday rolled around, Harry was at the end of his rope.

To be fair, it didn’t help that it was around one in the morning, which was a miserable time to be awake- especially if you needed to get work done at six.

“I know you’ve been trying, but given that Dudley just got shoved down the stairs, I’d say that it isn’t working.” Harry rubbed at his eye socket with the heel of his hand, trying to hold back a yawn. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly all week. Grimmauld place was not only trying to kill Dudley- it had also been vengefully creaking loudly and having loud bangs come from the basement every time he was about to drift off, apparently blaming him for the muggle presence in the house.

Dudley, from where he was sitting in the foyer, holding an ice pack to his face, nodded miserably. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“I just don’t get it! It ought to be working!” Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. “It’s supposed to feed off of the passive magic from the house, no magic from Dudley required.”

She was cross-legged in the middle of a fortress of books that had been slowly growing over the week; just this morning three had arrived by owl from Madame Pince (who had apparently never connected Hermione to the theft of several books from the restricted section). Several were open, and she was rapidly making annotations with a mechanical pencil. 

“Well, if it’s being powered by the house, don’t you think Grimmauld would be able to turn off support? Don’t reckon it’s too eager to help you against itself.” Ron stifled a yawn himself. He was hanging off of the sofa upside down, poking at the books Hermione had stacked up. “Hey, maybe Walburga made this house into a horcrux, and that’s why it’s got such a terrible personality.”

“Who’s Walburga?” This from Dudley, who was taking a lot of this attempted murder in stride; Harry suspected it was partially to do with his boxing history. What was more dangerous- a bloke in the ring or an insulted house?

“Sirius’s mother,” said Harry. “Racist, angry pureblood. Erm, her portrait’s the reason we whisper at the entrance.”

“Oh.” Dudley frowned. “Is Sirius the murderer you told my mum and dad about?”

Harry paused. “Uh, yes? Except- well, I exaggerated, a bit. To scare your parents. He was my godfather, he was actually a hero.” He swallowed. It still felt recent; he’d tried to see if he could get a portrait made, but apparently they only would work if they were painted while the subject was alive.

“I see.” Dudley paused. “Mum and dad think Pierce is a businessowner, even though he’s really just tending bar downtown.”

Huh. Interesting. Harry was about to ask another question- something along the lines of “is it weird for him to take orders from someone that isn’t you?”- but was mercifully interrupted by Hermione waving a hand in the air.

“I think I’ve got something!” She looked up. “We can tie the protective wards to one of us, although that person would have to stay home while you’re here. Otherwise, the charm wouldn’t stretch far enough.”

Ron looked at Harry, eyebrows raised (or lowered, given he was upside down). His face was turning puce as all the blood rushed into it. Dudley sank back. “Erm, I can move out if it’ll be that much trouble-“

Harry shook his head, filled with an impulse to once again make a choice that might be inadvisable.  “No, I’ll do it.”

“Really? But- you wouldn’t be able to go out, really.”

“I’ve not got much of a social life, to be honest.” This was true, although when Harry said it that way it sounded awfully dismal. “Besides, you’re in culinary school, yeah? If I want to have fancy food, I can always make a request.” The concept of asking Dudley to cook for him was more exciting than he was willing to admit.

Ron sat up properly, brushing over his hair. “Harry, really? What about pub nights?”

“It ought to be a temporary measure anyway,” said Harry. “I was thinking of asking Andromeda what she thinks ought to be done, since she used to be a black.”

“Oh! That’s actually quite clever, Harry. You should write her a message.”  Hermione looked between him and Dudley. “You’re sure, then?”

“Yeah, I’m certain. Link us.”

“Well, I suppose it’s lucky you share blood- it makes the bond take easier… grasp each other by the forearm, and I’ll weave it around you.” Hermione still looked a bit concerned, but she flicked her wand with true intent, and Harry watched with interest as silver chains of runes followed the tip of her wand as she dragged it through the air, creating a chain that fell around both of their shoulders, winding over their hands. A flash of light, and a bit of heat spread through Harry’s hand and forearm. Then, like nothing had happened, the runes disappeared.

Dudley stayed where he was sitting, his mouth open a bit; Harry closed his eyes and inspected the bit inside of him where he could feel his magic. Sure enough, there was something new there; although it felt a bit like a road to nowhere. Perhaps it had something to do with Dudley being a muggle?

“Well, it seems like it’s taken- Harry, if you’re out of the house and Dudley’s still here, I suppose the best thing to do would be to have Dudley stay in common areas, that way he’s less likely to get hurt.”

Dudley nodded, though it wasn’t clear if he really heard; he was staring at his hand, where the runes had settled.

Below them, in the kitchen, their floo bell rang. Harry jumped up, turning towards Ron. “You don’t think-“

“The informant!”

Harry turned to Hermione. “We’re going to-“

“Yes, yes, get a move on! I’ll watch Dudley!” Hermione, in her striped pyjama bottoms and Ron’s Chudley Cannons shirt, did not seem all that intimidating, but Harry knew her well enough to know nothing would go wrong while he was gone. He nodded, then turned to the stairs up to their living quarters.

“Accio auror robes! Accio shoes!”

His clothes flew down, rattling against the stairway bannister. He may have put too much power into the spell- but as it was, Harry was just glad it had worked. He pulled on his robes as he ran down the stairs, closely followed by Ron, whose robes were flapping up to reveal dragon-patterned pyjamas[4] and his work boots.

They jumped into the floo, shouted- and then they were pulled away.

Their informant was waiting in the ministry lobby, pushing his hair back and looking nervous. He was French, some lesser-known relative of Crabbe- and he was also a purchaser of powdered pixie eggs, which meant he was highly motivated to cooperate with the Aurors.

“They’re going to be bringing in a delivery soon- at the warehouse by the south side.”

“You’re sure?” As Ron asked, Harry transfigured his pyjama pants into uniform pants, then did Ron’s as well. By now, he was well used to it.

“Very. They were telling us to get ready for prices to dip, since so much of it’ll be coming in.”

“And you know the warehouse how?”

“One of my friends, he got hired to transport it.” Ron nodded, writing it down. Their witness swallowed nervously. “You’re not just gonna leave me, are you?”

The auror that had met him at the ministry, Stevens- one of the few to willingly work the night shift (Ron attributed it to Stevens being an actual vampire, although Harry knew for a fact he just liked late-night comedy radio), scoffed.  “We have protective cells. We’ll send you in there.”

“Yeah, what he said,” said Ron. “Harry and I will be pursuing the issue, and you’ll be right here, locked up tight.”

There was a cautious nod from their plant; Harry felt a rush of sympathy. It was hard to sit around and wait; but they owed him a lot. If he hadn’t come forward, they wouldn’t have this opportunity.

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “We’ll take it from here.” The man didn’t seem to take it much into account, just looking off into the distance nervously, but Stevens nodded.

“Right you are.”

It didn’t take long for Stevens to usher their witness off; as soon as their footsteps echoed away, Harry and Ron rushed to the nearest apparition point and sent off their preliminary intervention form.

“On three?”

“Yeah. One, two-“

A pop and they were off; they landed in an alley outside of the warehouse, the stink of fish hitting Harry at about the same time the feeling of apparition did. He held back the feeling of nausea, looking instead for an entrance to the warehouse.

“There’s a door to your left—” Ron nodded towards it, and Harry nodded back, heading towards the door and unlocking it with a silent alohomora.

With a creak, they pushed the door open, entering the warehouse. Harry could tell immediately that unlike the surrounding docks, this was indeed a place where magical supplies were imported; the feeling of magical suppression wards was distinctive. Most supplies, like pixie eyes, were explosive in large enough quantities; places like this had wards so that only cast magic would work. It presented a problem; they should be able to duel well enough if they needed to, but apparition wouldn’t work, and neither would the automatic signaling of their badges.

“Over here-“  Ron set up a monitoring beacon just outside of the warehouse- a sort of trip wire that would go off if anyone entered- and headed towards a crate. Harry followed, squeezing back so that they were both hidden.

It didn’t take long for Harry’s arms to start cramping Beside him, he could feel Ron slumping slightly; he elbowed him in the side, listening for any sound as Ron forced himself back up, blinking groggily.

Just out of sight, there was a faint clanking. Harry squinted, trying to make out shapes through the fog; this warehouse was open-air, a perfect place to portkey in large amounts of goods, like illegal pixie-eyes.

There was a shuffling, and then a clack- and instead of one person with the box of goods, there were six. With their wands raised.

“ Homenum Revelio!”  

Harry felt a swooping sensation- he and Ron had been discovered. There was no time to waste. He slid out from the crate, stunning the closest people to him. Behind him, Ron dodged a killing curse. A killing curse, from these people? They were third rate criminals!

“Protego!” A stunner bounced off of his shield, and Harry ran towards the group, wand raised.

Behind him, Ron was fighting with the cloaked man who had originally tried to use the killing curse. Red flashed back and forth, Ron using tantellegra as he fought to catch up with Harry.

“Behind you!”

Harry ducked, letting the stunner from one of the women hit the man he’d been dueling. There were only three left now- but just as he turned to tell Ron to look for the pixie eyes, Ron was hit by a spell. Harry froze as he watched Ron slam into the ground, writhing as he was hexed.

“Ron!”

Harry rushed forward, using every curse he could think of. There was a ringing in his ears as he felt his heartbeat accelerate- Ron couldn’t get hurt, he was supposed to be fine- how could they hurt Ron-

“Stupefy!” Harry slashed at one of the others, using a silent cutting curse as he ran towards Ron, taking down everyone in his way.

He had to make sure Ron was okay- He had to keep him safe- Harry’s heart was beating nearly out of his chest as he hexed them, making sure they’d stay out-

“Harry- Harry, they’re all unconscious- HARRY!”

A hand grasped his shoulder. Harry started, dropping his wand as Ron shook him slightly. “Mate, are you all right? You’re hyperventilating.”

Harry, trying to catch his breath, just sat down. His throat seemed dry. “Are they-“

“They’re all still alive, of course they are.” Ron shook him again. “Harry, look at me. It’s fine. You just got a bit out of hand.”

“Merlin.” Harry took off his glasses, sat down and ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, Ron.”

“It’s fine, it happens to everyone…” Ron stood up, stumbling slightly. “Anyway, I’m going to go check and see if they actually had any pixie eyes. I’ve got a bad feeling we got set up…”

Harry nodded. As he calmed down a bit, what rushed over him was more than regret- it was shame. He’d made it through a wizarding war, and yet he panicked during a fight with small-time criminals? Especially since he didn’t think that the first bloke had even actually used the killing curse- there had been no incantation, just green light. Merlin.

“Nothing here, mate.” Ron stood up from the body of the last person. He’d been tying them up as he went; as Ron reached for his badge, they were already starting to stir.

Well. At least Harry hadn’t done lasting damage.

Harry leaned back, took one last deep breath, and then stood up to be next to Ron. If he had to face a reprimand, at least he’d do it properly.

“You’ll be fine, Harry. What are they going to do? Suspend you? You’re the bloody chosen one!”

“We’re suspending you.”

“You’re what?” It was 8 AM, but Harry felt like he had still barely slept. They’d gotten back around 5 after making their reports, and now he was staring at a cup of tea in Kingsley’s office, trying to think of a reason he didn’t deserve to be suspended.

“Look, no one was injured in a lasting way, but it was still excessive violence.” Kingsley frowned. He’d gained a lot of grey hairs during the war; it made him look stately now, although at the moment he just looked older. And tired. “Stupefying is all right, but the cutting curse?”

He pulled out a piece of paper and slid it at Harry, making apologetic eye contact. “I know you’re doing your best, Harry, but I don’t think you’re coping well. I’d consider speaking to one of our mind healers.”

“My mind is fine, thanks.”

“Battle fatigue isn’t unusual for Aurors,” said Kingsley. “It’s not just you- frankly, I think it’s about time our office started actually maintaining mental health as well as physical. I respected Mad-eye as much as the next Auror, but you couldn’t ever claim he was stable.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, really. Just don’t take me off the case- we’ve been working on it for months!”

“I’m keeping Weasley on it,” said Kingsley. “He and Langley should be able to finish it up. I was thinking you’d do better on the statute of secrecy violations track until you can pass your battle-ready test again.”

“Can’t I just take it again now? I can pass easily.” Harry knew he could- the issue had only happened because he’d thought they would kill Ron. The battle tests always tested you alone.

“Harry. I’m speaking as your boss, but I’m also speaking as your friend.” Kingsley held out the papers. “You need a break. Your paperwork’s been sloppy. You’ve been having trouble interviewing witnesses. Regardless of the fact that this bust turned out badly, you also followed an insufficient lead and ended up leading yourself and Weasley into danger. I don’t care what you’re doing- it’s not working.”

Harry reluctantly reached out and took the papers. “So, should I-“

“Go home, Harry. Take a nap. Come in Monday, work on some statute of secrecy violations, and we’ll talk about re-instating you once a few weeks have gone by. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry tucked the papers into his robes, then stood up. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Let’s hope you don’t. Enjoy your nap, Harry.”

Harry tried not to let it sting as he walked through the office, signing his paperwork and putting things away in his cubicle as he headed home; still, the confused look from Ron just made him shake his head.

“What is it? Harry, are you-“

“Later, all right?” Harry only had one more errand to run before he left; he turned at the end of the corridor, going right instead of left. “Morning, Caldwell.”

“Morning!” The auror smiled at him, flipping a page of the newspaper she was reading. Monitoring the protective cells was a boring job, but it was very necessary. “Did you need to see someone?”

“I’d like to speak to Briggs.” Harry scratched at his head. “he should be in-“

“Oh, the informant you were working with? He’s checking out in the lobby, I think. Left as soon as we said we’d let him.”

Bugger. Harry turned around, not even bidding her goodbye as he speed-walked to the elevator. He kept his eyes on the ceiling the whole way down, before striding out in the lobby. “Briggs!”

The man turned to face him. He looked pale and unhealthy in the morning light, veins running clearly across his face. “H-hullo, Auror Potter.”

“Did you know?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you know there were going to be more than you said? Did you know it was a trap?”

“I- no, of course I didn’t-“

“You could have killed-“

“Harry!”

Hermione was entering the atrium, coffee in hand, and made a beeline for Harry. She stepped in between him and the informant, hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, I think you ought to go home now.”

“But he could have killed-“

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Harry.” She widened her eyes. Harry, reluctantly, stepped back. Right. Secrecy of auror operations. He almost missed the times when he’d been actively fighting against the government.

He straightened his robes awkwardly; Briggs, perhaps sensing that this was the best time to leave, headed out through the back door.

“Harry, I was just looking for you anyway,” said Hermione. “Ron and I have reservations tonight, and I know it’s a been a long day for you, but if you don’t mind staying home…”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry watched Briggs over her shoulder; he left the building like there was nothing wrong. Classic. Perhaps there wasn’t anything wrong, for him.

“Harry. It’ll just be you and Dudley, so if that bothers you-“

“No, no, go on your date.” Harry turned back to her. “It’s, er, my turn to cook anyway, so I’ll just pick up some groceries…”

“Oh, brilliant. Thanks, Harry.”

She headed on over to the elevator; Harry, a bit adrift, decided he might as well go home. The universe had apparently decided he wouldn’t be very productive.

When he made it home, Harry found Dudley reading a large recipe book in the foyer. Apparently, the fact that the sofa was the only piece of furniture that hadn’t tried to kill him had really endeared it to Dudley.

Harry, bereft of energy as he was, only managed a small “evening” before he headed downstairs, depositing his miserable groceries on the counter where the house couldn’t get rid of them. He had picked up things for Shepherd’s pie, although it was more of a stopgap than anything; it wasn’t a favorite, but he could practically make it in his sleep.

Then, muttering “evening” to Dudley as he headed upstairs, he fell face-first onto his bed and fell asleep, in his robes and shoes entirely. Apparently being terrible at your job was exhausting.

His eyes closed….

And then they opened to a loud thump coming from downstairs.

Harry stumbled to his feet, still groggy. How long had he been sleeping? What was that?

Another thump. Something in the back of his mind was pulling him downstairs- it felt suspiciously like his tie to Dudley. Fantastic. Shoving at his eyes to try and feel more awake, Harry stuck his wand in his back pocket[5] and stumbled downstairs.

This, as it turned out, was a mistake. He followed the thumping into the kitchen, where the door above him suddenly shut with a loud click.

Dudley was caught in the pantry door, struggling to get his arm out- apparently the kitchen door was not the only one getting free tonight. The thick oak was forcing him back even as he pushed in resistance, and his face was red from exertion. Harry pulled out his wand, the floor jostling him as he made his way over.

“Relashio! Relashio!”

The door opened slightly- Harry pulled at Dudley, barely getting him free before they both fell backwards onto the floor.

“I-“ Dudley looked between Harry and the door. “I thought I was fine, since you were here!”

“Apparently I’m not much help,” said Harry. He was lying on the floor and didn’t see much reason to get up at the moment. His eyes felt like they were about to melt.

“I- not to accuse you or anything, but…” Dudley paused. “I really ought to move out, I think. Your house- if that’s what’s behind this? It. Really hates me.”

“It’s not your fault the house is racist!” Harry got up on his elbows, staring over at Dudley. “You can’t just give up on it!”

“I’m not all that durable, Harry, I’ve got to give up at some point.” Dudley scrubbed at his face with a palm. “I ought to just go back to grunnings while I’m at it. This has been a pointless bloody endeavor.”

“What?”

“It turns out,” said Dudley, “That culinary school is bloody hard.” He had his back against the cabinets, and had his face turned towards the top of the kitchen table, watching the frozen peas melt.

“Bloody hard? I nearly watched Ron die today!”

There was a pause. Then- “Wait, really? Christ.”

“Yeah. Informant gave us bad information. Now I’m suspended for a month,” said Harry. He lied back down on the floor. “And now Ron’s on the case with Langley, who just blows things up half the time.”

Dudley’s face appeared over him; he looked concerned. “That sounds miserable,” he said. “Is that what you do? Work with informants?”

“I’m an Auror,” said Harry. “’s like wizarding police.”

“Oh.” Dudley’s face turned into a frown. “No wonder you all seem so stressed. What a high pressure job.”

“Yeah.” Harry didn’t even try to make that one sound excited. He closed his eyes for a second.

There was a longer pause. Then Dudley said, “What were you planning on making for dinner? I can, erm, make it, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Huh. Dudley must have really changed, if he was offering to do something for Harry. “I was- planning on Shepherd’s pie.”

“I thought you hated Shepherd’s pie. You never ate it at home.”

Your home, thought Harry, somewhat spitefully; but he didn’t feel the need to say that out loud. “Yeah, but it’s easy.”

There was another pause. “You really ought to get things you like, Harry.” Dudley coughed. “Not to tell you what to do, or anything. Erm, what do you not like about it?”

“It’s just.. mushy. All the same color.”

“Right, erm- I’ll just change a few things, shall I?”

There may have been other words involved, but Harry drifted off in the middle of it; he was so fast asleep, in fact, that he didn’t hear the kitchen door creak open. Grimmauld place, it seemed, was bribable.

“I’ve got mashed turnips with it, and then some lamb patties with onion, and some sautéed veggies,” said Dudley, forcing Harry out of his part-sleep haze. Harry woke up with a start.

“What?”

“I’ve- well, it’s not Shepherd’s pie, but I made a dinner out of it,” said Dudley. “Sorry, it’s not exactly culinary school level. But I reckon it ought to be edible.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Harry took the plate of food and looked at it for a bit- sure, it had all the hallmarks of Shepherd’s pie. The turnips, the lamb, the frozen vegetables… but it was significantly less damp, and it had at least two different colors. Huh.

“I tried to listen to what you don’t like,” said Dudley, “Although really it sounded like you don’t like it at all, which makes me wonder why you’ve stuck with it.”

“I hate cooking,” said Harry. “It’s- yeah. So. Just another thing I’m apparently making worse for myself.”

“What, is this about the suspension again?” Dudley patted the seat next to him, but when it seemed that Harry wasn’t going to come up he sat on the floor next to him, offering him the plate. Harry took it, taking a bite of the mashed turnips. The insulting bit was that they were actually quite nice.

“Yeah, of course it is,” said Harry. “I can win a bloody wizarding war but apparently I can’t keep normal people from harm.” He sighed, taking another bite of the lamb patty. “Merlin. What am I doing?”

“Was there actually a war?” Dudley was eating too, cross legged next to Harry. “Also, you stopped me from dying a bit ago, so I’d say you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, there was,” said Harry. “Lots of my friends died. Went on the run for a year. Died myself, came back, the works.” He screwed up his face, doing his best Rita Skeeter impression. “Boy hero lives again!”

Dudley didn’t laugh, probably because he didn’t know who Rita Skeeter was, and also likely because Harry wasn’t all that funny at the moment. “That’s- that’s really messed up, Harry.”

“Yeah, course it was messed up, it’s a war.”

“But you- no wonder you were so upset today, you were in a war and then you thought Ron was going to die.”

“It’s not that unusual, though,” said Harry. “I mean, this job, people die sometimes, not particularly rare.”

“And you’re still doing it?”

“I don’t-“ Harry paused. “I’ve always wanted to be an Auror, it’s what my mum and dad were. I can help people this way.”

“Yeah, but you can help people loads of other ways too.”

Harry took another bite of his carrots and peas. “It’s just a suspension.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never once said anything nice about your job to me,” said Dudley. “Course, I only learned about it about fifteen minutes ago, but still… I dunno, I was miserable at Grunnings for ages, and now I’m behind in culinary school because I’m picking it up late and everyone else has got a head start. It makes me wish I’d dropped out of working with drills a lot sooner.”

Huh. Harry blinked, slowly, and went for another bite- only to find he’d cleaned his plate. Dudley stood up, holding out a hand. “You want any more?”

Harry nodded, then leaned back against the cupboard. “You know,” he said, “Maybe I ought to stop making Shepherd’s pie.”

“At least get better at it,” said Dudley. “Really, are you trying to punish yourself?”

Harry ate more turnips instead of responding. They were good enough that it was a little bit irritating. Dudley: hidden depths.

Who would've thought?

[1] Sending owls back and forth about whether they had time to meet for lunch got to be a pain very quickly.

[2] Mad-eye moody had put a hex on the doorway to stop people from entering without warning, and to date no one had been able to remove it. 

[3] While it didn’t stop reporters from mentioning that the “Golden Trio” ate lunch together, they were reduced to commenting on the fact that Hermione had eaten a salad twice in a row, or other such nonsense.

[4] A Christmas gift from Charlie.

[5] Which is against wand safety regulation: protect your cheeks, kids.

Chapter Text

Fish & Chips

Ingredients:

• One medium cauldron of potatoes
• 1 liter laceweed oil (vegetable oil if muggle)
• 2 ounces flour
• 2 ounces starch
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• Salt
• Black pepper 
• 1/3 cup butterbeer (or dark beer)
• 1/3 cup gillywater (or sparkling water, if muggle)
• 4 fish fillets - thick, white fish

Instructions:

1. Mix baking powder, starch, and most of the flour. Leave out a few fingers worth. Add salt and pepper to taste.
2. Add butterbeer and gillywater to flour mixture until smooth. Cast cooling charm.
3. Slice potatoes into chip thickness, about a finger and a half, and rinse under cool running water.
4. Add to cauldron of boiling water and wait until slightly soft- 3-5 minutes. Stir counterclockwise if they stick to each other.
5. Dry fish fillets- do NOT use drying charm, as the fish is too delicate. Use a clean kitchen towel.
6. Heat the oil until 176 degrees C, then fry potatoes until just on the cusp of browning.
7. Add remaining flour to a shallow bowl; place fish fillets and coat in the flour.
8. Dip fillets into butterbeer batter and then fry until golden brown. Cast warming charm to keep hot while re-frying chips.
9. Heat oil up until edge of cauldron shimmers, then fry chips for an additional few minutes until golden brown.
10. Drizzle with vinegar and add to container, then transport the food to requested row of quidditch stands.

“I was thinking,” said Dudley, over pad thai on Saturday, “That if you’d like, the three of you could come round to weekly brunches at the culinary school. Thursday mornings.”

“Oh, really? Is it free to the public?” Hermione took a bite of her noodles, scratching absent-mindedly at the inkstain on the back of her hand. Ron, taking a drink of his beer, raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“No, but I’m able to hand out free entrance tickets,” said Dudley. “It’s meant to be a way to get our family involved, things like that, but, erm… yeah. My mum and dad aren’t going to come round any time soon.”

“Well, I’d love to, but I think I’m working then,” said Hermione. “Harry, don’t you have a late start now?”

Harry winced at the reminder. “Yeah, I do…” The statute of secrecy violations beat wasn’t urgent, so they had reduced hours; they had to come in every day, but they didn’t have to come in as early as the magical creatures department or the violent crime aurors.

“You ought to go! You don’t get out enough as it is.”

“I go out plenty!”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “But you only go out with us, don’t you? When’s the last time you went to something other than pub nights and lunches with me and Hermione?”

Dudley was switching his head back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

“I went to the battle of Hogwarts memorial ceremony!”

“That was in May- it’s August.”

Harry, instead of responding to this, took the heroic way out and ate more of his dinner. He could feel the back of his head burning from where Hermione was staring at him.

“Anyway,” she said, “I do wish we could make it. I’m sure Harry would be happy to go- maybe you could even carpool!”

Dudley and Harry made eye contact; Dudley looked a tad nervous. Harry, recalling the last time Dudley had seen them driving he’d ended up hit, decided that carpooling probably wouldn’t work.

Dudley, on the same wavelength, waved his fork. “Well, I need to go in earlier to help set it up, so that probably wouldn’t work out.. unless Harry wants to stand round speaking to all of the mums that show up.”

“I’ll just stop by when it’s starting up,” said Harry. He did like free food…

“I bet the food is going to be killer,” said Ron, grimly. “Meanwhile I’m trying to cough down the ministry tea. Maybe I ought to request a transfer.”

“You know, if you woke up earlier, it wouldn’t be a problem.” Hermione held out her hand for their plates as she stood up; Ron took seconds as Harry handed his plate and chopsticks to her.

“Yeah, except for the bit where I wouldn’t get any sleep,” said Ron. “Some of us need a proper basis to start the day.”

“I’m sure we’re all weeping into our pillows for you,” said Hermione. “Poor Ron, caught between his beauty sleep and delicious breakfasts.”

Shaking his head, Harry stood up. “You don’t have an issue waking up early for quidditch finals.”

“Quidditch is different! Whose side are you on!”

“Sorry, what’s quidditch?” This from Dudley, who looked mildly confused.

“What’s quidditch?”

Harry put his hands on his hips and assessed the situation, squinting into the sun. One grandmother, horrified. One set of parents, confused.  Twenty schoolchildren, several wearing party hats. One picnic table, changing colors rapidly. One small child, vengefully consuming an entire birthday cake.

“Classic,” said his partner, who had taken one of the cupcakes and was taking a bite thoughtfully. “Usually these demonstrations are at home, but it always seems to go wrong at birthday parties.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, “This happens often?”

“Course,” said Seamus. “They get excited, don’t they? All the bloody colors and pennants and things. And then the magic just jumps out.”

“Mine only really came out when I was upset,” said Harry[1]. “Erm, gather round! Everyone stand next to that tree!”

The various children milling about dutifully headed towards the tree; they seemed more shell-shocked than upset, although one was crying (presumably about the cake). One’s eyes were open so wide they looked like they’d fit a silver dollar. Seamus finished his cupcake and pushed up his sleeves. “Yeah, well, your childhood was shit, wasn’t it? My magic always came out at Christmas, Mum had to stop using ornaments for a few years because they’d start dancing round every time they left the box.”

After a second, he said, “I meant… your childhood was terrible. Terrible.”

The woman who had shot him a dirty look seemed unmoved by this. Seamus winced. “Right, I’ll take the table. How are you at obliviations?”

“I passed my test,” said Harry. “Erm, do we have to- what do we tell them?”

“Just say it’s something infectious, or what ever. Usually for cakes we’ll say it was a seagull. Nasty things.”

“Yeah, all right…” Harry moved towards the group. “Erm, to make sure you’re all right after this incident, we’ll be checking each of you. I’ll be under the pavilion there, just come by one by one… you’ll need to wait in a separate group after I’m done checking you, to prevent any cross contamination…”

It felt a bit wrong, to look in the face of some kid and then obliviate them. The whole thing made him feel a bit nervous, really; thankfully he didn’t have to start until Seamus successfully wrangled the color changing  picnic table and deposited the screaming child into her mothers arms. It was policy to inform the parents of the child of the magical world; Seamus, the more experienced Auror, pulled the mother and father aside as Harry gestured for the rest of the birthday party to line up.

He pointed his wand at the first child, a girl that was half-heartedly blowing a party streamer. Just as he opened his mouth, she pulled out the party streamer and squinted at him. “Why’d you change the table?”

“What?”

“It was nice! Why did you get rid of it!”

“Erm- it’s, er, distracting?”

“No it’s not! It’s nice.”

Harry, completely nonplussed, stared at her. She stared back. “How old are you? Eight?”

“I’m ten. And you’re dodging the question.”

Harry had a horrible premonition that this would be what it was like when Ron and Hermione had children. “I’m not- dodging the question. I answered it.”

“All right then.” She looked him over. “Are you going to check me, then?”

“Yeah, one second.” Harry lifted his wand, then cast Obliviate. “Er, this was a lovely party until seagulls came and smashed the cake.”

Her eyes, somewhat blank, still looked somewhat suspicious as she gazed over at him. “This was a lovely party… until seagulls came and smashed the cake…”

“Yeah, that. You’re clear, I’m just part of the animal control department checking everyone over. Feel free to move to the side and wait for everyone else to be checked.”

She nodded, drifting over and sitting down. Harry just sighed. Only twenty more children to go. Over to the side, there was a shriek; seemed like Seamus had finally broken the news. Brilliant.

“I’m going to die.”

Hermione was camped out in the living room, leafing through books on magical law. This was fairly normal, although in this case it was a bit concerning- she’d been in the exact same position when Harry had headed out for work.

“What?” Harry pulled off his robe, looking sadly down at his pants; they still felt sticky, after the treacle incident they’d dealt with this afternoon.

“My boss has moved up the deadline again! And he’s invited me to the yearly Magical Law gala, which is such an honor, but I’ve no idea what to wear for it, and it’s this Friday, which means I have until then to improve and reproduce my new business cards, and I also have to brush up on the theme of the Gala so that I can make intelligent conversation to improve my chances of promotion!” Hermione ran a hand through her hair; there were already three quills caught in it. Her eyes were looking a little frantic.

Harry, tongue between his teeth, approached her with about the same caution he’d give to a hippogriff. “Have you eaten?”

“I’ve had tea-“ Hermione stuck her current quill in between her lips, leafing through the papers that seemed to multiply every time Harry looked away. “Anyway, I’ve been too busy to cook-“

“I’m sure that’s brilliant,” said Harry, “But you do need to eat.”

When she didn’t respond, he gave up on negotiation and headed down to the pantry. If he placed food within her reach, she’d eat it eventually without even noticing.

When he opened the door to the pantry, though, Ron was already in there, gazing thoughtfully at the few snacks that Grimmauld had decided they were allowed to keep. “Do you reckon she’d eat an apple? Last time I brought an orange and she got tetchy because the juice could mess up her books,” he said.

“No idea,” said Harry. “A sandwich, maybe?”

“Oh, brilliant.” Ron ran a hand over his face. “Erm, Harry, about quidditch this Friday…”

“…You’re missing, aren’t you.”

“Well, I can’t just let her go to this gala alone!” Ron scrubbed a hand over his chin. “She’s out of her head about it already.” He coughed. “Also, Viktor Krum’s going to be there…”

“Really? Why?” Harry grabbed for their loaf of bread, then opened the door to the pantry and headed into the kitchen with Ron.

“Apparently being a brilliant quidditch player isn’t enough,” said Ron, pulling out a cucumber and peeling it, “He’s also got to be a lawyer campaigning for Hag rights.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “How many hags are there? What’s the issue with them?”

“Apparently there are loads in Romania,” said Ron, glumly. “And the government gets a bit miffed about them eating people. Maybe I ought to go into magical law too. At least I’d understand what she’s talking about again.”

“Nah,” said Harry, “If she wanted a lawyer she’d be dating Percy.”

Ron pointed a cucumber threateningly at Harry. “Don’t even joke about it! They have lunch together all the time!”

“Yeah, and they complain about you, so I reckon you’re fine.” Harry plated the sandwich, casting a preservation charm on it before heading up the stairs.

“Guess so,” said Ron. He sighed. “Urgh, and I’ve got to wear dress robes. At least there’ll be free champagne.”

Harry crept into the living room as quietly as he could, followed by Ron; they set down their respective cargo, sandwiches and tea, and backed away carefully. Hermione, from where she was in the center of her book fortress, didn’t even look up- but she did reach out and take a sandwich. Harry and Ron sighed in relief.

“Right,” said Ron, “So I was thinking that you could take the coin and send me updates on the game. I’ve got an inside pocket on my dress trousers, I could check it every few minutes.”

The culinary school was much less imposing than Harry had expected. It had a small front door, a few minutes away from the British Museum, and blue lettering above the three small front windows, with a prettily painted white front. Not really knowing what else to do, he pushed open the door.

Inside, there were rows and rows of shining kitchen equipment, as well as a few tables set up next to the windows. There was a buffet table that had been set up, although nothing was on it yet; there were, however, a few placards. A few people were milling about; not really in the mood to talk, Harry decided to look over at the labels instead.

He wandered over, looking at the fancy script; sure enough, there was one titled “Quiche Lorraine; Dudley & Draco.”

Draco? Harry felt his head snap up, glancing back and forth, although he forced himself to stop thinking about it. It was likely just someone else with the same name. Why on earth would Draco Malfoy be at a muggle cooking school? Working with Dudley?

There was a great deal of hustle and bustle at the rows of stoves and cooking stations; he could spot Dudley’s pale blond head among the others only because Dudley was significantly taller than most of his classmates.[2] Someone was barking out orders, although it was much less harried and stressful than Harry had imagined; instead, everyone seemed to have their task and were following it to the best of their ability.

He checked his watch; the brunch was set to start in half an hour. With nothing much else to do, he headed over to take a seat at one of the tables.

The turnout wasn’t very large; apparently Harry wasn’t the only one who usually worked Thursday mornings. There were mostly just middle aged ladies. Still, Harry allowed himself to be thankful they were muggles. Usually at this point, he’d be swamped with people that wanted him to sign something.

He pulled out his coin, sending a quick message to Ron, just in case; Blke nmd Drco at d’s schl. ??.

A response came quickly; prbly wrd mggle.

Well. Not particularly helpful. Harry tucked it away again, looking up as the instructor, a tall black man in an impeccable chef’s coat, came out to greet them. He had fluffy sideburns and a steely grey gaze. “Good morning, and welcome to our first weekly brunch! Ze theme this week is classic French cuisine. I ‘ope you enjoy it; our students ‘ave worked in teams of two to create one dish.”

He swept out an arm, and the students started filing out in pairs; there were ten of them in all, which meant five dishes.

Harry sat back and watched, stomach grumbling, as the first set placed down some chocolate croissants; then, some crepes; a fancy vegetable dish he couldn’t make out; a set of macarons; and then, finally, Dudley emerged.

Followed by the one and only Draco Malfoy.

Harry stopped himself from standing up in indignation at the last second; instead, he sat in his seat, twitching as he watched Malfoy- who hadn’t even seen him- quietly walk over with Dudley, each carrying an excessively fancy quiche. The most galling thing was, Malfoy didn’t even seem smug, like he’d been planning this. In fact he was spending an awfully long time adjusting the position of the quiche, as if he actually cared about it.

As soon as they were done setting up the food, and the leader person gestured for everyone to start eating, Harry jumped to his feet- but Malfoy checked his wristwatch, an actual muggle wristwatch, and headed for a side door before Harry could confront him. Before he slipped out, though, their eyes met- and his lips opened in a perfect o as he froze for a second.

As Harry began his pursuit, however, he found himself impeded by a plate of quiche. Dudley didn’t understand the urgency of this. He tried to give it back, but Dudley’s grip strength was phenomenal. When he looked up again, Malfoy was gone.

“Harry,” said his well meaning in the way cousin, “You look a bit pale. Are you all right?”

“That- that was Draco Malfoy!”

“Yeah, we’re working together,” said Dudley. “Nice bloke. Quite funny.” He paused. “Wait, you know each other?”

“He-“ Harry attempted to think of a word for he was my rival, and then he was an evil wizard nazi, but it turns out he was a bit brainwashed and I testified at his trial, but he still seems a bit suspicious to me and also he’s on parole so how on earth is he even allowed to be here, and came up with “We went to school together.”

“Oh!” Dudley whipped around, staring at the door before turning back to Harry. “You mean he’s a-“

Harry cast a surreptitious poison-detecting spell on the quiche, but it came back as safe; he took a bite, reluctantly. It was fantastic. “Wizard, yeah.”

It was difficult to be irritated when your mouth was full of delicious quiche, but he was doing his best to push through it.

“Huh!” Dudley raised his eyebrows. “I wonder why he’s here.”

“Scheming, no doubt,” said Harry. He looked down to see that the plate didn’t only have quiche- Dudley had also gotten him a macaron, a crepe, and some of the vegetable stuff. A strike of brilliance hit him. “Hey, would you like to go to a quidditch game tomorrow? When do your classes let out?”

“Do they let nonmagical people in?”

“You’re my cousin, they’ll let you in,” said Harry. He took a bite of the macaron. It was a bit dense. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy and Dudley seemed like they were at the top of their class. “How long has he been in this course?”

“Since the beginning,” said Dudley. He looked anxiously at the remains of the quiche. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s brilliant.” Harry finished the piece to prove it. “We’ll leave round four, all right?”

“…all right?”

Harry’s badge buzzed in his pocket. Work. Fantastic. He shoved the plate back into Dudley’s hands, folding up the crepe and shoving it in his mouth. “I’ll catch up with you later, all right? I’ve gotten called in for work.”

Before Dudley could say anything, he was out the door, enjoying the crepe as he went. There was an aftertaste, though… an aftertaste of mystery.

“And you’re sure that it wasn’t just some strange blond ferrety muggle?”

Ron was difficult to hear over the roar of the pub; Thursday nights were always popular at the Leaky Cauldron. Behind Ron’s head, Harry could see Stan Shunpike waving over at Tom, although the bartender didn’t seem much invested in anything; to their other side, a group of goblins were having an active conversation about the stock market.

Switching back to looking over at Ron, Harry gestured with his mug irritably. “Yeah, of course I’m sure! I spent seven years trying to stop Malfoy from killing all of us!”

“Yes, yes, your obsession is well documented,” said Hermione. “Really, though, I doubt he’s up to anything suspicious at the moment.”

“Sorry, how is it not suspicious! He’s in a bloody muggle culinary school!”

“Perhaps he just wants to learn to cook!” Hermione took a drink of her cocktail. “Honestly, I may not like him, but he’s always been more bark than bite.”

“More bark than bite?”

“The only ones more dramatic than him in our year were Pavarti and Lavender,” said Hermione. “He was always on about something. He can’t be subtle to save his life.”

“Exactly! So what’s he doing all demure in some muggle culinary school!”

“I don’t trust him either, mate,” said Ron, “But he is on parole. I reckon if there was something suspicious going on, his parole officer would have called him on it.”

“Still,” said Harry. “I don’t like it. I bet he’s poisoning Dudley’s mind, or something. He can’t have just gone from- from wanting to kill all muggles to wanting to make friends with them.”

“That’s the thing, though,” said Hermione. She took a bite of the chips in front of her and winced- “Ugh, when will I learn not to order food here-“ before leaning back in her seat. “You testified at his trial too. I think we all know by now that most of that was from his parents. Maybe now that they’re in prison, he’s a little less-“

“Of a shit?” Ron ate one of the fries, unbothered.

“Prejudiced,” said Hermione. She looked somewhat calmer now that she’d finished her report; her shoulders weren’t up near her ears anymore, and her hair was once more obeying the laws of gravity.

Harry scrubbed at his forehead[3] irritably. “Dudley said he was funny! What does that mean?”

“It means that you ought to leave off it, mate,” said Ron. He reached out and patted Harry firmly on the shoulder. “I reckon you don’t have enough hobbies. You’re wanting to go back to the old ones.”

“Worrying about Malfoy isn’t a hobby.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. Harry took another drink of his butterbeer- it was his turn to be designated apparator.

“it is a bit, though, isn’t it,” said Ron. “Remember when you used to follow him everywhere? One time you said he looked suspicious because he was tying his tie in a new way. You were watching his tie.”

“I think you need to expand your horizons,” said Hermione. “Really, I know it’s been tough after Ginny, but it’s nearly been a year.”

Harry looked away at this, briefly meeting Stan Shunpike’s eyes; Tom slammed Stan’s drink down onto the bar, startling them both. He looked back to see Ron and Hermione both sitting up properly. Ugh. They’d been conspiring again.

“Maybe I just don’t feel like dating,” he said. “I want to focus on my career.”

“Well, you’re having to do a bit of a break anyway, aren’t you? So I thought it might be nice to speak to one of my coworkers…”

“Who is it.” Harry paused, then put his pint down. “If it’s Percy, I swear, I don’t care if I’m bisexual, I’m not even going towards that with a ten-foot-“

“It’s a woman, actually,” said Hermione. “Although if you wanted a bloke, I suppose we could-“

“Who is it, then?”

“I thought it would be nice if we left it for a surprise,” said Hermione. “She’s quite clever, very funny, she’s been working on making amends for a lot of things but she’s got quite a good heart, actually. You do tend to date sort of fiery people, so I figured you two ought to get on quite well.”

Ron made a sound of warning, looking over at Hermione- they ducked together, whispering between them, and then sat back up.

“I’ll set it up for next week, shall I? I’ve already got a copy of your schedule, I assume you’ve been using your new planner.”

Harry looked between them, then sighed. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, then?”

“I’ll have the reservations made,” Hermione said. “Now- who’d like another round?”

The quidditch stands were bustling with people by the time that Harry and Dudley arrived. Harry had chosen to apparate, using side-along to move Dudley; however, it may not have been a good idea. As soon as they landed, Dudley stumbled off, throwing up into a nearby bush. Harry put his hands in his pockets and looked skywards to give him privacy. The day was clear and cold, blue skies only interrupted occasionally by white puffs of cloud. He felt a small twinge of nostalgia for the Gryffindor team, years ago; it would be a beautiful day to fly. His poor firebolt was still in a closet in Grimmauld, collecting dust.

“Is it always like that?”

Harry turned to look at Dudley again, who was wiping his mouth off and still looking a bit green around the edges. He was wearing one of Ron’s casual robes, so as to blend in; the robe was long enough, but Ron was much more lanky, so the fabric pulled at the shoulders and at the middle of the back, even with a minor expansion charm from Harry[4].

“No,” he said, “It’s just the first few times. Erm- sorry about that.”

“Quite all right,” said Dudley, who seemed to be attempting to steady himself. “So, where do we go? Is it like football, where you sit in the stands?”

“Yeah- I’ll show you the way,” said Harry. He turned, moving through the crowds. Today he’d charmed his hair to be blonde; that along with wearing casual robes and differently shaped glasses meant he actually had to shove people out of the way.

Dudley was doing a decent job of keeping up with Harry as they went, climbing up into the stands. The match today was between the Wasps and the Cannons; Harry was sure that Ron was twitching in envy. There was an actual chance the cannons could win today, given the new leadership of the Wasps.

After showing his ticket, Harry headed towards the vendors standing at the steps. “Er, do you have Omnioculars?”

Dudley leaned in, whispering. “Omnioculars?”

“They’re like zooming binoculars,” said Harry. He turned back; the vendor had pulled out several pairs.

“We do! We’re the top in the business. Even endorsed by Harry Potter- he purchased our original style Omnioculars during the Quidditch World Cup in 1994!” The vendor held up a pair that had been altered to look like Harry’s glasses, complete with a little attached scar.

Harry tried not to shudder to hard; beside him, Dudley’s face was almost comically surprised. Before he could say anything, Harry placed a few sickles into the Vendors hand. “Erm, that’s fine, we’ll just go for the one pair of originals.”

“Excellent choice! Enjoy the game.”

Harry handed the omnioculars to Dudley as he headed up towards the stands; Dudley stood there for a second, turning them over in his hands before he realized how far behind he was and hurried to keep up.

“What was that about?”

“Well, I’m a bit well known after the war, so people keep using my image,” said Harry. “Er, I probably ought to keep those Omnioculars after the game, Hermione will want to know who to send a letter to. She’s been on a tangent of pursuing my right to my own image.”

“Oh.” Dudley paused. “Wait, so you’re a hero in your- world?”

He didn’t sound surprised, just thoughtful. Harry shrugged vaguely. “It’s a bit complicated. I used to be the boy who lived, and a lot of people didn’t like me much, but now that we won the war it’s just a pain to go out in public. That’s why I changed my hair.”

“Oh!” Dudley sat down in their seats, craning his neck to see around the stands. “I thought it was just some sort of wizard custom.”

“No, just me,” said Harry, although he was fairly certain that some people[5] actually did change their hair color by magic quite frequently for fashion reasons.

“Got it.” Dudley was fiddling with the Omnioculars now. “So, what exactly is quidditch? I got a bit confused when Ron was speaking about it.”

“It’s a sport,” said Harry. “They’re on broomsticks, with seven players on each side; the keeper, three chasers, two beaters, and a seeker. There are two goals, one is to get the quaffle- a reddish ball- into the hoops- and the other is to catch the snitch, a small flying ball. It’s worth loads of points, and the game doesn’t end until you get it.”

Dudley nodded, yelping briefly in surprise as he tried to zoom with the Omnioculars and they gave off a puff of smoke in Cannons red. “So what do the players do?”

“The keeper is like a goalie,” said Harry- his speech slowed as he peered over the balcony. Below them was a familiar head of pale-blond hair. “Erm, the chasers are the ones throwing the quaffle around. The beaters have bats, they hit two other balls- the dark flying ones called bludgers- at the chasers or the seeker, trying to throw them off their game. And the seeker tries to get the snitch.”

“Huh!”

Whatever else Dudley had to say, Harry didn’t hear it; instead, he leaned further over, squinting. It had to be Malfoy. He was holding a cane very similar to Lucius Malfoy’s- a stupid affectation- and his head was turned to be illuminated in the lift, pale grey eyes glinting as he laughed at something his companion said. Wasn’t he supposed to be on parole?

Harry’s pocket heated up; he checked the galleon. It was a note from Ron.

Gm strtd yt?

Hand clenching around the galleon, Harry sent his reply- no, mlfy hre.

Hm. tll me scr whn it strts

Useless. Harry leaned forward again, about to say something- but Dudley tapped him on the elbow. “I’ve gotten us fish and chips with the money you helped me convert,” he said. “Erm, if that’s all right? I thought it was interesting they sell things like that here.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. He tried to look over the balcony again, but was stymied by an announcement;

“We welcome to the arena… THE WIMBOURNE WASPS!”

He took a bite of the chips- satisfyingly vinegary- as the wasps flew past, one by one, in their customary black and yellow. Beside him, Dudley’s mouth was hanging open. Above them, magical fireworks shimmered and spelled out the names of each player as they flew past, complete with an illusion of an image of their face, making a fierce face at the camera.

Cld you lk up prle rqs fr mlfy?

By the time Ron replied, Harry was done with the fish and chips; they reminded him of the food at Hogwarts. He briefly wondered how the house-elf union for the Chudley Cannons was doing; Hermione had been involved with them last year, ignoring Ron’s strident protests.

Sure. Scr????????????????????????????

0-20 wsps.

NOOOOO :(

Ron, where are you? I thought you were getting more champagne?

1 sc

Ron! I’ve got the minister here!

Harry shoved the galleon back into his pocket and turned to Dudley, who was hurriedly zooming with the omnioculars. “Do you think you get the way the game works now?”

“Quidditch,” Dudley said, a note of reverence in his voice, “Is brilliant.”

Footnotes:

[1] Who was recalling all of the terrible haircuts of his youth.

[2] While Harry loved his parents, he did occasionally wish that James Potter had been a bit taller.

[3] A habit- his scar hadn’t stung since the end of the war.

[4] He’d never quite mastered tailoring charms.

[5] Pavarti Patil, for one.

Chapter Text

Flaming Gazpacho

Ingredients:

• Several large handfuls of tomatoes, sliced and cored
• 1 small cucumber, seeds and peel removed
• 1 medium green bell pepper, cored
• 1/2 small red onion, peeled
• Several garlic cloves
• 3 tablespoons chile oil
• 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
• 1 teaspoon fine sea salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly-cracked black pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon Japanese fire flakes
• 1/2 teaspoon dragon tongue (powdered)
• 1 slice of French bread, de-crusted.

Instructions:

• Combine all ingredients in a cauldron, then cast pulverizing charm; muggles can use an immersion blender.
• Add fire flakes and chile oil until it reaches your desired spiciness.
• Cast cooling charm or set in icebox until flavors have deepened- 1-4 hours.
• Serve cold, topped with a blue fire charm; the fire will interact with the dragon tongue, creating spurts of non-burning flame. If you’re muggle, add some croutons or something. How is it, living such a boring life?

Despite all of time’s attempts, Minerva McGonnagall refused to age. Next to him on the park bench, she drank a to-go mug of black tea; Harry himself was eating an almond croissant, although it didn’t live up to the one Dudley had made for brunch yesterday. Her hair was up in a bun, and her entire outfit was impeccable, even in the muggle world. In front of them, some geese quarreled over a piece of bread; the old man feeding them winked at McGonnagall.

“So they’ve really taken you off of the Force temporarily?” McGonnagall, who was dressed in a muggle blazer to blend in[1], glared at the bread-feeding muggle. He backed away, nearly tripping into the lake before he turned around and headed down the path.

“Kingsley says I’ve got battle fatigue,” said Harry. He looked at his almond croissant; the little pieces of almond looked like a little, smug, face. Was it a sign of a quarter-life crisis if his food looked like people?

“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me,” said McGonnagall. “I’ll admit, I was surprised when you went through with joining the Aurors.”

“Really?” Harry turned to look at her properly. “But you were so defensive when Umbridge said I couldn’t do it!”

“I was sure you were capable, Potter, you’ve killed a dark lord,” said McGonnagall. She looked over the top of her glasses at him in a way that was strongly reminiscent of Dumbledore. “It’s just that some people don’t want to fight more after they’ve won their war.”

“What else could I do?” Harry took another bite of his croissant. “I can’t be a lawyer, and I couldn’t start doing journalism, even if Luna did offer me that position at the Quibbler…”

“I seem to recall you becoming a temporary professor for Defense against the Dark Arts while you were still in school,” said McGonnagall. “Which I only found out about at the latest reunion, of course.” She took another sip of her tea.

A professor? She thought Harry would be a good professor? Harry stared at his shoes, turning the thought over. He hadn’t done much, was the thing; Hermione had always been the main mastermind behind it. All he had done was try and keep up with her.

“In other news,” McGonnagall said, “I’ve been informed that George and Angelina are expecting?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “They’re really excited.” He felt a major wave of relief wash over him, even as he knew McGonnagall would bring it up again when he least expected it. “Erm, she’s due in September I think?”

“Well, it gives me an excellent timeline for my retirement,” said McGonnagall. “Although I’ve concerns about my successor. Filius has informed me he plans to go into private industry after two or three more years teaching.”

“What for?”

Harry, however, did not hear the answer. Across the park was a limping figure with pale blond hair, gleaming in the sun; a willowy build; a pretentious cane. Draco Malfoy.

“Potter! I hope I’ve not gone senile in my old age and started to bore you,” said McGonnagall. Harry, flushing guiltily, turned back to her.

“Sorry, I’ve just seen Draco Malfoy- he’s been popping up everywhere recently-“

“Ah.” said McGonnagall. “Do leave the boy alone, Harry. It’s unbecoming.”

Harry, realizing his posture, let go of his wand and sat back. Malfoy, from across the pond, looked up; their eyes met. Harry felt his heart rate speed up, ready to pounce. What was he up to?

Malfoy didn’t seem to be forthcoming. He turned around on one heel, moving away fluidly- how come he had a limp until Harry saw him- and was out of the park in no time, back into the hustle and bustle of Muggle London.

Something about seeing him here stung. Harry accepted Malfoy’s presence in the magical world to an extent, but seeing him in his cousins culinary school or in the park felt like a violation. This was Harry’s place; he’d reclaimed it from the Dursleys, and now it was his safety net when the Prophet reporters became too much.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll only speak to him if it’s needed.”

“You and I have different ideas of needed,” said McGonnagall. She checked her watch. “I do believe it’s time for my next meeting. Miss Lovegood has been petitioning me to allow Thestrals inside of the school as emotional support animals for the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts.”

That… sounded about right. Harry nodded, finishing his croissant and crumpling up the paper, shoving it into his pocket. “Are you going to let her?”

“I will tell you a secret, Harry,” said McGonnagall. “I have a feeling that Dolores Umbridge would have hated the entire concept.” She gave him a small, tight smile, then gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Potter- if you need more assistance, or feel a need for change in your life… come speak to me. I may not be your professor anymore, but we old ladies have our uses.” There was a slight feeling of magic passing over him, like she'd just done something.

Harry nodded. Giving him a slight smile, McGonnagall headed towards an alley to disapparate; Harry, when he reached into his pocket for the wrapper of his croissant, found something else in there.

It was a frosted biscuit, in the shape of a little witch hat.

Harry was in a bush. Hermione’s elbow was firmly in his side, as knobby as ever. Some of her hair was in his mouth; he spit it out, sputtering indignantly. She hushed him. “The muggles are going to hear us!”

“Why can’t we just use a silencing charm?” Harry hissed back; they were both looking towards the DVSA, where Ron was being led outside by a small, grey-haired DVSA officer. She looked grim; Harry had a bad feeling about all of this.

“It’s a violation of the agreement between the muggle and magical ministries to use any spells in or near a government building!” Hermione said; she had her wand at the ready, however. Harry looked between her and the officer.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t just confound everyone that intends to fail him! He probably ought to fail!” Harry squinted over. “What’s up with you? This is so out of character!”

The elderly lady turned towards them, as if she could hear them; Harry and Hermione froze. For a second, the glint in her eyes reminded Harry of Augusta Longbottom. After she looked away again, Hermione said, “Well, he’s just been so nervous about this- and you know he can drive properly if he’s left alone.” She was blushing a bit. Oh, merlin, romance.

“He almost killed Dudley just a few weeks ago!”

“But he didn’t, did he?”

Harry peered over the bush again. Ron was now opening the car door for his instructor. He somehow closed his sleeve in the door; he had to frantically open it again to free himself before heading over to the drivers seat, ears bright red.

“I don’t think not committing murder is a good way to tell if someone can drive,” said Harry, and then paused. Somehow, he had become Hermione.

“Well, maybe I won’t need to do anything!”

They both watched as Ron started to pull out of his parking spot, but didn’t put the car into reverse properly; it lurched forward before the brakes screeched and they came to a halt. Harry and Hermione winced in sync. Ron’s shoulders, visible through the window, were up to his ears.

“Harry?”

“Augh!” As one, Harry and Hermione toppled forward out of the bush onto Dudley, who attempted to catch them both and ended up sprawled out flat on his back.

Dudley forced himself up onto his elbows, looking confused. “Why were you in a bush? Are you- following me?”

Behind them, there was a loud crash. Had Ron-

Harry craned his neck around, rubbing at the scratches on his arm. Ron had run into the telephone pole in the parking lot, apparently due to the fact that his girlfriend and best mate had just fallen out of a bush onto his roommate.

“No, we’re following Ron!” he said, at the same time Hermione said, “No, what a funny coincidence!”

Dudley turned around too, eyes wide. “Wait, is he taking his test today? I should have made him breakfast or something, for luck.”

“I think it’s already too late,” said Harry, grimly. Ron stumbled out of the car, stammering apologetically to the driving instructor; the grey-haired woman just clicked her tongue, made a note on her clipboard, and then gestured for Ron to follow her inside.

Hermione groaned in frustration. “Oh, we shouldn’t have come! I had a bad feeling about this!”

“What happened to confunding her?”

“Ron would never believe it, he’s just been in an accident!” Hermione frowned. “Besides, I never really intended to… it just made me feel a bit better, being here.”

Dudley got up, dusting himself off. “So- you followed to watch Ron take his test?”

“Yes, why were you here?” Hermione was still in her Magical Law robes- she was on her lunch break- and she had a twig in her hair. Harry reached over and plucked it out.

“Interviewing for a job,” said Dudley. “Culinary school is expensive, you know how it is.”

Hermione made a noise of sympathy, nodding. “How long for your degree?”

“I’m taking the year-long course,” said Dudley. “I’ve got an advance on some of the classes for my certificate cause I was taking them nights while I was working at Grunnings, but I’ve still got a few months…”

Nodding, Hermione pulled at her shirt to straighten it out; inspired by her example, Harry brushed some of the leaves off of his own shirt. Dudley looked over at the car again. “I suppose he didn’t pass?”

“I doubt it,” said Harry. Hermione muttered something about a study guide for next time.

“Well,” said Dudley, “I suppose it’s nice to see you. Maybe I’ll see Ron round here as well, since I got the job?”

“Congratulations!” Hermione beamed at him. “What’s the job?”

“I’ll be doing filing part time,” said Dudley. “Paperwork, that sort of thing. Same sort of thing I did at Grunnings.” He grimaced. “Pays well, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t let us hold you up!” Hermione patted him on the shoulder, then jumped as her pocket planner chimed. “Oh, bugger, I’ve got a meeting.”

Over Harry’s shoulder, she spotted Ron; she waved to him, then made a beeline towards him. They exchanged some brief words- Ron was still very red in the face, and seemed to be avoiding eye contact- before Hermione kissed him on the cheek and trotted off towards an alley to disapparate.

“Hullo, Harry,” said Ron. “I suppose you saw all of that, then?”  When he saw Dudley, he frowned. “And you brought… Dudley?”

“I’m here on my own,” said Dudley.

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Sorry about the test, mate. You tried.”

“Yeah, and I ran into something! Bloody shameful!” Ron glared over at the car. “I reckon I can still drive it home, but I dunno if that woman inside will let me…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t remember it being this difficult when we flew to Hogwarts!”

“I’ve got my license,” said Harry. “Dudley, do you want a ride?”

“Flew to Hogwarts?”

Harry took that as a yes and headed over towards the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. Dudley shuffled into the back, and Ron took passenger after shooting a surreptitious repair charm towards the front bumper.

When the spell hit, though, something felt… wrong. Harry frowned. “Did you do something to the car before your test?”

“What? No. Why would I-“

Harry cast Revelio, squinting as he looked at the magical additions to the car. There was something wrong here- something sinister. Something extra was here- not a spell, but some magical substance. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t like it.

“Ron,” he said, “I think we ought to get out of the car. Now.”

Dudley was the first to move after this pronouncement; he shuffled out of the car, taking several generous steps back. Harry opened his door cautiously, following Dudley out, standing next to the pole, hand on his wand. Ron was the last to get out; he pushed the door shut.

As soon as the lock clicked into place, the car exploded.

Harry jumped towards Ron, pushing him away from the car as Ron cast protego, protecting them both from the majority of the blast; where the car had been there was suddenly a smoking crater. Several of the neighboring car alarms started going off; a variety of faces appeared in the DVSA office windows.

Dudley had fallen into the hedge; after a second Harry saw his arm shoot out of the branches. “I’m all right!”

“We are too!” said Ron, pushing himself off of the ground. He had a bit of soot all around his face, making his hair a bit more of a brown than a red, but otherwise he seemed untouched. Harry himself only had a few bruises to show for it- well, that and the smoking remains of the car and the crater where it had once been parked.

“You know,” said Ron, “Sometimes I wonder if your life will ever stop being so bloody exciting.”

Harry glanced up at the sky; it was grey. Rain was about to fall. “I do too.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever been assigned to a job where my coworker is responsible for the breach!” Seamus Finnegan was in fine form; he was holding a dragonskin umbrella and cheerfully smoking a muggle cigarette. “Makes me think of some of the things Ron used to do in potions. You said you don’t know what did it?”

“No clue,” said Ron. He’d been given a ministry shock blanket; he was currently holding it over his head to hold back the rain. Harry, meanwhile, had given up on the entire enterprise and was standing next to Seamus, drenched and generally miserable.

“Well, it’s certainly a first.” Seamus squinted at the remnants of the car. It was mostly just a few axles and the bare shell of a body now. The outer casing had melted to the rubber of the tires. There was barely any shrapnel- not because it hadn’t been generated, but because it had evaporated under the explosion. “Do you think it could have been a muggle thing after all? I know these cars can have a tendency towards issues.”

“Cars don’t generally blow up on their own,” said Harry. “Do you think we can repair the area?”

“We aren’t allowed to touch it,” said Seamus. He puffed again on his cigarette. “This sort of thing, we’ve got to bring unspeakables in. Otherwise it might blow again.”

“Then- what do we tell the muggles?”

“Gas explosion,” said Seamus. “Unavoidable.” He patted Harry firmly on the shoulder. “Chin up, mate. Means you only have to do half the obliviations- do you want the passerby or the DVSA group?” He held out the pack of cigarettes. “You ought to take one, too. Stiffen you up.”

“No thanks,” said Harry. “ …passerby? I can do passerby.”

As he headed over, though, he couldn’t help the stabbing feeling that he shouldn’t just be brushing this off and waiting for the unspeakables. What could have caused this? Who could have caused this? What did they want with him?

If only he wasn’t in the statute of secrecy division…

When Harry got home, it was to a note pinned firmly to the door in Hermione’s handwriting: Harry, don’t forget you’ve got a date tonight! Meet her at the Dragon’s Den at seven. Love, Hermione.

Great. He pulled it off of the front door, stuffing it in his pocket as he crumpled it up. According to his watch, he had about ten minutes before he was well and truly late; it seemed whoever he was meeting needed to be patient.

Running up the stairs, he turned a corner and rushed into his room, pulling on a button-up and casting a brief shaving charm. He still looked a bit rumpled, but it would have to do. As he stumbled back down the stairs, the mirror in the hallway called, “A bit rough for a first date, dearie!”

“I’m late!” He called back, grabbing for his wand and his keys before disapparating. At least the Dragon’s Den was a familiar place.

When he popped back into reality, Harry found himself just outside of the entrance to the Dragon’s Den. A neon sign flashed, pointing down; the bar was a combination magical-muggle place, originally introduced to him by Charlie.

He went in, straightening his tie as he ducked through the front entrance and nodded at the server. “I’ve got a running reservation here?”

“I’ll just take you to the back,” she said. “Follow me.” While muggles might not have noticed it, she was wearing dragon-skin boots, and the mermaid tattoo on her arm winked at him.

They passed rows of chattering muggles, some of them clearly just out of work while others seemed to be regulars, until they ducked through an arched, stone doorway and Harry felt the familiar ward pass over him. “Oh, and I actually did have a reservation,” he said.

“Whose name is it under?” The waitress flipped through menus, picking up one and tucking it under her arm.

“Hermione,” he said.

“Oh, your date’s already here. I’ll take you to her.” She gave him a smile before turning towards the side of the den. This half of the restaurant was why Charlie loved it so much; their windows were charmed to show the dragon reservation on Romania where he worked. The views varied from darkness to dragon mating flights, but they were always memorable.

They weaved through a multitude of busy tables- the bar and pub was always popular on Friday nights- before finally stopping right before someone familiar. Very familiar.

After a crucial few awkward seconds, Harry finally managed to wrangle his mouth into submission. “Pansy Parkinson?”

“Oh, so he speaks,” said Pansy. “Yes, hello. Take a seat, you’re giving Ophelia hives.”

Their waitress, Ophelia, seemed fine to Harry, but he sat down anyway. Pansy had changed her hair; it was long now, coiled into a braid around her head, and she had very sharp eyeliner on. Her nails were painted with French tips. Harry could only describe his current emotion as confused and terrified.

“Here’s your menu,” said Ophelia[2], depositing it in Harry’s hands. “I’ll just be back in a few minutes for your order, shall I?”

“Bring us a bottle of the house red while you’re at it,” said Pansy. “Two glasses.”

“I don’t really drink wine,” Harry started, but Ophelia was already gone. He looked at Pansy, relatively lost for words.

“Oh, don’t start. I’d usually drink white but I thought red would put your Gryffindor mind at ease,” said Pansy. “To start, I’d like to formally apologize for attempting to turn you in to Voldemort. Not a good look, a bad decision, and I’m quite glad in retrospect that my suggestion was ignored. Do look at your menu, I’m still going to be here after you order.”

Since there didn’t seem to be much point, Harry scanned the menu and then closed it, placing it on the table.

“So, what are you getting?” said Pansy. She had unfolded her napkin onto her lap.

“I thought I’d get the Short-Snout Tenders and chips,” said Harry. He paused. Pansy had wrinkled her nose up impressively.

“Urgh, you come to somewhere with a Morgana ranked chef and you order the tenders?”

Given that he always ordered the tenders, Harry felt like this was uncalled for. “Well, I enjoy them!”

“Good riddance,” said Pansy. “I probably ought to tell you now, I’m not really here to date you. I just wanted to scope out your whole…” she gestured vaguely at him. “Situation.”

Relief. True, pure, relief. Harry sat back. “What situation?”

Ophelia appeared from behind him. “Here’s your wine, if you’d like to taste it. Were you ready to order, sir?”

“He’ll be having the Ironbelly chop with chips,” said Pansy. “Side salad on a separate plate. Bring our orders out at the same time, if possible.” She leaned back, tasting the wine. “The wine will do. Feel free to pour it.”

Harry, still feeling winded from this entire exchange, watched as Ophelia poured wine for both of them and then left. Pansy, taking another sip of wine, raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re paying for this, by the way.”

“Brilliant,” said Harry. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

“My mind is made up, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t a date.”

“You know, I thought this could actually be a nice night,” said Harry. “Is the attitude really necessary?”

“Just wait for the food,” said Pansy. “You’ll thank me.” She folded her hands in front of her, then looked him over. “You’re looking fine, I suppose, although you’re really leaning into the rumpled chic look. Bit last year.”

“Thanks?” Harry took a drink of his wine. It was, actually, quite nice. “Really, though, why are you here if you don’t plan to take this seriously?”

“I’ve been hearing things about you, Harry,” said Pansy. “You’ve been popping up some strange places. Forgive me if I’m a bit concerned about what you’re up to.”

“I’m not doing an interview!” Harry tried to stand up, but Pansy kicked him gently in the ankle.

“This isn’t an interview,” she said, and squinted over at him. “What are you up to, following Draco around?”

“I’m not following anyone around!” said Harry. This was true, but only because he hadn’t been able to find enough information on Malfoy to follow him. Sure, he’d stuck around extra long at Dudley’s last brunch just in case Malfoy showed up, but the arse had called out sick for some reason.

“Hmm, sure, and I wasn’t a Slytherin,” said Pansy. She took another drink of her wine, then moved it to the side as Ophelia approached with their food. Harry’s food seemed to be some sort of pork chop with a sauce, and Pansy’s was a soup that gave off occasional spurts of non-burning flame. “He’s been out of his mind about it.”

“If he doesn’t want to be followed, he shouldn’t be menacing my cousin!”

“Your cousin?” Pansy squinted at him. “Anyone menaced by Draco needs to get their brain checked. He’s very non-threatening. Bitchy, if anything.”

“Then why is he at culinary school?” Harry took a bite of his food. It was, unfortunately, magnificent. He took another bite. “He’s on parole.”

“It’s a muggle school, Potter, it’s not exactly a place of dark magic and evil,” said Pansy. She ate her soup daintily, now that the occasional flames had died down. “Merlin forbid he gets a hobby.”

“Well,” said Harry, who was feeling very disconcerted, “If he’s not done anything wrong then why am I making him anxious?”

“If you need it to be explained to you, then I’m not bothering,” said Pansy. She bent over her soup again; given the option of prodding her into conversation or eating his food, Harry took the route of the coward and went back to his chop.

It was a few minutes later, as the food remaining on his plate began to shrink, that he finally thought of more questions. “So why isn’t he going to a magical school, if he’s interested in learning to cook? Why is he hiding in the muggle world?”

“I suggest you ask him yourself,” said Pansy. “Or get a bloody hobby. He deserves better than to have you breathing over his shoulder every time he bothers to go out and have a good time.”

“If this is about the quidditch game-“

“You followed him to a quidditch game?”

“No, he was just there when I happened to be there.” Harry folded up his napkin, finished with the food. “Which, by the way, is also suspicious. What’s he doing with that cane?”

“He got injured in Azkaban,” said Pansy. “You know, that place that you yourself testified he didn’t belong.” She gave him a long look-over, then put her fork down on her plate; she was finished with her meal. “I’m saying this with all of the kindness in my heart, Potter. Get a life. And stop wearing ties, it doesn’t suit you. If you unbuttoned the top couple buttons you could get a real sort of tortured-hero rugged look going.” Then she stood up, sashaying out of the restaurant; Harry just watched her go, fork hovering partway up to his mouth.

That had gone… worse than he had expected. He dug out his coin, sending off a quick message to Hermione: pnsy? Really?

She didn’t respond. Typical. Harry, fed up with it all, shoved a couple of galleons onto the table and went home to go to bed early. He also, self-consciously, took his tie off.

Seamus Finnegan was arguing with an elderly woman again. Harry, safely on the sidelines in a neighbors kitchen, watched as she summoned a pot and began to attempt to hit Seamus over the head with it. The neighbor, a young muggle in her twenties, peered out of the window next to him. “Do you reckon she’s going to get him with it?”

“Doubtful,” said Harry. “He’s got decent reflexes.”

“Huh!”

The old lady was now hexing Seamus. Harry weighed the pros and cons of going to rescue him. Seamus almost seemed to enjoy arguing with people about how showy their magic was allowed to be; he cracked open the window to get the full effect.

“GET OUT OF MY BUSINESS, SONNY!”

“M’am, you’ve enchanted the corpse of your dead cat to run around the neighborhood! That’s a clear violation!”

“I’M IN MOURNING! SHOW SOME RESPECT!”

Seamus ducked a particularly strong bat-bogey hex. Harry brought his wand up just enough to send a slight calming charm towards the woman. It seemed to have no effect.

“I always thought there was something a bit funny about that cat,” said the girl, thoughtfully. “Would you like some tea, or are you going to go over?”

“I’m going to need to erase your memory once this is over,” said Harry, apologetically. “But, er, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, I’m quite forgetful anyway,” she said. “I’ve got some green tea, some peppermint, and some herbs from my roommate that are probably legal.”

“I’ll go for the green tea,” said Harry. He pulled out some papers. “Do you mind if I go over some paperwork while I wait for Seamus? This might take a while.”

From the window, they heard a yowl. Apparently, the re-animated cat was back. “Sure! I’ll just be reading,” said the muggle, who was quite cooperative. Honestly, other than the combative elderly woman, this case was rather easy. Only one person to obliviate. “Feel free to spread out on the kitchen table.”

Harry nodded, opening up the papers. It was Draco Malfoy’s parole agreement; he was most interested in permitted activities & the agreement he made with the Auror office to get released from Azkaban after two months.

No contact with Lucius Malfoy… Community service and education… Harry’s eyes stopped at one line. Handing over of illicit goods (see Appendix).

He flipped through to the appendix, taking a sip of the tea. It was… terrible. From the other window, there was a puff of smoke as Seamus poked his head out. “We’re all right here now, Harry! I’m ready when you are!”

Harry nodded, scanning the list of illicit goods. Some cursed objects… set of charmed house-elf heads… pixie dust (storage facilities & six containers)… spell-casting cane…

He paused, looking back at the list. Pixie dust. Pixie dust.

“Oh, you’re still here!” The muggle peeked back in. “Do you need anything?”

“I just found out who tried to kill me,” said Harry. “Did you have a preference on what I replace your memories with?”

“Just put in a reminder to do my laundry, if you don’t mind,” said the Muggle. “It’s all a bit Men-in-Black, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, raising his wand. His mind had devolved into static. “Obliviate.” The muggle’s eyes met his, pupils wide. She pushed hair behind her ear, then tilted her head to one side. “You heard your neighbor doing housework this morning. You took a nap, and then told yourself that you needed to do your laundry. You had a strange dream about a dead cat.”

“I had a strange dream about a dead cat,” she said. “And I took a nap…”

Harry put his wand away. “Thanks for letting me use your land-line. It’s so hard to get directions out here.”

“Oh, you tell me,” she said, face blank. “Oh, I really need to do laundry… good luck on your, erm, what was it?”

“I’ve got to go to my mum’s for dinner,” said Harry. “Wanted to let her know I’d be late. Thanks much.” He felt sick, lying to someone like this- someone who had only been kind to him. But it was his job.

Besides, he had to have other priorities right now. Draco Malfoy was, once again, attempting to murder him. And this time he almost had succeeded.

“Good luck! Enjoy your day!”

The muggle waved at Harry as he left; Seamus was standing on the front step, smoking again. “I ought to give her my number,” he said, staring over at her.

“Come on a date with me, I’ll only erase your memory if it goes badly,” said Harry, rolling his eyes at Seamus. “Let’s get back to the office.”

“Really? What’re you up to, then? This paperwork ought to be easy, we could have a break easily.”

“Someone’s trying to murder Ron.” Harry tucked his fake muggle police badge into his pocket. “I’ve got to stop them.”

“Always something with you,” said Seamus. He put out his cigarette on the side of the house and held out an arm. “Well, side-apparate us away, boy-who-lived. If Ron dies that’ll be terrible for our fantasy Quidditch league.”

“I’m not sure how much more I can tell you about Draco,” said Dudley. He was yawning, midway through a vigorous game of Wizarding Scrabble with Harry. The only real change between wizarding and muggle scrabble was the fact that the game was played mid-air, with cubes; it created an interesting challenge, since you needed to think in three dimensions. Harry added C-A-T; Dudley took the C and spelled out C-A-L-A-M-I-T-Y.

“Well, what’s he like? Does he talk about himself at all?” Harry frowned at Dudley’s play. “Also, how are you so good at this?”

“I’ve gotten a lot of reading in recently,” said Dudley. “Um, the house seems to like it when I read aloud.”

“Wait, really?” Harry added Y-I-E-L-D.

“Yeah, I have trouble with the bigger words sometimes, so I sound it out to myself… I’ve been going through all of the old magical cookbooks that are in the kitchen. The house doesn’t try to do anything to me on the days I read them out loud… and, well, I started expanding my repertoire, I guess.” Dudley added D-E-B-U-T-A-N-T-E.  “Dunno how to say half of these though.”

He grinned at Harry. “As for Draco… I dunno, he’s worried about his Mum a lot? And he’s got a couple of friends that show up at brunch sometimes.”

“What do they look like?” Harry added T-R-A-I-T-O-R.

“Erm, a tall black bloke who wears really expensive looking clothes, and this woman named Pansy?” Dudley looked off. “Erm, she’s got long black hair, she’s really pretty…” He added R-O-M-A-N-C-E.

Harry looked at his cubes grimly, then added them all to the bag, jumbling it up and pulling more out. All just consonants. Urgh. “The bloke is probably Blaise Zabini,” he said. “What does he say about his Mum?”

“Well, apparently she’s really into vintage cars, but she’s terrible at repairing them,” said Dudley. “Got into some sort of explosion with one the other day.”

Explosion. Vintage cars. Narcissa Malfoy. Harry nearly dropped the bag of pieces for Scrabble, saving it at the last second. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, Draco said she was trying to do something yesterday but it backfired terribly, and now he’s not sure if she’s feeling all right. He was wondering if I had any experience with cars.”

Merlin. Harry sat back, running a hand through his hair. Why was Narcissa Malfoy trying to kill him and Ron? “What did you say?”

“I used to work in my friend Bruce’s garage,” said Dudley. “Plus I did stuff with mechanical objects at Grunnings. I told him I’d come round if he wanted me to look at it.”

Shit. Shit! “You can’t-“

Harry paused. Couldn’t Dudley? “You know,” he said, “Erm, maybe I could come along,” he said. “I have experience with cars, I helped repair the bug… well, until its untimely death?”

“I wouldn’t want to just bring you along without warning,” said Dudley. He added M-A-L-I-N-G-E-R-I-N-G. “But I could ask, I suppose?”

“It’s just that it’s probably a bit magical,” said Harry. “And, erm, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Plus, Malfoy- I mean Draco- and I haven’t caught up in ages, so it might be nice to stop by.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him, then,” said Dudley. “Honestly, knowing he’s a wizard makes a bit more sense. I thought he was just absolutely off of his rocker. He’s always talking about Merlin, and elves, and things. And then he pauses like he regrets mentioning it.”

“Wait, really?”

Dudley nodded. Harry added M-A-L-E-V-O-L-E-N-T. The point counter on his side flipped up. “One time, he was talking about something with pixies and danger, and how it was making him go grey, but then he got really awkward about it and went back to his croissant.”

Harry clenched the scrabble piece in his hand, heart racing. He could picture Malfoy where he had stood at that brunch two weeks ago, hair slicked back and grey eyes shining like nothing was wrong. This was like sixth year all over again. No one ever believed him, but Malfoy was always up to something.

And why was he always in the muggle world, wearing nice clothes and walking about and- smiling, and things? It was so suspicious. Once again, Harry was the only one who saw the truth.

In front of him, Dudley placed P-I-N-I-N-G. With a ding, the space in front of them turned green, and the cubes fell down onto the floor in a jumble- Dudley had won. “Well, good game,” said Dudley. “I’ll let you know what he says, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. He felt the galleon in his pocket, where he was keeping it more and more these days- right next to his wand holster. He would be going to Malfoy’s house whether he was invited or not. The invisibility cloak was upstairs- where it had been sitting, collecting dust all this time.

“Brilliant,” said Dudley. “I’m off to read to the house. We’re almost through Bloodline Moste Malevolente.”

 Footnotes:

[1] It was tartan, and therefore was not very subtle. Harry felt it wasn’t his place to bring it up.

[2] Who was a true, true hero.

Chapter Text

Ingredients:

• Liver Pâté (homemade if you’re classy, storebought if you can’t be arsed)
• Pastry Puff dough (same as above)
• Fig (or dirigible plum) jam
• Fresh Thyme & Basil- about a handful of each, for garnish
• Made-ahead zuchinni and marscapone verrines
• Prosciutto
• Large wheel of brie
• Bottle of (nice) cognac or firewhiskey
• Container of large dried prunes

Instructions:

• Warm pâté enough for it to be frosting-texture. Add to pastry bag. While warming pâté, cut puff pastry into stars. Preheat oven.
• Pour cognac into pan and add prunes. Heat slowly, then add prunes and cinnamon stick. When it’s come to a bare simmer, cover until prunes are soft (around 10 minutes). If you’re magical, cast a subtle aging charm when your co-cook isn’t looking. Otherwise, wait at least 3 hours to consume.
• Cut prosciutto into inch-wide and three inch wide strips. Brown in pan until crisp, then let cool on paper towels. When cool, add to verrines as garnish with some fresh basil.
• Bake puff pastry stars until golden brown. When cool, cover with a light layer of jam and top with brie and fresh thyme.
• Inject cooled prunes with liver pâté, then add colored toothpick and arrange on trays. Serve.

The thing about being an Auror was that even if you were technically on leave, you’d get pulled in for emergencies. Harry woke up at 3AM to his badge vibrating furiously; the reserve team had been pulled in. Swearing slightly under his breath, he pulled on his robes and stumbled downstairs, scratching vigorously at his eyes to try and wake up.

The floo was sparking blue fire when he made it to the fireplace; Harry jumped in, knowing that the fireplace was already set for the ministry of magic. When he fell out, slightly uncoordinated, it was to a mass of black robes in front of him. There were stations- he hurried towards the emergency reserves station, seeing Ron- who had been on the night shift- in the midst of the first responders station. Aurors were heading out of the front doors and apparating in pods; as he watched, Ron headed out with his current partner, the two of them popping out of sight as soon as they cleared the wards.

Lavender Brown[1] nodded at him, pulling up the side of her robe to scratch at her scars. She looked exhausted. “You know what this is all about?”

“Not at all,” said Harry. He had some idea, though; Pixie dust. Large quantities. Coming in faster than ever before. Of course it hadn’t just been for the drug market and a one-off attempt on Rons life.

Ahead of him, Dawlish was sorting people into groups. “If you’ve got your first aid certification, head to the left please!” He called out, shooing them forwards. “We’re doing first-aid defensive pairs. Apparate in, get a civilian, apparate out. Everyone’s going into holding cells until we can identify the perpetrator.”

Lavender looked over at Harry, raising her eyebrows. “Well?”

“I don’t have mine currently,” said Harry. He’d let it expire in his miserable month of doing Statute of Secrecy. Lavender nodded.

“I’ve got mine.”

There wasn’t need for further conversation; they headed towards Dawlish; he handed them their rescue beacons. “It’s still volatile,” he said, brows drawn together. “Don’t go mucking about. We think there might be a second explosion planned.”

“Where?”

“West Diagon alley,” he said. “Grab what you can, then get out. Apparate into the Leaky Cauldron, we’re working on a temporary holding center there.”

Clipping his beacon onto his collar- it would go off if Harry stopped moving for too long, giving a location for further rescue teams- Harry turned towards the Ministry entrance, Lavender close on his heels. His mind was racing. West Diagon- Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

Lavender’s grip on his arm was firm, and she apparated them straight into the Leaky Cauldron. The storefront was full of magical residue, which felt like a cough in the back of your throat waiting to happen; Harry covered his face with a sleeve and headed out into the fray.

Aurors were crawling all over, pulling people out of upper housing units and searching in alleyways for any other residents. A pillar of smoke was coming from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. There was no time, though; Harry headed towards the Owl Emporium, which was turning a vague shade of red in the multi-colored haze coming from the joke shop.

Lavender ran ahead of him, seeing where he meant to go; they both put up shield charms as she kicked the door in[2]. A quick hominum revelio showed that no one was in the storefront. Harry felt massive relief, even as he quickly cast tracking spells on the owls before blasting a hole in the roof.

“We need to let them out! They’ll suffocate!” He shouted over at Lavender; she was doing something to the wards, presumably to keep the building standing a bit longer.

She nodded, shouting something at him he couldn’t hear over the whistle of wild magic. The explosion may have started as Pixie dust, but it must have interacted with the hundreds of micro-spells in the joke shop and expanded far beyond the original intent.

A couple of charms, and the cages all opened; the owls, recognizing the issue, made themselves scarce in a single mass of ruffling feathers. Harry turned tail and ran as soon as he was sure they were gone, checking in the next storefront down; thankfully, at this time of night there weren’t many people in Diagon.

He turned down Knockturn Alley, casting another revealing spell; there was someone in Borgin and Burkes.

He pushed aside the door, the bell ringing loudly. A head peeked up behind the counter; pale blond hair, grey eyes. Harry stopped dead in his tracks. “You!”

“Yes, me!” Draco seemed pale in the grey light, hair waving slightly in the draft. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I ought to be-“ Harry stopped himself. “Come on, we’re evacuating everyone.” He held out an arm. Draco got up, straightening his robes and unlocking the small door that opened up behind the counter.

“Where are you taking us?”

“The ministry,” said Harry. He desperately wanted to interrogate Malfoy, but there wasn’t time. Instead, he led him out of the storefront and beckoned over Lavender.

Consumately professional, she didn’t even hesitate at the sight of Malfoy. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just a bit sick from all of the magical giveoff,” said Malfoy. “Has anyone been hurt?”

“We’re not sure yet. Hold on tight, we’re apparating through the wards.”

In a group, they turned slightly into the ward; their powers combined were able to overwhelm the already sieged wards of Diagon Alley. They stepped out into the space just in front of the Ministry. Lavender made to apparate off again, but Harry pulled Draco into the lobby first, depositing him into the hands of one of the ministry secretaries. “We’re having everyone stay here for security purposes,” he said. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll sit still, Potter, go be a hero,” said Draco. It seemed to be false bravado; when Harry looked down, he could see pale, long fingers shaking. Strange.

“I’ll be back to ask questions later,” he said; then he turned away, apparating away with a pop as soon as Lavender’s fingers made contact with his arm.

The rest of the night passed in a blur; Malfoy’s eyes, wide with fear; Florian Fortescue, refusing to leave with Harry unless he answered questions to prove his identity; a second explosion, rattling the ground beneath Harry’s feet as he apparated out; Ollivanders, still empty, roof caving in.

When they were finally sure that the alley was clear, Harry finally sat down in the Leaky Cauldron, watching the unspeakables rush in to try and stop further explosions. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears; he put his head between his knees, trying to take even breaths.

His whole body felt like it had been put through a marathon; he was panting as if he couldn’t get enough breath. From just beside his ear, he could feel Lavender tapping at his shoulder.

“Harry? You all right?”

He nodded, just barely. Bile was up in the back of his throat. This all felt too familiar. He closed his eyes, trying to tune out the hustle and bustle of different Ministry workers moving the injured- all two of them- to the hospital, checking times and conditions of Aurors who were relieved from their duty for the time being.

“Harry. Harry, they’re telling us to go home.”

He nodded, head still between his knees. Lavender shook his shoulder. “I’m not leaving until I’m convinced you’re all right.”

After a steadying breath, Harry sat up. Another, and he could speak. “I’m- fine.”

“….sure.” Lavender gave him an assessing glance. “I was going to apparate home. I can drop you off, if you’d like. I know where you live from that Christmas party two years ago.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry started, but Lavender just shook her head and pulled him outside by the shoulder.

“If you have to deep breathe to speak, you’re going to splinch yourself,” she said. “Don’t throw up on my shoes.”

The squeezing feeling of Apparition hit Harry more suddenly than usual; he’d been apparating more than usual tonight, and it was finally catching up. True to Lavenders prediction- perhaps Trelawney hadn’t been a complete waste after all- he bent over, stumbling over to the bushes to throw up as soon as they came back into existence at Grimmauld place.

The sun was already up; when Harry turned to thank Lavender, she was gone. He forced his legs to work enough to take him up the stairs.

He wasn’t quiet enough this time, apparently; Walburga came to life as he pushed off his shoes, leaning heavily on the umbrella stand that Hermione had borrowed from her parents. “IN AND OUT AT ALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT! SHAMEFUL! IN MY DAY, YOU WOULDN’T BE FIT TO STAND ON MY DOORSTEP, YOU FILTHY-“

Harry leaned forward and yanked the curtain closed. Shouting muffled, he turned the corner towards the couch, and fell onto it face-first. Eyes finally closed, he breathed once, then twice; and fell into an unsettled, feverish sleep.

“….Unexpected disturbance in diagon alley last night… Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes up in smoke…. No fatalities as of yet, but it’s certainly concerning, Jordan. What would you say chances are of the storefronts nearby re-opening for the pre-school rush?”

“I’d say chances are low, very low indeed…. This year we may find that mail-ordered uniforms are all the rage, until some of the owners in Diagon are reassured that nothing like this will occur again… the Ministry has informed me that they’re confident that Diagon alley will be safe to enter after noon today, when the Unspeakables finish their work there. Still no word on the cause…”

Harry fell blearily into and out of sleep; a ringing filled the foyer. Another ring. Like-

His-

Doorbell?

He stumbled up, heading into the entranceway and pulling open the door. In front of it, dressed for the workplace and looking very proper, was Pansy Parkinson.

“Looking a bit rough, aren’t you?”

Harry blinked himself awake; above him, peering down, was Pansy Parkinson. “Wha-“ He scrambled up, reaching for his glasses only to realize they were already on his face. “What are you doing here?”

 “I’m here to check on Dudley,” said Pansy. “Hermione said she hasn’t heard from him in a bit and he didn’t show up to culinary school today, according to Draco.”

Harry shrugged, still feeling a bit behind on whatever was happening. “I… suppose?”

“Sorry to be a bother, but you’re clearly not in the shape to investigate anything,” she said. “Which room is he in?”

Harry gestured, helplessly, upstairs. Pansy’s kitten heels clicked on the hardwood as she headed up. A few minutes later, he heard a knocking on a door. A creak of a hinge; and then, shouted; “Potter, did you hex him or has he gone green naturally?”

 “What?” Every muscle in his body ached as Harry turned around, steadying himself on the couch before moving up the stairs himself. “He’s green?”

“I didn’t know muggles could get dragonpox,” said Pansy, who was peering in through the doorway. Dudley, from where he was in bed, groaned.

His skin was a pale green, spotted all over with bright red spots; his breathing was more of a wheeze. Pansy, after a moment, shrugged and stepped in. “Don’t worry, I’ve had it before, so you’re not going to infect me,” she told Dudley. Dudley just widened his eyes.

“What’s dragonpox?” Harry rarely felt completely out of his depth in the wizarding world anymore. Pansy seemed to have a talent for bringing him back into not understanding anything.

“It’s a disease, Potter,” she said. “Most purebloods get infected with it intentionally as children, you recover better that way. I bet it was hanging onto this house somehow- they absorb anything, it’s a problem with antiques.” She squinted at Dudley. “You remember who you are?”

Dudley nodded, slowly. His fingers twitched.

“Right, well, he should probably go to a ward or something,” said Pansy. She scratched at her chin. “I assume you can’t walk.”

Slow shake of the head from Dudley. Harry winced. “But if muggles can’t get it-“

“He’s your cousin, isn’t he?” Pansy looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard of this sort of thing happening. The whole muggle-wizard thing isn’t really a flat spectrum, some muggles have just enough magic that they can see things like dementors, get magical illnesses… sort of like a natural squib.”

“Brilliant.” Harry sighed. “I’m going to go contact Ron and Hermione.”

“Good luck,” said Pansy. She frowned. “We really ought to take him to St Mungos, I think. Usually it isn’t so bad that you’re stuck bedbound.”

Harry nodded, then turned tail towards his bedroom; pulling on a fresh pair of robes, he sent out a message with the galleon. He also checked the clock- it was already noon, on his day off. Brilliant.

“Right, so how do we do this,” he said, looking over the situation; Pansy pushed him back.

“I’ll have to do it, you’ve clearly not been inoculated.” She pulled her wand out. “Dudley, I’ll be levitating you. Shake your head if you disagree.” A beat of silence, then she flicked her wrist and Dudley slowly lifted off the ground. She kept him hovering, moving him in front of her; she turned to Harry, shooing him back. “Don’t get within breathing range. If you catch it, I bet the prophet would manage to frame me for your murder.”

“He’s to stay in here another week,” said the nurse, looking between them. “I mean it. It can be very dangerous when muggles catch dragonpox; it depletes your magical core, and given they don’t have much of one at all…”

Hermione was nodding, taking notes. Ron mostly just was wincing, presumably because Dudley couldn’t[3]. Harry, standing between them, mostly felt like this wasn’t real. Why did everything have to keep happening?

As the nurse turned and left, he took advantage of the chair next to Dudley’s bedside and sat down, rubbing a hand across his face. Dudley, blinking awake, frowned at him.

“’Re you all right?”

“I was out all night, explosion,” said Harry. “Erm, more important, how are you?”

“Feel like shit,” said Dudley. He was speaking slowly, words slightly slurred; apparently healing charms worked a bit like pain relievers on muggles. “Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not!” Hermione leaned in, fluffing his pillow. “You’re to stay in here another week, though, for them to supervise you. These diseases can be a bit harder on you if you’re not a wizard, just one of those things. You’re in great hands.”

“A week?”

At Dudley’s cry, his roommate, an elderly wizard- also a dragonpox sufferer- grunted in irritation, flapping a newspaper at them. Dudley quietened guiltily. “I mean- a week?” He whispered, looking between them.

Ron nodded, sympathetically. “Sorry, mate. You’re in here for a good bit.”

“We’ve got an exhibition this week,” said Dudley. “If I don’t assemble my plate I’m toast. It’s very important.”

“You can’t be cooking anything right now!” Hermione waved her hands empathetically. “You could infect anyone who ate your food!”

Dudley groaned. “It’s already cooked, it’s just got to be put together… Draco can do it, but if I leave him alone I’ll just be a shit partner…”

“If you just need someone to sub in for you, I bet we could help,” said Ron. “I mean, I can do some grunt work in the kitchen. My mum wouldn’t have let me live otherwise.”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, we’re here to help! And maybe your instructor would accept a sick note.”

“A sick note would violate the statute of secrecy,” said Harry, almost automatically. “Section seven, part three. Unnecessary disclosure of magical illnesses and/or ailments not limited to but including lycanthropy, wasting disease, and owl-based injuries.”

There was a silence after that. Dudley groaned again in anguish. “Urgh, he’s going to be pissed! I ought to at least write him a note of apology… god, I can’t believe I’m ditching him like this…”

Harry picked at his trousers, turning the problem over in his head- and then it hit him. Draco Malfoy needed help putting together bits of food on a plate. They were already made, so- “I can do it.”

“What?”

“I’m your cousin, that’s close enough they’d go for it, right?” said Harry. “I can disguise myself to look like you if you think I ought to. But I think if you just need someone to put together the plates, I can just go in and do it for you. Help Ma-Draco out.”

“You’d really do that?” Dudley pushed himself up onto his elbows; the color drained out of his face and he let himself fall back to the bed. “I could have him ask if it’s permitted.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Harry. “Just let me know.”

When the door to the ward closed behind them, Ron and Hermione turned to Harry as one; Harry, sighing, waved for them to speak. Hermione went first. “Harry, what was that? You hate to cook!”

Ron, giving him a warning look, just said, “This had better not be more of your crush on Draco Malfoy.”

“It’s not a crush! I think he’s been trying to kill you, and he was probably behind that explosion in Diagon!” Harry scrubbed at his face, angrily. “We’re lucky that George and Angelina weren’t hurt, but I don’t see why the rest of the Aurors are just sitting around. Someone’s got to do something.”

“And your something is… making canapés with Draco Malfoy?” Hermione frowned. “Harry, you can be brilliant, but I really don’t think he’s got anything to do with this. He’s got no reason to.”

“Look,” said Ron, “if you get proof that Malfoy is trying to kill us, then I’m behind you all the way. But I just don’t think you’re helping yourself by getting all worked up about him again.”

“Well,” said Harry, “Yeah, okay, maybe I’ve been a little too enthusiastic in the past. But I promise- this time, I’ll be completely calm, okay? I’ll at least be helping Dudley.”

“Just don’t say we didn’t warn you,” said Ron. He clapped Harry on the back. “Now, who wants to go get Chinese? I bet we could get away with smuggling some dumplings to Dudley.”

When Harry arrived at the Culinary school, it was with great anticipation. He was early; while Dudley claimed that Malfoy had been subtle about having magic, Harry highly doubted it. He sipped at his thermos, staring through the steam. Would Malfoy be apparating into the alley? Perhaps he was even taking a broom…

The ringing of a bike bell broke his train of thought. Harry turned around, scooting out of the way- and looked right into Draco Malfoy’s eyes. He was on a silver city bike that looked a bit worse for wear, and his clothes were damp from the rain. His eyes were narrowed. “You know, I’m not quite sure I believed you and Dudley were related until now,” said Malfoy.

“What?”

“Did you know,” said Malfoy, getting off his bike and pulling a key out of his pocket, “That he does this thing when he’s surprised, where he opens his eyes up real wide and blinks a bit before freezing?”

He used the key to lock a steel bike lock that was looped around the crossbar of his bicycle, anchoring his bike to the parking meter as the brake rested on the sidewalk. Harry, thrown entirely off guard by this whole enterprise, took a drink of his coffee while he tried to work through what was happening. Why were Slytherins so quick on the offense?

Malfoy, yawning, turned back towards Harry. “I’m glad you’re here early, at least. This project is very important for our final grade.”

“Yeah, it’s… not a problem.” Harry followed him into the culinary school, where it turned out that Malfoy had a key to the side door. His hair was curled a little at the back of his neck from the humidity of the light sprinkling rain that had been going on and off all day. “I thought your family estate was in Wiltshire?”

“There’s an apparition point about twenty minutes away,” said Draco. He pushed open the door with his cane, gesturing for Harry to go inside first. “For those of us who don’t work for the Ministry and don’t fancy the drive into the city.”

“Oh.” Harry stepped inside, brushing off his jacket before hanging it on a hook. Malfoy opened a door next to the coat-rack, revealing stacks of chef’s jackets and aprons. He leaned over, rifling through them.

“You’ve bulked up a bit, we’ll see if medium fits you,” he said. He stood back up, then tossed Harry a jacket; when Harry caught it, he sighed. “I was hoping the quidditch reflexes would have worn off.”

“Why?” Harry pulled the jacket on; it was a bit long in the arms, but it fit him all right. He folded up the cuffs. “I’m an Auror, we need reflexes.”

“It would make me feel better if we’d gone downhill equally,” said Malfoy. “Although Pansy did tell me you’d muscled up, so I ought to have reduced my expectations anyway.”

“You knew what I looked like anyway,” said Harry. “Remember? Last night?”

“Usually when someone asks me about last night it’s not referring to a bombing.” Malfoy headed over to one of the massive industrial freezers, pulling it open with a hiss as the cold air escaped. Harry, unsure of what to do, followed him over. “But yes. I recall.” He pulled out a rolling island, with multiple racks of trays covered in foil on it. In a neat cursive, someone had written DLM & DD on the top few. He started pulling them out, handing two to Harry. “Thank you, by the way. I’m not quite ready to die. Don’t stack those, they’re very delicate, hold them apart from each other.”

“I thought you’d be more-“ Harry paused. Defensive was probably not a good word to use here. “Ruffled about it.” He sheepishly held the trays apart. “Where am I taking these?”

“Station two.” When Harry didn’t move, Draco sighed and pointed; it was the station next to the door. “Put them in rows there.”

Nodding, Harry made haste to put the trays down. They were cold from the fridge, and starting to hurt his hands. Following him over, Draco put his trays down and then spent several seconds making sure that the edges of all the trays were aligned as he removed the foil. Suddenly the excessive neatness of the plating from brunch- not a trait Harry associated with Dudley- made more sense.

“For your information,” said Draco, eyes still on the foil, “I would classify myself as very ruffled. Some of us flirt defensively.” He folded the foil into a square before putting it into the trash bin next to the station. “How would you classify your cooking skills?” He moved over, washing his hands in the sink; Harry followed suit.

“I used to cook for my aunt and uncle as a kid,” said Harry. “And I make stew sometimes.” He unfolded another piece of the foil, revealing a multitude of small glasses filled with some sort of assortment of chopped vegetables and topped with some sort of cream.

“Right, so we’ll have you put on the jam,” said Draco. “First off we need to bake a bunch of these pastry squares. It’s delicate work, so I’ll manage that; can you defrost the liver pâté?”

Harry frowned. “We’re- putting chicken liver pâté on puff pastry? With Jam?”

“No, we’re stuffing it into cognac poached prunes,” said Draco. “Don’t even think about trying to poach those, either, I saw the horror-show that you were in potions. You can just be on assembly.”

“Right.” Harry looked at the tray he had been assigned, which had a layer of pale pink meat- it had to be the pâté- spread smooth. Malfoy had placed a large block of cheese on the counter, one that had a pale white rind, and was approaching a slab of puff pastry dough with a large rolling pin. “Erm, how do you want me to defrost it?”

“Light heating charm should work.” Malfoy slammed his rolling pin onto the puff pastry, flattening it slightly before he bent over the table, shoulder muscles working as he rolled it out, rotating it slightly each time and flouring the rolling pin generously. He looked up at Harry as he rotated it another time, raising his eyebrows. “No muggles here, Potter.”

“Isn’t that- cheating?”

“It’s only cheating if it makes the food better,” said Malfoy. “Besides, they have microwaves, it’s the same thing but you don’t have to walk over and take it out of the tray.” He leaned in, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. “If you put metal in the microwave, it explodes.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “That is how microwaves work.” He did, however, take his wand out of his back pocket and cast a surreptitious warming charm. “What were you doing in Borgin and Burkes?”

“Is that meant to be a clever transition?” Malfoy pulled a star-shaped cutter out of one of the multitude of drawers at the station; Harry noticed they were all labelled with the same neat hand as the tray foil. “I work there, that’s why I was behind the register.”

“At three in the morning?”

“We have a multitude of nocturnal customers,” said Malfoy, “Including but not limited to vampires, hags, and any distant relative of mine.” He gestured at himself. “We burn, you know. Skincare is a delicate business.”

Harry glanced down at his own pale brown skin. The point was taken. “Why are you working? I thought your lot didn’t do that sort of thing.”

“Remarkably, Lord Voldemort was not a cheap houseguest,” said Malfoy. “Also, reparations were extensive.” He paused. “I heard Pansy met you to apologize.”

“Is that what she called it?” Harry looked at the liver. “What do I do with it now?”

“Is it soft enough to put in a pastry bag?” When Harry didn’t respond, Malfoy leaned over and poked it- seemingly satisfied, he went to wash his hands again. “Right. Pastry bags are the second drawer down from the right. Spoon it into the wider end after inserting a number two tip. We’ll need to inject the prunes with it, so we need to keep it soft until then.”

Harry nodded, all thoughts of interrogation briefly interrupted by the task in front of him. Surprisingly, this was actually quite relaxing; where work just made him tense, this was something consistent and calming.

Once he was done cutting out the small sections of puff pastry, he began laying them out onto a baking tray, then headed over to one of the ovens. Harry watched him go; his stride wasn’t as smooth as it had been in school, a slight limp barely evident. Maybe Pansy had been telling the truth. Malfoy keyed something in, as a light turned on in the oven. He returned, dusting his hands off. “Now, for the cognac… Potter, I’ll need you to start cutting prosciutto to size.”

Other students had started trickling in; Malfoy nodded to a couple, then leaned in to mutter to Harry as another pair came in. “Those two didn’t finish their preparations for today- I’ll be surprised if they finish anything on time.”

“Why are they here if they’re not putting the work in?” Harry took the cutting board Malfoy gave him, looking at the meat. “How big do you want these?”

“Er, around as long as your finger, about as wide as a snitch- I mean, as big as a meatball,” said Malfoy. He winced. “Morning, Rose!”

Rose waved at him. “Already off your nut, Draco?”

“I prefer to get other people’s nut off,” said Malfoy. Harry snorted without meaning to, then felt his ears go red. “It’s all right, you can admit I’m funny,” said Malfoy. “House competition isn’t relevant anymore and I always appreciate an ego boost. Try and make those cuts even.”

“Didn’t think dirty jokes were your type of scene,” said Harry. Focusing on the prosciutto, he forgot to monitor his speech- “Pansy said you were terrified of me.”

“Of course she did, she’s protective.” Draco glanced over at him, hands seeming to move on their own as he poured the Cognac into a pan and swirled it around over a low flame, then started to open a package of prunes. “I do hope you didn’t actually have a crush on her.”

“God no,” said Harry. He hesitated. “Not that she isn’t great,” a lie, “of course, but, erm,”

“I think she wants to ride your cousin,” said Draco, “So it’s best you don’t get your hopes up.”

Harry cut one of his pieces in half in shock. “She- what?”

“I certainly didn’t send her on a welfare check,” said Draco. “I thought you two were just up to cousinly things, like going to a quidditch game together or purchasing a pub.” He shrugged. “She can’t cook, I think she sees the benefit of dating a chef.”

“Dudley wouldn’t skive off school just to do something with me,” said Harry. “We don’t even really know each other.” Stop sharing so much. “Actually, Ron ran him over with a car, we invited him to live with us because of guilt mostly.” Harry what are you doing. He shoved the voice in his head under the covers a bit more, hoping that he could stifle it via sheer will.

Malfoy stopped swirling the pan and physically turned towards him. He had the widest grin Harry had ever seen him with. “No.”

“I’m not a liar!”

“I ought to go walking in roadways more often,” said Malfoy. He laughed. “Merlin, to be a fly on that wall…” He started taking out prunes with a slotted spoon, still chortling, laying them out in neat rows.

Harry laid out another strip of prosciutto; Malfoy crossed the kitchen, putting the puff pastry onto the top rack of the oven. When he came back, he was still grinning. “I should have known Ron was a danger on the roadway- didn’t he crash into the Whomping Willow second year?”

Harry felt a rush of anger- the thing that had been missing thus far. It felt a little reassuring, actually. Malfoy was still a berk. “He’s not that bad of a driver!” He squinted over. “Besides, I reckon someone’s been trying to sabotage him. What’s the latest information on pixie dust, Malfoy?”

Malfoy paused, looking up from where he was injecting the chicken liver into the sauted prunes. “What, the party drug? Not really my scene.” He seemed unruffled. “If you’re trying to buy some, I’m afraid I’ll also have to reject you, Borgin & Burkes stopped selling it when it was banned in ’85.”

“Don’t try and talk your way out of this.” Harry pointed at Malfoy with his knife; Malfoy moved it to the side with a fingertip. “I know you’ve been behind the explosions. Bit thick to tell Dudley all about it!”

“Brown the prosciutto in this pan, please,” said Malfoy, tone flat. He had frozen in motion at the mention of explosions. “Just to be clear, you’re accusing me of domestic terrorism?”

Harry blinked. All around them, motion had stopped. “Well, I don’t-“

“Whatever you have to say, Potter, I suggest you say it after this exhibition,” said Malfoy. He squinted over. “I should have known you wouldn’t just come round to be a nice person and help.”

“I’m not the one that was in an-“

“Muggles, Potter.” Malfoy pointed to the pan. Harry, thrown off guard, started putting the prosciutto in. “You’re in statute of secrecy. Please do not make me- cause my coworkers to think about other issues at this time.”

Harry’s pulse was pounding in his ears- but the thought of having to summon Seamus Finnegan because he lost his temper at Draco Malfoy was about the last thing he wanted to happen right now. “We’re going to speak directly afterwards,” he said. “Don’t think you can run from me this time.”

“Yes, yes,” said Malfoy. “We can take the leftovers to Dudley and you can accuse me in the hospital tuck shop. Don’t let that burn, it’s an ornament to the courgette-tomato verrines.”

“Why are you even doing this,” said Harry. “I thought you were so- against getting your hands dirty. Especially in situations like, erm, this location.”

“Must we all be defined at age sixteen?” Draco glanced over at Harry, then went to go take out the puff pastries. The prunes had all been arranged on a plate with small toothpicks in them; another two serving dishes had been set out. When he came back, he was holding a plate of perfectly golden brown puff pastry stars. “Put some of the fig jam on here, and then the jam and a bit of fresh thyme.” He indicated a small potted plant on the counter; Harry nodded, wanting to say something but not sure what.

“I suppose I ought to go Pansy’s route and apologize,” said Malfoy, “But given that I’m currently accused of something I didn’t do, I’d rather not say anything that could be misconstrued in court.” He looked over at Harry. “I seem to recall my hearing, though. Something about familial pressure. From- oh, I suppose I’ve forgotten who spoke in my favor. Silly me.”

He put the tray of puff pastry onto the heat mats with a bit more emphasis than strictly necessary. Harry looked back down, where he was draining the fat from his prosciutto. Malfoy nodded towards the small glasses. “Add a slice to each, standing upwards, and then put them on the other tray.”

Professional. How could Malfoy be so bloody professional? Harry snuck glances over at him as he assembled the fiddly little glasses. A lock of hair had fallen loose across his forehead, and Malfoy’s long fingers moved dexterously as he moved the puff pastry to a cooling rack. He was so pale, Harry could see blue veins under the surface of his skin. “Don’t get much sun, do you?”

Regret- instant, pure regret. Malfoy looked up at him. “I work the night shift, as we’ve just covered, Potter. Forgive me if I don’t have tanned glowing skin.”  Behind him, people had started to go back to work, slowly. Harry winced.

“Sorry for-“

“Accusing me of terrorism in front of my fellow students?” Malfoy took another small potted plant and began pulling leaves off, washing them in the sink before patting them dry and chopping them up. Harry was moderately sure it was basil. “Don’t worry, they’re already aware of my status as a recovered criminal. My parole welfare checks apparently are only possible right in the middle of class on the first of each month.”

Huh. Harry frowned, moving up to rub his face in frustration- Malfoy grabbed his wrist as it was on the way up. His hands were surprisingly warm. “Don’t touch your face, Potter, you’ll contaminate the food.”

“…Right.”

There was a pause. Harry finished putting the glasses on the tray, then turned back to Malfoy; Malfoy sighed. “Start spreading fig jam on these. I’ll add the brie and basil.” He handed Harry the cooling rack of puff pastry and the jar of jam- it was unlabeled. Handmade?

“Did you make this?”

“Yes, obviously.” Malfoy nodded over at another station. “They’re using store-bought. Not much of a way to become a pastry chef, is it.”

“Is that what you want to do? Be a pastry chef?”

“I think I would answer that if you hadn’t just accused me of a crime,” said Malfoy. “Don’t be too generous with that jam. We want a balance of sweet and salty.”

Rebuke accepted, Harry bent his head to do his work, trying to keep calm as he did. Why had he even come here? This was so useless. He was an Auror, and he couldn’t even do this one thing, this simple interrogation. Even if it was off the books-

He realized he was done when he reached over for a puff pastry and saw that they were all gone. Malfoy peered over at him. “You can really get things done,” he said, affecting a voice of false wonder. “I’ll take these out to our teacher. He should be arriving in a few minutes. Unless you think I’m going to do a runner from the lobby?”

“You ought to be fine,” said Harry. He watched Malfoy walk out, balancing the three trays, and grabbed for his galleon. As he was about to send a message, though- Malfoy’s response just made him more convinced he was guilty, and they needed to have an auror team at the ready when they arrived at St. Mungos- Harry’s eyes caught on a small plate set aside. It had three lumps covered in foil, and there was a note written on it in pen; don’t serve- take-away.

Right. Harry pulled his hand out of his pocket guiltily.

Arresting Malfoy could wait until after they visited Dudley.

“Really? Thanks!” Dudley grinned, pulling the foil off. “Draco, I can’t believe you made it into stars- thought you said it was juvenile!”

“Well, I had to replicate the experience of working with a five year old in the kitchen,” said Draco. “Your cousin could move things from place to place, but he doesn’t have your je ne seis quoi.”

“Keep sweet-talking me and I’ll accept your job offer,” said Dudley, grinning. “You ended up going with the cognac prunes, then?” He sniffed at it. “Never really liked liver, honestly.”

“Pâté is a classic of French cooking.” Draco was perched in the visitor’s chair next to Dudley, and had all the airs of a professor. Dudley was eating the prune anyway, seemingly unbothered. Harry, from where he was stood in the doorway, felt he was watching a vastly different side of each of them. It was discomforting. “It’s not my fault you’ve no class.”

“Hey, screwdrivers are very classy,” said Dudley. He laughed. “Actually, my mum tried to visit me…”

“Really!” Malfoy sat up. “You didn’t speak to her, did you?”

“Well, erm, she’s not got magic either, so the hospital didn’t let her in…” Dudley shrugged. “She called me duddy-kins. And Hermione says she left me a package.”

“At least you know she didn’t poison it,” said Malfoy. “A benefit of being a muggle.”

“We definitely have poisons.” Dudley frowned. “Why- why do you think muggles don’t have poisons?”

Malfoy raised both eyebrows. “If you’ve got poisons, why haven’t we been taught how to make them?” He was texting someone on his mobile, which was surprising in two different ways; Harry knew for a fact that Dudley’s didn’t work in the hospital, and the concept of Malfoy using a muggle mobile was difficult to swallow.

“You and I,” said Dudley, “Have vastly different concepts of what the job of a chef is. Also, poisoning people is illegal.” He was propped up on his elbows, the last canape forgotten. The piece of basil seemed to wilt a little bit.

“Yeah, but we were still taught to make poisons in school,” said Draco. “It’s helpful- for recognizing them, and such.”

Dudley looked over at Harry. “Wait, really?”

Harry nodded. “It wasn’t a focus, or anything, but.. yeah. It was in potions, erm, sort of like chemistry for you.”

“Wizards,” Dudley said, “Are absolutely bonkers. I thought most of the bits in Bloodlines Moste Malevolente were fiction! Do you lot actually just go round cursing each other?” He ate the puff pastry indignantly.

“Well,” said Malfoy, with a pretentious air, “I reckon most of it is due to the inbreeding. You wouldn’t understand.”

The laugh burst out of Harry before he thought about it; Dudley chortled as well, shaking his head. “Blimey. No wonder you’re off your rocker.” He turned, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “Wait, does that mean you’re inbred?”

Harry blinked for a second. “Erm… we’re related.”

“No, but on your other side-“

“Yeah, he is a bit,” said Malfoy. “Although some of the purebloods in his family line are a bit suspect, sort of suspected to be adopted muggleborns, you know how it is. Classic line forgery. It’s why the Potters were in disgrace- new money, all sorts of strange ideas.” He put away his mobile, standing up. “Potter- you were going to buy me a tea.”

“You call each other by your last names?” Dudley had lay down again; he was seeming to wane in energy again. Harry felt a rush of sympathy.

“Leftover from our homoerotic rivalry in secondary,” said Malfoy, at the same time Harry said, “Not really, no,” and then a moment later- “Homoerotic?”

“I made 600 galleons by betting against myself through Pansy in the couples prediction pool fifth year,” said Malfoy. “Also, don’t lie to poor Dudley, it’s bad enough he’s forced to be related to you.”

“Let’s just leave,” said Harry. “I- don’t believe that.”

“My genius is unappreciated in my time,” said Malfoy. “Lead the way, Harry.”

“So,” said Malfoy- Draco- as they sat down, hands curled around his tea, “You wanted to accuse me of domestic terrorism?”

“Let me at least cast muffliato first,” said Harry; he flicked his wand, and the sound around them quieted as the silencing charm went up. “And, erm, accusing is a bit of a strong word.”

“What, should I insult Weasley a bit first to get your blood up before you’ve got the balls to say it? I’ve always thought his legs were a bit too long for the rest of his body, and his sister’s only really a second-tier chaser…” Draco’s tone was light, but his facial expression was dead serious.

Harry groaned. “Could you be serious for a second? I know your family had stores of pixie dust in the basement, and you don’t have alibis for both of the pixie dust based bombings.”

Draco frowned. “Last I checked, we don’t have those stores anymore. They were confiscated. You know, by the ministry? That you work for? Also, since when have I shown any inclination to be a bloody bomber?”

After a second, he added, “And what’s this about two bombs? There was just the one explosion!”

“You tried to kill Ron last week, don’t even pretend!” Harry waved his hands in the air, irritated beyond belief. “First Ron, now George… are you just working your way up? Ginny was too hard to target?”

“I find Ron irritating, but not enough to kill him! I’ve not seen him in years!” Malfoy squinted at Harry. “Please tell me you’ve got some reason you’re blaming me, other than me being in class with your cousin! I have had a long and tiring day and I refuse to go to court for something I didn’t do!”

“I- you were talking to Dudley about pixies! You were also talking about antique cars, which is where Ron was bombed! You had your mother plant pixie dust so that Ron would die when he took his test!”

“Why would I- my mother actually just likes antique cars! I can show them to you now! And the pixies I was talking about were the Cornish Pixies- you know, the quidditch team? That I support?” Draco shoved his tea aside. “Listen, Potter, I’m trying to get my life in order. The last thing I want to do is go around stirring up trouble! My mother is confined to our estate due to the requirements of her parole, she’s hardly gallivanting around the countryside, committing crimes for me!”

This last point was loud enough that a St. Mungos employee shot them a frown, then took her tray and moved a table over. Draco pointed at Harry, incensed. “I get that you’re having a bloody quarter life crisis because you’re a bad Auror, but I would REALLY prefer it if you didn’t have it all over me! I’d suggest at least finding the correct enemy! The war is over, Potter!”

“That’s easy for you to say! You walked away with no consequences!”

“No consequences! Have you forgotten the long-lasting trauma of the aftermath of the war, Potter? Half my friends are dead, and the other half are in Azkaban! My mother’s on house arrest, and my father isn’t permitted visitors, so he’s going to die alone in his cell! You’re the one who’s been bloody glorified, and you’re still arguing with me in St. Mungos instead of being heroic once more as the face of the Auror force or some nonsense!”

“My parents are dead, in case you’ve not noticed!”

“Oh, are you going to accuse me of that too?” Malfoy stood up. “I’m leaving unless you’ve got some actual reason to accuse me. I’m not going to be a bloody casualty of your oversight.”

“I-“

Harry paused, then took a breath. Shit.  He hadn’t meant to start a fight- he was being unprofessional, and if Malfoy was telling the truth… he was also wrong. “I’m- sorry, Malfoy.”

Malfoy, very slowly, sat down. “Yeah?”

“I- maybe you weren’t behind the bombings,” said Harry, slowly. “Although I still want to see evidence of what you’ve said.”

“What, you want a pennant? The pixies have been on a losing streak, and it’s bothersome.” Malfoy looked over at him, squinting. “I wasn’t lying about you being a shit Auror, Harry, if you actually think I’m guilty you really shouldn’t just take my word for this.”

“This isn’t exactly an official investigation,” said Harry. He tried to stop there, but something about this conversation made him want to expose more of himself, like a sort of weird emotional vomit. “I’m- actually on leave from the Aurors. I’m in statute of secrecy.”

“….huh,” said Draco. “My condolences.”

They sat there, the atmosphere of the conversation awkward and miserable. After a second, Draco sighed again. “Right, well, if you want to check your bases, you can come round and try to look at my Mum’s car- unless you actually don’t have the ability to fix cars, and just lied about it to- I don’t know, gaze over at me and feel suspicious?”

“No, I can fix cars,” said Harry. “Spent most of last summer forcing Ron’s VW to work.”

“Right, then,” said Draco, fingers tapping the handle of his mug thoughtfully, “I don’t know if Dudley will be better by then, but you’re invited over.” He looked appraisingly at Harry; their eyes met. Harry tried not to fidget. “Just don’t say anything rude to my mother, all right? She’s been having a rough time of it. And she’s under the impression you’re a nice young man.”

“…yeah, of course.”

“Not the most reassuring, but I’ll take it,” said Draco. He held out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Harry held out his hand as well; their fingers met, and Draco’s grip was firm as they shook. As they let go, Draco’s chest pocket buzzed. He pulled out his mobile, checking something- and stood up. “This isn’t to make a point, I’m just a busy man,” he said. “Duty calls. I’ll see you on Saturday at ten.”

Harry watched him go, limping slightly- and the thought struck him. Draco had forgotten his cane at Dudley’s bedside. Ah, fuck.

Footnotes:

[1] Who usually worked in the Magical Creature Intervention unit.

[2] Had this not been an emergency, Harry would have been surprised; as it was, he was just glad she was capable of it.

[3] He wasn’t completely incapacitated, just asleep.

Chapter Text

Draco’s Crepes

Ingredients:

• Strawberry Jam (homemade if you’re not an animal)
• 1 carton fresh Strawberries
• Basil- off of the stem, chopped lightly.
• Mascarpone, Edam Cheese
• 6 Eggs (fresh laid if possible, purchased if you have to)
• 3/4 cups milk
• ½ cup water
• 1 cup flour
• Several tablespoons butter (or lard)

Instructions:

• Use immersion blender or mixing charm to combine milk, water, flour, and two eggs. Keep in refrigerator ( muggles greatest invention) for several hours.
• Heat small pan with butter, then add thin layer of crepe batter, and flip once lightly browned on bottom.
• Chop strawberries, and for sweet crepes, add strawberries, marscarpone, and basil, topping with a final drizzle of strawberry jam.
• Fry two eggs in separate pan, then add cheese to melt and add to crepe for savoury version.

Borgin and Burkes, unlike many of the shops in the Diagon Alley area, was still open. When Harry pushed open the door that night, however, it wasn’t to Draco Malfoy behind the counter. Instead, a woman in a long robe that shimmered in the low light was speaking enthusiastically to an old man working the register- likely Borgin himself, if Harry remembered correctly. They both stopped speaking when the bell attached to the door rang, Harry wandering in. He raised an awkward hand in greeting.

The woman turned around- and beamed. “Harry!” Luna Lovegood, whose hair had been put up in a complicated braid-like crown, and was filled with a multitude of trinkets, hustled forward to hug Harry.  Her robes, which were still sparkling in a vaguely confusing way, were also giving off waves of cold. Over her shoulder, Borgin was staring at Harry suspiciously.

“Oh, hullo, Luna…” said Harry. He wrapped his arms back around her and gave her a couple of pats on the back before extracting himself. “I didn’t know you were a regular here.”

“We’ve just been looking at antique warding charms for trees!” Luna smiled over at Borgin. “My fathers Dirigible Plum tree has been getting sick lately, I think it’s something to do with leftover negative energy from the war… I thought a nice charm might make it feel a bit better, and antiques are always a priority.”

“We have many things here,” said Borgin, “Although many customers do not appreciate the variety of products we offer.” He looked Harry over. “It’s unusual for you to be here, Harry Potter. I hope there has not been another disturbance?”

“No, this isn’t ministry related,” said Harry. “Erm, Draco Malfoy left his cane behind when he visited my cousin, I was hoping to return it to him…”

There was a pause as Borgin raised his eyebrows, ever so slowly. “Were you?”

“So if you know when he’ll be back, I could just come round then..?” Harry had the distinct feeling that Borgin was still mad at him for sneaking round in sixth year, even if he hadn’t known at the time.

“I don’t expect Mr. Malfoy to come in so quickly after an incident has occurred in our area,” said Mr. Borgin. “You may leave the cane here. I will deliver it to him.” He turned to Luna. “I shall have the charms delivered to you after they have been checked for quality assurance.”

“That would be brilliant!” Luna leaned forward and hugged him, too. Borgin looked a bit taken aback, not moving at all but not wiggling out of it either.

Harry put the cane carefully on the counter, rubbing at his arm. “Well, I’ll …. Just be going then?”

“We should go to Fortescue’s!” Luna linked her arm with Harry’s, bowing to Borgin as they exited the shop. Borgin noticeably did not say goodbye, although he did nod to Luna. “I love having ice cream for dinner, it’s such a lovely way to cheer up an evening.”

“Is he back open?”

“He should be,” said Luna. “We were just cleaning up his shop this morning. The unspeakables said that the alley is clear, although I think the real danger is the fear because of the incident. Wrackspurts like to collect in groups…”

Harry just went along with it, nodding; without much further ado he found himself pulled into the ice cream shop, which was completely empty other than them. They didn’t even need to order-  by the time they’d found a seat by the window, Florian Fortescue had delivered two heaping bowls of ice cream to them.

“On the house,” he said to Luna. “You’re a miracle worker, Clarence has never been so calm…” He nodded to Harry, too. “Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

“It was my absolute pleasure,” said Luna. “He just needed a chance to come out of his shell, really!” She took a bite, beaming at Harry. “His kneazle,” she said, as he left. Her ice cream was iridescent; Harry thought he recognized the flavor cream soda. “They’re all quite put out, you know, since the ancient Egyptians used to worship them. Gave them big heads.”

“Is that so?” Harry had been given chocolate. He took a bite, enjoying it; while it was dark outside, the night was warm for once. There was a bit of humidity in the air, though; a rainstorm was just on the horizon.

“Yes, it’s so easy to forget, but species memories are so significant,” said Luna. “But enough about me! How’s everything going with you, Harry? Your head seems clouded.”

“It’s nothing,” said Harry. “Just, erm, work and all that. Auror office, you know how it goes.”

“You’ve never quite cleared out the emotional clouds, have you,” said Luna. “You know, you ought to come over sometime. Dirigible plums can do wonders for a weighted spirit. It’s the lifting ability.” She smiled. “I’ve been bringing them to school. The students love them…”

“How is that going?” Harry took another bite of his ice cream. “I thought you were doing summer classes?”

“Yes, it’s part of our new program, more of an experiential learning day school for people whose parents are in Azkaban,” said Luna. “Although it’s going to be my last year doing it. I’ve been feeling disturbances in the ley lines around Hogwarts, and I’ve had an offer to go live in remote Congo and analyze the magical fields of hippopotamus for a summer.”

“Hippos?”

“Much like humans, they actually have a divide between magical and nonmagical,” said Luna. “It’s long been known to Vampires, it’s why their species avoids running water.”

“..Right,” said Harry. “So you’re just leaving for the summer then?”

“I think I’ll make at least a year of it,” said Luna. “I like spending time with students, but teaching has never really been my calling. Besides, there’s so much interesting information to learn!”

“I see,” said Harry. If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure how this meant Luna wasn’t interested in teaching any longer, but he’d long since learned to just go with it. Luna herself looked to be in fine form.

“How is the auror program?” Luna added some sprinkles to her sunday, mixing it until the rainbow streaked out across her ice cream. In the alley outside, a family moved by, raucous and loud. They reminded Harry a bit of the Weasleys; especially when one of the children went rogue and headed towards the door of Fortescues, only to be dragged back by her mother.

“It’s all right,” said Harry. “I’ve been temporarily transferred to statute of secrecy, so…”

“Oh, you’re bound to be surrounded by rottooth conspiracists then,” said Luna. “It’s all a bit worrying, isn’t it. You’ll need to have constant vigilance.”

“I will?”

Harry finished his ice cream, laying his spoon down in the bowl; Luna reached back and took off one of her dangling necklaces. It was a large glass eye, bright blue, that blinked occasionally. She also reached into her pocket as she finished her bowl of ice cream as well, pulling out a small stuffed hippogriff. “You ought to wear this, Harry, it’ll ward off secrets.”

“Thanks, Luna.” Harry, after a split second, put it on. It was heavier than expected, but otherwise he didn’t really notice a difference. He’d probably take it off when he left.

“And this is for Teddy,” said Luna. She handed him the Hippogriff. “I found it when I was cleaning out my shed last week, it used to be mine. The enchantment has worn off a bit, of course, but the best thing for a child is to be surrounded by items that have been loved. It adds texture to their mindscape.”

“…Got it.” Harry put the stuffed hippogriff into his pocket with a wince of guilt; it had been forever since he’d been around to see Andromeda. He ought to go over soon.

“And with that,” said Luna, “I’m going to go and finish replenishing my garden while the full moon is out. Keep well, Harry!”

Harry, sitting in the booth with her blinking eye pendant and holding a stuffed animal, just watched her go. At least he’d gotten rid of the cane?

Harry held his wand tightly, looking right, looking left… around them, the screams of muggle children sounded through the building. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out anything. Beside him, Seamus’s breathing was quiet and constant.

“Why can’t anyone ever see a ghoul in a nice, brightly lit street,” muttered Seamus, peering into a corner with the torch the muggle security guard had given them. “No, it’s always in a bloody building, filled with muggles, smoke detectors…”

“I’m not sure smoking would be a good idea in this situation anyway,” said Harry. He hit his head on a beam, stepping back; a figure loomed out of the darkness. “Stupefy!”

The stuffed figure of a mummy swung back in the brightness of the red charm. Harry felt himself go red.

“Bet there wasn’t even a ghoul,” said Seamus, irritably. “Cannot believe this. I’d rather come to Alton Towers for a bit of fun, not checking the Haunted House to make sure it’s not actually haunted.”

“Does this happen… often?”

“We think there might actually be a bit of magical residue,” said Seamus. “This was a safe house during the war, but I doubt anyone actually left anything…” He looked irritably above him, where a laser gun effect was going. “Don’t really understand much of the theme, really. Lasers? And Zombies?”

“No idea,” said Harry. “Looks a bit like a weird, future Grimmauld Place, honestly…”

“God, I can’t imagine,” said Seamus. He turned another corner, yelping as some sort of stored Zombie Bride figure appeared in the darkness. “Can’t wait to get sloshed at the donation ball. I’m bloody earning it.”

“Wait, when is that?” Shit. Harry usually went with Ginny, but given that they’d broken up… shit. He needed to do laundry, too… he looked down at his sleeve self-consciously, only to see a spider and brush it off in a panic.

“Weekend after next,” said Seamus. “Who’re you bringing? I think I might see if Lavender’s free, she’s always good fun.” He reached up towards the latch for the actual ride, almost to the end of the service tunnels.

“Uh, please don’t touch that…”

They both turned back. A girl waved at them, from where she was peeking in through the door to the service tunnels. “Er, hi, I’m a Hogwarts student, also a worker here, please don’t obliviate me… it’s just, erm, you’ve already destroyed one of our props, and the ride’s a bit underfunded anyways…?”

“Really! What house?” Seamus lowered his torch, which had been shining directly into her eyes. The girl, who had brightly colored orange cornrows that clashed vigorously with her blue uniform[1], stepped cautiously into the tunnel fully.

“Hufflepuff,” she said. Another car of riders passed above them, screaming. She looked inured to the noise. “Sorry, are you Harry Potter?”

Harry waved. “…Hullo.”

“Huh!” She tipped her head to the side. “I thought you’d be…. Fighting dark wizards, or something?”

“Maintaining civil order is just as important as fighting dark wizards,” said Seamus, “Also we’re running out of them due to Harry’s tendency towards defeating them. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to tell you that there’s definitely not a ghoul,” she said. “The old lady who came through here was a bit batty, I think she’d had a few drinks...”

“Yeah, we figured,” said Seamus.

She frowned. “Do you think there’s another problem, then?” A pause. “Wait, are we going to be bombed?”

“No bombs,” said Harry, who felt this was all getting a bit out of hand. “Just checking. Doing our jobs. Can’t ignore a report.”

“Right, then.” Another pause. “Carry on, then?”

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“It’s only I’ve never seen an Auror work before,” she said. She gave them a faint smile. “I won’t be obtrusive!”

Seamus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Bloody children…”

Harry just clapped him on the back, looking upwards. “When’s the last time you dusted? No wonder you’re getting accounts of ghouls.” With every rattle of the car, more dust fell. He could feel his lungs clogging up with every additional second.

“We’re paid minimum wage,” said the girl. “About all I can account for is that the ride won’t break.”

It only took a few more minutes to check the tunnels; once the last set of riders was through, Harry cast a detect magic charm. It came back negative- except for their spectator’s hair. She looked away guiltily.

“If you can, just have a guardian remove it,” said Harry. “We don’t usually take people in on this sort of stuff, but now that we’ve found it…”

“I just tell muggles it’s a sort of American glitter, no one’s ever questioned me on it!” Puppy eyes. Full on puppy eyes. Was this what it felt like to be an adult? Harry didn’t like it at all.

“You can’t just blame everything on the Americans,” said Seamus. “Branch out a bit, blame some of it on the French.”

“…Or just don’t do magic in public areas,” said Harry.

The girl nodded- but just as they were about to apparate out, she said, “Wait!”

“What?”

“Could you autograph my uniform? It’s just that no one will believe me otherwise-“

Seamus looked like he was about to start laughing. Harry vigorously wished he’d apparated away faster. “Yeah, sure… do you have a pen?”

He was provided with a lipstick; “Could you make it out to Mathilda?”

A few minutes later, the girl had an autographed shirt that was most definitely not going to pass dress code. Harry decided it wasn’t his problem. “Right, is that all?”

“Yes! Thank you!”

The last thing Harry saw before he apparated away was Mathilda taking out her mobile, and the flash of a photo being taken, reflecting off of her teeth as she grinned triumphantly. Brilliant.

Malfoy manor looked strange in the sunshine; it was painted a pale color, and well maintained, but still seemed distinctly uncomfortable, like it would prefer a bit of lightning or thunder for flavor. The ivy seemed wilted at the thought of a lack of rain. Harry, feeling a bit wilted himself, steeled his shoulders and knocked at the gate.

Noticably, there were no longer any peacocks; a black cat yowled at him from the top of the gate, but otherwise it was a silent day as the gates creaked open. The path to the door seemed shorter than it had all those years ago[2].

When he knocked on the door, it didn’t make much of a sound at all. Harry was about to knock again when it was pulled open to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, wearing a kimono-type robe and holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was short; Harry blinked in surprise. “Erm, good morning.”

“Hello!” Narcissa Malfoy was smiling in a welcoming way, which was almost as disconcerting as the changed hair. “You’re here about the car, then? Draco mentioned you might be stopping by.”

Might? Harry kept his word! Still, he followed Narcissa as she turned delicately on one heel and swept into the main entrance. She was wearing dangly chandelier type earrings, which jingled delicately as he walked through. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Harry- if I may call you Harry?”

“Harry’s fine, yeah,” he said. Someone had re-carpeted all of Malfoy Manor and added significantly more lighting; lemon yellow and eggshell white with pale blue and green accents were the hallmarks of the corridors now. It was significantly more welcoming.

“It’s always lovely to have visitors,” said Narcissa. “It does get a bit remote out here, although the manor is worth it, as my mother once told me.” She knocked twice on a green door before pushing it open to reveal a terracotta-tiled kitchen, where the daily prophet folded down to reveal a pair of pale grey eyes and pale blond hair.  “Darling, Harry Potter’s here.”

“Is he?” Malfoy finished folding his paper and raised an eyebrow at Harry, who gave up on trying to peek round Narcissa subtly and instead walked around the doorframe so he was completely in view. “He really is the chosen one, if that menace of yours didn’t slaughter him in the entranceway.”

“Thuban is a delicate soul,” said Narcissa. “And he has good taste. Perhaps if you stopped wearing slippers around the house, he would be more willing to negotiate.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, whenever you’d like to get started, I’m happy to bring out lemonade. Have you any allergies, Harry?”

“No,” said Harry. “Thanks.”

“Then I’ll leave you two to chat,” said Narcissa. “Do let me know if you need anything.” With that, she was gone, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Harry was the first to break. “Erm, hullo.”

“That was about a cat,” said Draco. “In case you didn’t realize.” There was a pause. “He really is a menace. Keeps getting into my cooking supplies.”

A piece of Harry’s memory clicked into place. “Wait, the dark one? Seemed fine to me.”

“People love you, Harry, it’s a character weakness but I’ll let it pass for now,” said Draco. “Did you want to look at the car?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Harry. As Draco stood up, dusting off his knees, he took a breath. “I- really am sorry about, erm, accusing you. And all that. It was out of line.”

“It was, yes.” Draco was wearing a white tee-shirt and jeans, which was completely bizarre. “But your apology is accepted.”

“You’re sure?” Harry watched as Draco crossed the kitchen, pressing twice on one of the bricks as the wall slid open to reveal a pathway into the back garden.

“I’ve not always been on the path of good in the past,” said Draco, “I suppose I ought to expect some suspicion. At least you’re being reasonable about it, which is… rather strange for you, actually. It’s almost as if you’ve grown up since sixth year.”

“I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or not.” Harry followed Draco out into the sunshine again, where they stepped past several flowerbeds and towards a shed out in the back. Someone had painted a mural to look like flowers on it; it was surprisingly well done. Draco nodded towards it, following Harry’s eyeline.

“My mum. Terrible at repairing cars, but she’s good at painting.”

“Has she ever considered doing portraits?” The flowers really did look good, and as a gust of wind came through, they moved just like the plants in the garden. “That’s some brilliant charm work.”

“She’s changed a bit, but she’s too much of a Black to ever do anything for payment,” said Draco. “Even the thought of me working is a bit nerve-wracking for her. First few months I was at Borgin and Burkes, she thought I had a lady friend.”

“What, from the same time every night to the same time every morning?”

“Admittedly it wasn’t my best work.” Draco leaned over and pulled the shed door open, back muscles working and visible through the thin material of his shirt. Inside the shed were two cars; a falcon knight roadster and an antique Ford Model A. Harry felt his eyes widen.

“When you said these were old cars, I didn’t realize they were this antique!”

The Ford was partially taken apart, with a toolbox beneath it as it hovered in the air. It still, however, looked extremely expensive. Harry really wasn’t sure what he expected, but it hadn’t been this.

“My mum’s really into the collection aspect,” said Draco. “Used to be more, but the war wasn’t exactly conducive to maintaining a collection of anything muggle.” He picked up a wrench and handed it to Harry; without his long chef’s sleeves, the dark mark was visible.

Harry stared at it for a split second before taking the wrench. “What’s the problem?”

“Merlin, if I knew I would tell you,” said Draco, grinning suddenly. His whole face lit up with it. “She had some sort of explosion with white smoke, and then it started making a funny noise when she used the clutch…”

Harry nodded, bending his head to the work; before he knew it, he was elbow-deep in the engine while Malfoy made minor charm changes. “These things tend to develop a personality,” said Malfoy. “This one’s got a grudge against me.” The car had indeed been resisting efforts to add a lightening charm.

“Why, what did you do?” Harry pushed at the wrench, sighing in relief as a part finally popped into place. He had no idea how muggles repaired cars without magic.

“Made out with Blaise in the back seat,” said Malfoy. “My mum thinks I insulted it gravely or some such nonsense.”

Harry stood up so quickly in surprise that he hit his head on the hood. “You what?”

“We didn’t all have sad childhoods, Potter, some of us had unexciting snogging sessions in the back seats of antique cars.”

“Didn’t you have a room?”

“The house elves kept interrupting, this was the only place actually private.” Malfoy frowned. “Is that meant to bend that way?”

Harry peered at the part. “I don’t …. think so?” He tapped it thoughtfully with the wrench, and the entire car made an obnoxious creaking noise. “Blaise, though? I thought you were dating Pansy?”

“I knew I was bent from about the time I was twelve, the bit with Pansy was just to keep my father happy,” said Malfoy. “Political, you know how it is. Course, Blaise wasn’t particularly serious either, we were just bored.” He looked over at Harry. “What, did you never snog Ron?”

“No!” Harry frowned. “That would be weird, like snogging my brother or something.”

“Ah, that’s a pity. It’s good practice.” Malfoy tipped his head to the side. “Although you did date his sister, so it’s probably similar anyway…”

Harry had a horrifying moment where his entire relationship with Ginny was relived, except Ron was in her place instead. Of particular horror was all of the lingerie; Ron’s skin tone, much less tan than Ginny’s, didn’t look good with the brass color she’d chosen. “God, no. I love Ron, but… not that way. Really not that way.”

There was a knock at the door of the shed. Malfoy waved a hand, the door sliding open to reveal Narcissa Malfoy once more, this time with a tray of drinks in hand. “I was thinking you could come in and make lunch, love,” she said. “Harry’s welcome to stay, of course.”

“Yeah, all right,” said Draco.

“What are you making?” Harry tried not to be nosy, but all Draco had for lunch so far was… a couple of eggs, some cut strawberries, some fancy cheese, and a bit of powdered sugar… as well as a batter he’d taken out of the muggle refrigerator[3].

“Crepes.” Draco pulled out a ladle, pressing a button on the stovetop. Narcissa, sitting at the counter, took a sip of her lemonade. It was in crystal glasses, because nothing these people ever did was by halves, apparently. “I’m making some savoury, and some sweet.”

Harry nodded. Draco had a slight smear of engine oil just below his ear, where his neck met the back of his head. It was highly distracting.

“So, Harry, what is it you do these days?” Narcissa stirred her drink with her straw, a metal thing that was shaped like a snake. Harry took a drink of his own. “I’m certain that every time you’re featured in the paper, it’s something new.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep them guessing, ha..” said Harry. “Erm, right now I’m in the Statute of Secrecy division for the Aurors.”

“Oh!” Narcissa smiled. “I recall we made quite a few donations to your department, back in the day. It’s an integral part of preserving our society, although it often seems thankless. How are you finding it?”

“It’s brilliant,” said Harry. He took another drink to avoid looking like he was lying through his teeth. Behind him, there was a hiss as the crepe batter hit the pan; Draco picked the pan up by the handle and swirled it around, distributing the batter in a thin, flat disc. Some eggs were frying in the pan next to him; he sprinkled on some cheese, then stood back and watched. “Not that this isn’t going to be brilliant, but I thought you had… house elves?”

“Not that survived the war.” Draco was the first to reply; Narcissa looked mildly disconcerted, and Harry felt immediate regret. Foot-in-mouth disease had afflicted him once more, damnit. “We could have hired more, but we didn’t really need to, not when it’s just the two of us. Most of the cleaning charms here are self-replenishing anyway.”

“Not much of a point anyway,” said Narcissa, “We don’t entertain as much, you know. It’s better they work for places that are under high stress, like Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” said Harry. “Those look amazing, Draco,” which was both true and a convenient segue; Narcissa let him get away with it, which left him with a sigh of relief.

Draco folded up the first one, drizzling some strawberry jam on the top, and handed it to Narcissa. “I’ve added a bit of salt and basil,” he said, “Tell me what you think…”

Narcissa smiled at him, taking the plate. Harry felt himself remembering the night all those years ago, when she’d been so desperate to find Draco. Who would have ever thought they’d all end up around the same table?

“I’ve assumed you prefer savoury more,” Draco said to Harry, “So I’m giving you an egg one first. If you hate it, feel free to whinge and I can trade you out for a strawberry.”

“I’m sure it’ll be brilliant!” Harry wasn’t lying; the cheese had now melted, and Draco folded up the crepe with the egg in the center, plating it and handing it to Harry. After a surreptitious glance at Narcissa to make sure he was using the right silverware, Harry took a bite as well.

The crepe was perfectly cooked, a bit crispy at the edges, and the runny yolk pooled around Harry’s fork as he went in for another bite. He looked up at Draco, wanting to say something complimentary but running out of words. After a second, he settled for, “Wow.”

“You look like I’ve just given you a dragon egg,” said Draco, “It’s just a crepe.” Still, he looked satisfied; the corner of his mouth was curling upwards.

Narcissa took another bite of hers, so delicately that no strawberry ended up on her lips; still, she dabbed at them with a napkin, presumably to prove there was no need. “It’s lovely, darling. Such a useful skill.”

Draco nodded, plating himself one; he put a lid over the remaining crepes, then sat up at the counter with Harry, fingers elegant on the handle of his spoon. He’d painted his nails black.

“So, Mrs. Malfoy, what have you been up to?” Harry took another bite, closing his eyes in enjoyment before swallowing and looking over at Narcissa.

“Oh, nothing much,” said Narcissa. “I’ve been gardening, of course, and I do like to drive around the estate- when my cars are working, that is. A bit of painting, and such. I’ve also been contemplating re-arranging the family library, although that’s perhaps a goal for when I’ve a little more free time… after all, we’ve only just finished the remodel of the Manor.” She smiled at Harry. It was warmer than he would have expected. “Also, please call me Narcissa. We don’t get many visitors anymore, it would be a shame to waste time on formalities.”

Harry nodded, although he couldn’t see himself calling her by her first name. He’d just have to avoid it in conversation.

Draco, however, snorted in laughter. “Let’s not ask him to jump into the dragon’s mouth, mother.”

“I’m really not that intimidating,” said Narcissa, who was incredibly intimidating. “Especially not to someone who’s defeated a dark lord. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“You could be intimidating if you wanted to?” Harry desperately attempted to walk the tightrope. Draco just shook his head, grinning.

“Look, you’ve broken him. He’s a Gryffindor, they don’t work that way.”

“I’ve found that gryffindors can work any which way if they need to,” said Narcissa. She dabbed at her mouth one last time with the napkin, then stood up. “This has been lovely, Draco- I’m going to go do more painting before we run out of light.”

“By all means, now that you’re sure I’m not going to be murdering him, head for freedom,” said Draco. Narcissa just shook her head.

“Do have fun, Darling.” She rested a hand briefly on Harry’s shoulder. “And thank you so much for coming around, Harry. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks!”

With that, in a swish of lavender perfume, Narcissa was gone. Draco leaned forward onto the counter. “Thanks for not yelling at my mother. Did you want another crepe?”

“How many do you have?”

Diagon Alley was still empty, for a weekend afternoon; Harry flooed into the Leaky Cauldron without a queue, emerging into a slow day and blinking in the sun of the late afternoon. He could see Ron and Hermione just ahead of him; he took a couple of long strides, eventually drawing even.

“Harry!” Hermione grinned, waving. “Glad to see you made it! How was Malfoy Manor?”

“Redecorated,” said Harry.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Well it can’t have gotten worse,” said Hermione. Having just apparated here from work, she was in the pantsuit she usually wore under her robes, although she’d transfigured her top into something where she could push up the sleeves.

“It made me think of a bit of shell cottage,” said Harry. “She’s got a Ford A in the shed.”

“Whoa!” Ron raised his brows. “No wonder they’re broke, if that’s what they’ve got in the garage… hullo, George!”

George waved them over to the wreck of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Angelina, very round, was leaning against a pole and waved at them as well. She wasn’t going to be repairing anything today, but was presumably here to squash all of George’s best ideas in the name of workplace safety.

“Afternoon, lads and lovely lady! Hermione, if you ever decide to leave him, I think Verity’s got a bit of a crush on you…”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let’s just fix the shop, yeah?”

They weren’t the only ones here to repair the shop; the entire set of Weasleys was here, in various clothing, all wielding their wands. Fleur was wearing a protective mask, but Charlie seemed to have foregone a shirt entirely. He had some very interesting dragon tattoos.

“Great! You three will be on the northwest corner, I think that’s the most dangerous and you’re frankly the most competent group we have, not counting Charlie.” Charlie was currently suspended in the air, working on a roofing section.

Ron stared upwards. “Is that safe?”

“Don’t let Percy hear you asking that,” said George. He shuffled them over towards their corner. “We’re thinking bright acid green for the new shop walls, so if you could put in a little color changing charm, that would be great…”

“On it.” Hermione was peering down at some of the sooty ash, poking through it. “What on earth did you put in your wards?”

“It’s the classic Diagon Alley warding, I’m not sure about all of it,” said George. “Also bloodline wards, you know how it is. Fred and I got drunk off of our minds one night and cast a bunch of additional wards, practical jokes to pull up later, so you might stumble on those too. Honestly I don’t remember most of them, but I’m sure it’ll be brilliant in the moment.”

“Is that a swamp downstairs?” Ron was on his knees, staring down through a hole in the floorboards.

Percy craned his neck upwards, from where he was in the cellar. “It is indeed,” he called up, voice echoing off of strangely empty walls. “It seems a certain shop owner wasn’t complying with Ministry Safety standards, and the expanding swamps all got loose at once-“ He cast a freezing charm at one of the pollywogs[4], swearing under his breath.

George shrugged. “Gotta keep going with the ever expanding market, you know how it is, ta much for the help… I’ll be upstairs if you need me, the invisible hats all went off at once. Keep an eye out!” A grin, and he was gone.

Ron shook his head. “I’ll never understand how he can laugh all of this off. This is thousands of galleons of lost profit…”

“I suspect his wallet can take it,” said Hermione. “Although it’s a bit worrying that we still don’t know who was behind it.” She cast Harry a glance. “Unless you’ve found something out?”

“I don’t think it’s him,” said Harry. “I may have… not realized that all the pixie dust was confiscated from Malfoy.”

“That would put a bit of a damper on his bombing plans,” said Ron. He poked at one of the walls; it went purple, and a whole set of pygmy puffs- color changing rapidly- scuttled outwards, causing Ron to jump back. “Merlin, this is probably the worst place to repair. I’m not sure George even knows everything that’s in here.”

From outside, there was a loud clanking; then, two waves of magical energy. Hermione tilted her head to the side. “Feels like… they just fixed the floo?”

Ron nodded after a second. “Got to be. I bet that’s why Charlie was up there- just wanted to show off that he can levitate while doing charms, the smug arse.”

“I wonder if he can do that during quidditch?” Harry was still trying to collect a good team for Weasley family reunion quidditch games; somehow he always got taken down by a surprise player, most notably Percy as a beater (the pent up frustration from his desk job seemed to motivate Percy past his dislike of broomsticks).

“No luck, mate, that’s cheating as per the rule change of ’90.” said Ron.

Harry let out a groan of irritation. “I need to learn how to ask Ginny to be on my team without sounding like I want her back.”

“Start by telling her she ought to change her hair, she’ll never consider you romantically again,” said Ron, sagely. “That’s why she didn’t take Dean back.”

Hermione had moved onto the ceiling; as she waved her wand along the rafters, there was a shrieking sound as the wood realigned itself. Harry contented himself with the color-changing charms, checking the wards as he went; their strength was probably the only reason the entire shop hadn’t just collapsed as soon as the explosion was over.

“Augh!” Hermione stumbled back, wiping off her face furiously; something had dripped down, coating her in a dark tar-like paste. It seemed to be one of the pre-testing potions; her nose was starting to turn strange colors.

“You all right?” Ron moved across the room, peering into her eyes. “What is that?”

“It’s one of the puking pastilles, I think,” said Hermione, “It’s the right color at least- urgh, he should have warned us before having us in here- do you mind if I borrow a handkerchief?”

Suddenly prompted, Ron started and started digging through his pocket; as Harry approached with his own glasses cloth, something fell out of Ron’s pocket- a small jewelry box.

They all froze. Ron looked between Hermione and the box; Hermione looked between the box and the handkerchief; Harry backed up a smidgeon. Just in case.

Ron swallowed. “Erm- I was going to-“

Hermione looked between him and the box again, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. “What were you going to do?”

Ron slowly reached over, picking up the box. He looked faintly panicked, and a bit green about the ears. He swallowed, looking from side to side- Hermione nudged him a bit in the shoulder. “Go on, then.”

“I- had this whole speech and everything planned,” said Ron. He dug through his pockets some more, making a sound of frustration when it turned up nothing but his handkerchief; he handed the cloth to Hermione, then swallowed. “Well, er, I guess I’ll just have to go from the heart for this, but…” He cleared his throat, going down on one knee. The floor creaked threateningly. “Hermione,  I love you, even if you’re covered in one of George’s potions and don’t like the color lime green. And when I think of my life without you, I can’t… picture it? “ He opened the box, revealing a narrow gold band set with a princess-cut diamond, “I was wondering if you might- marry me?”

After a second, he added, “Please?”

Hermione’s eyes had been welling with tears, and when he finished, she nodded, holding out her hand. Ron slid on the ring, and she smiled- only to turn green and rapidly turn around, vomiting outside of the nearest window.

When she popped up, though, it was with an apologetic smile. “It was a puking pastille- oh, Ron-“

Harry, picking up his wand, decided to give them some space; as he stepped into the doorframe, he ran directly into Mrs. Weasley. She didn’t seem at all apologetic about eavesdropping.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “I can’t wait, we’ll have to have an engagement party… better give them some space, of course…”

George, next to her, and Bill, still peering in through a crack in the wall, both nodded, Bill standing up to his full height. “Well! It’s been a productive day, hasn’t it,” he said.

George just winked. “It’s the puking pastilles. They get women in a romantic mood every time.”

“George!” Mrs. Weasley reached out to give him a chastising cuff around the ears; George darted out of the way just in time, making a beeline out of the house. Bill, laughing, followed. Harry let himself smile as he headed out into the sunshine; everything was going to be fine.

Harry emerged from the alleyway that was the apparition point for St Mungos into drizzling, miserable grey weather. He had a few minutes’ walk to the hospital- St. Mungos didn’t want apparition magic interfering with the spell wards- and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. He gazed thoughtfully at the magazine under his arm[5] but gave it up as a lost cause. It was probably best he just booked it.

As he turned the corner, though, someone reached out and grabbed his elbow. “Boy!”

Harry jumped about a mile, backing away and drawing his wand. Holly and phoenix feather hovered between the eyes of the man who had grabbed him, piggy eyes going cross-eyed. Harry froze. “Uncle Vernon?”

Uncle Vernon was turning a familiar shade of puce; Aunt Petunia, peeking out from behind his shoulder, raised a finger at him. “You’re not satisfied with Dudders, are you? You want to murder us too!”

Harry hurriedly put his wand back in his sheath, giving an apologetic grin to the pretty muggle woman who’d stopped to look over at him. She looked familiar. “Just a joke, sorry about that,” he said. She turned away, moving on with her day. Aunt Petunia was starting to take deep, heaving breaths of rage.

“Boy, you will bring us to my son immediately, do you hear me?” Uncle Vernon still hadn’t let go of Harry’s forearm, even as Harry backed away. It looked a bit like Harry was a child, trying to wander away in a crowded room. Harry shook himself loose, irritably.

“We’ll call the police! This counts as kidnapping!”

“And then we’ll all get to go to the station,” said Harry, “Given that you’re touching me without my consent.” He pulled out his badge, showing them briefly; his cloak was currently transfigured into an overcoat, but his Auror badge was still on the inner lapel. “I’m part of the police.” A slight stretch, but he was all right with it. “Dudley is an adult. If he wants to see you, he will.”

“Oh, so they’re just hiring criminals and layabouts now?” Vernon clenched and unclenched his fists. He’d decided to grow a beard; it was unflattering. “I don’t believe that for a second, boy. Where did you steal that badge from, hmm? Going to go to prison for impersonating an officer?”

“This has been lovely,” said Harry, who could feel his fingers start shaking as adrenaline started filling in. He was angry, but his body was disconnected from it; it was like it was too much anger and residual fear to even experience. “But I’ll be going now. Let me know when you think of something convincing to claim about me.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Aunt Petunia was dressed in all black, as if Dudley really was dead. “You’ve contaminated him! You’ve poisoned his mind! He would never have done this if he wasn’t- being forced to cavort with you in secret!”

“Have you been cavorting, Potter? I wouldn’t have thought it of a nice young man like yourself.” The voice of Draco Malfoy filtered through the rain- Harry turned, gobsmacked. Sure enough, in the middle of the crowded street, stood Draco, holding a blue umbrella and a large briefcase. He was dressed in muggle clothing, although it was the sort of muggle clothing that indicated a large trust fund and a disregard for the needs and wants of the lower classes.

“Ignore them,” Harry said, taking this moment to attempt to walk away. Alas, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had lost their minds their legs still worked.

“I don’t think I will,” said Draco. “I didn’t know one of your hobbies was getting yelled at by muggles in the street. It adds fascinating depth to your character, really.” Uncle Vernon lunged to grab him, but he swung his cane up and pressed it to the center of Vernon’s chest, keeping him at least a meter and a half away. “Really, though, Harry isn’t the type to cavort. Engage in shenanigans, perhaps. Indulge in conspiracy, occasionally. Get up to nonsense, constantly. But he isn’t really the cavorting type. Potter is a man of intent.”

“I didn’t know you had such strong opinions about the meaning of the word cavort,” said Harry, who was feeling a bit lost and also was starting to really get into the feeling of anger he’d been trying to avoid. Aunt Petunia lurched forward; Harry, defensively, handed her the culinary magazine. She looked down at it.

“Perhaps I just have strong opinions about you,” said Draco. He shoved Uncle Vernon back again with his cane. “Do you mind? I need to actually stand, you know, this cane isn’t just to make me look incredibly handsome. Although it doesn’t hurt.”

“Uncle Vernon, could you please just- leave off? I’m an adult, you’re not in charge of me, and frankly even when I was in your charge you didn’t do shit, so you’re not entitled to anything now.” Harry turned to Draco. “Sorry, if I could get rid of them I would have.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Again, I am with the police, I don’t threaten people,” said Harry. “You’d know if I was threatening you.” He paused. “Why am I even bothering? You two aren’t worth it. Let’s leave.”

“By all means,” said Draco. “If this is what you had to deal with, it’s just become much clearer to me why you always stayed over at Hogwarts over winter holidays.”

Aunt Petunia chose this time to look up from the magazine. “There’s a get well soon note in this! To Dudders! I knew you had him!”

“Right, I’m gone,” said Harry. He cast a small wandless shielding charm; as he turned to leave, Draco came up to walk beside him, holding the umbrella over both their heads. Given that water was now trickling down Harry’s hair onto his nose, this was a bit of a moot point, but he appreciated the effort.

Still, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were doggedly on their heels; Draco, from next to Harry, sighed. “I thought my Aunt Bella was nasty,” he said. “Also, I can’t really hex muggles because of my parole, but if you were to do something I’d certainly be distracted by the rain.”

“I’m not hexing them,” said Harry, grimly. “That would prove them right.”

“Yes, but they’ll be proven right and hexed,” said Draco. He raised a hand, waving, as they came round the bend. Dudley, from where he was leaving hospital, waved back. Shit.

“Hullo, Harry! They’re letting me out a couple of days early, because of-“ Dudley paused. His eyes, a clear watery blue inherited from Uncle Vernon, widened. “Mum? Dad?”

“DUDLEY!” Aunt Petunia, teary eyed, launched herself at Dudley, hugging him tightly. Dudley stumbled back, hands pinned at his sides. Harry privately thought Aunt Petunia really ought to have gone into champion boxing. She had the strength of spirit for it.

Uncle Vernon, after shooting Harry a nasty glance, hurried forward and put an arm around Dudley’s shoulders. “You all right, son? They do anything to you? I’m sure you’re done with all of that cooking poofer nonsense, you can come right back to live with us. There’s a position open at Grunnings.”

“I’m doing well!” Dudley shrugged Aunt Petunia back, looking between his parents. His skin, originally a ruddy, healthy color, had paled back to near-paper white. “No one’s done anything, I just got sick!”

“That’s what the restaurant industry will do to you, darling,” said Petunia, “I suppose they have you up at all hours of the night, slaving away, it’s just not right for a boy your age…”

“Right, a boy ought to be outside, using his strength,” said Vernon. “Besides, there’s no chance for growth in being a chef… always following the orders of someone above. You were good at drills, you’ll be CEO in no time.”

“There’s plenty of room for growth!” Dudley backed up; Draco extended the umbrella over his head. He looked to Harry, then back to Draco, and finally back over to his parents. He drew himself up, as if steeling himself, and then said, “In fact, after I’m done with culinary school I’m opening a bakery, so I’ll be owning my own business. Not following the orders of someone above.”

Aunt Petunia gasped, which in Harry’s opinion was a bit dramatic for someone wanting to make puff pastry. “A bakery? Duddy-kins, the neighbors might think you’re…. you know…”

“Bent?” Dudley looked between his parents. “Making pastries doesn’t make you gay! And I’m not, but even if I was, it doesn’t matter!”

“Quite right!” Draco had a look on his face. Harry recognized it from Draco’s brief stint as head of the Inquisitorial Squad, which meant that someone was about to become much less happy and he was about to become infinitely more smug. “Dudley’s so straight that I’m left to deal with the absolute mountains of cock we’re offered. Fortunately, I’m an industrious worker.”

Vernon was turning purple now. Harry felt like laughing, but restrained himself. Dudley made a face of exasperation at Draco. “You’ve been planning on this.”

“I may or may not have been waiting to have a confrontation,” said Draco. “You know how limited my hobbies are.”

“Look, ignore him, he thinks he’s funny,” said Dudley. “I’m not- just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean the neighbors won’t approve. Ms. Figg has been writing back and forth with me, she quite likes my scones.”

“Mrs. Figg? She’s mad, even speaking to her is a social nightmare! You need to stop speaking to her at once, Dudders, she might be dangerous!” Aunt Petunia wrung the magazine between her hands; Dudley reached out and grabbed it.

“If Mrs. Figg is so dangerous, why did you leave me with her so often when I was a child?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “I mean, really, it’s almost as if you were terrible caretakers.”

“Don’t talk back to her, boy!”

“Thank you for your contribution, Uncle Vernon, I’ll be sure to keep it in mind,” said Harry. “Dudley, did you want to continue talking to him?”

“God no,” said Dudley. “Draco, if you still wanted to speak to me, you could come over to Grimmauld?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” said Draco. “I’m quite nosy, I’d love to see how you’ve interpreted Great-Aunt Walburga’s bones-of-children-chic architecture.”

Aunt Petunia made a sound strangely like a squeaky toy that had been stepped on. Uncle Vernon grabbed for her, holding her comfortingly as Harry, Dudley, and Draco turned to leave. As they made it to the apparition point, Harry just held out his hands. “On three?”

Draco nodded. “One- two-“

Pop!

“My god, is that portrait still here?” When they entered Grimmauld, Draco got off to a good start by immediately pulling the curtains back; Walburga, winding up for a scream, paused when she saw him.

“What’s your name, boy??”

“Draco Malfoy,” he said. Harry exchanged a glance with Dudley. “What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s my duty to make sure that this house is protected! Muggles! Blood traitors! Mudbloods! My heritage is being erased by these FAILURES and WRETCHES, I CANNOT TOLERATE-“

“All right, all right, merlin,” said Draco, yanking the curtain back and muffling the screaming. He turned to Harry. “You’ve been living with her? Willingly?”

“We can’t get her off the wall,” said Harry. “Permanent sticking charm.”

“Yeah, that does sound a bit like what I’ve heard of her,” said Draco. “I’d destroy the portrait, honestly.”

“Isn’t that like- killing a person?” Dudley stared over at the wall; Draco shrugged.

“If she wanted to stick around, she’d stay as a ghost.” He peered around the house. “The new paint does wonders in here, potter. What did you do with the house elf heads?”

“You miss the house elf heads?”

“No, but Aunt Bella was quite fond of them,” said Draco. “I’ve had many visions of setting them on fire. It would be a shame if that was unachievable.”

“They’re probably in the attic somewhere,” said Dudley, “There’s a load of stuff stacked up there.” He took off his shoes, hanging his coat on the troll-leg rack. “The house keeps leading me in there when I’ve lost something, but I don’t think it’s all that helpful, since it only ever has, erm… nasty stuff in there. I’m a bit scared to touch most of it.”

“The house leads you places? It never leads me places..” Harry led them down into the kitchen. “Tea? Would you like tea?”

“I would love tea,” said Dudley. Draco nodded absentmindedly, wandering over to the walls and poking at them a bit. He seemed particularly interested by the pantry.

“Potter, what on earth did you do to the pantry? It’s radiating dislike.” He sniffed a couple of times, poking at the wall.

“We tried to repaint it, nothing stuck,” said Harry. Draco made a scoffing noise.

“Of course not, I bet Walburga bribed it for ages to accept that dark red colour and it doesn’t want to change now. These old houses are dreadful about that sort of thing.” He closed the pantry door decisively. “Doesn’t help that you’re still not formally in the wards.”

“How do you know I’m not formally in the wards?” Harry put the kettle on, tapping the stovetop on and leaning back on the counter. Their fruit bowl was empty; he eyed it longingly. It had been a long day.

“Your magic has a distinctive feeling,” said Malfoy. “It’s one of the top things I do at Borgin and Burkes, identify magical tracing. Borgin’s got a lot of enemies, they like to send trapped items in to be resold.”

“Every new piece of information you give me about wizards,” Dudley said, vehemently, “Makes me more and more glad that I’m a muggle. You lot just send each other trapped items? And it’s not- illegal?”

“Usually it’s illegal, but they know all the illegal things he’s done, so…” Draco shrugged.

“It’s only the mad wizards that do that,” said Harry. “I certainly don’t send anyone trapped items.” He took off the kettle, pouring three cups of tea and adding a splash of milk for Dudley- and a spoon of sugar for Draco.

As he brought it over to the table, Draco sprawled out more in the chair, loose-limbed like he’d been the time they snuck into the Slytherin common room. “I can’t help it if I have interesting friends,” he said. “Anyway, you muggles do mad things too, don’t you? Blood sport and the like…”

“I’ve been to quidditch games, you’ve not got a leg to stand on,” said Dudley. He took a sip of his tea, followed by Draco.

Draco made a surprised face upon tasting his. “Potter, do you remember how I take my tea?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry may or may not have spent significant amounts of his schooling staring across the great hall. It was completely normal.

“Because we weren’t friends until about two days ago,” said Draco. Dudley snorted into his own tea; Harry rolled his eyes.

“How do I take my tea?”

“Black, don’t throw my words back at me,” said Draco. “Dudley- are you feeling better? Really? You’re still looking like shit.”

“Wow, what a smooth transition,” said Dudley. “Colour me impressed. And I’m feeling much better, yes.”

“Well, whatever you’ve done to bribe the house, you need to up your game,” said Draco. “I reckon it’s got more diseases up its proverbial sleeve. I’d recommend doing a full ward cleanout.”

“How?” Harry stared into his tea; the teabag had burst, leaving tea leaves floating aimlessly through the water. Urgh.

“I’ve got a connection to the blood wards,” said Draco, “I reckon they’d accept me as a blood relative briefly. We’d need to have a whole group here, though.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose we could do that.”

“Consider it my payback for the car,” said Draco, taking a drink of his tea. “My mother’s going to be in raptures about having had a guest for at least a month.” He’d changed his fingernails since Harry had last seen him; now they were a bright silver.

Dudley grinned. “I’ll have to come over sometime. Has she ever met a muggle?”

“No, so you’re lucky she’s become more progressive,” said Draco. “Honestly, if Pansy and Blaise approve of you, you’re fine in my mothers eyes. She’s put down most of her sharp side.”

“Yeah, but if she’s anything like you she’s got six things going on at once,” said Dudley. “Not to mention, some weird croissant abomination in the oven.”

“That croissant was a piece of art and I won’t hear another word about it,” said Draco. “So, Harry, how’s Saturday after next work for you? I think Pansy and Blaise could make it, and six magical sources should work all right as long as you can bring in Ron and Hermione.”

Harry winced. “Sorry, there’s the donation ball that night.”

“Ah, I forget people have events,” said Draco. “I’ve heard the catering there is fantastic, though. They work for months on the menu...”

Dudley looked between them. “I don’t think Harry has a date yet,” he said. “So maybe you could go with him? To test the catering?”

Harry looked at Dudley, trying to convey how confused he was. When had Dudley gotten crafty? What was his intent?

Malfoy blinked, slowly. “I mean, if it’s an offer on the table, I wouldn’t reject it…”

Harry swallowed. Right, then. “Well? Would you? Like to go? To the donation ball? With me?”

“Yes, I’d love to, I’ll let you know what color we’re wearing,” said Draco. He paused, staring at his tea. “Is this- PG Tips?”

“Don’t judge me, we keep forgetting to buy more,” said Harry. Dudley, in the background, snorted.

“He actually likes it, he just pretends to hate it when anyone else has taste.”

“I understand you not having taste,” said Draco, taking another sip, “But really, Hermione approved this? I thought she had sense!”

“I hope you don’t mind that I asked him to the ball for you,” said Dudley, peering over at Harry through the dimness of the pub. In exchange for their time at the quidditch game, Dudley had offered to take Harry to one of his boxing club’s matches; one between his mate Piers and another, apparently widely disliked, boxing champion. “Here, choose a seat near the front, it’s miserable to see otherwise.”

They were in a pub basement that had been converted to a boxing arena; it was packed, and once they’d gotten their pints they managed to anchor themselves to a table close enough to watch the action.

Harry, holding tightly to his drink, shrugged. “I reckon it’ll turn out all right. My alternative was trying to ask someone else, or do it myself…”

“Yeah.” As one of the boxers came out, Dudley raised his hand in a wave; Harry recognized the man, with dishy brown hair and pale eyes, as Piers. He had acquired a few new scars, and his nose was broken now- but he grinned wide when he saw Dudley.

The other boxer emerged as Dudley took another drink of his pint. “I’m just glad I’m out to see this fight. Piers has been nervous about it for months.”

“Sorry about all of… this,” Harry said, wincing. “I really, really didn’t mean to almost murder you with my house.”

“It’s still better than living with my mum,” said Dudley. “Besides, I got Pansy’s number out of it.” He took a long, smug drink of his beer.

“No!” Harry peered at him. “I didn’t think she was your, erm-“

“Type?”

There was a dinging as the boxing match began, then the harsh sound of skin on skin as the boxing commenced. Harry nodded, reluctantly. “I suppose?”

“I think she’s quite clever,” said Dudley, “And interesting. I dunno if it’ll last, but… at least it might be fun?”

Harry slapped him on the back. “Good luck, at least.”

Dudley took another drink. “How’s it been going, trying to figure out what happened to the car?”

Harry shook his head, watching as Piers knocked the other boxer over and took him out. The bells rang for the end of a round. “No luck. I thought it was Draco for a bit, but, erm…”

“He’s not the type to set explosions,” said Dudley, decisively. “Too messy. He’d poison someone if he wanted to kill them.”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Harry.

“Well,” said Dudley, taking another drink, “I don’t envy you. There are less jobs I’d like less than a detective for wizards. Can’t you just- abracadabra away evidence?”

Piers, triumphant, finished the round and jumped out of the ring, punching a fist in the air as he came over.

“Sort of,” said Harry. He felt himself jostle forward as Piers slapped him on the back, clapping Dudley on the shoulder.

“Hullo, mate! Mind if I finish the pint?”

Dudley, laughing, passed it over. “For that win, you can get anything.”

Piers, drinking the pint, opened one eye- bloody- to gaze at Harry. When he finished gulping it down, he slammed it on the table and squinted. “If it isn’t Harry Potter! You didn’t get much taller, did you?”

Dudley punched him on the shoulder. “Yeah, but he got wider! Show some respect!”

“You got me,” said Piers, shaking his head. “It’s good to see you. Feels like it’s been forever.”

“You,” said Harry, “Have no idea.”

Footnotes:

[1] And also sparkled slightly in the dark, which was most definitely a violation of the regulations against glamours in the muggle world.

[2] Probably because Harry wasn’t being pulled along with his head in a sack.

[3] A feature he was very proud of.

[4] Petrifying Pollywogs!™ The most exciting your garden pond has ever been! Great for interfering neighbors!

[5] A cooking magazine that Dudley wanted.

Chapter Text

Mimosas

Ingredients:

• One jug orange juice
• One bottle champagne

Instructions:

• Mix it all together, feel festive, attempt to capture a criminal. The usual, really. What, did you need more help than that?

“Right, then,” said Malfoy. He was stood in the center of their living room, button up shirt pushed up to his elbows and hands on his hips. His hair wasn’t gelled today; it fell softly around his face. Harry found it significantly distracting. “We’ll be initiating a blood sacrifice on the front step to wake up the wards, so to speak, and then I’ll need us to group-cast a re-warding spell. It’s not a worded spell, it’s more like a patronus- think of a moment of protection, I’m sure you can think of something, and then shove all of your magic out like you’re apparating without wanting to move. It’s a bit tricky the first time, but I’m sure- Pansy, what on earth is more interesting about that mobile in comparison to in depth magical ward theory.”

Pansy looked up from her phone and waved it slightly. “There’s games on here, but you’re not playing them with a person. You’re just- playing them! This one’s called snake, you get to eat things and grow longer.”

“I thought those were just to call people,” said Ron, frowning. “How d’you fit a snake in there?”

“It’s like a portrait,” said Pansy, tapping at the buttons thoughtfully, “Only instead of talking to it you press buttons to tell it what to do. I’m quite good at it, really. Dudley showed me how last Wednesday.”

Blaise peered over her shoulder. “What happens if you run into yourself?”

“I die,” said Pansy, grimly. “These are high stakes.”

Hermione and Draco made brief, silent eye contact. Harry fidgeted in place- he really did sort of want to see the muggle mobile game, but he also wanted to finish this sometime today. The engagement party was tonight, and he was missing work for this.

Draco clapped his hands. “Right, now that we’re done with remedial muggle studies, shall we do what we actually came here to do? I am not above taking that phone, Pansy. Recall fifth year.”

“I wasn’t as good at stunners as I am now,” said Pansy, as she put the mobile away. “You’ve gotten slow in your old age, darling.”

“I resent every moment I spend with you,” said Draco. “Right, we need to finish this before Dudley comes back. He told me it feels a bit like he’s getting hives every time he enters the house, so the goal is to make it so he no longer has a visceral pain reaction upon entrance.”

“Sounds about right,” said Ron. “Shall we start, then?”

“Yeah, follow me out to the step,” said Draco. “Every time we make an attempt I have to make a blood sacrifice, so we ought to put as much effort in as possible, I’m pale enough as it is.”

They all trooped out to the front step. Harry squinted into the sun; it was a surprisingly bright day. It felt a bit wrong, actually, to be watching Malfoy pull out a ritual silver knife and turn over his forearm- the one without the dark mark. This felt like the sort of thing you ought to do under the cover of night, maybe during a rainstorm. That brought up memories of the graveyard, though- Harry shuddered, turning back to the step. Probably better to do this in the sun.

“Hoc reserare vinculis sanguinem,” Draco muttered, drawing the knife across his forearm. Harry pulled out his wand, followed by the others; they all watched, entranced, as a thick, fat drop of red fell onto the doorstop, immediately absorbed. Draco made a waving motion with his other hand; hurredly, Harry closed his eyes, pointing his wand at the front step and picturing the moment he’d walked out into the forbidden forest.

All quiet… the feeling of the rock in his hand… the sound of his mother’s voice- “Take me instead!” … in the graveyard, his mother and father behind his shoulders… Dobby jumping in front of the knife, his body light…. Hermione in the bathroom, troll overhead, the club hovering… hands to Quirrell’s face, searing under his skin…Ron, ducking away from the traffickers, spells flying…  the feeling of stinging on his face, Hermione’s wand against his cheek as the snatchers approached… Aberforth’s pub, dark at night, and Lyanna’s face as the tunnel opened up… Ginny, limp in the chamber of secrets, and the feeling of the sword in his hand, slippery with blood… Sirius, falling into the veil, after coming for Harry….

“Harry!” Harry blinked, feeling a hand on his shoulder. His face was wet- he turned to face the person who was touching him. Ron. Blue eyes wide with worry. Harry realized his knees were shaking; he sat down, slowly, on the step.

He tried to speak, but found himself unable; he cleared his throat, and after a second, forced the words to come out. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “It did. Two hours ago.”

“What?”

Harry blinked again, rubbing at his eyes, feeling the wetness on his fist. His fingers were trembling. Pansy and Blaise were gone. Leaning on the rail of the front porch was Draco, grey eyes steady, a cigarette in hand. Hermione was sitting on the step; she reached over and put a hand on his knee. Harry took a slow, inhaling breath.

“You went into some sort of trance,” said Hermione. She sounded worried. “I don’t- you weren’t responding to anything, Harry. It’s like you got sucked into something.”

“He put too much of himself into the ward spell,” said Draco. He exhaled smoke. “It’s my fault. Sorry.”

“What, did you do something?”

“It was just a bad idea,” said Draco. “I forgot how much trauma Harry, specifically, has.”

“I’m not traumatized,” said Harry, mostly to the floorboards beneath his feet. The floorboards didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on the subject.

“You sacrificed yourself to the greater good for seven years straight, Potter, and you were a literal child for all of it. If you weren’t traumatized you’d be a second Dark Lord.” Draco tapped out his ashes on the railing, watching them fall to the street below. “I suspect the house noticed that you’ve had quite a sordid past with the bloodline Black. Tried to pull you in further to investigate.”

“Just your luck, mate,” said Ron. “Do you want something? I’ve a cuppa if you want some.”

“Tea would be nice, yeah,” said Harry; when he couldn’t hold the cup properly, Ron sat down in front of him and tipped it into his mouth. There was whiskey in it[1]. “Thanks.”

After some consideration, Harry swallowed and lay back, so his shoulders were flat against the step and the top of his head just barely cleared the door. The roof over the step needed cleaning- some pixies were building a nest in the eaves.

“You all right, Harry?”

“I’m fine,” said Harry. He inhaled slowly. “Just need to stay here for a bit. Thanks.”

He felt something being put into his hand; when he lifted it up, it was a chocolate frog. With nothing better to do, he unwrapped it, tapping it quickly to stop it from escaping and biting the head off. A flush of warmth went through his body. Huh.

He pulled out the card, holding it up to his face- his glasses were gone, they must have fallen off. “Oh, it’s another me.” Harry Potter, age 17, waved at him. His hair was a bit longer than Harry usually kept it, and the order of Merlin robes were a bit baggy on him- he still hadn’t gained back the weight from being on the run. But his grin was ear to ear.

“We’ll add it to the wall when you can stand,” said Ron.

“The wall?” This was Draco, who was now standing over Harry and peering down thoughtfully.

“It’s in the attic, they think it’s funny,” said Hermione. “Whenever people send in things with Harry’s face on them, we put it up on the same wall.”

“It’s so if we ever capture a criminal, we can put them in there to think about what they’ve done,” said Ron. “Like triple interrogation.”

“I stand by my opinion that it’s terrible,” said Hermione, “But as per usual, I was outvoted.”

Harry, from where he was on the floor, allowed himself to smile. Even when he wasn’t strong enough to stand, his friends knew him well enough that they didn’t linger on it- instead, they stayed with him.

There was the sound of footsteps, and then Dudley’s voice. “Did the house kill Harry?”

“No,” said Ron; “Of course not”, said Hermione; “A bit,” said Draco;

After a pause, Harry said, “I’m still deciding.”

“Brilliant,” said Dudley. “Should I test it?”

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows; when he was confident he could stand up without passing out, he stumbled to his feet. “Go ahead. If you get hives, I’m giving up.”

“Right, no pressure…”

The door creaked open, and Dudley put a tentative foot in. Another; when he was a meter in, he turned around, beaming. “Nothing!”

“You’re sure?”

“Nothing!” He was grinning, giddy. “It’s like I’m a normal person!” He opened his arms up; Harry, sensing the mood, went in for a hug. It was tight and comforting[2]. He could feel Dudley smiling. “Thank you. So much.”

“Well, I am the savior of the wizarding world.” said Harry. “Have to earn my keep somehow.”

Dudley squinted over at Ron, who had been straightening his collar the same way for the last twenty minutes. “Is he all right?”

“He still thinks Hermione’s going to back out somehow,” said Harry. “He’ll be fine.”

His prediction was true; when Hermione apparated in front of the gate, having just finished changing clothes at work, Ron heaved a sigh of relief and held out his arm for her. “Shall we make a dramatic entrance?”

“I don’t think we’ll ever beat the chamber of secrets,” said Hermione, but she took his arm and they walked through the gate; Harry and Dudley followed, although nobody applauded when they came in.

The engagement party was small; Hermione’s parents had flown in from Australia, and there were all of the Weasleys and various in-laws, but otherwise they were keeping the guest list small.

Dudley stared up, mouth open. Paper lanterns had been enchanted to hover over the garden, illuminating it all in a soft golden light. A folding table was bowing under the weight of a great volume of Mrs. Weasleys cooking.

In the back of the garden, Harry could just make out a horde of small children; Charlie seemed to be enchanting them with featherfall charms, and then throwing them off the roof. Bill and Fleur were below, catching them. As Mrs. Weasley peeked out of the window, Charlie ducked behind the chimney, taking Victoire with him.

Hermione and Ron were surrounded by a variety of Weasleys and her parents; Mr. Granger was patting Ron on the shoulder. Harry decided to steer them away from it and headed towards the food with Dudley.

Dudley, thankfully, was always up for suggestion when it came to food. “I’ve never seen candied grapefruit before,” he said, looking over the assortment. “Huh! And these hand pies… who made these, were they catered?”

“It’s our dear old mum,” said George, who was standing over the punch and looked extremely suspicious. “Don’t eat any of the ones with two diagonal slits, I may have put a little surprise in them.”

Dudley paused, then put the hand pie back. Then, as if realizing something, he looked closer at George’s face. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”

George scratched at his chin. “Maybe? You’re Harry’s cousin, yeah?”

Dudley pointed. “You gave me a poisoned sweet once! No wonder I remembered you!”

“Oh, yeah!” George grinned. “Thanks for being a beta tester for ton tongue toffees. They’re a best-seller.”

Dudley shook his head. “Bloody hell, you’re the reason I didn’t trust food for months afterwards.”

“I like to think of it as a reminder that surprises exist in the world,” said George, grinning. As Dudley reached for a roll, he shook his head. “Not those either, the custard buns are all right though.”

“Is half of this stuff poisoned?”

“Only the food that mum doesn’t really like,” said George. “I’ve learned in my old age.”

Dudley snorted. “Thanks for the warning, at least.” He bit into the candied grapefruit; after a second, his skin started changing colors rapidly. He dropped his plate.

“Well, I can’t warn you about everything,” said George. He winked. “Harry, I’ll see you at quidditch… Dudley, do you know how to play?”

“Never tried before,” said Dudley. He held up his hand. “Does this wear off?”

“It’ll come off in half an hour or so,” said George. “I’ll catch up with you later- I think I see Mum coming.”

Sure enough, Mrs. Weasley approached, drying her hands off in her apron. “Dudley, dear, I don’t believe we’ve met- do you always fluoresce?”

Dudley, looking between the space where George had been and Mrs. Weasley, paused, then said, “Yes.”

“And you’re sure that-“ Molly looked up above his shoulder, eyes widening. “They’re throwing the children again? Charlie, this isn’t a dragon retreat, I’m not going to stand by and-“

Bill and Fleur scattered; Victoire and Charlie disappeared behind the chimney again; and Harry and Dudley watched as Mrs. Weasley stormed the back of the garden, stopping to chuck a gnome over the hedge.

“Are these usually this…. Chaotic?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” said Harry. “Just wait until we start the quidditch game.”

Dudley nodded, but his eyes were still on his hands; he’d changed from fluorescent green to a fushcia color. “This really isn’t making me like grapefruit again,” he said, glumly.

Harry patted him on the back a couple of times. He’d do just fine.

It didn’t take long for the majority of the party to pass; once the children were inside, doing coloring under Mrs. Weasley’s supervision, Charlie retrieved the quaffle and broomstick and the selection of teams began.  

Angelina stood, arms crossed over her belly, surveying the teams. She’d been allocated the referee’s vest for today’s match, which was a harsh blow for Harry’s team; she was usually one of their best chasers.

On Harry’s side were Dudley, Fleur, and Ron; opposing them were Bill, Charlie, George and Ginny. Multiple attempts had been made to convince Hermione or Percy to join, but the two of them had tactically retreated and were perched in a tree, spectating.

“Right,” said Angelina, “Dudley, are you clear on how to operate the broom?”

Dudley looked down at the broom, nodding ever so slightly; Harry had given him a run-down of how to use it as a squib[3]. Still, he hadn’t used it yet.

“Since this is quaffle only quidditch, keep your eyes on the ball, no hitting other players,” said Angelina. “Frankly I’m a bit cranky because I couldn’t have wine tonight, so I’ll eagerly hex anyone who tries anything. Understood?”

Dudley nodded; Angelina pulled up her whistle and blew, stepping back.

Dudley pulled the broom under him, squeezing the handle twice- ordering the broom didn’t work for him, since he didn’t have magic. Harry watched as the broom actually rose up to hover, supporting Dudley’s full weight. Dudley’s eyebrows went up.

Even though Harry wanted to keep watching, duty called- he swept upwards, holding up a hand for Ron to toss him the quaffle. Ginny had gotten it right off, and passed it to Bill; Harry leaned over to intercept it, but ducked out of the way just in time for Dudley to soar over his head.

“I’m not sure how to slow dooooown!” Came the cry; Ron snatched the Quaffle just before it went over the tree they’d designated as the goal line.

“Catch it!” He yelled over at Dudley. “Squeeze the handle three times to slow!”

Dudley turned around, nearly slipping off the broom before reaching out to grab the quaffle out of the air; the broom swerved at just the right moment, coming to a screeching halt and throwing Dudley slightly forward. He just barely grabbed the quaffle, right on the end of the broom.

George swooped above him. “Come on then, lad, throw it!”

“Is there a rule against traveling?”

“There is, you need to pass it,” said Harry.

“Right, then,” said Dudley; he squeezed the handle, flipping himself forward once more and throwing the quaffle at Harry from beneath his broom. The ball went right to Harry; from the trees, Hermione gave an appreciative cheer.

Harry took off with the ball, tossing it back and forth with Fleur; Ginny was hot on their tail, but Harry managed to intercept her and toss the ball straight between the chimney and the house, the other goalpost. Unfortunately, Bill wasn’t born yesterday- he grabbed the quaffle easily, launching it to Ginny.

Together, Ginny and Charlie were nearly unstoppable; they sped across the field, launching the ball towards Ron fast enough he couldn’t grab it. A whistle below them sounded. “One point to team Weasley!”

“I’m a Weasley too! You can’t just un-Weasley me!”

“Yeah, but we were Weasleys first,” said Bill, sagely. “Get older and we’ll talk.”

As he talked, Dudley swooped in and grabbed the quaffle; seeing that Ginny would stop him from passing it, he went for the long shot and launched it over Bill’s shoulder. Another whistle came from below. “One point team Potter!”

Bill passed the quaffle to Ginny after retrieving it; she and George gave Fleur the run-around, scoring twice on Ron before Harry managed to get the ball back. Still, Harry wasn’t worried; he picked up the ball, and launched it right towards the goal, dodging Ginny, where-

“Oh, shit.” The quaffle, thrown as Harry had turned downwards, sailed directly towards Ron’s window. Harry flew forward, trying to grab it; so did Dudley, and at the last second Harry managed to avoid collision by swerving upwards. With a crash of glass, the Quaffle broke the window; Dudley, having finally lost his balance, tipped off of the broom entirely and fell to the ground.

There was a collective wince. George, from the back, said helpfully- “I don’t think she’s been upstairs much lately, I reckon we can fix it without her noticing.”

Fleur wrinkled her nose in disbelief. From behind the shattered class, a small face peeked up through the shards, holding up a quaffle. “Papa?”

“Dominique!” Bill flew forward, taking the quaffle. Behind his daughter was another, familiar face- Mrs. Weasley.

“You know,” she said, staring out at them, “I seem to recall telling you that it was a bad idea to use the house as a goalpost. Did I raise deaf children, or just impulsive ones?”

“I’ve only got the one ear,” said George, grinning. “You ought to take mercy on me-“

“Now I’m wishing I’d been there,” said Andromeda. She was holding her teacup delicately, sitting in a patio chair next to Harry. The sun was shining once more; Teddy, on his toy broomstick, was soaking up the light. “I always wanted a big family, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Andromeda. “Something about a warm, welcoming place. Of course, when I actually had a child, I realized the amount of work it would take, and decided I preferred being a mother of one…” she took another drink of her tea, smiling. “Nymphadora was quite a handful. I’ve no idea how Molly did it.”

“She’s a bit terrifying, really,” said Harry, who still could picture how she’d looked as she picked up the children and moved downstairs. “In a loving sort of way.”

“She grew up with a large family too,” said Andromeda. “She knew how they’re meant to operate. I was always afraid, you know, that I wouldn’t be a very good mother. Ted was very good to me.”

Harry nodded. “I wish I’d gotten to know him,” he said.

Andromeda smiled over at him. “He would have liked you, I think,” she said. “Although he would say you were meant to be a Hufflepuff.”

Harry snorted. “I’ve already been claimed by two houses, I don’t need to add a third.”

“I’ve long since suspected we all have a bit of each house in us,” said Andromeda. “They’re just a fiction anyway. Although I have to stay loyal to Slytherin- I look very good in green.”  

Harry shook his head, smiling, and ate another biscuit- this one was shaped like a hippogriff. Wait- hippogriff. Wasn’t there something that… “Merlin, I completely forgot,” he said, putting the biscuit down and rifling through his pockets. “Luna gave this to me to give to Teddy.”

He pulled out the stuffed hippogriff. It was a bit squashed from being in his pocket for so long, but after being squished a couple of times it accepted its fate and became round and soft again.

Andromeda made a sound of soft surprise. “That’s a black heirloom!”

“Really?”

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “It was made for a great-aunt of mine, another one of us that was disowned…” She seemed very quiet, for a second, before looking up at Harry. Framed by grey hair, with a soft smile, she was almost reminiscent of Narcissa Malfoy. In a… weird way. “Ms. Lovegood really does have a way of finding strange objects,” she said. “Teddy! Come over and look at what Harry’s brought for you.”

Teddy ran over; his hair was black today, and he’d turned his eyes green- although his skin was still purple, an affectation he’d taken on when Hermione had read him a bedtime story about purple pixies a few weeks ago.

“What?” Five years old now, Teddy eagerly held up his hands for Harry to lift him up anyway. Much to his own despair, he wasn’t growing very much; neither of his parents had been very tall, so it was hardly a surprise, but still. Harry could well understand wanting to be taller.

“Do you know what this is?” Andromeda held up the stuffed hippogriff: Teddy screwed up his face, thinking, and a beak popped into place. Once his mouth was back to normal, he giggled.

“Hippogriff!”

“Well done.” Andromeda handed him the stuffed animal; he hugged it to himself and ran straight back to the broom, with no regard to the adults he’d just abandoned. Still, he seemed to like it, which was an achievement. “Teddy! Say thank you!”

There was no response; he was trying to fly higher, but the broom wasn’t cooperating[4].

Andromeda just shook her head. “A handful, truly. I should have known.” She turned her gaze to Harry. “Should I be expecting any playmates for Teddy?”

Harry started. Bloody slytherins, always warming you up with casual conversation and then instantly going in for the jugular. “Erm- not really, no- I’m- not seeing anyone at the moment.”

“I heard that you’re going with Draco Malfoy to the benefit this weekend,” said Andromeda. Bloody. Slytherins. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are, you know.”

“Well- maybe I’d like to be, but that’s different than actually being-“ Harry stopped. “Erm, not that I’m sure I’d actually like to. My cousin actually invited him to go with me so he could try the food, er-“

Andromeda took another sip of tea, presumably to stop herself from laughing at Harry. Harry felt very reminiscent of the time he’d accidentally asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.

“At the very least,” she said, “I’ve heard good things about him lately. If you two happen to get more well acquainted, you ought to invite him over.”

Oh, great. Harry could just picture it now; within five seconds they would be the best of friends, probably, and then go about telling him that he needed to remodel his kitchen or something. Still, he could feel a bit of warmth in his chest- Andromeda still wanted him to come over. Frequently. Like he- belonged here.

“Besides,” she said, “I’m dreadfully curious about what Narcissa is up to now that she’s been thoroughly disillusioned.”

“Well, I visited there,” said Harry. “You could ask me?”

“Harry,” Andromeda said, reaching across and patting him firmly on the hand, “I love you, I truly do- but you have tunnel vision when you’re in pursuit. I need details.”

“I- yeah, maybe.” Harry sheepishly took another drink of tea. He couldn’t even remember what Narcissa had been wearing. Whenever he tried to remember it, all that came to mind was the bit of hair that had gotten caught under Draco’s collar as he’d been making crepes… right. Back on track. “Well, I’ll see if I ever have the chance to, erm, pass your message on…”

“Please do,” said Andromeda. She sat back, then her eyes widened. “Teddy Lupin! Do not even think-“

Formal clothing always felt so… awkward. Harry pulled at his collar again, eyeing his robes. They were new-ish; he’d bought them for his anniversary dinner with Ginny, and then she’d broken up with him, and he’d put them away. But- well, they were pale grey and silver hemmed, and Hermione said he looked good in them. Besides, Draco had been clear in his letter:

Potter, I would usually just imply this in a charming way over a seductive bowl of gelato, or perhaps a nice bruschetta, but since you unfortunately have to work and I am otherwise occupied this week, you’ll have to accept this letter instead. I’ll be picking you up at eight in front of Grimmauld. Wear grey.

          - Draco

Harry pulled at his collar one last time, then headed downstairs. Hermione and Ron were already gone, since Ron was doing security; now it was just him, Dudley, and the portrait of Walburga Black[5] .

Dudley gave Harry an appreciative whistle when he came downstairs. “You really are into him, then.”

“I- what, do I look desperate?” Harry squinted at his sleeve. “I’ve not been on a proper first date since school, really, I don’t much-“

“It’s not a first date, you went over to help him fix cars,” said Dudley. He grinned. “Besides, you look fine. I was just surprised you tried to brush your hair.”

“Tried is the operative word,” said Harry, glum. “The comb broke.”

“I always wanted your hair growing up,” Dudley turned a page of his book- a cookbook, Proper Pairings for Poison- “It’s got a charm, yeah?”

“What, really?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “I always got the feeling you were eager to get rid of me.”

“Nah,” said Dudley. “I mean, yeah, I was an arse, but…. I dunno, you were always up to something, you know? After we were eleven, that is. I always felt like you were meant for something more. Meanwhile I was just eating half grapefruits and trying to gain levels on my video games. And trying not to get beat at Smeltings.”

“You got beat at-“ Harry paused. There was a knocking at the door. Dudley nodded towards it.

“I think that’s your date,” he said, turning the page; “Did you know that the easiest dish to poison is fermented shark fin, because most people already instinctively identify it as terrible for them, so additional danger slips under the radar? Just something to keep in mind.”

Oh, god. Dudley was being poisoned by the house. Harry shook off his pause, and headed towards the door; he opened it to Draco Malfoy himself, hair loose around his face and wearing a muggle suit. He looked- well- great. Harry swallowed. “Erm. Hello?”

“Well, we can’t all be romantics,” said Draco. “Glad to see you made it here on time.”

“I live here?” Draco’s nails were sparkling in a way that reminded Harry of Lavender in sixth year. He’d put on some sort of cologne- a combination of some sort of wood and a smell reminiscent of Slughorn’s potions class…. But in a good way?

“I’m aware,” said Draco, “I was here last week. Do you have your ticket?”

Harry felt himself go red; but he fished the invitation out of his pocket. “Yeah. Er, sorry, been a long day.”

“Me too,” said Draco, tone dark. “Did you know that it’s possible to burn a waffle so badly that the building starts raining? By itself?”

“You burned a waffle?”

“Group work is the only reason I would commit murder,” said Draco. He held out his arm. “You’re looking good, by the way. Not that I’m surprised.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” said Harry, desperately, but he took the arm; “You’re looking good, too. Not sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t either. Apparating in three- two-“

The ministry cobbles appeared under Harry’s feet; he stumbled, slightly, but the solid weight of Malfoy by his side kept him upright.  He was surprisingly warm. In front of them, the auror checking invitations loomed out of the dark- Lavender.

“Hullo,” she said, looking them over. “I thought the gossip was wrong.” She was wearing a variety of intricate bracelets; they clinked as she checked Harry’s invitation.

“Nah,” said Harry. “Er, he’s my plus one. In case you didn’t guess.”

“I’ve got it,” said Lavender. She noted something on her clipboard and nodded for them to go in. “Coat check is right after the entrance, have a good night. And if you plan on dueling, do it outside, Ron’s guarding the interior atrium and he’d just make it worse.”

“Not generally my plan of seduction, but we all have to make sacrifices,” muttered Malfoy, as soon as they were out of earshot; he shot Harry a grin, then took off his coat. Underneath, he was wearing a grey shirt with a red pocket square, and well tailored muggle pants. “Er, if you could, could you not put this up with magic?” He asked, leaning in; the attendant, a man that looked somewhat familiar to Harry, grunted, then put it up as requested.

“Right, then,” he said. “I’ve heard tell they’re attempting a tiramisu today. Shall we?”

Harry was the one to walk through the doors first. The ministry atrium had been transformed, as it was every year; the great arches of the entryway had been gilded in gold and floating streamers of light. A podium was at one end of the room, where the planned speech was occurring; along each side of the room were various waiters, who were holding different food and drink on hovering trays.

The crowd was diverse; Harry spotted Viktor Krum going on at length about something to Mr.Diggory, who was backing away ever so slowly. Beyond him, a group of women that looked like they were part veela were speaking to a tall, thin man who was holding up a parasol from the light, even though it was night-time.

He had to keep on his feet, though; when he looked to his left, Draco was already on the hunt for the rumored Tiramisu.

He stopped, however, halfway across the floor; someone was approaching them with champagne glasses full of some orange drink.

“Good to see you’re keeping up,” said Draco, pulling two off the tray; “Mimosa, Harry?”

Harry took the glass, but peered in thoughtfully as Draco took a large swig. “What’s a mimosa?”

“Orange juice and champagne, my god, I thought you had culture,” said Draco. “I do understand, having met Dudley, but I assumed Hermione would have brought you into reality by now.”

“I mostly just drink what I’m given,” said Harry; he took a sip, watching as Draco grinned. He looked good here, in an elegant ballroom in muggle clothing, mismatched but still owning the place. Like he belonged here. The mimosa, unsurprisingly, was good. “I thought this would have, I dunno, firewhiskey or something.”

“No,” said Draco, “Although it’s a bit bewildering, given it’s generally a morning drink. That’s what the orange juice is for, to pretend you’ve got control of your life…”

“Yeah?” Harry took another sip. “Sounds like you’ve got experience with it.”

“Yes, well, I am part french…” Draco leaned towards the Tiramisu once more- but then paused. “Someone’s rifling about in my jacket.”

“Someone’s what?” Harry drank more of the mimosa. It was, truly, quite nice.

“Fiddling around with my jacket.” Draco turned about on his heel. The nervous blush in his cheeks was present now; Harry felt his shoulders straighten, slightly. Whatever this was about, it genuinely made Draco nervous. “I’ve got a bunch of wards on there, it’s easier than casting them on myself every time I’m out and about, and someone’s touching it with ill intent.”

“We need to check it, then,” said Harry. He took Draco’s mimosa and finished it, then put it on the nearest tray and took Draco’s elbow in his arm. “Er, shall we just go back to the coat check?”

Harry checked over his shoulder; Kingsley was staring at him, eyebrow raised, through the crowd; he just shrugged and turned back to Draco.

“Right, yeah, check the coat check,” said Draco. “Urgh, but they can’t know I’ve got wards on it, that’ll expose a weakness in my shielding-“

“We can just pretend you’re going out for a smoke,” said Harry, “That’s perfectly logical.”

Rita Skeeter moved through the crowd, made eye contact with him, and immediately moved away; Hermione must have talked to her again. Harry and Draco made an about face, towards the coat check; Draco was limping slightly.

“You all right?”

“I should have brought my cane,” said Draco, irritably, “But it didn’t really match my shirt-“

When they turned the corner, the coat check was empty and the front doors were closed- Harry frowned. “Those doors are meant to be open, it’s a fire hazard.”

“Everything’s a hazard here,” said Draco. He peered over at the coat check. “I- someone is meddling with it! He’s sticking something into my pocket!” This was hissed under his breath; Harry heard footsteps as Draco shoved him behind a bust of Merlin[6].

“Evening, Malfoy,” said a voice- the same man that had taken their jackets. Harry slipped his hand over his wand, holstered beneath his robes. “Forget something?”

“Just want a smoke,” said Draco. “Left my lighter in my pocket, I think. Hope you don’t mind if I rifle through it.”

“Lighter? Why wouldn’t you just use your wand?” Harry could hear the shuffling of feet; Draco was trying to get by but the coat checker wasn’t letting him.

“My wand’s been a bit tetchy about fire spells ever since I fought off fiendfyre in seventh year,” said Draco. “You ought to recall.”

“So, what, you’ve gone muggle now? Thought that was a cover, to fit you and hero boy.”

“I’d say he’s at least a hero man by now,” said Draco. “Do let me by, I am absolutely craving drugs right now and it would be a pity if I couldn’t acquire them.”

“Sorry, I really can’t let you-“

Harry lifted his wand, stepping out from behind the bust; he felt a shift in the magical wards, and suddenly everything went white. Before he got knocked over, he managed a shielding charm, the ringing in his ears echoed by magical residue.

He blinked, ears resuming their ringing as the brightness faded away. The coat check bloke was unbothered; he was on his way out the front door. Harry scrambled to his feet, climbing over Draco’s prone body and flicking his wand out; “Relashio!”

Wrapped up in ropes, the coat-checker toppled over. The coat area was in rubble, but the rest of the atrium wasn’t hurt; whatever this had been for, the perpetrator obviously hadn’t realized how thorough the wards were[7]. There was a murmuring behind Harry; the attendees of the benefit seemed to realize something was going on.

Harry ignored the audience. He’d had worse. As Draco stirred back to consciousness, he lifted his wand to the bloke’s chin, disarming him. “As per the remediation act of ’98, you’re under arrest on suspicion of creating public destruction. You have the right to a trial, and this will be executed upon your assignment of a lawyer. If you have a debilitating physical condition that will lead to your death while in brief custody, now is the time to notify me.”

There was a pause as they made eye contact. It was Montague, Harry realized. He looked a bit different, now; last he’d saw him, they’d been on either side of a war. There was a scar on the left side of his face, nasty in the low light. His chest heaved as he breathed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Right, then,” said Harry. “Get up, I’m taking you into custody.” He tugged on Montague’s arm, but the man didn’t move; sighing with irritation, Harry levitated him. He turned back towards the atrium; Ron was at the front, holding people back, wand out. “Ron, I could use a hand here.”

Draco, stumbling to his feet, was leaning on the wall; Harry winced, but didn’t go over to him. He had to be professional, and Draco was clearly mostly fine. Lavender, who had come inside at the sound of the explosion, seemed to be heading towards him anyway.

Ron, coming forward, peered over. “Bloody hell, is that Montague?” He squinted. “Are you the one that blew up my car?”

No comment from Montague; from behind them, however, Draco said, “I would bet on it. He works in confiscated dark objects. They’re the ones that have all of the pixie dust.”

Ron looked between Draco and Montague; when nothing else happened, he shrugged. “Right, let’s take him in… out of the way, people, this isn’t even all that unusual for Auror Potter…”

Levitating Montague behind him, Harry followed Ron through the crowd. There were whispers and the flashes of cameras; and while he knew he should feel triumphant, he didn’t. He just felt tired. Couldn’t he have one nice night?

“Bloody hell, Harry,” said Ron, as soon as they were out of earshot. “You’ve really got a knack for this, don’t you.”

“You know,” said Harry, “I can’t think of one formal event I’ve attended where something stupid didn’t happen.”

“Yule ball went all right,” said Ron.

“Yeah, and I overheard Karakoff being evil,” said Harry. “Do dark wizards not like parties?”

“Reckon they like them too much,” said Ron, wisely. “Watch his head, here. Aaaand hullo, Penden.”

Penden, the auror on duty, looked up from his newspaper. “Really? We’ve actually got someone in custody?”

“He tried to blow up the atrium a few minutes ago,” said Harry, “So yeah, he’s in custody.”

“Great,” said Penden. He flicked his wand; the door to the holding cells creaked open. “We’ve got a bunch of empty spaces, so you can do a magical-nulling one if you’d like.”

“Probably best.”

As the magical null kicked in, Montague toppled from the sky; together, Harry and Ron caught him, shoving him into the cell and closing the door before he could start fighting back; Relashio had worn off as well, so he was unrestrained.

As soon as the lock clicked shut, Montague huddled back into the corner, looking up darkly; Harry ignored it.

“Right,” he said, “Do you think they still have food left?”

“If they don’t, I’ll be the first to try the bombing thing again,” said Ron. He clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate, you still look good. It’ll be another article for our Harry wall.”

When Harry arrived back into the atrium, it was to overwhelming applause. A little voice in his head groaned, frustrated. Could he not have one low visibility social event? Dodging several autograph requests, he made a beeline to Draco, who was on one edge of the atrium and looked a bit twitchy, even as he ate some tiramisu.

“Good to see the chosen one’s still alive,” said Draco. “This tiramisu is terrible.” He took another bite.

“I’m so sorry about all of this,” said Harry. “Really, really not my intent… I’d rather leave now, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” said Draco. “Half the people here think I was involved too, and I dislike being accused of evil acts I’ve not committed. As we’ve already gone over.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Erm, then, I can just..”

“No just anything, Potter, you’re coming to mine,” said Draco. “I’d like to get roaring drunk and complain about Montague, and you’re too dressed up to go straight home.”

“Right.” Harry felt a flicker of optimism light up in his chest. Tonight may not be completely a lost cause. He took a bite of the tiramisu that Draco offered him on a fork; it was nice, in his eyes. Why was Draco complaining about it?

“Harry! Man of the hour.” Harry turned around, tiramisu still in his mouth, to make eye contact with Kingsley. He nodded to Draco, then folded his hands behind his back. “I was wondering if we might take a walk.”

“Yeah, all right,” said Harry. He swallowed the tiramisu, handing Draco the fork back. “Er, I’ll be right back…”

“Take your time,” said Draco. “There’s still three dishes I haven’t critiqued.”

“Right,” said Harry. “Erm, where did you want to walk?”

Instead of responding, Kingsley headed out through a side door; they emerged onto the cobblestone in the side alley next to the ministry. There was a light rain. Kingsley looked up into the night sky, hands in the pockets of his robes. “I think I owe you an apology, Harry.”

“Oh. Er, thank you?”

“I was unfair in my assessment,” said Kingsley. He made eye contact with Harry. “I thought you were overreacting, but I think it’s clear now that there was a threat. No one is completely unscarred by the war, but- I think my opinion that you were unsuitable for field work currently was inaccurate. If it’s all right with you- I’d like to fully reinstate you as an Auror.”

Harry felt the world slow, for a second. This was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. He was being told he was right. They believed him. He wasn’t crazy anymore. But- it didn’t feel right. Instead of feeling happy, he just felt… tired.

He swallowed. It felt like there was sawdust in his throat.

“Harry? Are you all right?”

“Actually,” Harry said, his stomach churning with nerves, “I think- I think I’m leaving the Aurors.”

“What? Harry, you’re a fantastic auror. This is what you’re meant to do.”

“Is it? I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed my job,” said Harry. He looked over at Kingsley, who was, to his credit, taking this relatively well. “I- look, this isn’t about you, or the taking a break, it’s just… I realized I’m a lot happier when I’m not fighting all the time.”

It felt like ripping off a band-aid; without the suppression, suddenly he was ready to speak. “I don’t know if I ever wanted to be an auror, really, but when I joined it was to finish the war once and for all, and I could hardly avoid that, and by the time I realized I wasn’t enjoying it, I was years in…”

There was a pause, and then Kingsley nodded. “It’s not for everyone,” he said. “But- and I speak for the department here- we will be sad to see you go. Take a week, all right? A week off, and you can let me know if you still want to leave.”

Harry nodded, although he knew his answer would stay the same. He felt strangely free. A smile was fighting to make its way onto his face, although he forced himself to stay somber. “Yeah, of course. Er- I was going to leave, if that was all?”

“That was all,” said Kingsley, who sounded preoccupied; “Although admittedly this didn’t end the way I expected. Have a nice night, Harry.”

“I will,” said Harry; when he emerged back into the atrium alone, Draco moved towards him, putting down an empty plate near a sconce.

“Did you kill Kingsley?”

“Just surprised him,” said Harry. “He, er, offered me my job back, and I quit.”

“Ah!” Draco paused. “Did you- still want to leave? Or-“

“I would love,” said Harry, “To get absolutely blitzed to celebrate. If you’re still up for it.”

“The Malfoy family wine cellar is calling my name,” said Draco.

“I just can’t believe you actually told him you were quitting,” said Malfoy. He was sitting on the floor of his room- surprisingly sedate, decorated in a very modern way with lots of pale grey and silver accents, along with a Pixies quidditch poster. Between his legs was the remainder of the bottle of brandy. “I mean, no offense, but you seemed like you needed a bit longer before you realized you weren’t cut out for having to fight all the time.”

“I just got tired,” said Harry. “I’d like to go to at least one party where no one wants to kill me.”

“You can say that again,” said Draco. “You seemed more miserable at that party than I was, and you were the returning hero.”

“Yeah, but I never liked the hero stuff,” said Harry. “Urgh, but I don’t even have a backup plan. I can’t believe I’m going to end up living off of my inheritance like some sort of pureblood.”

“Rude.” Draco snorted and leaned on Harry’s shoulder, which was a bit awkward for him as he was actually the taller one. “Really, though, no backup plan? Mcgonn-mg-the professor was practically begging for you to come teach, I bet. You were her favorite. Aaand the best at defense.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot she offered-“

“So she did!” Draco cackled triumphantly. “I called it. Professor Potter.”

“So you think I should do it?” Harry slid down the wall further. “Urgh, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at it- it’s different than DA, I’d need to be respon-responsible…”

“You’re fine,” said Draco. “You’ll be brilliant. And everyone loves you anyway, you wouldn’t have to work hard to make them listen to you.” He waved a hand dismissively in the air, but misjudged the distance and crashed into the wall.

“I guess,” said Harry. “Didn’t work that way with dark wizards.” Draco was warm against his side. It was nice.

“I’m a dark wizard, and I like you.” Draco patted Harry a couple of times on the hand. “Really, you’ll be fine. And then at least one of us will be employed.”

“What do you mean, one of us?” Harry tried to sit up, but felt like he was swaying a little too much; he accepted his new home on the floor.

“Dudley thinks we’re opening a bakery,” said Draco, “but no one will rent to me. Because in the wizard world I’m, er, an enemy, and in the muggle world I don’t have-“ he screwed up his face, thinking- “credit? Credit sc- score? Something ‘bout past rent, and I’m good now, so I can’t just hex em to make them trust me…”

“You can’t buy anything?”

“I’m broke, I don’t have buying property money,” said Draco, grimly. He lay down on his back, then sighed. “I’m huuuungry, but I don’t want to cook…”

“Let’s order takeaway!” Harry, unable to solve the rent problem, decided to go for food. Food would make Draco feel better, probably. He was that sort. It worked with Dudley.

“Takeaway?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Urgh, we’ll have to go downstairs, though… wish I could just owl something in.” He rolled over onto his stomach, forcing himself upright. “Does your mobile work in here?”

“Yeah, I changed the wards,” said Malfoy, but he seemed distracted; he was staring up at the ceiling, fingers drumming on the floor. “You wish you could owl stuff in? Really?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Bloody convenient. Dunno why wizards insist on only mail-ordering stuff like potions and brooms, would be nice to mail order food.” He flipped open the mobile, trying to wade through the alcohol in his brain to the island of take-away numbers. Triumphantly, he thought he could recall a place for curry; he rung the line, grinning when they picked up.

As he ordered, Malfoy rolled over and stood up himself, nearly toppling over but making it to his desk; he pulled out a muggle mechanical pencil, scribbling something on a piece of paper. When Harry hung up, Malfoy turned to him. “You,” he said, “are a genius.”

“I am?”

“Mail order!” Malfoy gripped Harry by the shoulders; they both swayed a bit. He was grinning widely. “I don’t have to rent anywhere, I can just make pastries here, owl-deliver them-“

Harry nodded, slowly; Malfoy tilted his head to the side. “Potter,” he said. “Potter.”

“What?”

“How long does takaway take?”

“Dunno,” said Harry. “Hour, maybe?”

“Good,” said Draco. “That means I have time to do this.” He paused. “Hex me if this isn’t right.”

Then, reeling Harry in and up with the collar of his dress robes, Draco kissed him. It was nice, for a first kiss; just a brushing of the lips, more of a declaration of intent than anything else. Harry, however, was more up for a full commitment. When Draco pulled back, he pushed forward again, crowding him against the wall- and Draco snorted.

“Should have known you’d be demanding,” he said. “Do go on, that wasn’t a complaint.”

Harry grinned to himself. “Didn’t think it’d turn out like this,” he said. “What a way to spend a Saturday.”

“I did hope,” said Draco. “Now, really, go on. Once the curry arrives I’ll need to critique it, so we need to get a move-on.”

Harry shook his head, then went in for another kiss. What had he signed up for? Behind the exasperation, though, there was a hint of exhilaration. He had a good feeling about this- all of it. Even if it meant in half an hour, he’d be listening to Draco commenting on how the curry hadn’t used fresh peppers…

“Potter, I can feel you thinking,” said Draco. “Focus on me, if you please.”

Yeah, okay. He deserved that. Harry did, however, let himself smile. The future was looking up.

Footnotes:

[1] Enough Whiskey, in fact, that it was really whiskey with some tea in it, and not the other way around.

[2] And reminded him of Hagrid, a bit.

[3] George had altered the charmwork of the broom; Harry was fairly sure it wouldn’t kill Dudley.

[4] As per the Percy Weasley sponsored broom charm regulation for Minors bill of 1999.

[5] Although not for much longer: Ron had hung up a pot of paint thinner on the hook across from her portrait.

[6] Installed post the destruction of the ministry atrium during the second war.

[7] Another hangover from Dumbledore and Voldemort destroying the entire thing in about ten minutes a few years ago.

Chapter Text

Treacle Tart

Ingredients:

• 1 ¹⁄₂ cups cups flour
• 8 tbsp butter
• ¹⁄₂ salt
• 1 cup treacle
• 6 tbsp. bread crumbs
• 3 tbsp. butterbeer
• 1 egg
• 1 lemon’s Zest
• Whipped cream, for serving

Instructions:

• Crumble butter, flour, and salt together to form crust. Pre-bake at the right temperature- hot enough that you have to pull your hand out after two ceremonial chants.
• Heat treacle until it’s runny, then take off heat and add bread crumbs, butterbeer, and lemon zest. Add egg slowly after tempering it in another bowl to prevent curdling.
• Pour into crust and cool. Serve with whipped cream.

Light trickled through the curtains onto Harry’s face, bringing with it small specks of dust; Harry sneezed, waking himself up a little more fully. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, pulling the curtains closed; the space next to him was empty.

Wait. Harry pulled the curtains open. The sun was up already. His alarm must have not gone off.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, pulling on a pair of trousers and attempting to put his hair back into place. The opening was this morning; Draco had been working with Dudley all morning getting pastry ready. And he was almost late.

Jumping down the stairs two at a time, he chucked floo powder into the fireplace, ignoring the shout from Walburga as he said “Malfoy Manor!” and felt himself spin away in a haze of smoke and fire. Usually he wouldn’t have chosen floo for a press release- too much dust- but in this case it was needed.

He stumbled out into the hustle and bustle of a proper bakery, even out in the front of the manor. Since he’d been here last, they’d finished the owl roost; there were twenty-five owls all perched on different ledges outside, preening, next to a pair of motorbikes. Stan shunpike waved at him through the window.

“Morning, Harry! Thought you were skiving off!”

“I was, er, delayed. Sorry, Stan.”

“Nah, no problem! Luna’s still not here anyway. Reckon she got lost.”

“Right.” Harry straightened his shirt, briefly dusting it off, before heading into the kitchen. He poked his head in; Draco was arm-deep in dough, muttering something as he transferred things to the oven.

After a moment of consideration, Harry closed the door again. Draco probably didn’t need to be… disturbed.

“Hullo, Harry! You made it!”

“Argh!” Harry nearly jumped a foot; Dudley could be bloody quiet when he wanted to be. He waved at Harry. He looked like the stereotypical baker, apron tied and shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Unlike Draco, however, he was carrying a load of boxes; it seemed they were frontloading different pastries.

“Do those have… stasis charms?” Harry thought he recognized the feeling of magic.

“Yeah, they’re the wizard ones,” said Dudley. “Stan and I are going to be delivering the muggle ones as they’re made to order. Draco says he can handle the phones while doing the baking, but, er…”

“I might need to take over?” Harry reached out and took a box, bringing it into the foyer, where there were dozens already stacked.

“…you might need to take over.” Dudley frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this manic. And I was partnered with him during our cake decoration course.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t blame him,” said Harry. Next to the stacks of boxes, there was a landline on top of a wicker side table[1]. A chair was placed in front of it, as if Draco intended to run back and forth, answering the line.

“Dudley!” His voice shouted from the other room. “I think Luna’s here! She just crossed the wards!”

“Ah, bugger.” Dudley put down his remaining boxes and stood up. “Follow me, we’ll distract her till Draco looks a bit more refined. He’s real worried about his image, or something.”

“Right.” Harry was of the opinion that Luna was generally very difficult to distract, since she was already… herself, but he could at least try. “Er, lead the way?”

Sure enough, when they pushed the front door open, it was to bright sunshine and wind just barely ruffling the banner hung above the door; Accio Pastry; Bringing the Magic to You! In the distance, a figure stood, glittering and also shifting in color, wearing what seemed to be a pantsuit and a feather boa.

“I still think that’s a bit of a statute of secrecy violation,” said Harry. “Isn’t it, well…”

“Apparently, since we haven’t said it’s real proper magic, we can just pretend it’s a gimmick?” Dudley scratched his chin. “Is that her, over there?”

“Harry!” Luna hurried forward, beaming. What Harry had thought was a feather boa was actually a real boa constrictor, or at least a semi-decent conjured version of it. It coiled around her shoulders, mostly brown with slitted eyes and a tongue that flicked out occasionally. “It’s lovely to see you! The dust in your hair is a very avant-garde touch to your look, I think. And it’s sure to be good for wrackspurts.”

Oh, merlin. Harry brushed off the top of his head; sure enough, a shower of ash came down. Could he never look properly put together?

The snake tilted its head to one side, then hissed; “Good to sssseee you, amigo.”

“Sssorry, what?” Harry, realizing he was speaking parsletongue, paused for a second and looked over at Dudley to make sure he wasn’t completely throwing him off; Dudley seemed vaguely confused but not particularly bothered.

“You were the one that releasssed me, weren’t you? All those yearssss ago? Quite a good ssssenssse you have about you.”

“….oh. Weren’t you going to go to brazil?”

“Too sssssunnny.” The snake coiled around Luna’s arm, heading over towards Harry. She beamed. “The man who gave him to me said he was looking for a man with glasses and dark hair! It must have been you, Harry.”

Harry, not knowing quite what to do otherwise, held out a hand; the boa constrictor curled around his arm, heading up and draping over his shoulders. It was a warm, solid weight.

“Call me Jossssse.”

“Right…” Harry blinked. Clearly he wasn’t particularly good at switching between parsletongue and English; Jose didn’t seem to particularly mind, however. He had already closed his eyes.

The door opened and closed once more. “Harry, why are you- no, I’m not even going to ask. Good morning, Luna. Thank you for coming out.”

“It is my absolute pleasure,” said Luna. She smiled. “If you’re still Draco, am I standing in front of Dudley?’

“That’s me, yeah,” said Dudley. He held out a hand; Luna, instead of shaking it, put a whisk into it.

“I thought I would bring a few props,” she said. “My father’s just behind me, I’ll be taking photos and he’ll be writing the article.”

“Right,” said Draco. “Where are we doing this? In front of the banner?”

“That should work,” said Luna. “It’s lovely to see new developments, especially non-governmental sponsored pastry sections. It’s amazing how much the rottooth conspiracy has infiltrated every level; you and Fortescues are probably the only ones nonaffected.”

“…Yeah,” said Draco. “Stan, where are you?”

“I was just checking the motorcycle!” Stan popped up from beneath the wheel. “We’re all posing, yeah?”

“Yes! This should go out by the end of the week,” said Luna. “Delivery driver, bakers, and the sponsor, of course!”

Harry nodded, although personally he hadn’t been really enthusiastic about being in the picture; Draco thought he should be credited for helping open the bakery, even if Harry had only proposed the idea.

“Right, all gather round the banner,” she said. “Once it’s taken, daddy will be speaking with each of you…”

Harry briefly tried to take the snake off, but it seemed decided to stay on; after a bit of shuffling, he stood next to Stan, who was leaning away from the snake; across the steps, Draco and Dudley linked arms and grinned at the camera.

A loud click and flash; then Luna came forward. “I thought it would be nice to have a version with champagne too,” she said. “Like you’re christening a boat! I learned about it in my travel to Malibu. Fascinating.”

“I’d never say no to champagne,” said Draco; he took the bottle, doing a funny trick with his wand that made the cork fly up and out of sight. “Glasses?”

Narcissa Malfoy appeared from the door. “Did I hear a question about champagne glasses, darling?”

She had a tray; each of them took a glass of champagne. On his shoulders, Harry felt Jose stir; he leaned over Harry’s glass. “Give ussss a ssssip.”

“Can ssssnakesssss drink?”

“Thissss one can.”

Unsure how to respond, Harry just held his up to Jose, as Narcissa lounged against the doorway and drank her own and Dudley and Draco clinked their glasses together. Another loud flash, and Harry came to the brief realization that he was most likely going to be on the front cover of the Quibbler, giving a snake champagne. Great.

“Thankssss.”

Harry took a drink of his too- just as the phone rang.

“Get it! Get the line!” Draco shoved his drink into Harry’s hand and sprinted into the front room. “Hello! This is Accio Pastry, bringing the magic to you, delivery pastries and savory foods. What would you like to order from us today?”

As he spoke, Harry watched an owl floating down from the sky; in its talons was a note.

Accio Pastry-

I’d like to order fourteen croissants in a bulk box (item 6).

-Hermione

In the note were six sickles; Harry shook them out, handing them to Dudley with the note. “Seeems you’ve got your first two orders.”

“Seems we do,” said Dudley. “Do you mind entertaining Luna? I’ve got to go make sure that Draco won’t-“  There was a crash in the background. “…go mad.”

“Right,” said Harry. Dudley rushed inside as Stan was handed a package and told an address from the window; he revved his motorbike, leaving the manor. Harry was left holding three glasses of champagne, a drunk snake around his shoulders, watching Xenophilius take a picture of a tree for some inexplicable reason.

This was already off to a brilliant start.

The burrow was Bright in the midst of the warm summer night, fireflies hovering. Loud music was playing; clearly “celebration dinner” meant party. Even the fact that two newborn babies were attending didn’t seem to be making them quiet; instead everything was just as exciting.

Harry knocked on the door, twice, before it swung open; there was a great cheer as he walked in. Charlie, bald-headed[2] handed him a brightly colored mixed drink. “Go harpies! Hullo, Harry!”

“Fuck yeah, Harry’s here?” Ginny lurched out from behind a wingbacked chair. “Brill! Did you manage to get rid of Ron this time?”

“No, I’m still here,” said Ron. “Why must you attack me so?”

“You’re my least cool brother,” said Ginny. “Harry! It’s been forever!” She hugged him; she’d changed her perfume. It was sandlewood-y, now.

“Cannot believe you’re not including Percy,” said Ron. “Can I at least get a firewhisky?”

“Well, you aren’t my least cool brother, so I reckon I can find something,” said Charlie. “Where’s Hermione? Dudley?”

“Both working,” said Ron. “I think we might be proper adults now. It’s terrible.”

“You should go my route, just not become an adult at all..” Their voices faded as they left towards the kitchen, leaving Harry and Ginny. Ginny, pulling back from the hug, beamed at him. “Champions! Can you believe it! Mum’s bought sixteen of my jerseys!”

“Congrats, really!” Harry found himself grinning with her. “I wish I could have come to the finals.” He really did. There had been a brilliant face-off with Viktor Krum getting cut off by Ginny throwing her final goal, marking herself as a good enough chaser that the next draft was going to be vicious. She’d been on the cover of quidditch weekly three times already.

“I wish you could have too! But Luna did a pretty brill job of holding down the stands.”

Sure enough, Luna was here too; she waved at Harry. She was holding what seemed to be a large glass of gillywater. “Hullo, Harry!”

“Really above and beyond job of it,” said Ginny. “My coach was asking me what I’d paid her, and I said it was just because she’s a great person.”

“It’s important to support your significant other in times of stress,” said Luna. “Also, I enjoy cheering. It’s quite clearing for the mind.”

“Significant other?” Harry raised his brows.

“Old news, Harry,” said Bill, clapping him on the shoulder. “You should’ve seen her sign at the finals.” He winked. “Mum’s still waiting for you to propose, by the way, Luna.”

“Oh, I would never,” she said. “I don’t believe in marriage as a concept. It’s highly colonial, and also tied to the infestation of the ministry.”

Ginny took sip of Luna’s gillywater. “Also, we’ve only been dating for a month, Bill.”

“Just saying!” He put up his hands. “Nice to see you, Harry.”

“Thank you so much for coming round!” Angelina, recovered from childbirth, looked refreshed and excited; George, beside her, also looked quite bouncy. Harry couldn’t quite believe it; weren’t children, especially twins, supposed to be sleep-reducing?

“George can sleep like the dead,” muttered Ron. “Bet that’s why he’s not tired. He already deals with explosions all night.”

“Either that or he just doesn’t sleep much anyway,” said Hermione. “Hullo, we’re very glad to be here! It’s so exciting!”

“Thank you!” Angelina beamed. “I’m quite glad they were born a bit earlier than expected, to be honest. It was miserable. And I can finally drink again!”

“Cheers to that,” said George. “Meet Catherine Dervish Johnson-Weasley and Calendula Zonko Johnson-Weasley.”

“You named them after joke shops?”

“I tried to negotiate for first names, but Angelina convinced me to make it middle names,” said George. “Alas, truly.”

Harry found himself holding one- he wasn’t sure which; as the parents headed off into another direction. From behind him, there was an amused chuckle.

“It’s good to see you’re still socializing, Harry. I thought you weren’t a fan of young children.”

“Same goes for you, Professor,” said Harry. “Er, did you want this one?”

“Merlin, no,” said Professor McGonnagall. “Call me Minerva, Harry, I’m your employer now. Hardly your professor anymore.”

Harry blinked. There was no way he was ever going to call her Minerva. He was sure of it.

“Minnie! Love of my life, light in my darkness! I’m so glad you could make it!” George, briefly distracted by his other child, bounded back towards Harry when he heard Professor McGonnagall’s voice. “I thought you might avoid me, as if you didn’t like me or something! Betrayal, horror!”

“Stop your nonsense, it’s unbefitting,” Professor McGonnagall, however, seemed more amused than irritated.

“Everyone, gather round,” George said. “I’ve a very important question to ask.”

The various chattering of the Weasley family stopped; after a second, they began to circle up. It seemed that with enough time with George, you realized that you could either give him attention or deal with the consequences.

“Will you,” he said, on one knee and holding up  holding up his second twin to her, “Be godmother? Your strict sense of consequences led me to be the chaotic person I am today, and the thought of you not educating my children wakes me up at night. Who will they be, without detentions? Without being sent to the forbidden forest? Without being offered a biscuit in a disappointed voice?”

There was a pause. McGonnagall’s head swiveled over to face Angelina. “I thought George capable of it,” she said, “But you?”

“You were always my favorite professor,” she said. She smiled. “Er, sorry, you don’t have to feel obligated…”

“I would like you to know, George, that this is only to reduce your influence,” said McGonnagall. She turned to Angelina. “Yes, I will be their godmother.”

A cheer went up.

She cleared her throat. “On one condition!”

“Anything, darling Minnie.”

“You will call me Minerva,” said McGonnagall. “And I want a bottle of scotch every Solstice.”

“You’ll get two, Minerva,” said George. He winked. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He deposited the other twin in her arms as the crowd dispersed; McGonnagall heaved a sigh. “He is responsible for half of my grey hairs,” she said. “Well. It should at least be good scotch.” The baby shrieked; she looked down at it, and it quieted immediately. “Manners first, hmm? We’ll have to deal with that,” she said. “Oh, for you to already be eleven. We’ll have to start you on quidditch early.”

The therapist’s office, contrary to Harry’s previous expectation, actually wasn’t all in beige; instead, there were a variety of pictures on the wall. He found himself staring at a waterfall. Beside him, a muggle child was playing some loud electronic game. The clock on the wall ticked, slowly, as the secretary continued to read the newspaper with a quiet shuffling of papers.

 A woman left the office, dabbing at her face with a tissue; as she headed out, taking the child’s sticky hand in hers, the door opened a little wider. Candice Longbottom, licensed therapist and squib, peered out at Harry. “Harry Potter? Come on back, if you will.”

Following her in, Harry kept his hands in his pockets; the office had an awful lot of small, delicate glass decorations, and he felt like he was going to break something. She did have a strong resemblance to Neville; they had almost the same nose, and she walked with the same delicacy.

As she settled herself behind her desk, she gestured to the chairs. “No reclining couch, I’m afraid, but I’m sure you can still get comfortable.”

“Right.” Harry chose the nearest chair; it had clawed feet and a paisley pattern. “Er, how does this work?”

“Well, generally I introduce myself, and then you speak a little about yourself,” said Candice. “I’m Candice Longbottom. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a licensed therapist in both the wizarding and muggle worlds, and due to our confidentiality agreement, I will not disclose anything you speak to me about unless I think there is imminent danger of you harming yourself or others.” She smiled.

“Harry Potter.” Harry paused. It felt weird to introduce himself. Although that was probably narcissistic. “I’m… not sure what to say, really.”

“What about why you came in to see me?”

She had to know, Harry thought. His whole… thing was quite well documented. At the same time- well, perhaps squibs were a bit more detached? “I think I’ve got battleshock,” he said. “Erm, I’ve been having flashbacks. And I’ve had trouble sleeping, lately. And I quit my job, but my boyfriend, he thinks I ought to go in and speak to a therapist. He recommended you.”

“I see.” Candice wasn’t making any notes at all. Instead she leaned back, looking over at him. “This isn’t a test, Harry. I’m just trying to assess the situation. I’m very glad you came in.”

Harry nodded. He wanted to get up and pace, but he took a deep breath instead.

Candice drummed her fingers on the desk briefly, then said, “Why don’t you start with the last time you had a flashback? Walk me through it.”

“Oh. Well, we were fixing the wards on my house, and…”

“It’s important not to get your hopes up,” said Hermione. She and Draco were standing on either side of the space where Walburga’s portrait had once sat. “We think that enough of his magic was left in here that we might be able to bring a portrait alive, but it’s a stretch given how long it’s been.”

Harry nodded. “I- thank you. For trying.”

“We aren’t all pessimists,” said Draco. He’d pushed up his sleeves and was holding his wand at the ready; he and Hermione would be casting together. “I, personally, think this ought to work splendidly. If your accounts of him are correct, he had a strong personality. Classic recipe for success.”

“Whatever’s going to happen, do you mind doing it a bit faster? Even if you fail, I’d like to have some lunch. Dudley’s making treacle tart,” said Ron, yawning.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. On three?”

“Let’s make it four,” said Draco. “Harry, do you mind looking away a bit? You’re distracting.”

Harry turned away as the curtains swished open; he felt the disturbance of the air as Hermione and Draco raised their wands. They’d installed a window above the front door; it was much brighter in the front hallway now. All it needed was the final touch.

Chanting together in Latin, Hermione and Draco were almost singing as they did the spell to wake up the portrait. Harry’s skin had goosebumps along the back of his arms; the spell was interacting with the wards.

They stopped chanting; there was a flash of white light; and then complete silence.

No one said anything. The silence thickened, and it felt almost as if people were holding their breath. Had it failed? Had they brought over Narcissa for nothing?

Another beat, and then-

“Hah! I really got you, eh? You look bloody nervous!”

“Sirius!” Harry grinned, turning around. The portrait captured Sirius perfectly- a blend of who he’d been as a young man and the adult he’d been after Azkaban. He was older, but not gaunt, not haunted. He looked like a true marauder.

“Harry! I should have known you’d talk Hermione into something like this.” Sirius glanced over at Draco. “Really, though, a Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you object to me bringing a portrait to life for him, you’re going to hate hearing about everything else I’ve done.”

“Oh, well, if it’s sleeping with the enemy, I can accept it,” said Sirius. “Honorable cause.” He grinned; his whole face lit up, the brilliant, lively person he’d been when alive. “Can’t say I ever thought I’d be a portrait. Did you really put me over where Mum used to be?”

“We thought you’d like it,” said Hermione.

“Well, it’s fucking brilliant! You ought to bring me to Hogwarts if you can, too, I can finally fulfill my promise to give the fat lady a good ride. She’s got the hots for me, I think.”

“Eugh! I take it back, I’m taking you down,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Ron laughed. “Welcome back, Sirius.”

“It is my absolute pleasure,” said Sirius. “Where’s everyone else? You should show Remus, he’ll die of envy. He’s always worshipped portraits. Thinks they’re historical artifacts.”

There was a long, long pause. Harry felt a knot form in his throat; he swallowed it back. “I… about Remus.”

Sirius’s portrait froze. “No.”

“He- he fought bravely in the last battle,” said Harry. “He’s got a son now, it’s- I’m his godfather.”

Sirius’s eyes were wide. “Tell me you killed Peter. Tell me.”

“It wasn’t Pettigrew,” said Harry. “He- he died before Remus. I- I’m really sorry, Sirius.”

Sirius was looking away; after a second, he stood up, leaving the portrait. Harry felt his hand fall back to his side; without realizing, he’d lifted it up, trying to give comfort to someone he couldn’t reach.

From beside him, he felt a weight on his shoulder; Ron reached out, patting him. An arm came around him from one side, Draco’s cologne distinctive; and then Hermione came at him from the front, hugging him as her hair poked at his nose. “Sorry, Harry,” she said. “He’ll understand. Once he comes back.”

“He was like that when he was alive, too,” said Ron. “It’s all fresh for him. He’ll be back.”

“I vote we introduce him to Severus’s portrait,” said Draco. “I’ve never seen two portraits duel before but I do enjoy first times.”

Harry snorted with laughter, but it felt wet; he lifted a hand up and it came away damp. “Sorry. Don’t know what I expected.”

“Did it not… work?”

Dudley stood in the doorway, holding a treacle tart. He’d made a motorcycle out of crust and put it in the center. His eyes were darting between Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Harry shook his head.

Hermione sighed. “He hadn’t been informed about the end of the war,” she said to Dudley. “He… didn’t know that one of his close friends had died.”

“Oh,” said Dudley. He frowned. “Erm… that’s really awful.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “He knew we were at war, though. And he’s dead himself, so I reckon he’ll recover all right.”

There was another silence; Dudley offered Harry a slice of tart, and Harry took it, eating it as he tried to calm down. It was very good. Swallowing, he looked up- and saw a glint of movement from the side of the portrait.

Another second, and Sirius peered back in towards the foyer. “Sorry, not that I’m not still upset, but- Harry, is there a massive snake upstairs or did the painter just do a terrible job with my eyes?”

“Oh, that’s just Jose,” said Harry, sniffling and swallowing his piece of tart. “I’m taking him to school with me, don’t worry about him.”

“School? Why are you going to school?”

“Maybe we should have disguised you anyway,” said Hermione. She’d put her hair up in a bun and was wearing large sunglasses; the crisp September air lent a flush to her cheeks as she looked out over the train platform.

Harry shook his head. “If I’m going to be their professor, they’ll get used to seeing me anyway.”

Another flash of a camera sounded; Harry winced. Ron was glaring at everyone who approached, which didn’t seem to work very well; Draco had installed a notice-me-not charm on Harry, which was working marginally better. Harry wished Draco had been able to see him off, but mornings were the most busy for him; it hadn’t been workable.

Still, he had a package in his pocket of pastry for his first day, meant for him to eat with dinner, and Draco had kissed him goodbye that morning. It was all right.

Off in the distance, a sparkling head of hair appeared. “Wait! Oh my god, are you our new defense professor?”

It was the girl from Alton Towers- Mathilda. She was beaming, and wearing an extremely flashy outfit. Harry hoped he wouldn’t be required to enforce dress code violations. “No one would believe me! Tell them you’re a proper professor and you signed my shirt!”

A small crowd of people was gathered behind her. One of them raised a hand tentaitively to wave at him; another one was blushing brightly.

“Er, yeah, I’m Harry Potter, I’ll be the new defense professor, and I did… sign…. Her shirt,” said Harry. “Sorry, what are you doing?”

The student, who had been creeping up next to him, froze. “I’ve got a bet going on whether or not the height on your choc frog card is correct,” he said, sheepishly. “Do you mind if I-“

“Only if it’s quick,” said Hermione. “Why on earth did you make a bet if you didn’t even know if he would be there for you to measure up against? Do your research, you shouldn’t need to see him in person to check his height.”

“Of course, professor, I’ll do it next time,” said the student; he cast a brief measuring charm and then backed up again, holding his hand out; a couple of sickles passed between him and the girl that had waved at Harry.

Hermione being called a professor made her flush; Ron snorted in the background, but didn’t correct the student.

The train whistled; Harry hefted his trunk. “Right, well, I’ll see you lot later,” he said. “Er, tell Sirius that I’m still working on getting a portable portrait for him.”

“Good luck, mate,” said Ron, clapping him on the shoulder.

Nodding goodbye, Harry headed towards the train; although he was still getting stares, the influence of being a professor meant that most kids were giving him space. He found a seat easily enough, and as soon as he settled down he cracked the top of his trunk open, ever so little; with a hiss, Jose slid out, joining him on the seat.

“Thisssss issss the good life, eh?”

“It’ssss jusssst a train,” said Harry, although he was actually quite excited. It felt right, to be going back to Hogwarts. Jose did the snake equivilant of a laugh, a quick set of hisses; Harry settled in with a copy of the Quibbler.

The movement of the train must have put him to sleep; he woke up to a knock at the door, a girl staring in at him. She looked… familiar.

She pushed open the door when he didn’t answer. She had her uniform on, although it didn’t yet have any house markings; she was a first year, then. “You tried to wipe my memory at a birthday party,” she said, pointing at him. “Why is everyone scared to go talk to you?”

“Are they scared to… talk to me?” said Harry. He squinted, trying to remember. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was working for the ministry, it was my job.”

“They’ve all been peering in here, trying to get someone to go in and talk to you. I don’t think you’re very scary at all. You’re not very tall, and you weren’t even good enough at magic to wipe my memory properly.” She folded her arms. “Anyway, I’m going to leave now. I like your snake. Goodbye.”

Harry blinked, watching her leave; Jose was asleep, tail twitching as he had snake dreams, whatever those were. The train brakes were screeching. Whatever she was up to, it would have to wait.

He emerged from the train into a brisk night, the stars just as brilliant as they always were. The castle in the distance made his throat tighten. The repairs after the final battle had made it good as new; it looked just as perfect as it had the first time he’d gone to Hogwarts.

Jose coiled around his shoulders more, tongue flicking out towards the air.

“HARRY!” Hagrid headed towards him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh, I’ve missed ye! And you’ve got such a beautiful familiar! I’m so proud!”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said, muffled against his chest. He felt himself grinning without meaning to. “It’s good to be back.”

“Oh, let me get ye your own carriage, yer a professor now…” Hagrid was crying; Harry was doing his best not to cry with him. “I’ll see ye later. You’ll need ta come up to have some tea, no excuses, all right?”

“Yeah, course…” Harry patted the thestrals as he got into the carriage; Jose hissed threateningly at them, but they didn’t seem to mind. He sat back, thinking it over; the speech, the feast… it was a new year.

McGonnagall nodded at him as she went out to speak to the lined-up first-years; the girl who had accosted him in the train nodded to him like they were coworkers, or something, but the others seemed like typical first-years- wide eyed and full of excitement.

Harry headed inside, taking his seat at the professor’s table; Professor Sprout beamed over at him. “Harry! I had wondered if you were coming in with the students. You’re so much like Remus.”

“Yeah,” said Harry; on his other side, Trelawney waved at him.

“Be careful of the food, dear… much danger from a place close to you lies in wait tonight.”

“…Thanks.”

Students were staring and pointing; it had only been three years, so plenty of underclassman that had known him were still around. Dennis Creevey, a seventh year now, was waving at him enthusiastically. Harry waved back as Jose wound over his shoulders, drinking Trelawney’s sherry when she wasn’t looking.

The sorting didn’t take too long; the chattering of students continued as the first years went up, one by one, to be judged by the now severely worn and partially burned sorting hat. The insolent one was named Mary Beady, and was sorted into Slytherin; Harry was unsurprised.

Any conversations, however, stopped when McGonnagall took her place behind the podium and cleared her throat. It wasn’t loud- but she had a commanding enough presence that it had an effect nonetheless.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts,” she said. “It’s been three years since the battle here, and I am happy to announce that the third floor is once again safe for holding classes and moving through hallways. Additionally, the curse on the restricted section has been lifted, although I strongly recommend that you do not venture in without a permission slip, as Madam Pince still does not show mercy. As always, the forbidden forest is dangerous and called forbidden for a reason.”

“Congratulations to our new and returning prefects. I hope with their guidance, we can all have a productive and safe school year. Welcome also to our new professor, Harry Potter; while he may be a world-famous hero, here he is a professor. Given that he is capable of defeating the greatest dark wizard ever witnessed, I suspect he is well capable of dealing with any nonsense you may attempt.”

“Now: enjoy the feast.”

She sat down, and food appeared on every plate. Harry was pleased to see that he had been given a mini treacle tart; it seemed that Winky was still working in the kitchens.

Still, he wanted to enjoy Draco’s gift to him first. It was a chocolate croissant, one of the recipes Draco had been working on recently. Harry broke it open, closing his eyes to enjoy it. Draco always did a great job with making the butter properly layered, leaving a beautifully flaky croissant… although. Something tasted… off… about the chocolate.

When he swallowed, he opened his eyes again to see Professor Sprout staring over at him. Her brow was furrowed. “Harry, dear,” she said.

“What?”

“Did you intend for that to turn your hair green and silver?”

Wait. Had Draco- Harry peered upwards, pulling his hair outwards so he could see it. It was flashing between green and silver. Betrayal. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning, a bit. No wonder Draco had said he wouldn’t be able to focus on any anxiety about the bloody school year! He’d been planning this, the sneaky shit!

“My boyfriend thinks he’s funny,” he said. He considered the second half of the croissant; the damage was already done, wasn’t it? He took another bite, resolved to his fate. “It should wear off.”

“Mmhmm,” said Sprout. “Well, if you’d like a nullifier, I could whip you something up.”

“I think I’ll keep it, actually,” said Harry. The realization was spreading throughout the student body. The Slytherins, especially, were beginning to shout in realization and triumph. “I’m a big fan of house unity.”

Smiling, he bent back to his treacle tart. This was going to be a good school year. He could feel it.

Footnotes:

[1] Recently installed by Arthur and Draco over a couple of weekends and several shots of firewhiskey.

[2] The result of his latest dragon incident.