The dining hall of St. Barbara's Orphanage for Victims of War was starting to fill with people. Children from magical families who had lost their parents were wearing handmade costumes and simple glamours that their teachers helped them to charm. A lot of them were only five or six years old. They jumped around so excitedly that wayward magic was seeping from them making the gaslight lamps flicker on and off and random objects start floating and then suddenly fall to the ground.
There were rows of mismatched jack-o-lanterns with crooked and uneven faces, colorful stickers, and bright spots of gouache paint lining the walls and handmade bats, witches, and skeletons decorated every surface.
Harry noticed Draco Malfoy amid giggling girls. He was charming the wings on their fairy costumes to flutter and then produced the most beautiful multicolored bubbles. They looked like magical creatures: dragons and griffins and mermaids. A pleasant smile made his face strangely attractive. His sleeves were rolled up a bit and Harry noticed a black stain of Dark Mark on his forearm. Even though these children had lost their parents because of the Death Eaters they did not acknowledge the mark at all.
"Grief has changed this boy," he heard Andromeda Tonks speak next to him.
She came, wearing a beautiful set of dark purple robes, with baby Teddy in her arms, his hair had turned raven black as soon as he noticed Harry.
He smiled at his godson and took him on his lap. He was only half a year old but his magical abilities already started to show. Harry wondered what was he like when he was little, did Aunt Petunia ever cooed to him and smother him with hugs and kisses like he and Andromeda did, or was he always that unwanted.
Malfoy noticed them in the crowd and shot a colorful dragon bubble to float towards little Teddy. The boy started laughing uncontrollably reaching out to catch it. His hair turned blue again. Harry smiled to himself. As much as Malfoy wanted to appear cold and unreachable, he was completely different on the inside.
The talent show was about to start and Draco ushered the girls in the fairy costumes backstage. He didn't go back into the audience and Harry wondered if they had persuaded him to take part in it. What he did not expect is to see the Slytherin come on the stage, wearing simple black dress robes and sit down at the grand piano. The fairy dancers had entered the stage, and he started playing. It was a muggle piece, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Harry had heard it on TV a couple of times before Christmas. There were other contestants and other muggle classical melodies were played by Malfoy. He accompanied every single dance, song, and music recital.
The last child had left the stage and the spotlight was left lingering on the grand piano. Malfoy had sat a bit straighter for a moment and then started the most passionate performance.
"Danse Macabre," Andromeda whispered, "that was one of Cissa's favorite pieces. A fitting choice for Halloween."
Harry watched in awe the way his long fingers ran quickly over the keys, Malfoy was absorbed in music, his body swaying and bending over the keyboard. It was fast, desperate, and full of fervor he had only seen on the quidditch pitch before.
After the last chord and an uproar of applause, the blonde bowed and looked up at the audience, his face was red and sweaty and Harry couldn't take his eyes away from him.
"You can tell that he is a Black," Andromeda chuckled and went over to congratulate Draco.
* * *
The night London glistened with harsh neon and soft streetlight. Draco let out another puff of scented smoke into the cold air; the heating charm did not help at all, and he was freezing. His fingers were aching, it has been so long since he touched the ivory in the Manor. Before Aunt Bella showed up and called piano a hobby for good for nothing pansies, he would entertain his quests by sitting next to them and playing something. That trick had always worked, Pansy's facial expression was positively revolting when he played her favorite piece.
It seemed to work on Potter too. Draco had noticed how he was looking at him all evening and it was amusing and flattering and a bit worrying as well. So the Savior of the Wizarding World was not so straight himself even if he was oblivious to it.
"Hey, Malfoy!" Oh, speak of the banshee... Potter came over, holding his hands in his pockets. "Erm... good... er... job today."
"As eloquent as ever, Potter" Draco smirked, "Want one?"
He offered the Gryffindor a pack of cigarettes.
"Teddy might not like the smell," he refused.
"Hm, you sound like that chap, Vernon... some or other," the blonde looked at him attentively. Potter blushed and Draco's suspicions were confirmed. What a nosey git.
"So how are you going to get back to Hogwarts?" the Gryffindor asked, trying to change the topic.
"A muggle taxicab to the Leaky, probably... and then the floo. I am not even allowed to side-along." Draco replied bitterly.
"What about your fancy car?"
"It is still in the police pound, I reckon." the Slytherin groused. "Those muggles took it away as soon as the merry men from the Ministry arrested me."
"How about we take it back?" a wicked grin was dancing on Potter's face, "Can't you summon it with magic?"
Draco looked at him incredulously, "Have you been drinking again, Potter? I am still under the investigation, remember?"
"We can put it back," Potter suggested, something mischievous was glistening in his eyes, "Or are you scared, Malfoy?"
"Oh, you wish, Potter!" Draco huffed, stumping the cigarette butt with fervor, "And that was my line anyway. Accio Mercedes!"
They waited for good ten minutes before they saw the headlights nearing the narrow alleyway and the black Mercedes stopped in front of them, badly scratched, a part of stripy muggle barrier stuck to the front bumper.
"Look what you made me do, Potter!" the blonde went over to assess the damage and then fixed the worst of it with a simple Reparo. Then he'd cast a muggle repelling and a disillusioning charm and opened the driver's door. "Where to?"
"I wanted to drive around a bit if you don't mind" the Gryffindor looked shy for a moment.
"Hop in, Potter, before I changed my mind!" Draco flicked the wand to the ignition and the engine purred to life.
He felt alive at the steering wheel, it felt almost like flying a broomstick, the clamor and light of passing traffic rushing past. Potter was silent, looking absently out of the window, his eyes were glossy and vacant and Draco wondered for a moment what was he thinking about.
They were nearing Charing Cross Road when the Gryffindor caught his gaze, "Malfoy, do you mind stopping somewhere, I have been meaning to tell you something for a long time."
Draco's heart had skipped a beat, what was he on about... Was Potter meaning to confess his undying love to him or something? The git wasn't queer, even if those glances were a tad more interested than he'd expected.
They stopped on the empty street in the muggle neighborhood. A group of drunk youth in tattered costumes and painted faces were walking along on the pavement paying no mind to a vintage Mercedes-Benz.
"I know that Auror Baelish had altered your memory..." Potter exhaled nervously, "She had left me a message and I found this." He offered a small vial with a shiny silvery substance that could only be a memory. "I believe this is one of yours. I've found it in the coin locker at King's Cross. "
Draco took the glass carefully, watching the liquid shimmer inside.
"There must be more... the location of this memory was in the confidential letter and yours was..."
"Destroyed by that incompetent buffoon at the Auror's Office," the Slytherin gritted.
"Well, it is better than nothing," Potter gave him a lopsided grin.
"Do you know why she did it?" Draco had a feeling he already knew the answer by how guilty the git looked at that moment.
"I asked her to... Because you are... queer... and I didn't want the Wizengamot and the papers to get a wrong impression and send you to Azkaban..."
"And what sort of wrong impression they might get, huh?" he sneered, grabbing the git by the shirt collar and glaring at him.
"You should look at that memory..." Potter's voice was meek.
"Oh I will, you coward!" Draco growled and lunged himself at startled Gryffindor.
Their noses crushed, teeth clanked and the frames of Potter's glasses dug painfully into his cheek, but he was kissing him, scaring him into submission, refusing to let go even when the other boy's fingers were trying to push him away.
... He felt a gust of hot air on his face... there was smoke and ember glow of fiery beasts raging around him... he was scrambling for his dear life, climbing the pile of forgotten rubbish, when he saw a hand outstretched in front of him, promising safety and forgiveness...
Draco mowed away abruptly, breathing heavily. Potter looked stunned, horrified, disheveled, and somehow handsome.
"You may leave now... unless you want me to hex you!" he said evenly. The Slytherin didn't need to ask again, in a moment the passenger side door closed with a loud thud, and he was alone in the car.
He sat there for some time, a lit cigarette slowly burning away in his fingers, forgotten. Draco only meant to scare Potter a little, but the way his body had responded to this stolen kiss had frightened him even more.
* * *
Draco had gotten himself a detention... on purpose. He had been planning it the whole week, to anger McGonagall just enough to get some lines to write. The only Pensieve in Hogwarts was in Headmistress' Office and he was itching to see what was in that memory. It kept him up for many nights before, he even tried finding books on how to see the memory without using the magical device, but the sources were contradictory at best.
Now he was starting to regret it. The Headmistress was watching him like a hawk the whole time, making sure that he was actually writing those lines. She did not even read him a lecture, just said that could have been avoided, and gave him some parchment and writing utensils.
As his quill was scratching away Draco's mind inadvertently wandered back to that evening on Halloween. He did not question Potter's actions, if he had discovered some potentially damaging information about himself he would have done the same without thinking. It was a very Slytherin thing to do. If his father had survived he might need to forget about his preferences to continue the family line. But now, it didn't matter anymore.
What mattered though was this stupid attraction to Potter. Draco had caught himself staring at the git for too long. And the fact that the Gryffindor was avoiding him now instead of his usual stalking was unnerving. He wanted to see how he would react if Draco tried to kiss him again.
"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall interrupted his daydreaming. "Do you care to explain to me the real reason you wanted to be in my office?"
"Erm, no reason, professor," he mumbled.
"You're far too mature for setting off a dung bomb, Mister Malfoy," she looked at him knowingly.
Well Draco could always try, "Professor, I was wondering if I may use the Pensieve..."
The witch looked at him for a moment, contemplating whether he had an ulterior motive.
"I hope whatever you are about to view is not for the recreational use..." the Headmistress had cleared her throat.
"No, ma'am!" he protested, "It is concerning my trial, I just wanted to make sure I haven't missed anything important."
"Very well, you may use it then," McGonagall was still looking at him intently. "I give you one hour, Mister Malfoy. Don't touch anything else in the room, I will know."
She flicked her wand and a round metal dish levitated slowly towards Draco. He exhaled and took out the vial Potter had given him. He poured the shimmering liquid inside the basin and it swirled gently. The Slytherin waited until McGonagall had gone out and looked in tentatively.
... He is inside an old, dusty room, that eerily reminded him of the Room of Requirement, there are old pieces of wizarding furniture covered with glossy muggle material. He notices a young man sitting on the floor among old things and crying... the boy is clutching old photos of many people smiling, kissing, dancing... the boy looks up and the room lurches and swirls into another memory...
... A gang of angry muggle children rounds on the small boy in big broken spectacles... One big bulky muggle shoves him hard and the boy falls to the ground... the group laughs and calls him names and the boy just wants to get away from them... to disappear...
... Draco is inside a very small room, it looks like a cupboard and it is dark and stuffy... the boy is sitting inside... clutching the torn piece of parchment in his small palm... he looks like a house-elf in his washed-out oversized hand-me-downs... An angry red-faced man opens the door and wrestles a piece of parchment away from the boy's hands... he bellows something about owl infestation...
... A ginger girl is shouting at the lad in front of her... she is wearing only a bedsheet over her naked body... the lad is sitting on the bed, holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth... he is having a panic attack and a stupid girl is not trying to help... she just keeps screaming... then sobbing... then walking away...
... they are in the alcove behind a muggle establishment... loud music and sounds of laughter come from behind them... the young man is pressed to the wall by a tall blonde stranger... Vernon Duddley... the stranger looks muggle... they kiss drunkenly... the young man moans his name... Draco's name...
He got away from the Pensieve as quickly as possible, scooping out the memories into a vial with shaky hands. Baelish, that bloody bint... she had created a dossier on Potter using his most private and most embarrassing memories... and the foolish sod had given them to Draco.
He wished somebody would Obliviate him once again.