The Middle (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Seven

   Harry tilted in a polite bow as a couple perhaps twice his and Draco's age bowed and curtsied in response. They were dressed more for a ball than a friendly summer's picnic, and Harry was instantly wary. "A pleasure," he said.

"Oh no, the pleasure is all ours," Mr Skeeter boomed, his voice rattling Harry's lower abdomen. "We have heard many a tale of you young sir."

Harry glanced imperceptibly at Draco, nervous of what they could be referring to. "All favourable I hope?" he asked, trusting that his nerves were not showing.

"All remarkable," Mrs Skeeter gasped, slapping her fan to her bosom and stepping over to him. "An orphan of little standing, to find himself in such a favourable position in life, it is a little less than wondrous."

Harry immediately turned to Draco for assistance, but was dismayed to find he had been swept away by Mr Skeeter into another crowd, and was only able to spare Harry a fleeting glance.

So Harry steeled his courage, and let out a small breath he hoped to disguise with a smile. "Wondrous is a strong word, Mrs Skeeter," he said pleasantly. "I was merely lucky to have such kind relatives take me in." (And there, was the first outrageous lie of the day, for there were many words Harry could use to describe his relations, kind being the last of them.) "And then further lucky still to have made a lifelong friend in Mr Malfoy. Through him, my status was raised most generously, and through him also did I make the acquaintance of my darling wife, which in turn gave me both a son and a daughter."

It had not quite been as simple as all that of course, but the words he spoke were true. Their friendship had survived both the young men realising, with tumultuous shock, that their love for each other was far more than brotherly, and so the task had been to set the stage for two convincing marriages, with neither party truly married to the other.

It had always been part of that agreement to father heirs, so their estates would be ensured, and family names preserved. The logistics of such had been a little tricky to negotiate, but both the men had been delighted to find their wives with child mere months apart, and to have both children be male had allayed all fears immediately as to the future of the Malfoy and Potter lines.

Life was not always that simple though, as Ginevra had come a year or two later to Harry in great distress, having concealed her true feelings for long enough. The youngest of six brothers, living in a world of men, Ginny had confessed guiltily of dreaming of a daughter, and feeling utterly wretched for such a selfish notion. Harry though, although surprised, had taken her needs to heart. He had hoped not to repeat the intimacy which they had shared again, for it was utterly against his nature, but he knew too, full well, that Ginevra did not wish such an experience either. What she wished was a daughter, and amongst the four of them, they had decided Harry and Ginny would try once more for a child.

Harry thought little Molly, named for Mrs Weasley and currently cradled in Ginevra's arms, might be his favourite of all the shared children. Purely because she had given her mothers what they both so dearly wanted.

No, the shared experience of the Potters and the Malfoys had not been a simple one, and it was guaranteed through their continued lives it never would be. But it was indeed a lucky one.

"So you see," Harry concluded. "It is not quite so wondrous as fortuitous, but you can be assured that I am grateful every day nonetheless." He rather hoped he could quell Mrs Skeeter's enthusiasm and make his excuses to leave, but she hung on his every word like a beggar desperate for pennies.

"You downplay such remarkable events," Mrs Skeeter said, with an uncomfortable air of one that had the upper hand in the conversation. "I am not sure you are aware, but Mr Skeeter is the owner and regulator of the largest paper in the southern counties – I am sure you have heard of The Prophet, have you not?"