Chapter Text
The second wizarding war ended seven years ago. Seven whole years. That’s what Hari tells himself as he stares in his bathroom mirror, mentally preparing for the reality that today is his 25th birthday. He’s twenty five. How the fuck did that happen? It is 1:00 in the afternoon on July 31st, 2029, and the second wizarding war ended seven fucking years ago. So why does Hari still feel like this? Why does he jump at the slightest unexpected sound? Why does he wake up screaming at night? Why does he have this constant sense of dread that follows him everywhere? Why can’t he just move on?
Ron and Hermione have moved on. They’re married, and not just to each other. During their eighth year at Hogwarts, they got very close to Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, who are now Pansy and Blaise Granger, since they took Hermione’s name, just like Ron did. Pansy is pregnant with the Grangers’ first child, who they plan to name Shiloh, regardless of sex. Ron, who had his first vision not long after the war, teaches divination at Hogwarts, Hermione is a researcher and an activist, Pansy is a barrister, Blaise is a fashion designer. They’re all happy.
Ginny and Luna have moved on. They just got engaged last year. Ginny even asked Hari to be her best man, to which he agreed with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Ginny and Hari used to talk for hours about what it felt like to have Voldemort in their heads, but Ginny doesn’t like to talk about it anymore, because it’s the past. Luna is a journalist, and Ginny is a professional quidditch player. They’re both happy.
Neville has moved on. For the past three years, he’s been dating Gregory Goyle, who’s become quite a great bloke to be around, from what Hari knows. Neville and Ron are much closer than they used to be, since they both work at Hogwarts. Neville teaches herbology, and Greg’s a curse breaker. They’re both happy.
Dean and Saemus have moved on. They never got married, as it just wasn’t for them, but they’ve been together since after the war and they never looked back. Dean is a footballer. Saemus works in pyrotechnics, funnily enough. They’re both happy.
Remus and Sirius have moved on. They’re still happily married, as they have been for almost nine years. Their son, Teddy, who’s surrogate mother Tonks visits him all the time, is seven years old, and loves Hari to pieces. Hari loves him, too, of course. Sirius is Hogwarts’ caretaker, taking the job after Filch was finally fired, and Remus is their resident mind healer. Teddy just joined the junior quidditch team Hari coaches. They’re all happy.
Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Fleur, Bill, Percy, Fred, George, Molly, Arthur, Tonks, Andromeda, McGonagall, Hagrid, everyone has moved on. Everyone is happy. And they should be happy, they deserve to be happy, and Hari is happy for them.
Hari, though, Hari’s just… Well, he’s stuck. He’s alone, and not for lack of wanting a relationship. He’s tried a few times to go on dates, but it’s difficult to find someone when you’re in your twenties and still look in the mirror and see your seventeen-year-old-self, scared and fighting for his life. Not to mention he wound up having a hard time meeting people who saw him as more than his name. He doesn’t have a job, aside from coaching Godric’s Hollow’s junior quidditch team once a week. And sure, he doesn’t need a job, thanks to his family’s wealth, but he just feels so… useless, sitting around in his house all day. He wants to do something. And he’s tried, he really has, but… it feels impossible. How is he supposed to just go about living his life after everything? He barely made it through his final year of school, so how is he supposed to hold down a job?
Hari sighs and splashes some water on his face, completely forgetting that he’s already wearing his glasses. He huffs in annoyance as he cleans them off before putting them back on. He heads downstairs.
His home, which he bought with his own money about a year after school ended, is a relatively nice house in a private area just outside Godric’s Hollow. It has sparse furniture, with the main decorations being pictures of Hari’s loved ones. The room Hari uses most often aside from his bedroom is the kitchen. He loves to cook and bake, as it gives him a much needed sense of control and productivity. The house is under strong wards, of course. Hari’s dealt with enough harassment from the press and death eater sympathisers to know not to leave his home unprotected. Those he’s close to can go through the wards at any time, of course. Hari would never turn away the people he loves. Never.
“Good morning, Hari!” says Luna, “Or afternoon, rather.”
Hari almost jumps out of his skin. In his front room are… so many people. All people he knows, of course. The Grangers, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Dean, Saemus, Remus, Sirius, and Teddy. Although his heart is beating out of his chest, Hari musters up a weak smile.
“Erm,” he stammers, “Uh, hey, you all. Hi.”
“Hari!” Teddy squeals as he runs to Hari and hugs his leg, his hair turning inky black to match his godfather, “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Ted,” Hari says, his smile getting warmer.
None of these people are unwelcome in Hari’s home. In fact, he invited them all over— for dinner. But here they are, five hours early.
“Sorry for startling you, Haz,” Hermione says as she approaches to give him a hug. He tried to hide his startled reaction to his unexpected guests, but he has never been a match for Mione’s perceptiveness. “We thought you’d be awake when we got here. We came to help you set up for dinner.”
“Dinner’s not for another five hours,” Hari points out, “It won’t take that long to make the food.”
“We thought it might be fun to decorate the place a bit for the party!” Ginny replies with a grin. Hari notices a pile of presents behind her.
“You guys,” he sighs, fighting an exasperated smile, “I told you, no presents this year.”
“But everyone should get presents on their birthday!” Teddy protests, not letting go of Hari’s leg. Hari grins at him.
“If you insist, little man. I’m sure you know best.”
Teddy laughs. “You sound like Draco,” he says. Hari beams. From Teddy, that is the highest of compliments. He loves his big cousin Malfoy.
Hari invited Malfoy to his birthday party this year. Despite not having a full face-to-face conversation since the last of their eighth year late night talks, Hari and Malfoy have kept up occasional correspondence through letters, and Hari was hoping to finally see Malfoy in person again. The last time he saw him was the Grangers’ wedding, and they didn’t even get to speak to each other beyond casual and slightly awkward greetings. They never text, despite both having spellphones, but they send letters and nice gifts for Yule and each others’ birthdays. Regardless of how sparse their communications are these days, Hari does still have Malfoy on the mental list of people he considers friends.
Unfortunately, Malfoy very politely declined the invitation, citing work. Malfoy, much like Hermione, is a researcher of some kind. Hari’s not sure exactly what he does, but it’s very academic. He got his potions mastery after school, and continued on that scholarly path from there. He and Hermione have actually become quite close, since they often work together, and since Malfoy is childhood friends with two of Hermione’s spouses. Malfoy is little unborn Shiloh Granger’s other godfather, as well. Hari being the first one, of course. Hari’s quite disappointed that Malfoy won’t be making it to dinner, especially since it had taken him literal years to summon up the courage to invite him. There’s always next year.
Hari misses Malfoy. He’s not sure why they stopped talking when school ended. He’s not sure why it is that even when they were talking, Malfoy would only really acknowledge him during those late night conversations at the top of the astronomy tower. He’s not sure why he hasn’t tried to re-initiate their brief but close friendship himself instead of just accepting the three letters and two gifts a year. Probably because he’s afraid that he’ll be rejected. He doesn’t want to lose what little contact they still have. Hari can’t help but think that he must’ve done something wrong, to push Malfoy away. But yeah, he misses his friend.
“Hey, Hari?” Hari is brought back to reality at the sound of Ron’s voice.
“Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “Zoned out.” He turns to Pansy. “Can I say hi to Shiloh?”
“Of course you can,” Pansy answers with a smile. Teddy releases Hari’s leg reluctantly, and Hari walks over to Pansy and kneels down so he is at eye level with her stomach.
“Hey, little peanut,” he greets warmly, “It’s your uncle Hari! How are you doing?” Teddy huffs and crosses his arms. He’s never mean about it, but Hari can still tell that Teddy isn’t too keen on having to share both his godfather and his cousin with the newest addition to the Granger family.
The next few hours consist of decorating Hari’s house with the materials brought along by Luna and Ginny, as well as some handmade drawings done by Teddy Lupin, who has become a fine little artist.
“Draco’s been teaching me how to draw when I go to his house,” Teddy informs Hari as he puts up one of the drawings on his fridge, “He’s a really good drawer.”
“He is,” Hari agrees, thinking back to watching Malfoy sketching in his sketchbook or painting the view from the top of the astronomy tower on those precious Saturday nights. Despite the darkness, he always managed to capture everything so well. He also thinks of the drawings that always come along with the birthday and Yule gifts he sends, always having some sort of sentimental value.
“So, Hari,” Dean says as he walks into the kitchen, “How’s things?” Hari and Dean don’t talk as often as either of them would like, what with Dean being so busy with work and Hari being so busy staring at walls and feeling bad about himself.
“Well,” Hari replies, “Things are… They sure are.” Dean laughs.
“What’ve you been up to?”
“Hari coaches my quidditch team!” Teddy announces with a smile when Hari feels unable to answer. Hari sighs. He wishes he had more to report, but really, Teddy hit the nail right on the head. Hari coaches the Flying Bowtruckles, just like he has for the past five years. That’s about it.
“Does he, now?” says Dean, smiling, “Teddy, I didn’t know you were in the junior league.” Teddy goes off on an excited tangent to Dean about his time with the team, and Hari, relieved, manages to slip away.
“Where are you off to, Hari?” Remus asks as Hari passes him in the hall.
“Oh, I just… need some air,” Hari replies as he makes his way to the back door. Some time in his lovely but admittedly unkempt garden will be nice.
“Mind if I join you?” Remus walks in stride with Hari as he asks. Hari shrugs.
“Feel free,” he says, and he means it. He always appreciates talks with Remus, after all.
Hari has tried to find a mind healer, but it’s pretty hard when you’re Hari Potter to find someone willing to act professional and view you as a person. He even tried a muggle therapist, once, but what with the statute of secrecy, and all, it was impossible to actually work through his issues with her. Although Remus is a registered mind healer and even uses a lot of techniques used in muggle therapy, he can’t be Hari’s mind healer, thanks to their personal connection. But sometimes, Hari’s able to talk to Remus about what he’s going through, godson to godfather. And it’s nice. Even when they talk about trivial things, there’s just something about Remus’ demeanour that’s incredibly comforting.
“Oh,” Hari says, surprised, as they enter the garden. It looks much neater than the last time he saw it.
“The first thing Neville did when we arrived this morning was come back here and do some tidying up,” Remus explains.
“I’ll be sure to thank him,” Hari smiles.
“How are you, Hari?” Remus asks gently. Hari sighs.
“I dunno, Moony,” he answers quietly, “I… I dunno.” And he really doesn’t. He feels like he should be fine, most of the time, at least. He has a nice house, he has friends and family who he loves and sees on a regular basis, he has fun coaching every Saturday. But despite it all, he feels… numb, a lot of the time. And sometimes, he just breaks down. But by the time he’s able to talk to anyone about those breakdowns, he feels alright again and convinces himself there’s no need to bring it up.
“When we dropped Teddy off to visit him on Saturday after quidditch, Draco asked me to extend his apologies for not being able to attend the party today,” Remus says. Remus has this way of being able to just… tell, when Hari needs a subject change. This particular new subject is a bit sore, but of course, Remus has no way of knowing that. Nobody knows that Hari and Malfoy were once close. Nobody except Hari and Malfoy, at least.
“Yeah,” Hari replies, trying not to sound too dejected, “He apologised in his letter, too.”
“He wanted you to get an apology in person, even if he couldn’t be the one to give it to you,” Remus explains. “He’s an incredibly busy man, that kid,” he adds fondly, “And very bright, if the potions mastery and the doctorate weren’t proof of that already. Always working on some research project or another. He barely carves out time to have Teddy over twice a month, and I know his friends have to personally drag him away from his laboratory whenever they want to see him.”
Hari smiles weakly. He knew that Malfoy’s a busy bloke, but he didn’t know until now that he’s that busy, although the griping from Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Pansy, Blaise, Greg and even Ron, as well as the fact that he never shows up to parties or other group gathering with their many mutual friends, probably should’ve tipped him off. Maybe Malfoy really is too busy with work to make it to the party. Maybe he really does want to come, but can’t. Maybe his busyness is why he doesn’t talk to Hari anymore. Maybe, if Hari just… pays him a visit, they can finally talk again, and he’ll have his friend back. Hari hopes that’s the case.
Hari wonders what Malfoy’s gift to him will be this year. The two have gotten into the habit of trying to outdo each other each year. It started out small. Hari gave Malfoy a book for his nineteenth birthday, along with a letter, and got a thank you in return. That July, after school had ended, he received some fancy new quidditch gear as well as a drawing by owl, along with a letter, and he sent back a letter of his own. The next year, he sent a specialty cauldron, made for more dangerous and corrosive potions. Then Malfoy sent a custom-made broom. Things only got more expensive and extravagant from there, although they do stay tame with the Yule gifts. On June fifth of this year, Hari paid for a construction crew to go and remodel any and all parts of Malfoy’s house however he pleased. He’s incredibly curious as to how Malfoy will attempt to top that, especially since he gave away most of the vast fortune he inherited when his father was carted off to Azkaban as soon as he was able to.
“Alright,” Ron calls from the doorway, grabbing Remus’ and Hari’s attention, “Do you two want to help with the food? We’re all going to pitch in.”
“Of course!” Hari exclaims, jogging to meet his best mate.
“Keep Padfoot the hell away from the kitchen!” Remus demands, and Ron and Hari laugh. Sirius Lupin is a famously awful cook, as are Tonks and Andromeda, and Teddy seems to get himself into trouble every time he tries to help in the kitchen, too. Perhaps it’s a Black family thing.
Making dinner is incredibly fun. Every dish comes from Hari’s father’s personal cookbook of Indian recipes, that border on traditional, but with a bit of “James Fleamont Potter Flare”, as Padfoot puts it. By the end of it, the kitchen is a mess, but a happy one. Hari smiles, wide and genuine, and for a moment, genuinely feels like he’s twenty five and standing safely in his kitchen with his loved ones, instead of feeling like a child soldier living in a grown-up facade, the way he often does.
The food tastes just as good as it looks, as does the cake that Molly sent over. Hari already had a celebration with the whole Weasley family on Sunday, but Molly still insisted she give him a cake for his actual birthday, too. A very enthusiastic Teddy winds up with chocolate cake all over his face, which his fathers clean up for him.
And then it’s time for gifts, despite Hari’s initial protests. Teddy begs for his gift to be opened first, and Hari obliges happily. It’s a framed drawing of the two of them together. Hari beams and hangs it up on the wall instantly. He opens Ginny and Luna’s gifts next.
“Season tickets to the Hollyheads? Gin, I know you can only give out a certain number of these, are you sure you want to give one to me? I can pay for tickets, you know.” Ginny grins at him.
“Nothing but the best for my best man,” she says with a wink.
Luna’s gift is a beautiful handmade book of dessert recipes using rare magical fruits, and Hari can’t wait to try it out. Neville, who apparently knew about Luna’s gift beforehand, gives him seedlings for a good few of the plants from the book, and offers to help him plant them and explain how to care for them properly. Dean and Saemus give him a new broom. The Grangers give him the latest quidditch gear, as well as digitally sending him some new video games he’s been excited to play. Remus and Sirius give him a beautiful antique sofa, which they shrunk to put in the neatly wrapped box they put in the gift pile.
“It belonged to your grandparents,” Sirius tells him proudly, “It was sold, as were a lot of their things, after your parents died, but when Remus and I saw it at an antiques auction, we recognized it immediately.” Hari tears up a bit and thanks them profusely.
As Hari looks around at all these people who he loves so much, he can’t help but feel… very, very, happy.
And then he shuts down again. All that happiness is syphoned away in an instant, like the moment Hari noticed it, it got scared and ran off. This always fucking happens. As soon as he’s feeling good, it just has to be taken away from him. He starts to feel numb again, and as much as he wishes he could act normal, he knows that his loved ones can tell that something’s off.
“Hari?” Hermione asks, frowning, “You alright?”
“Erm, yeah,” Hari says, plastering on a forced smile as his friends and family look on in concern, “Yeah, I’m fine, just… tired.”
“Are you sure?” Pansy pushes, grabbing her wife’s hand.
“Yeah,” Hari sighs, “Yeah, I’m sure.” He tries not to feel too annoyed. His friends are only trying to help him. He’s annoyed with himself for ruining the mood at his own bloody party.
“Really, Hari, if you’re—”
“I’m fine, Saemus,” Hari snaps. Saemus raises his eyebrows. Everyone is a bit taken aback. Hari feels like a glass is breaking inside him.
“Hari,” Teddy murmurs, brows furrowed, “Are you getting sad again?”
Hari curses internally. When he first realised that he isn’t recovering the way everyone else is, he promised himself that he would be broken quietly, that he wouldn’t let his inability to heal impact the people he loves. He has failed miserably at this, as much as he hates to admit it. The people closest to him, the ones he wants to protect from his pain the most, can tell. Of course they can tell.
“Alright, everyone,” Remus says, always the one to be first to give Hari space when he needs it, “It’s getting a bit late. Why don’t we call it a night, hm?” He stands from his seat, encouraging his husband and son and everyone else to do the same.
Hari slowly stands when everyone else does. He gets goodbye hugs from everyone, and Teddy almost refuses to let go, but eventually does. Neville promises to come back soon to help him with his new seedlings. Hari tells everybody that he loves and appreciates them, and they all tell him the same and wish him a happy birthday, and soon everyone trickles out, be it by door or by floo or by apparition. The last remaining are Ron and Hermione, who asked Blaise and Pansy to wait for them in the car. They aren’t risking magical travel with Pansy’s pregnancy so far along.
“Hey, mate,” Ron says, putting a hand on Hari’s shoulder, “You know how much we love you, right?” Hermione nods along in agreement.
“You’re our best friend, Hari,” she adds, “We love you and trust you completely. You can tell us anything. You can always talk to us.”
“I know,” Hari sighs, “And I love you guys, too. So much. I just… Sorry. I just feel so… I dunno, trapped? I can’t move on from the war, no matter how hard I try. I don’t know how to move on.”
“I think you should try therapy again,” says Hermione. Hari rolls his eyes.
“I know you do, Mi,” he assures her, “But I… Well, it didn’t exactly go great before. I can’t see why it would now.”
“Hari, I really think—” Hermione’s phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to check it. She sighs. “Damn. Pansy’s nauseous. Ronald, hon, we should go…” Reluctantly, she gives Hari one last hug. “I love you, Haz,” she says as she walks out the door to help her two other spouses.
“Do you need anything, mate?” Ron asks. Hari shakes his head. Ron looks eager to join his wives and his husband, and Hari doesn’t want to keep him. “Well,” Ron sighs, “If you ever do need something, you can always come to me and Mione, alright? Pans and Blaise, too.”
“Alright.” Ron nods, hugs Hari, and turns to leave. “Wait,” Hari blurts. Ron looks at him expectantly. “Ron, do you think… Do you think I’ll ever get better? Do you think I’ll ever be okay?”
“Hari,” Ron says gently, “You are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I think, with time and with help, you can come back from anything.” Hari manages a small half smile. “I love you, mate. Happy birthday.”
“Love you too, Ron.”
And then Ron leaves, and Hari is alone again. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t. He can’t. He just sits by himself in his front room, which is still decorated, surrounded by his plethora of opened gifts, feeling empty.
The war ruined his life. He survived it, but what’s the point? He may as well not have. Everybody was having a good time until Hari went and ruined it, all because he can’t get past the stupid fucking war. And it’s not like that was the first time. He’s always leaving events early, going quiet and stiff and mucking up the mood of every party or get-together he attends, always acting as a living reminder to those he loves of everything they went through all those years ago.
Bonk! Hari looks up at the familiar sound, and heads to the window to let Malfoy’s raven, Celeste, inside.
“Hi, Celeste,” he greets her as he guides her in, summoning a bowl of water and some sunflower seeds for her, “Good to see you again.”
In her clutches, Celeste carries two scrolls and a surprisingly small parcel. Hari’s curiosity is piqued. Once Celeste is settled in, Hari opens one of the scrolls first, and despite his bad mood, he can’t help but laugh out loud as he reads,
Potter,
You’re one sick bastard, you know that? Since I’ve already thanked you for your obnoxiously generous gift, I now feel comfortable informing you that you are the fucking worst. How do you expect me to top that with my current funds? How do you expect yourself to top that? Are you out of your mind? Have you finally snapped? Honestly, Golden Boy. What will your next gift be? Will you give me the fucking Philosopher's Stone? I can’t fucking believe you, I really can’t. Thank Merlin this tradition of ours is reserved for birthdays. If I had to come up with anything better than what I already do for Yule as well, I’d go broke. Ridiculous.
Since you have gone above and beyond to a truly abhorrent level this year, for your gift, as well as the parcel Celeste has brought you, I offer you my expertise. Any highly advanced potions or magical artefacts or tools you need, I can create or acquire for you. Legality is not necessarily an obstacle, but if I get caught, your next gift better be breaking me out of Azkaban. You fucking bastard. I fucking hate you.
I’d like to apologise again for missing your party. I was honestly blindsided by the invitation and was not able to carve out the time to attend on such short notice. I’ve been working on a study with an experimental potion of my own design, and it’s incredibly time-sensitive. Ironically enough, I finished it right before writing this letter, and once I send it off I’ll be writing my final notes on the study. I’m sure Hermione has mentioned it to you, she’s been incredibly helpful through this process.
I hope you’re well. Little Edward goes on and on about you when he visits me. I’m quite glad he’s made the quidditch team. He’s very excited about it. He looks up to you, you know.
Oh, and please do enjoy the parcel I sent you. I found this item while in Lagos for a conference and thought you might appreciate it. Happy birthday, Potter.
Sincerely and hatefully,
Doctor Draco L. Malfoy.
Hari smiles at the letter, his loneliness melting away, at least for the moment, as he reads it over a few times. Malfoy’s tri-annual letters never fail to make him grin. They also never fail to make him remember how much he truly misses the bloke, but it’s worth it, really.
He unfurls the second scroll now, and smiles brightly as he sees a beautiful drawing of Teddy smiling up at him. He also sees Teddy’s messy signature, along with a message of happy birthday, in the bottom corner beside Malfoy’s signature. Malfoy’s drawings are always so touching.
The next thing he does is open the parcel, and he laughs again as he sees what’s inside. A very poorly-made Hari Potter plush doll. Of course. Hari wishes Malfoy was here, so he could see the smug look on the blond’s face as he opened the gift, and then wipe it off by throwing it at him.
Maybe he got tired of me, Hari can’t help but think. That thought always bubbles to the surface when he thinks about Malfoy for too long. Maybe my fucked-up-ness was too much for him. Maybe he needed to stay away from me for the sake of his own mental health. Hari wouldn’t blame Malfoy, if that were true. He still hopes it isn’t, though.
If Hari wasn’t as fucked up as he is, maybe he and Malfoy would still be close friends. If the war had never happened, maybe Hari wouldn’t be as fucked up as he is. Actually, if the war had never happened, basically all of Hari’s current problems would be solved. He’d be okay. He wouldn’t make the people around him almost as miserable as he is. Maybe he’d have a partner, and a full time job. Maybe he’d be happy.
If the war never happened…
“Caw!” Celeste cries. Hari looks at her, and she looks back at him expectantly, waiting for him to write and supply her with his thank you note so she can go home. But Hari’s not doing that this year.
“Celeste,” he says, “I need you to take me to Malfoy’s house. Can you do that?” Celeste tilts her head at him, considering, then nods. “Brilliant,” Hari says, “I’ll grab my broom, and I’ll follow you. This year, I’m thanking Malfoy in person.”
Hari casts a heavy notice-me-not over himself before embarking on his journey, which is actually shorter than he would have expected it to be. It’s only around a fifteen minute casual-paced flight to a lovely cottage in a wooded area not far from Leeds. Even in the late evening darkness, Hari can see that it’s an adorable cottage, with a beautiful garden. Celeste eagerly swoops down as soon as she sees it. Hari dives down after her, but of course, does not follow her through the open upstairs window she enters. He feels it as he passes through the wards with ease. Apparently, Malfoy considers him trustworthy.
He takes a deep breath as he goes to knock on the door. What if he doesn’t want to see me?
He knocks anyway. If this goes the way he wants it to, he’ll be able to fix everything. Not just for himself, but for Malfoy, too, as well as everyone else, and all the people who died in the war. Hari knows how much the war impacted Malfoy. Hari might be the only one who knows, actually. Malfoy’s not very good at talking about his emotions. But late at night, every Saturday, on top of the astronomy tower in their eighth year, he’d try. And Hari would listen, and then he’d talk back. It was cathartic. For Hari, at least. He hopes Malfoy felt the same.
Knock, knock, knock, knock.
Hari hears Malfoy before he sees him. “What in the— Who on earth is—” The door opens. “...Potter?”
“Malfoy, hey,” Hari greets, not sure if he wants to hug the man or run far, far away to avoid embarrassing himself.
Malfoy looks… different. In a good way. He’s wearing muggle clothes. Specifically, he’s wearing a band tee and ripped jeans. He has piercings. A lot of them. At least five in each ear, as well as a bridge piercing and snake bites. Hari had been the one to suggest he get a tattoo to cover his faded dark mark, but now, his entire left arm is covered in a full sleeve of tattoos. His blond hair is long, and let down. He’s… so pretty. Malfoy’s always been pretty, and Hari would be lying if he said the bloke didn’t make his heart flutter once or twice or a million times in eighth year, but… wow.
“Uh,” Malfoy starts, his face a bit pink, “What… are you doing here?”
“I, uh,” says Hari, scratching the back of his neck, “I need to talk to you about… something.” And I missed you, a lot, he thinks, but doesn’t say. “Can I… Can I come in?” Malfoy nods, but doesn’t move to allow Hari entry. “Cool, so… uh…”
“Right,” Malfoy mutters, stepping aside, “Right. Sorry. Come on in.”
Hari smiles awkwardly and makes his way inside. The inside of Malfoy’s home is just as lovely as the outside. There’s plants everywhere. There’s tapestries, posters, and pictures lining the walls. Shelves filled with books and other knick knacks. The walls are a lovely, deep shade of blue, and the floors are a dark wood. The furniture is very… it’s this specific aesthetic that Blaise has been obsessed with in his fashion recently. Whimsygoth? Hari thinks it’s whimsygoth. It looks good. Not as good as Malfoy, but good.
Celeste flies into the room and lands upon Hari’s head as he enters, pecking at his hair.
“Miss Celeste,” Malfoy scolds, “Be polite to our guest, you heathen.” Hari chuckles, and Malfoy’s cheeks go pink again. Hari’s glad to see that Malfoy’s personality hasn’t changed much since the last time they hung out. He’s still proper and poncy in an endearing way, still slightly awkward, still a bit shy, and if his letters are any indication, still funny and whip smart.
“Would you, uh,” Malfoy asks, and Hari realises he’s been staring, “Would you like to sit down, Potter?” He gestures to a purple couch with a floral pattern on it. Hari nods and sits.
“I like your furniture,” he says.
“Erm, thanks,” Malfoy replies as he sits in a fancifully patterned maroon armchair across from Hari, “Luna helped me pick it out.”
Unsure of what to say next, Hari looks around the room for a while. Above the roaring hearth is a TV, and below the TV is a shelf that holds a gaming console and a controller.
“You play games?”
“Uh, yeah,” Malfoy says, staring at his hands, which are placed neatly in his lap, “With Hermione and Greg, mostly. And some muggle friends. Ginny plays sometimes too, but you know her, she prefers physical sports. Why are you here, Potter?” Hari is a little taken aback by the question.
“I, uh…” he stammers, his heart sinking a little, “Do you… want me to leave?” Malfoy shakes his head minutely, unconsciously.
“No,” he says, voice quiet, “No, I don’t, I just… Is this about me missing the party this evening? I really am very sorry about that.”
“No, that’s not what it’s about,” Hari assures, “I just… I need to cash in that offer you made me.”
Malfoy’s face shutters, and he nods stiffly. He looks… disappointed. “Right,” he says, “Of course. What do you need?” Hari takes a breath.
“I’ll get to that in a bit,” he finally says. His request is downright insane, he knows it is, but if it works in his favour, it could change everything. “How are you doing? What’ve you been up to?” Malfoy seems surprised by these questions.
“Well, I’m alright, I suppose,” he says slowly, wryly, “As alright as a sad, hermit-like, traumatised ex-cultist with next-level daddy issues and a chronic illness can be.” Hari laughs. He missed Malfoy’s dry, dark humour.
“I really missed you, you know,” he says impulsively. Malfoy’s eyes shoot to his, but only for a split second before they divert to just above his head.
“...What?”
“When you, uh…” Hari’s mouth goes dry. He wasn’t planning on bringing this up, but… “When you stopped talking to me, after school ended. I missed you. A lot. Our friendship meant a lot to me. Still does.”
Malfoy looks… shattered, honestly, but he quickly schools his face into a more neutral expression. “Oh,” he breathes shakily, “I— Oh.” He’s even paler than usual.
“I’m sorry,” Hari sighs, hiding his face in his hands, “I didn’t mean to— I just— Obviously you had every right to stop talking to me, regardless of the reason. And I’m really glad we still write to each other and send gifts. Your letters always make me smile. I’m not— I wasn’t trying to—”
“No, uh,” Malfoy interrupts, voice a bit choked up, “It’s alright, I… I missed you, too, Potter,” he finishes softly.
“Then, why…?” Malfoy looks away ashamedly.
“I…” he says, almost in a whisper, “When you asked me to keep hanging out when school ended, I thought… I didn’t think you meant it. I thought it was just out of courtesy. I thought you wouldn’t want to be seen around me. And when you didn’t send any letters or anything, I just assumed I was right.”
“What?” Hari is dumbfounded. “Malfoy, why would you— Why would I— We were friends! Close friends, I thought. I cared about you! I care about you! You mean a lot to me! What in the hell made you think—”
Malfoy’s wide, silver eyes are wet with tears and trained on the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, “I never meant to… to hurt you. I—” His voice breaks. “I just… It doesn’t make any sense. You wanting to be friends with me, after everything I did to you. I don’t understand it.”
“Malfoy, we’ve talked about this!”
“Have we really?” Malfoy asks. Hari frowns, confused. Of course they have! On the astronomy tower! Malfoy sighs. “Our talks meant so much to me, they truly did, and they still do, but I… I dunno, Potter. Something about sitting at the top of a tower where I once almost killed a man, staring at the stars and having deep talks with my childhood rival, didn’t feel… real. It felt like we were in another world, where the rules don't apply.”
“What rules?”
“The rules!” Malfoy exclaims, “We’re not supposed to be friends. I don’t de—” He stops himself from saying he doesn’t deserve to have Hari as a friend, but Hari knows exactly what he was going to say, of course. It’s not like he hasn’t said it before. “You’re supposed to hate me,” he says instead.
“Well, then arrest me, oh officer Malfoy,” Hari huffs, crossing his arms, “For it seems I’ve broken these rules of yours.”
Hari is reeling, honestly. He thought I didn’t actually want to stay friends? He thought I didn’t want to be seen around him? All this time, I thought it was him who didn’t want to see me, and this whole time we could’ve been meeting up every Saturday, just like we used to?
Tears are falling from Malfoy’s eyes now. Hari’s tearing up a bit, too. “I’m sorry,” Malfoy says again. His stomach growls.
“Have you eaten yet?” Hari asks, glancing at the intricately carved grandfather clock on the left side of the room. It’s just after nine o’clock. Malfoy shrugs.
“Not since this morning,” he admits sheepishly, “I’ve been busy with work. I still need to finish my final paper on my experiment.” Hari stands.
“Well, how about you show me to the kitchen, and I’ll make something for you while you do that.” Malfoy stares at him, eyes wide.
“What? Potter, I can’t let you— You don’t have to— You’re my guest!”
“No,” Hari corrects, “I’m your friend, and friends help each other. Besides, I love cooking. Where’s the kitchen?”
“Potter, it’s your birthday—”
“The kitchen, Malfoy,” Hari demands sternly, “Where is it?”
Finding out that Malfoy hasn’t eaten since this morning is… incredibly concerning. Hari tries not to think back to watching Malfoy barely pick at his food in sixth year, or to going down to the kitchens during eighth year to ask the kitchen workers to bring some food to Malfoy’s dorm on the nights when Hari didn’t see him at dinner.
“Fine,” Malfoy groans, standing from his chair, “You are impossible.” He leads Hari to the kitchen, and as they walk through the house, Hari takes some more time to look around. He beams when he sees a picture of Teddy.
“I don’t have too much for you to work with,” Malfoy says awkwardly once they reach the kitchen, “I’m a rotten cook, so I mostly eat out places or order in.” Hari chuckles. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just, I’ve never once met a member of the Black family who could cook. Never in my life.” Malfoy snorts as Hari begins to root around the incredibly sparse kitchen for something that could constitute as a meal.
“Alright,” Hari sighs once he finally gives up, “Go get back to work, Malfoy, and I’ll just quickly apparate home and get some supplies from my place.”
“Did you ever get around to getting your apparition licence or are you still toying with fate?” Malfoy asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t need a licence,” Hari replies with a wink as he pulls out his wand, “I’m Hari Potter.”
When Hari returns with a pot, a strainer, a wooden spoon, and ingredients for some pasta, Malfoy is no longer in the kitchen. Ok Computer is playing through the house. Hari beams.
“Still a fan of Radiohead?” he calls, “Me too!”
“Fuck off, I’m working!” Malfoy’s muffled voice replies from somewhere in the house. Hari laughs to himself as he starts cooking dinner for the second time that night.
“Oh, Malfoy~” he sing-songs when he finally finishes cooking around ten minutes later. Usually, he prefers to cook the muggle way, but considering how long it’s been since Malfoy’s eaten, he decided to use magic to speed up the process.
“What do you want?” Malfoy shouts back.
“I want you to come eat, you pillock!”
So Malfoy makes his way into the dining room, grumbling the whole way. He sits at the table across from Hari, who’s already digging into his bowl.
Hari’s not exactly hungry, since he had dinner at his party, but… he doesn’t like watching other people eat without having something for himself. It brings back… bad memories.
Malfoy eats pretty slowly for someone who hasn’t eaten in over twelve hours. “You’re a good cook, Potter,” he mutters after a few bites, “As if you needed another way to one up me.” Hari rolls his eyes fondly.
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
“So,” Malfoy sighs once they’re both done eating, “What is it you need from me, Potter?” Hari had almost forgotten about the reason he even came here, funnily enough.
“Right,” he says. He’s not sure how to put this without Malfoy calling him mad. Honestly, he feels like he might be a little bit mad. “I need your help… getting somewhere.” Malfoy frowns dubiously.
“Getting somewhere?”
“Yeah. And once we get there… I need your help… doing something. And once we’re done doing the thing, I need your help getting back home.”
“...Okay…?” Malfoy says slowly, eyebrow raised, “Where… Where do you need to go?”
“Hogwarts,” Hari replies steadily, “In the 1990s.”