Draco had left the silver deer behind.
Harry hated it.
"A fawn," Andromeda had called it. That was what you called a baby deer; fawns had spots on their backs. Harry didn't care; the fawn was dumb. It looked dumb, and helpless, and pointless. The fox had been much cooler. Harry didn't understand why, if Draco was going to leave Patronus to spy on him, he wouldn't leave the fox. A fox would do a better job than a fawn.
That morning, Harry had awakened to find the fawn without Draco below him on the bunks. A set of clothes had been laid out for Harry, set neatly over Teddy's desk chair. The leather satchel Draco had brought was on the seat of the chair.
Heart sinking as he realized Draco must have already awoken and begun working on the case without him, Harry had made his way to the sitting room. Andromeda was on the sofa, reading a newspaper. "Where's Draco?" Harry asked.
"He left." Andromeda lowered the newspaper to turn the page. She had on a small pair of spectacles, looking at him over the tops of the rims. "There's cereal if you want it. And I can make more tea, if you like." She put the newspaper back up again. Someone on a broom moved across the page.
"Left where?" Harry asked, beginning to feel worried.
"He's working on figuring out that ingredient."
"Without me?"
"Manifestly," said Andromeda.
"But-but he promised we could do it together!"
"Did he?" Andromeda turned another page.
Harry was getting angry, now. "Aren't you at least going to tell me where he went?"
Andromeda moved the paper aside quickly, looking a bit alarmed. "I believe he felt it too dangerous. Come," she said, standing and setting the paper aside. "Let's get that cereal."
"I don't want cereal."
"And I didn't fancy taking care of a ten-year-old once again, but here we are." Andromeda headed off toward the kitchen, and that was the end of that.
*
Andromeda was magical too, so she didn't think he was a freak, and she didn't have any cats. That made her much better than most adults, even though Harry didn't like the way she teased. She seemed to tease quite a lot, but he was never sure that she was doing it, and usually when it happened he was pretty certain it was him she was laughing at. Harry, who was very used to being teased in a mean way, didn't find it funny. Draco hadn't teased him a lot, but when he had, Harry had always felt in on the joke.
She did play a few games of Exploding Snap with him, which wasn't nearly as interesting as playing with Draco, though she did tell Harry about her grandson Teddy. He was a Metamorphmagus, which meant he could change his appearance at will. Andromeda said this mainly resulted in him having blue hair and scales and occasional horns, but that sometimes he wouldn't look like the same person from one day to the next.
When Harry asked why Teddy was his godson, Andromeda told him about Remus Lupin and her daughter, Nymphadora Tonks. "They both died in the war," she said.
"What war?" Harry asked.
"Then Draco hasn't told you," Andromeda said, playing a card.
"Told me what?"
"There was a man named Voldemort," said Andromeda, setting down her cards and picking up her tea. "An evil, arrogant individual who felt that Muggles and people who associated with them were inferior. He amassed power and a group of followers and began killing Muggle people."
She said it all so calmly, like a history text. Harry swallowed hard. "Was he-Draco said a bad man killed my parents. Was it him-Voldemort?"
"Yes. Your parents fought him bravely." Andromeda went on sipping tea. "But that was a long time ago. Voldemort returned when you were at school."
"But Draco said a very brave man killed him," Harry said, frowning.
"Oh, yes." Andromeda sipped her tea. "That very brave man was you."
Harry's eyes went large. "Me?"
"You're a war hero, Harry."
Harry once more got the impression that Andromeda found something amusing.
"Did Draco neglect to mention it?" Andromeda asked.
"Maybe . . ." Harry swallowed again. "Maybe he didn't know."
"But everyone knows. Are you going to play your cards?"
"But I didn't really-Draco said the brave man didn't-he didn't really kill him," Harry said. "He said-I wouldn't . . . I'm not . . ." a killer, Harry was going to say, but he didn't know. He didn't know who he was when he grew up-a policeman who wasn't friends with Draco. For the first time, it occurred to Harry that he didn't know what he was capable of.
"He deserved to die." Andromeda put her cup down. "Do you know how many innocent people Voldemort and his Death Eaters slaughtered? We can pretend to be nice and claim that there are two sides to everything, that everyone deserves mercy and forgiveness, or we can face the reality that sometimes it's necessary to make tough choices to bring about a better world."
When the Polyjuice potion had hit his system, Harry's skin had stretched out, growing in all directions to accommodate longer limbs, a bigger torso, a large head. Harry felt a little like that now, only it was only happening inside his mind-that stretching out feeling, as though his mind was separating from his body and the chair and Andromeda, sitting there with her tea. "What's a Death Eater?" was all he asked.
"One of Voldemort's followers," said Andromeda. "They were a cult of people who did his bidding, carried out his murders, and aided his rise to power."
Harry's mind kept stretching, separated completely now, floating there above the table. "Was Draco," he began, but he already knew the answer.
"Yes." For the first time, Andromeda's voice gentled. "You must understand, Harry; he was very young. His parents both were Death Eaters, and he wasn't given a lot of options."
"His parents," Harry began, but he couldn't feel his voice. His throat wouldn't make the words come out; the words were with his mind-even though he could make his mouth move, just like a puppet.
"Harry," Andromeda said, reaching for his hand.
Harry snatched his hand away, jerking back from the table. His chair knocked back, clattering onto the floor. The sudden sound made him start and look down. "Sorry," he said, not sure how the chair had got that way.
"Draco wants to make up for his past," Andromeda said softly.
"He didn't tell me," Harry said.
"I imagine he wouldn't have wanted you to know."
Harry backed away from her.
"Perhaps we can finish our game later," Andromeda said, standing up. Her voice was kind, but she looked forbidding-tall, with straight shoulders, her grey hair swept up in a low bun. She wore a long, old-fashioned dress, and her nose was perfect, just like Draco's. "You look as though you would like time to yourself. Will you be all right?"
Harry didn't know. He didn't know what he would like; he didn't know anything. Draco hadn't told him anything.
"Harry." Andromeda started to come over to him, and Harry jerked away.
"Yes," he said. "Time to myself. I would like-time to myself."
Andromeda's hand fell. "Very well then. I shall be in the garden, should you require biscuits or companionship." She swept out of the room, leaving Harry in the sitting room with nothing but the glowing silver fawn for company.
The fawn had stood when the chair clattered to the floor, its legs looking wobbly under it. Now it stood there staring at Harry, its little silver ears perked, its tail up.
"What are you looking at?" Harry asked it angrily. "How come you're not a fox?"
The fawn just kept looking at him.
Harry didn't know what to do with the information he had been given, so he didn't think about it. Instead, he thought about the de-ageing potion. They had to find the missing ingredient, so a cure could be made, but the potion was somehow connected to other cases Harry's older self had been working on. That meant criminals were involved. That was probably why Draco thought it so dangerous that he had left without him.
Harry's grown-up self was a policeman, which meant he did things like chase criminals all of the time. He probably had a gun and a car with a siren and a partner to back him up, but-Draco didn't have a partner to back him up. And what if the criminal was Cecil Vance; Draco didn't have Expecto Patronum to save him from the black cloud, because he had left his stupid fawn here. Harry and Draco probably wouldn't have even got away the first time if Harry hadn't cast Tarantellegra.
The potion had fallen on Harry; he was the one who was the wrong age. And old-him was meant to be the policeman, only he obviously hadn't caught the bad guy. And old-him had furthermore dragged Draco along to that warehouse. Draco probably hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place, seeing as how they weren't friends.
Harry should fix this.
He couldn't do something to help, though, because he was stuck in this house. It wasn't even in London. Draco had said they were in Dorset, last night when they were lying on the bunk beds. Draco had also told him he should get some sleep, but Harry had kept having questions, and Draco had answered all of them. Or most of them, except now Harry didn't even know if Draco had told him the truth. And Harry had no idea where Draco had gone.
Resolving to work on the mystery, Harry went back to Teddy's room to look at the papers Draco had left out on the desk. Rifling through them, Harry tried to remember the other files from his own house on Grimmauld Place. Cross-referencing, Draco had called it, but Harry had never read the files Draco had taken from his desk at the Ministry. Still, perhaps there was something in the papers Vance had had that would help. After all, Vance was obviously doing something wrong, having broken into Harry's house and casting that spell Draco had said was dark. Maybe there was something in these papers about him.
As much as Harry disliked reading, he could be really focused if he was intent on something. Painstakingly, he read through each paper, following the letters with his fingers so they jumped around less. He searched for Cecil Vance's name, as well as addresses or any locations he could find with a map.
Several hours later, Andromeda called him for lunch. She hadn't asked him what he wanted, which resulted in rather more cabbage than he ever would have asked for. There were also chicken and dumplings, though, so that was all right. "You've been very quiet," Andromeda said. "Have you found Teddy's video games?"
"Yes," Harry said, shoving a dumpling in his mouth.
Much more carefully, Andromeda took a polite bite of dumpling, then wiped her mouth with a corner of her napkin. She was watching him, Harry knew, but he pretended to be focused on his food. The fawn was standing not far away, watching him also. "Would you like to talk?" Andromeda said at last.
"Not really," Harry said immediately.
"Draco is doing what he thinks best," Andromeda said. "It's okay if you're angry, but it isn't fair to blame him."
"I'm not angry," Harry said, shovelling in more dumpling.
"Aren't you?" But that was all Andromeda said. They went on eating. Afterwards, she had him help with the washing up, but then she allowed him to go back to Teddy's room, the little fawn trotting dutifully behind him. When Harry slammed the door on it, it walked through the wood, looking a bit miffed. Miffed on the baby deer just made it look pitiful.
Eager to get back to the papers, Harry eventually found a parchment about a case that seemed promising. It involved a warehouse, and Cecil Vance was the Auror who had made the arrest described in the report. All of it seemed fairly innocuous, which was probably why Draco hadn't made note of it the first time they had visited Number Twelve and looked at all the files, but since Vance had attacked them, maybe Draco had thought the warehouse was worth checking out.
Harry had just found the address for the warehouse when Andromeda knocked on Teddy's door. "I have made hot chocolate," said Andromeda. "Draco seemed to think it was important you have some today."
"I don't want any," Harry called, not even opening the door. His finger was on the address, but there was nothing he could do with it. If only he could get to London.
On the other side of the door, Andromeda didn't say anything but didn't sound as though she'd moved away either. Harry wished she would go so that he could think, but after a long moment she said, "My husband, daughter, and I used to sit in front of the fire and drink hot chocolate in the winters. It was a family tradition."
"That's nice!" Harry called, still hoping she would go away.
"Before that, I used to have it with my sisters," Andromeda went on. "Narcissa used to make the fire rainbow-coloured."
She still wasn't going away.
Another long pause. "I imagine that for Draco, hot chocolate and sitting in front of the fire means family."
Fire. Coloured fire.
Harry jumped up. Opening the door, he said, "Can we have marshmallows with the hot chocolate?"
Andromeda's eyebrows rose in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Marshmallows are quite difficult to transfigure."
"Yes, I know," Harry said quickly, "but Draco says they're part of the tradition."
"Does he?" Andromeda said, still startled. She was holding a tray with mugs on it, steam curling out of the mugs in lazy swirls. "That's something that must have changed."
"Yes," Harry said, "but it's important. Can we make them in the kitchen?"
Andromeda looked down at him, her brown eyes measuring. "I suppose," she said finally. "If it means so much to you."
"It does," Harry said, eagerly following her. The fawn got up on its spindly legs, following them both to the kitchen.
Apparently, transfiguring marshmallows required bones, which sounded disgusting to Harry, but Andromeda had chicken in the refrigerator, which she said would do. They took some of the meat off of the drumsticks so they could use the leg bones, and set them aside. Harry recognized Andromeda was being very nice about all of this, which made him feel quite badly when he said he needed to go to the loo.
Having Andromeda transfigure marshmallows was a distraction, of course, so that something would keep her away from the hearth.
Harry couldn't think of a way to prevent the fawn from following him, but it wasn't as though the Patronus would be able to stop him, as it was incorporeal. Dumping out the satchel, Harry grabbed the papers with the warehouse address and shoved them in, then slung the bag over his shoulder. Next, he rushed into the sitting room. Draco had said wizards kept Floo powder on their chimney pieces.
Andromeda's chimney piece had pictures-loads of them, a pretty lady with purple hair, a boy with wings, and a friendly-looking man with his arm around Andromeda when she was younger. Standing on tip-toe, Harry looked around and behind the frames, moving them until he found the little bowl. It was sitting behind a picture of the purple-haired woman, only in this one her hair was brown, her face was sad, and her belly was big. The pot was an ugly thing that looked as though it had been made by hand, but in it was the same powder they'd used at Number Twelve.
Taking a handful of the powder, Harry threw it in the hearth. The green flames flared to life, and Harry crawled inside them. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" he shouted, and then was sucked into a narrow, sooty space and spat out the other end.
Rolling out of the hearth at Number Twelve, Harry tried to keep silent as he brushed the dust and soot off of his clothes and Draco's nice leather satchel. Coming here was dangerous; Cecil Vance might be long gone, but that didn't mean he wouldn't come back or that other bad people working with him wouldn't try to rob old-Harry's house. Meanwhile, the fawn trotted out of the Floo looking perfectly clean. Harry guessed being incorporeal had its perks.
As quickly and quietly as he could, he climbed the stairs all the way to the top, stopping at the landing to listen for intruders. When he didn't hear anyone, Harry continued to old-him's room. The fawn, who had followed him up, continued to follow him into the room.
There had been gold coins in one of the pockets of a coat in the cupboard, which Harry retrieved and shoved into the satchel. Next, he found the small box on the bedside table, which Draco had said was a mobile phone. It still didn't look like a phone to Harry, but it appeared undisturbed since last time. Harry guessed Vance hadn't had a use for it-but Harry did.
When Harry pushed the button on the front of the box, the picture of the red-head man and brown-haired girl appeared again, as well as the bar that said, "Slide to unlock." Having already figured out this part, Harry slid his finger on the bar, and the picture changed again to a sky with some smaller picture boxes on it. One of the smaller picture boxes was a drawing of a telephone, so Harry tried touching it, and yet another picture came up. This one looked almost familiar, numbers laid out like they would be on a telephone.
Harry didn't know many phone numbers. Mrs. Figg's was written down somewhere in a drawer at Number Four, Privet Drive, just in case, for emergencies. Other than that, Harry knew the number for Number Four and 9-9-9. He'd never really needed to call that many people. Sucking in a breath, Harry went ahead and tried touching the numbers for Number Four. As he touched them, they appeared at the top of the screen as though the device could feel which numbers he touched, just as it had felt the swipe.
Once Harry was done with the number, he put the mobile up to his face like a real telephone, hoping to hear it ring. When it didn't, he took it away from his face, and then saw the little green telephone picture under the numbers. Harry tried touching it. Hearing the mobile make a bit of a sound, he put it to his face again.
After three rings, someone picked up on the other end of the line. "Hello?"
"H-hello," Harry said, coughing so his voice sounded steadier. He glanced at the door, hoping that if there were any intruders in the house, they were on the ground level and couldn't hear him. "Is-is Petunia Dursley there?"
"This is she," said the voice, but it didn't sound like her. The voice was older, and somehow much sadder.
"Er." Harry didn't know what to say. "I need a number for a taxi."
"Who is this?" And suddenly, she did sound like Petunia, the bit of snap in her voice suddenly making her familiar.
"Er," Harry said again, then realized if Petunia's voice sounded older, his own voice should sound much older. Coughing again, he tried to make his voice sound deeper. "I'm-it's your nephew. Harry Potter."
"Harry!" A shocked silence followed, then a rushed: "Is Dudley okay?"
"He's fine," Harry said, still trying to make his voice sound deep. "I really need a number to call a taxi, though."
"Why? Are you sure Dudley is all right?" Petunia's voice was starting to climb in pitch. Harry wondered how he could have ever failed to recognize it.
"Yeah," Harry said, then thought to add, "I saw him just last week. He's fine."
"You . . . saw him? H-how-how is he?" Petunia's voice had that sad quality again, but as usual, she was only ever thinking about Dudley.
Harry could feel that old feeling-a feeling he'd all but forgot about in the week he'd spent with Draco, but he'd felt it for so much of his life he wondered how he could have forgot. It was that feeling like he might not be there at all, like he might not even exist. Most of the time it was just as well; Harry didn't much like when Uncle Vernon noticed he existed. Sometimes, though, it felt like a dream-surreal, frightening almost. Like he was in the middle of a room screaming, but no one could hear.
"Harry," Petunia said. "How is Dudley doing?"
"I said he was fine; didn't I?"
"There's no need to yell." Petunia sniffed. That was familiar too, only she always used to sniff in disdain, like Harry smelled bad or something, and now she sounded-well, she sounded a little teary-eyed, and Harry almost felt badly. "What's wrong with you, anyway? Are you ill? Your voice sounds terrible."
"Er, yes," Harry said, coughing again. "Quite ill! And I need the number to call to get a taxi, so I can-can go to the hospital."
"Do people like you use hospitals? Isn't there some kind of-" Petunia's voice went disdainful after all. "Spell?"
She did know about magic, Harry realized. Your aunt and uncle are filthy rotten liars, Draco had said. Draco had neglected to mention he was one as well. Harry thought of something then. "If you don't get me that number, I might have to do something funny. Really funny. To Dudley."
"You wouldn't!" Petunia said, sounding shocked.
"Yes, I would," Harry said. "Remember that time he tripped me, and I couldn't walk for a week?"
"But-"
"I know all kinds of spells," Harry went on.
After a moment, Petunia's strained voice came again. "Just a minute."
Harry waited, listening to a rustle over the phone.
"Why can't you just look it up?" Petunia said.
"I haven't got a phone book at the moment," Harry said.
"I meant with your-whatever. Here's the number. Are you ready?"
Harry hadn't thought that far ahead. Drawing out his wand, he waved it into the room. "Accio biro," he said, figuring if Draco could use Accio quill to find people's desks from across the room, surely if there was a biro lying about, it would float to him.
Petunia hissed. "What did you just do?"
"I'm preparing my curses," Harry said, opening the satchel to grab one of the parchments. A biro floated over to him, and Harry grabbed it. "Okay, I'm ready for the number."
"0871 871 8710," said Petunia.
Harry scrawled in the margins as she spoke, then said "Thanks," when she was done.
"Is that all?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, well." Petunia sniffed again, but Harry was pretty sure that this one was a sniff of disdain. "Don't die."
"Er. I'll try not to."
"And tell Dudley-tell him Mummy loves him very much."
"Tell him yourself," Harry said, but the line went silent, and Harry realized she'd hung up.
After that, Harry touched the numbers for the taxi service, giving them the address for Grimmauld Place. They said it would be about twenty minutes, but Harry decided it would be best to wait outside, just in case someone was deciding to rob his house again. As he went to go stand at the kerb, the fawn followed him. "Why don't you go wait inside?" Harry told it. "I'm sure you can be just as useless in there as you are out here."
The fawn looked up at him forlornly.
After only about seventeen minutes, the taxi came. Opening the door in back, Harry read out to the driver the address he'd found among the papers they'd got from Cecil Vance-thirty-three Colville Road. Though he tried to shut the door on the fawn, it got right in with him and jumped up on the seat beside him.
"What's that?" said the taxi-driver. He was a friendly-looking old man with a salt-and-pepper moustache. "Some kind of hologram?"
"Yeah," Harry said, pulling the door closed.
"Where'd you get it?" the driver wanted to know. "Is it new?"
"A man gave it to me," Harry said. "He can do a lot of weird stuff."
"Work for a tech company?" the driver said, pulling away from the kerb.
"Yeah," Harry said, guessing he meant technology.
"This is a long way to go all by yourself." The taxi started along Grimmauld Place, heading down the road. "Are you sure your parents are okay with it?"
"Yes, um." Harry thought a moment. "The deer is a watcher thing."
"Like a nanny cam?" the driver said, looking at Harry through his rear-view mirror. "That's amazing! I should get one for my kids!"
The driver went on like that, mostly making conversation while Harry occasionally agreed to things. He'd had to ride in a cab once before when the Dursleys had forgot him at a Tesco, but that time the Tesco people had helped him call the cab. Uncle Vernon had been angry because he had had to pay the driver when Harry had got back to Number Four, and Harry didn't really have an idea of how much a taxi cost. Still, he had to get to the warehouse, so he could find the criminal, who might or might not be Cecil Vance.
Harry wasn't really sure what he'd do when he found him. He hadn't got that far yet, but he had to do something.
The driver had been right; the ride was long. It was summer, though, so it would not be getting dark for a long time. Still, by the time they arrived at Colville Road, Harry was getting rather hungry for supper. "Here?" the driver asked, sounding sceptical. They'd arrived at an intersection with a bunch of boring-looking buildings. None of them had names or numbers on the front, and Harry wasn't even sure which one was the right address.
"Yes," Harry said, unbuckling and pulling out the gold coins. He handed them to the driver and started opening the door.
"What's this?" said the driver. "It's sixty-seven thirty-two."
"Um," Harry said. "Well, I haven't got it."
In the mirror, the driver began to frown. "You have to pay for your ride."
"Well, I can't," Harry said, reaching for the door.
Suddenly the doors locked. "Do your parents really know you're out?" the driver said. "Maybe we should-"
"Alohomora!" Harry shouted, tapping the door with his wand, which he had just slid out of his sleeve. The door popped open, and the driver looked on in shock as Harry slid out of the taxi. "Come on, you stupid deer!" he called after him.
"Wait a minute!" said the taxi driver, opening the driver-side door and stepping out of it. "You can't-"
Whirling around, Harry pointed his wand at the taxi. He only remembered one spell that seemed at all helpful. "Tarantellegra!" he shouted, and the taxi began to rumble and shake. Rearing up on its back tyres, it rocked back and forth, then spun.
As the driver backed away in horror from the dancing taxi, Harry ran toward the nearest building, looking for anywhere the number for the address might be posted. The fawn, however, seemed to have disappeared.
"Some help you are," Harry muttered to himself, but just then he saw a door, and above the door it said thirty-three.
Pulling out the parchment from his satchel again, Harry checked the number. It was the correct address. Harry reached for the handle on the door.
A tremendous cracking sound filled the air.
Harry turned around to see what was happening, but someone was grabbing his arm. "Harry!"
Then he was being pulled closer, and Harry knew it was Draco. It was Draco's strong arm going around him, Draco's hard chest pressing against his face, Draco's voice roughly saying, "Harry," once more before the air popped again. The street and the dancing taxi and the door with the address all swirled away, and there was only Draco.
The black squeezed them into Andromeda's house. "There you are," said Andromeda, coming from the hall into the sitting room.
Draco's arms were still around Harry. He slid the satchel off of Harry's shoulder, so he could hold him closer. "Harry," Draco said. "What were you doing? What did you think you were doing?"
"Helping you," Harry said, trying to pull away.
"Give him room to breathe, at least," Andromeda said.
"Helping me-Harry." Draco pulled him close all over again. "Do you understand you could have been killed? What were you thinking, riding in a car with a stranger all the way across London?"
"It was a taxi," Harry said.
"I don't care," Draco said, still clutching him. "He could have hurt you."
"They're generally safe," Andromeda said, sounding amused. "But Harry-you shouldn't have ridden in one all by yourself. How did you even find one?"
"I got a phone number from Aunt Petunia." Draco was holding him so close that Harry was kind of talking into Draco's hair, arching his neck around to look at Andromeda. Harry pushed away. "I called her on the mobile phone at my house."
"I forgot all about your Muggle relatives," Andromeda said, looking thoughtful. "I'm surprised they're still around."
"Don't ride in taxis!" Draco said, still sounding frantic. "Don't use mobiles! Don't go to your house! Harry, you went to a place where a crime had been committed. What if he was there? What if he hurt you?"
"I daresay Harry would have survived," Andromeda said gently. "No one could ever stop him, even as a child."
"Because he doesn't know," Draco said, still in that frantic way. "He doesn't understand that-Harry." Taking him by the shoulders, Draco held on very tight. "There are people who love you. Do you understand? You are loved. You are so loved. If you run away like that, you'll-if you were ever hurt, you'd break their hearts. Do you understand me? Do you know there are people who love you?"
Harry squirmed out of his grasp. "Do you mean Granger and Weasley?"
"'Granger and Weasley'?" Andromeda repeated, sounding dry.
"No," said Draco. "Yes. Harry-I mean everyone. Everyone loves you. Do you understand that they care what happens to you?"
"Because I'm a war hero?"
Draco's mouth fell open. His silver eyes were very bright.
"Andromeda told me," Harry said.
Draco cast a glance toward Andromeda, but immediately turned back to Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry didn't care. He didn't care about what Andromeda said, about Voldemort, about Death Eaters, about being a hero. He didn't care about things Draco had supposedly done, because Harry hadn't been there. He didn't remember any of that. What Harry remembered was Draco making hot chocolate and cake and teaching him flying and Exploding Snap and sleeping in bunk beds and Draco touching his hair. Harry didn't care about other people loving him; he only cared about one thing. "You left," he said, taking a step back.
"I needed to figure out the final ingredient," said Draco. "I needed to track down Vance to do it. It was dangerous to-"
"Dangerous," Harry snapped, "like riding in a taxi is dangerous?"
"Harry," Draco said, but then he didn't say anything else.
"That man in my house," Harry said. "Vance. He would have hurt you if I hadn't cast Tarantellegra. I think that's a bit more dangerous than riding in a taxi. In fact, I think it's a lot more dangerous. But it's all right if you do it. Is that it?"
Draco was meant to say something about how he was older, how Harry was just a kid, but instead he just stood there, staring.
Harry could feel tears pricking behind his eyes and didn't know why. He kept on shouting angrily. "Do you think that nobody would care if you were hurt? That no one's heart would be broken? You think that nobody cares what happens to you?"
"Oh," Draco said.
"Is it because you were a Death Eater?" Harry said.
Colour drained from Draco's face. His eyes were very bright, like shining silver in a porcelain mask.
"Harry," Andromeda said.
Harry whirled on her. "I don't care! I don't care what you say. I don't care what he did. Did you think I'd like him less? Were you trying to make it so I didn't care that he was gone?"
"Of course not," Andromeda said.
"Then why did you tell me? You said he didn't want me to know! Is that why we're not friends when I'm grown-up?" Harry turned back to Draco. "Did old-me made you think that because you did one bad thing, you had to do everything yourself all the time, and no one would ever help you?"
"Tea," said Andromeda. "I'll make us some, shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, she swept out of the room.
Draco was still staring, his expression blank, his eyes still unusually bright. "It was much more than one bad thing," he said finally.
"I don't care!" Harry cried in frustration. "You're a good person now!"
Something fell onto Draco's cheek, and Harry realized with horror that it was a tear. Then with more horror he saw that the reason Draco's eyes were shining so much was that they were full of tears, and Draco was crying, even if none of them but the one was falling down his face.
Draco felt bad, Harry guessed, which should have been all right. He had wanted Draco to feel bad for leaving him behind. "You said I could help you," Harry said, just to reinforce the feeling, but suddenly he wasn't as angry any more.
"Yes," Draco said, but stopped. His voice sounded awful, like a sick person.
"And your dumb deer got lost, by the way," Harry said, feeling awkward and perhaps a little sullen. He still wanted to be angry, but with Draco standing there crying it was kind of hard.
Draco was silent for a long time. "He let me know where you were," he said finally.
"Oh." Harry pushed his glasses up, but he didn't want to look at Draco. Not really. Draco's voice still had that sick sound, and Harry didn't want to see if his eyes were still shining. It was all kind of embarrassing, really. Grown-up people-men, anyway-weren't meant to cry. "It's . . . so it's a boy deer?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm certain of it."
"Er." Harry didn't know what else to talk about. "How?"
"Harry," Draco said, and then he was there, pulling Harry into his arms again, pressing him tight against Draco's long slim body.
Harry didn't particularly fancy getting hugged again, but Draco was really messed up or sad or whatever, and anyway Harry had meant what he had said. He didn't want Draco thinking he didn't care, just because Draco had done something bad, or lots of bad things. Whatever, it didn't matter, because Draco was a good person. The best person, really, and even though Harry was pretty certain Draco was crying on him, being hugged wasn't the worst thing ever.
It was kind of nice, actually.
"I was out of my mind," Draco whispered. "Andromeda said you'd used the Floo; I didn't know where you were. I thought-darling, I thought I'd lost you."
You are loved, Draco had said. There are people who love you. No one had ever said anything like that to Harry before. Harry lifted an arm, fully intending to push Draco off of him, but that wasn't what he intended at all. His arm went around Draco's waist, then tried to hold him closer. Then he was doing it with his other arm too, and the tears were pricking behind Harry's eyes again. "I don't want you to leave me," he heard himself say, and his voice sounded bad. It sounded so bad, with a big crack in the middle, and wet directly afterwards. His voice sounded wet.
"Shh," Draco said. "I won't leave you. I won't leave you. Harry." Pushing back the fringe from Harry's forehead, Draco kissed him.
It made the tears prick right through Harry's eyes. He pressed his face hard against Draco's chest so that the tears wouldn't come, and he wanted to kiss Draco back-on the cheek, on the forehead, like Draco had kissed him. Harry had never done anything like that before, and it was weird, and awkward, and embarrassing. He didn't know why he wanted to do it; it just sounded nice. It sounded so nice, like maybe Draco wouldn't leave him again if he kissed him. Maybe Draco wouldn't ever leave him, but when Harry pulled back enough to try it, his mouth was full of mucous from crying and his teeth were clenched so he wouldn't sob, and he didn't know how to pull Draco's face down to him, so he didn't try it.
Instead he put his face against Draco's chest again, and discovered he'd made Draco's shirt wet. "Shh," Draco said again, his voice a low hum. His hand moved in Harry's hair. "It's okay. I won't leave you. I'm sorry."
"I care what happens to you," Harry said, just in case Draco didn't get the point. "It's-it's my heart that'd break."
"Darling." Draco held him tighter.
The name made Harry feel embarrassed, like when Petunia called Dudley Duddy-kins and ickle-Duds, but for the first time Harry understood why Dudley didn't complain more when Petunia did stuff like that. It felt almost nice, that someone could care so much that they would get this worried. Harry was very used to being called names, but he'd never been called a nice one.
The hug went on for rather too long, so long that the almost-kind-of-nice feeling faded. Harry could feel his body again, how awkwardly he was standing against Draco, how warm he was, how wet his shirt was. Harry couldn't breathe, so he pulled away.
"I'm sorry I . . ." Draco hesitated. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about me."
"It's okay. Harry's eyes were burning, but he wasn't crying any more. His head felt too large, his nose stuffy. He was probably all red, but at least he wasn't crying.
"It's not," said Draco. "I should have told you."
"You thought I'd hate you."
"Not . . . exactly," Draco said, hesitating. His eyes were barely red at all. He didn't even look like he'd cried, but colour had come back into his face, and his chin trembled a little.
"You thought I would think you were the wrong sort."
"Oh, Harry." Draco touched the side of Harry's face, cupping his chin gently. "I didn't-I didn't care what you thought of me." His hand fell away. "I just wanted you to be happy."
"I was happy," said Harry. "And then you left. On our in-between birthday."
"Yes," Draco said.
"I haven't made tea," Andromeda said, returning with a tray held in her hands. "I've made hot chocolate. Harry never got to have any."
"Yes," Draco said again. Going over to her, Draco took two of the mugs off the tray. "Thank you," he said, looking into her eyes meaningfully.
"Harry was right," said Andromeda. "I should not have told your secrets."
"You were right as well. I should not have kept them." Turning from her, Draco brought the mugs to Harry, handing him one.
"We should drink it in front of a fire," Harry said.
Andromeda smiled. "Yes. I think we should."
*
Eventually they had supper, then sat in front of the fire some more and burned some marshmallows. After an hour of this, Andromeda transfigured more pyjamas for Harry, Draco changed, and Andromeda went to bed. Harry changed as well and brushed his teeth with a transfigured brush, then went back to Teddy's room. Andromeda had said the wood in Teddy's bed would be fine for another night, so they got to have the bunk beds again, Harry on top and Draco on the bottom.
"I think I've got a way to fix it, Harry," Draco said, when they were lying in the dark.
Harry's heart dropped. "You mean-to grow me up?"
"Yes."
Harry sat up to look over the side. "Did you find the ingredient?"
"No." Draco lay there facing the bottom of the top bunk, his hands folded over the blanket across his midriff. "But I think I know what it is."
"Well?" Harry demanded, feeling angry for some reason.
Slowly, Draco turned his head on the pillow to face him. "I think it's something very powerful, Harry. That means counteracting it is going to be complicated. The solution I've devised-there are several parts to it. To make sure it sticks."
Harry put his head back on his pillow. He had always known Draco would fix it. He was probably the best wizard in the whole world. Suddenly Harry didn't feel angry anymore; he felt sad. "Will I remember being ten?" he asked, trying not to let his voice catch.
"You'll remember it all."
In the dim light from the windows Harry could see the posters on Teddy's walls, all the people screaming at drum-sets and guitars. Harry had got to have the coverlet that changed colour, but in the dim light, it just looked grey. "I don't want to be thirty-one," he said finally.
"Harry." There was a long silence. So long passed that Harry thought Draco might have fallen asleep, but then he said, "I'll tell you a secret."
Harry wanted to put his head over the side to hear better, but instead he lay very still, hardly breathing so he would be sure to hear the secret.
"I miss you," Draco said.
Frowning, Harry put his head over the side, almost wanting to put his glasses on so he could see Draco better.
"I'll miss ten-year-old you, but I miss thirty-year-old you. I miss him right now."
"But." Harry bit his lip. He couldn't help feeling betrayed. "You said-you don't even like him! I mean-me!"
Draco turned his head to look back up at the bottom of the top bunk, instead of at Harry. "I said we weren't friends. I may have even said you didn't like me, but I never said-I never said I didn't like you."
"Does that mean you-you do like me? Old-me?"
"Yes, Harry. I-I like you. I like you-quite a bit."
Harry's voice rose. "Then how come I don't like you?"
"Shh," Draco said, but he brought up his hand to cover his face. "I knew I shouldn't have . . ."
"Shouldn't have what? Do you like him more than me?"
"Of course not, Harry." Draco sounded aggravated. His face was still covered. "You're the same person."
"But grown-up me is a-a-he's stupid. Why wouldn't he like you if-"
"He's not stupid," Draco said, his voice almost sharp. "I-I haven't been clear at all about liking him. In fact, I lied to him, the one time we-well, it didn't count, and I wasn't honest. I haven't been honest; I've hid myself; I've been disagreeable, discourteous; I've been-I've been ungracious. I've been ungracious, but I only did it because-because I was afraid."
"Maybe you were afraid because-"
Draco talked right over him. "I'm like that, you see; I'm selfish. I'm so selfish and cowardly; I'm cowardly-"
"You aren't-"
"I've only thought about what I might feel," Draco said firmly. "I didn't understand how-how opening yourself up could possibly be difficult for you as well. I thought everything had to be so easy for you. I only thought about myself."
"You're not a coward," was all Harry could think to say.
"I think you'll find that I very much am one."
Lying back down on his pillow, Harry bit his lip as he thought this out. "If you fix me so I grow up, I'll know you like me."
"Yes." Draco didn't sound terribly excited about this.
"Let's do it," Harry said, hanging back over the side.
Draco turned to look at him again.
"You'll see. I'll still like you."
Draco's eyes shone silver in the dim light. "We will see," he said softly.
Harry put his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, willing himself to remember how much he liked Draco when he grew up.
*
The next morning, they had cereal again for breakfast. Harry tried to convey with his reaction to this that he was not nearly as impressed by Andromeda's breakfasts as he was by Draco's, but Harry didn't actually want to be rude to Andromeda, so he wasn't sure Draco got the message. Afterwards Draco said they were going back to his shop.
"I set up more wards yesterday, and no one has been there," Draco said. "It should be okay long enough for me to finish the final steps."
"Finish?" Harry asked. "You mean you already started it."
"Harry," Draco said gently. "I've been working on it all week."
"But we were doing tester potions," Harry said. "To see which ingredients were in it."
Draco just looked at him.
"I'll clear the table," Andromeda volunteered. Picking up their dishes with her wand, she moved over to the sink.
Harry pushed up his glasses. "Then we weren't doing tester potions?"
"We were," Draco said quickly. "You put your thumb in all of them."
"But you were making the other one as well."
"I was making several things. Just in case, Harry." Draco's face looked tired and miserable.
Harry remembered how Draco had taken those hairs. He had also brewed the Polyjuice, sometime when Harry hadn't seen it. He'd been planning the trip to the Ministry, and brewing the cure, and being a Death Eater. Harry didn't know what else. "Okay," was all he said, because he wasn't even sure why he felt bad that Draco hadn't told him. It just would have been nice to know.
"I'll gather what we need," Draco mumbled.
A few minutes later, the washing up was done and Draco was back with the satchel over his shoulder.
"Well, Harry," Andromeda said, putting out her hand. "It's been very nice getting to know you at this age. You're a lot more emotionally intelligent than I expected."
"Aunt," Draco said sharply.
Harry had been shaking her hand, but now he faltered, looking over at Draco.
"Draco is right," Andromeda said, letting go Harry's hand. "I should have expected it. Once you make up your mind about someone, you don't unmake it easily."
"Aunt." Draco made a hissing sound.
Harry rather thought Andromeda was teasing again, but this time at Draco's expense. Harry didn't like it.
Andromeda turned to Draco, a smile at the side of her lips. "You've got to admit he's quite stubborn, if nothing else."
"He's standing right here," Harry said, annoyed.
Andromeda just smiled at him. "I was referring to your older self."
"Yes, well. I'm about to be my older self."
"That will hardly prevent me from speaking my mind," said Andromeda. "You've already made up your own mind about me, after all, and as I've said, I doubt your opinion of me will change."
Harry gave her his best glare.
Andromeda grinned, the first time he'd seen her do it. It made her look friendly, when she had merely looked stately before. Crinkles appeared beside her eyes. "It's a very positive opinion."
"Yes, thank you," Draco said coldly. Turning to Harry, his expression softened. "Are you ready, Harry?"
"Very," Harry said, giving Draco his hand. Together, they Apparated away.
*
Harry was quite pleased to get back to Draco's laboratory. Over the last week it had begun to feel almost like a home to him, even though he knew he was not allowed to stay. Draco said that it would take a while for him to finish everything, so Harry went to the bedroom to see if the bunk beds were still there. Even though he now knew the stretching wasn't good for the wood, he liked how Draco had made them for him. The bedroom also had the dressing gown Draco had got for Harry. Draco had said it would grow when Harry did, which Harry guessed would be happening soon. Harry sort of wanted to wear the dressing gown when he got the cure, just so he would remind his older self how nice Draco had been, but that was probably weird, so Harry hung it back up after petting it for a moment.
When Harry came back into the lab, Draco wasn't doing potion things. Instead he was writing in a book.
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Remember I said the solution has several steps?" Draco glanced over, and Harry thought that he looked really tired. "I'm writing every step down in this ledger to make sure everything is done properly."
"What are the steps?"
"The first part is a potion that will make you grow up. I think your adult self will know how to find the missing ingredient. Once you get it, we'll add it to a different potion."
"The one to make it permanent?"
"The one to make it permanent," Draco agreed, turning back to the ledger.
Harry waited for Draco to suggest something for Harry to do, like chop ingredients or stir a pot, but Draco didn't say anything. In fact, he seemed to sort of forget that Harry was there, becoming completely absorbed in writing. That was okay. Usually Draco paid attention to him, but Harry had noticed that sometimes Draco got really distracted, especially by potions.
Heloise had a perch in the lab where she sometimes slept, but she wasn't there, so Harry went upstairs to the kitchen to check the window. Draco said that was usually the window he left open for her, just in case she wanted in when he wasn't home. Sometimes she tapped on Draco's bedroom window, but Draco said he didn't let her sleep with him. He said she made a mess.
Harry didn't see Heloise, so he went to look at the photo album again, the one with Sirius Black in it. The best photo of Sirius was one in which he was turning to smile rakishly at the camera, while the smaller boy Draco had said was Sirius's brother waved his arms in the background. The arm waving and something about the smile made it seem as though Sirius was about to do something devious. The album also had Andromeda when she was young, but Harry wasn't very fond of her, so he skipped over those to look at more pictures of Draco's mum instead.
Eventually Draco came upstairs and asked Harry what he wanted for lunch. He seemed to be startled when Harry asked for the chicken salad again. It was good salad, even though Andromeda's chicken and dumplings were better. Harry would never tell anybody. He'd defend Draco's magic cooking to his grave.
After lunch, Draco asked Harry if he wanted to help, so they went back downstairs to the lab, and Harry helped with potions things. A few hours later, they had a potion that was white with glimmers of silver.
"Does it look like the potion that fell on me?" Harry asked.
"Not quite," Draco said. "This one is a bit different."
"Because it's temporary?"
"Yes, Harry."
Harry looked at the potion again. It almost seemed to shimmer in the light, like a pearly sort of cloud. "Am I going to drink it?"
"We're going to sprinkle it on, just like the first potion. You need to go on and change into your big clothes now, Harry, but come back out, afterwards." Draco began taking clothes out of the satchel, which seemed to be bottomless, just like Mary Poppins. The scarlet cloak, breeches, belt, tunic, boots, and fingerless gloves were all there. "We have to make sure you sprinkle it on just right," Draco went on. "I'll help you."
Taking the clothes, Harry went into the bedroom to change. When he came back out, Draco was sat at the workbench, writing again.
While Draco was still basically the most handsome man Harry had ever seen, just now he looked sort of terrible. His skin, which was usually so clear, just looked a pasty white, and his hair looked limp and almost mousy-coloured. His shoulders sagged and there were those circles under his eyes, almost like a skull, and it made Harry's chest ache. Maybe Draco was tired. Maybe he was sad ten-year-old Harry was going away, only to be replaced by a Harry who apparently hated him.
Harry wanted to tell Draco that he didn't hate him. He wanted-he wanted Draco to hug him again. Harry wondered whether he should try hugging him himself. He wondered whether he would have hugged his dad.
Instead of trying it, Harry hiked up the breeches and shuffled in the boots across the room. "Do we have to do it now?" Harry asked, when Draco looked up.
"I think-I think that would be best." Picking up the parchment he'd been writing on, Draco folded it and set it down next to the pearly white potion. "A good potions master always writes down everything he does. This parchment is a quick summary of what we're doing, while the ledger has more extensive instructions."
"Er," Harry said, not sure what Draco wanted. "Do I have to read it?"
"Not right now," Draco said. "I thought that once you're older and need to look for the final ingredient, these documents might help your search."
"Can't I just ask you?" Harry said, pushing up his glasses.
Draco looked away. "I'm trying to make things as easy as possible."
"You still think I won't like you."
"Harry." Turning back to him, Draco moved Harry's fringe aside, his eyes bright.
Harry thought Draco might kiss his scar again, but he didn't. Instead, he stood up, picking up the potion bottle. "We best get to it, Harry."
For some reason, Harry could feel tears sting behind his eyes. He wanted to say something-I'll miss you, or something like that, but he couldn't think of the words. Again, he wanted to hug him, but Draco wasn't doing it and initiating felt so awkward. At a loss for what else to do, Harry grabbed Draco's hand.
Leaning in, Draco kissed Harry's forehead after all; then his lips moved to Harry's ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"What-?" Harry reared back, but Draco was already sprinkling the potion on him.
And on himself.
Harry grew, memories crashing into him in a rush-Hagrid, Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Voldemort. Auror training, Savage, Robards. Draco Malfoy, Cecil Vance, illegal potions, the warehouse. The glass bottle falling off the shelf. He could remember being a child, the confusion of seeing Dudley all grown-up, Draco making cake, making his nose-hairs grow, making a Patronus whose meaning Harry now understood.
Harry could feel his body again, fitting into his clothes, too many scars forming against his skin, his hands feeling the command of magic, the beard on his face. The glasses were too small. Taking them off, Harry instinctively reached for his wand, magically affixed inside the sleeve. "Engorgio," he said, and put them back on.
"Who are you?" said an imperious voice.
Harry whirled around.
Before him stood a child with blond hair, grey eyes, and a fierce scowl. Realization sank in Harry like a stone.
"Shit," he muttered.