Seven Days in June

June 19^th, 2005

It was rather strange, Harry mused, that he'd had to leave Vienna to find out that the Danube could indeed be blue sometimes.

Far below the cliff where he was sitting with his feet dangling over the edge, the wide river lazily wound between the steep hills of the Wachau valley. It was a beautiful day, and the cloudless sky above was reflected by the darker blue of the water. The colour stood out in stark contrast to the intense green of the hills - dark emerald where they were covered in forest, the light green of vines where the horizontal rows of vineyard terraces lined the steep slopes. The valley was narrow, and most of the flat ground near the riverbanks was taken up either by small villages or by the infamous apricot orchards, but Harry still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the concept that people would take the pains to cut terraces into hills just to grow a wine that - as he'd found out the previous night - was so sour it made your toes curl.

Yet it was a scenery of breathtaking beauty that was laid out beneath him. Draco's guidebook hadn't been wrong when it advertised the castle ruin of Duernstein, which was perched on a rocky cliff high above the Danube right over a small town of the same name, as the place that offered the most splendid view over the valley. There wasn't much to the castle itself, as Harry had found out after a steep, sweaty climb; just a few crumbling walls and a half-collapsed tower. In its glory days, it had served as a royal prison for King Richard Lionheart when he'd been held captive by the duke of Austria (he only knew that because Draco had underlined it in the history chapter which Harry had otherwise skipped), but these times were long gone. Few tourists decided to walk up to the castle nowadays, going for the town instead which Draco's handwritten notes characterised as "an appalling collection of tourist traps". Therefore, Harry could sit here and enjoy the view in blessed peace, with the humming of bees and the chirping of birds the only sounds to break the silence. It was a huge relief after the noisy, bustling inner city of Vienna; there was something in the air that seemed to make breathing easier, and Harry felt himself beginning to relax.

The day hadn't started well; he'd overslept and had almost missed his train because it had taken him ten minutes to figure out the ridiculously complicated ticket vending machine (the conductor on the train later informed him that he'd still overpaid). Therefore, he hadn't been in the best of moods during the train ride, and the fact that the landscape outside was a bleak succession of fields hadn't done anything to lift his spirits. He'd soon got bored looking out the window and had started leafing through the guidebook instead, but the tiny notes in Draco's handwriting on the margins of every page had sent his thoughts into most unwelcome directions.

Things had only begun to look up when he'd switched trains after an hour's ride and had finally found himself in the famous Danube valley that was, indeed, a both impressive and beautiful place. Following the river, the train slowly made its way through apricot orchards, vineyards, and small villages that mostly were just a cluster of houses around the spire of a church. Harry had done his best to connect the things he saw with the information in the book and had tried very hard not to dwell on how much he'd have preferred to have Draco tell him about them instead.

Still, it hadn't been until he'd reached the castle ruin and had taken in the gorgeous view for the first time that he'd begun to think that this trip had been a good idea after all. He'd been sitting here on the edge of the cliff for quite a while now, enjoying the sunshine on his face and watching the river lazily making its way through the valley. The water's slow, steady flow was oddly calming, and Harry couldn't help wondering if Draco had felt it too whenever he had sat by the Danube to practise wandless magic.

Almost without thinking, he reached out towards the river, palm down and fingers stretched wide, and concentrated. The tingling was barely perceptible, but it was different from the faded remnants of dead magic that he'd picked up in Vienna - these were the distant echoes of magic that was alive, like the heartbeat of a great, living being that was passing him by in the distance. No one had cast a spell here for centuries, Harry was sure about that, but he didn't feel the constant drain on his own magic that had been ever-present in Vienna either. People in this valley were not using the magic around them, but they didn't seem to have given up on it in the same way the inhabitants of Vienna clearly had. He wondered what it had meant for Draco to come here after being holed up in Vienna for years - had it made things easier for him, or had it just served to remind him even more vividly of everything he'd lost?

The sound of church bells drifting up to him from the town below finally reminded Harry that he had another train to catch. He felt almost reluctant to leave, and for a moment he considered skipping the rest of Draco's itinerary and spending the whole day in Duernstein. Remembering the handwritten tourist trap remark in the book, he finally decided against the idea, but he still left the quiet, sunny spot on the cliff with profound regret. He'd felt comfortable and at ease here for the first time since he'd left Britain, which was rather ironic considering that he'd been hoping Vienna would have that effect on him when he'd decided to spend his holiday there.

+++

By the time Harry stepped off the train in the small town with the curious name Spitz, it was well past noon, and he was beginning to feel hungry. According to the guidebook, the place to go for a quick bite in the Wachau valley was a Heuriger, a sort of private tavern that was only open for a certain period of time each year where the local winegrowers sold their own wine and regional food. The guidebook listed at least fifteen of them for Spitz, which made Harry wonder whether the inhabitants ever spent any time at home; most of the addresses, however, were marked with the word "avoid" in Draco's handwriting. There were only two addresses that Draco had circled; one of them had the additional note "daughter of the owner speaks English". His mind made up, Harry set out to find the place.

It took him a while, since the establishment in question was situated at the far end of the town and half-hidden between what seemed to be wine cellars of some kind. The entrance was decorated with a wreath of green twigs bound together with colourful ribbons; once Harry had opened the door, he found himself in an open courtyard where a few wooden tables and benches were arranged around a huge apple tree. The setting was rather rustic, but it looked comfortable. A few patrons were scattered across the courtyard, with a middle-aged man in a green apron walking around between them. He came over as soon as Harry had sat down at one of the empty tables; when Harry asked him whether he spoke English, the man gestured for him to wait and disappeared into one of the adjacent buildings, probably to fetch the daughter Draco had mentioned.

Given his surroundings, Harry was half expecting a slightly overweight, red-cheeked girl with braids in a dirndl dress to show up. He was therefore quite taken aback when the person who approached his table turned out to be a skinny, pale young woman with short black hair and a pierced nose. She was dressed in black clothes and wore an almost frightening amount of black eyeliner which gave her an appearance that could have been described as "goth" if she hadn't been wearing a little white apron over her jeans.

She grinned when she saw Harry's expression, which he hadn't been able to get under control in time; she was obviously used to tourists reacting to her appearance like that. Her English was passable, albeit heavily accented; since Harry didn't understand the menu anyway, he went with her suggestion that he try a dish which she described as "a little bit of everything". After some debate, he even let her convince him to give the local wine another try in the watered-down version that seemed to be the drink of choice this early in the day.

She was soon back with his drink, a bread basket and a wooden platter heaped with food. Harry eyed it warily; people here obviously were great believers in meat and regarded vegetables simply as decoration. From her explanation, Harry was able to distinguish seven different kinds of meat and sausages, together with three different spreads made of eggs, lard, and - bingo - more meat. He wondered briefly whether his arteries would ever forgive him for this, but since he was already here, he was determined to face the local cuisine - even though he could almost hear Draco snickering in the back of his mind.

The food on his plate might have contained a weekly ration of fat, but it was, for the most part, surprisingly tasty. Apart from one eye-watering encounter with what he belatedly recognized as the grated horseradish Draco had mentioned, Harry got through the meal without incident, although he barely managed to eat half of the portion he'd been served - either people here had different stomachs, or the waitress had thought that he needed fattening. He still didn't like the wine very much, but since it was half water, it wasn't as sour as the stuff he'd tried at Gerda's place the night before.

Once he'd pushed the plate away, the gothic waitress returned with a shot glass. "Not bad for the first try," she commented with another grin, "here, I thought you might need this - it's on the house."

Harry sniffed the content of the glass, expecting the sharp pang of alcohol, but instead a rich, fruity aroma wafted up from the clear liquid. "What is it?"

"Apricot brandy. It's best when you drink it down in one go."

Bracing himself, Harry did as instructed - he'd learned to do shots with Firewhisky, after all, so he doubted this stuff would knock him out. The burning he'd been anticipating never came; the brandy was clearly strong, but it went down smoothly, leaving only a curious feeling of warmth and an aftertaste of fruit in its wake.

The waitress nodded approvingly; Harry felt as if he'd just passed some kind of test. "Like it?"

"Very much, thank you. I didn't know the apricots here were used for making brandy, I thought they were just for eating."

"Oh, there are a lot of things you can do with apricots. It's a pity there won't be many this year because we had such a cold spring. Have you had any yet?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't like them very much."

From the look on her face, he'd just committed some kind of sacrilege, but she didn't say anything further while she cleared the table. When she returned a while later with the tab, she placed a brown paper bag on the table. "I bet you've never eaten real apricots if you don't like them. It's still a bit early, but you're lucky, I found a few ripe ones on the tree in our garden."

Harry couldn't help smiling at this. "Are you trying to convert me?"

She shrugged with a smug expression. "It's going to work, you'll see. Just eat them soon, they get..." She paused for a moment, clearly searching for the right word, while she made a gesture as if she were squeezing something.

"Squashy?" Harry guessed, although every apricot he'd ever eaten so far had been about as soft as a golf ball.

"That's it. But believe me, that won't become a problem once you've tried them."

+++

Harry passed the next two hours aimlessly strolling along the narrow dirt roads that led through the vineyards around Spitz. It was very warm in the early afternoon sun, so he stayed close to the river where the ground was flat. Since it was a Sunday, no-one was working in the vineyards, and the other tourists he'd seen in the town obviously preferred to stay there, allowing him to wander around in blissful solitude.

When he got tired, he made his way down to the Danube and sat down in the shadow of a willow tree that grew next to the water. He could hear the hum of traffic from afar, but here by the riverside, the only sounds were the gurgling of the water and the whisper of leaves in the light breeze. For the second time today, Harry felt himself relax, drinking in the quiet peace and the beauty of his surroundings. The ground at his feet was covered in round, smooth pebbles, and almost without thinking, he picked one up and placed it on his palm. It took some concentration, but finally, the pebble rose into the air with a wobbly lurch and hung there for a moment before it fell back into his hand.

Stop it, this is getting ridiculous. Suddenly angry with himself, Harry flung the pebble into the river where it disappeared with a rather un-dramatic plop. Still, the moment of peace was gone, and he remembered that it would soon be time to go back; a glance at his watch told him that he'd have to leave in twenty minutes or so if he wanted to catch his train.

He was beginning to feel thirsty again, so he rummaged through his bag in search of the water bottle. This reminded him of the apricots which he'd stashed there, and he decided to see if the lady in black had known what she'd been talking about. The brown paper bag contained about a dozen fruits that looked very different from the apricots Harry knew: those had been hard and greenish-yellow, these here were dark orange and so juicy that they began dripping immediately when he pulled one apart to take the stone out.

A moment later, he was silently apologising to the goth waitress for ever doubting her word. The fruit was so soft that it almost melted in his mouth, the taste rich and incredibly sweet. Within a few minutes, Harry had polished off most of the bag's contents, not caring that he dribbled fruit juice all over himself in the process.

He was down to the last three when he reluctantly decided that he should leave a few for later. After a quick look around to make sure no-one was watching him, Harry took out his wand and cast a quick Preservation Charm on the paper bag before he put it away. A subsequent Cleaning Charm took care of the sticky juice on his hands and his t-shirt. The charms took more effort than they would have at home, but they were still easier than anything he'd cast in Vienna, and he was again reminded of Draco's words about the magic of the river.

Thankfully, he'd run out of time to ponder it further. Shouldering his bag, Harry got to his feet and headed for the town's tiny train station. He'd truly enjoyed the trip, but to his own surprise, he realised that he was rather looking forward to get back to Vienna as well.

+++

Harry spent most of the train ride home reading the guidebook; on the one hand, he was genuinely interested in a bit of extra information about the Wachau valley now that he'd seen it for himself, and on the other hand, he wanted to make sure that his thoughts wouldn't start wandering again, which would undoubtedly have happened if he'd just stared out of the window.

It was almost seven o'clock when the train reached Vienna. By then, Harry began to notice how tired he was, although he still didn't quite understand how one could be so thoroughly knackered from doing basically nothing the whole day. Either being a tourist was a lot more taxing than he'd thought, or he was just getting old - his twenty-fifth birthday was coming up in less than two months, after all. There'd been a time when he'd have been glad to know that he'd live to see twenty-five, but now that he was almost there, the prospect of turning a quarter of a century was a bit depressing, particularly given the way his life seemed to pass him by these days.

There was a taxi stand right outside the train station, and Harry decided that he'd done enough walking for the day. He got into the first car waiting in line and was about to tell the driver the address of his hotel when he realized that he was still holding the guidebook in his hand. He'd have to find a post office tomorrow to send it back - or...

What did you just think about your life passing you by?

It only took his rational mind a moment to catch up, but that moment was enough to open the book and indicate to the driver that he should take him to the address written on the front page.

+++

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in a rather busy street in front of a huge building that had probably been rather stately once, but had clearly seen better days; the greyish facade was cracked, and the plaster ornaments it had been decorated with were crumbling away. The paint on the huge wooden entrance door was peeling, and the brass bell-buttons next to it had been polished smooth by many years of use. Harry studied the little name-tags next to the bell-buttons while doing his best to ignore the fact that his heart was in his throat, but he still couldn't help the nervous clenching of his stomach when he finally found the one that read D. Malfoy.

Get a grip, for pity's sake. He won't be home yet anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Harry finally pressed the button. There was no response, and he was debating with himself whether he should ring again or just leave when Draco's voice saying "Ja, bitte?" next to his ear almost made him jump.

Oh, right - house intercom. Feeling like a complete idiot, Harry was about to answer when Draco, after a moment of silence, added with a hint of irritation, "Ali?"

"Um, no, it's me." Harry could have kicked himself the moment the words were out, but it was already too late.

"That's what they all say." Draco seemed amused, and Harry couldn't really blame him, given how inane he must have sounded.

"I'm, er - I just wanted to give you your book back."

"Yes, I guessed as much. Come in, then, my flat is on the fifth floor, and I'm not walking down the stairs again."

The automatic door-opener buzzed, and Harry found himself in a granite-tiled corridor which, like the facade, must have been really beautiful once before time had taken its toll on the building. It lead up to a spiral staircase whose steps had been worn out by so many feet that they were dangerously slippery now; the rickety banisters were wrought iron and the ceiling once more decorated in crumbling stucco, which gave the whole ensemble a slightly morbid look. Deep down, Harry couldn't help thinking that it was oddly fitting for someone like Draco.

It was a long climb up to the fifth floor, and Harry was rather out of breath by the end. Draco was already awaiting him at the door of his flat. He was wearing track suit bottoms and a faded t-shirt; given his damp hair and bare feet, he'd probably just stepped out of the shower.

"You're in rather sorry shape for the hero of the wizarding world."

"Hello to you too," Harry grumbled, still puffing, "you couldn't have found a place with a lift?"

"Not for the rent I'm currently paying, I'm afraid. Remember, I'm a humble tour guide and have to make ends meet."

"Speaking of tours, here's your book." Harry handed it over and took care not to let his fingers brush against Draco's. "Thanks again, it was very helpful."

Draco just nodded. "So you liked the Wachau?"

Harry was about to answer when he had to step aside because the tiniest old woman he'd ever seen was slowly tottering along the corridor with a walking stick, making him feel rather silly about the fact that he had complained about the stairs. She gave Draco a beaming smile and eyed Harry curiously while she hobbled past; Draco, completely unfazed, said something in German that sounded like a greeting. Harry fleetingly remembered the Draco Malfoy he had known at school, who'd probably have kicked little old Muggle ladies down the stairs instead of greeting them politely, and he marvelled once more at the cruel irony of this whole scenario.

Draco sighed when the woman had finally rounded the corner. "Great, now she'll be pestering me for weeks with questions about you."

Harry shrugged. "I doubt I'm that gossip-worthy."

"That must be a rather shocking change for you." There was no malice in Draco's tone. "But everything is gossip-worthy when you're eighty-five and don't leave the house much."

"I see." Harry did his best to sound casual. "Then I suppose I shouldn't stand around on your doorstep any longer before I ruin your reputation."

"You'd better not."

Harry's heart sank when Draco stepped back from the door; that was it, then. Draco frowned at him; when Harry, uncertain how to react, just remained where he was, he made an impatient gesture and opened the door wider.

"Well, are you coming in or not?"

+++

A wizard without Harry's level of training might have missed the faint tickling sensation when he stepped over the threshold of Draco's flat, but Harry had no trouble interpreting it.

"You warded this place?"

Draco closed the door and gave Harry a curious look. "Don't tell me you're surprised?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Harry admitted as he followed Draco into what appeared to be the living room. "How do you manage to keep wards up in a place like this? And for what reason, since it's next to impossible to cast anything major here? I doubt Voldemort himself would have been able to pull off an Unforgivable in this city."

Draco shrugged. "I wouldn't be where I am today if I had been willing to take any chances. It's not even that difficult to maintain the wards since I've been using a lot of magic in my flat over time, so the draining effect is weaker here."

"I see." Harry was busy studying his surroundings, although he tried not to stare too openly. As far as he could tell, Draco's flat was in much better condition than the facade and the corridors of the building; the living room was airy and spacious, with a dark hardwood floor and white walls lined with bookshelves. A somewhat battered sofa and a squashy armchair were arranged in front of a telly in the corner; a desk with a computer stood in front of one of the windows. Besides the one through which they'd entered, there were three more doors, all of them covered in photos and picture postcards. The room didn't look overly impressive, but it was well-kept and quite comfortable.

"Nice place you've got here."

Draco made a face. "I'd thank you if you hadn't sounded even more surprised now. Did you expect me to live in a hovel?"

"Well, it's not as if the outside of the building is terribly impressive."

"Yes, thankfully it isn't, or I really wouldn't be able to afford the rent. There are two kinds of old houses here: those that have been renovated and are all but unaffordable, and those that haven't been and slowly fall apart around you unless you have a bit of magic at your disposal."

"You renovated your flat with magic?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "What else did you expect? That I had turned into some kind of do-it-yourself prodigy?"

"To be honest, Draco, after seeing you work as a tour guide, I think anything is possible."

"I'm afraid you have a point there." Draco flopped onto the armchair and propped his feet up on the armrest of the sofa. "Actually, I did convince my girlfriend at the time that I was good at this kind of thing, mostly to fob her off when she offered to help me with moving. It made for a rather uncomfortable moment later when she had some repairs to do in her own flat and asked if she could borrow my electric drill."

Harry bit back a laugh. "What did you tell her?"

"I finally had to resort to some macho no-woman-touches-my-tools posturing. I've never felt more ridiculous in my life, but at least she bought it."

Grinning at this, Harry wandered over to one of the doors and studied the pictures covering it. He spotted a few people he had met - Gerda, the Russian beauty, Michele, and Ali; Draco was in many of the pictures, usually looking into the camera with an uneasy smile as if he still weren't quite comfortable with Muggle photographs. There was one picture that particularly drew Harry's attention: Draco, his arm around the shoulders of a pretty, dark-haired girl who had more than a passing resemblance to Pansy Parkinson, was standing on what seemed to be a mountaintop, with several other snow-covered peaks visible in the background. Harry remembered his conversation with Ali and came to the conclusion that the girl in the photo had to be the ill-fated Lena.

"That wouldn't be the lady in question?"

Draco turned his head to see which picture Harry was pointing at and frowned. "As a matter of fact, yes, that's her. How did you know?" Before Harry could answer, he slumped back with a groan. "No, don't tell me - Ali."

Harry didn't get to answer because he was interrupted by the sound of Draco's mobile, which had been sitting on the small coffee table next to the sofa, chiming a melody that sounded suspiciously like 'Rule Britannia'.

Draco frowned at the display for a moment before answering the call. "Hallo?"

Up to this point, Harry had never given the concept of foreign languages much thought - that was, he knew on a theoretical level that they existed, and he used bits and pieces for the more archaic spells even though the words had no meaning to him, but he'd hardly ever heard anyone he knew hold a conversation in a language he didn't understand. Now he couldn't help listening with a strange sort of fascination as Draco, seeming completely at ease, spoke German with whoever had just called him.

"Du, ich kann jetzt nicht, ich hab Besuch... warum fragst du dann ueberhaupt?" Draco listened for a while, his expression darkening slightly. "Schnucki, hoerst du bitte endlich auf, mein Leben zu organisieren? Ich weiss schon, du meinst es gut, aber schoen langsam gehst du mir ein bisserl zu weit!"

When the person on the other end of the line was talking again, Draco's gaze swept over Harry for a moment, and judging from his smirk, Harry was absolutely certain that they were discussing him. "Wenn er mir auf die Nerven geht, schmeiss ich ihn raus, versprochen. Servus!"

"Speak of the devil?" Harry asked with mild amusement once Draco had flipped the mobile shut.

Draco sighed. "She means well, but the woman's a menace. Now, what did she tell you that made you recognise Lena in a photo?"

"She just gave me an overall description, and I couldn't help thinking it sounded as if she were describing Pansy Parkinson. And since the girl here is all but her long-lost twin..."

"Yes, pathetic, isn't it?" Draco got up and walked over to Harry, his gaze fixed on the photo. "That was probably one of the most stupid mistakes I've ever made in my life, and that's saying something."

Harry was momentarily taken aback; he'd never heard Draco admit to any kind of regrets before. "What went wrong? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Draco sighed. "Potter -"

"I thought we were past that."

"Fine. Harry, then. I don't believe for a second that you're here for any other purpose than to ask me nosy questions, so you can just stop pretending, all right?"

It had been a while since Harry had last felt this relieved. So Ali didn't have her little talk with him yet - thank God for small favours. "It's not as if I can make you tell me anything."

Draco shrugged again. "I honestly don't care whether you know about my exes or not. In hindsight, it was the fact that she seemed so familiar that made me fall for her; she not only looks like Pansy, she even sounds like her when she talks. They're nothing alike, character-wise, and it's not as if I'd ever been madly in love with Pansy in the first place, but we've been friends since we were toddlers. Being with Lena almost felt like - a homecoming of sorts, I suppose." His voice was cold, with just a hint of bitterness underneath. "Like I said, it was a stupid mistake from the very beginning."

"Ali said that it ended rather ugly."

"Well, Ali still resents her for it, but it was really my fault; I'd given Lena every reason to believe there was more to the relationship than there actually ever was. It all began to fall apart when she made it clear that she wanted some kind of commitment, and when she started dropping hints that she eventually wanted children, I knew that I had to get out. Since I couldn't tell her my real reasons, she took it very personally, and I can't say I blame her."

"The real reasons being...?"

Draco gave Harry a strange look. "Would you be willing to share the rest of your life with someone who must never know what you really are? Or worse yet, to inflict the same fate upon a child? My family hasn't produced a squib in seven generations, and I have no doubt that even a half-Muggle child of mine would possess magical ability. How could I possibly raise such a child in the Muggle world?"

Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Draco, who seemed so determined to build a future for himself by sheer force of will, basically had just admitted to the fact that he was resigned to spending the rest of his life alone. "Draco, for pity's sake, the wizarding world still exists! It was your decision not to go back, it's not as if you're forced to remain in exile!"

Draco held up a hand to interrupt him. "I don't expect you to understand, so please let it go, all right?" He was still looking at the picture. "At least something good came out of it, after all - I'd never have taken up mountain climbing if it hadn't been for her."

It was an obvious attempt to change the topic, and Harry went with it since he realised he had no right to do anything else. "She made you try it?"

"It was more that she dragged me into it kicking and screaming, but I was quickly convinced once I'd given it a try." For a second, there was a wistful expression on his face. "It's not quite like flying, but it's probably the closest you can get by Muggle means. It's a pity you won't get a chance to see any mountains while you're here - seeing the sun rise over the Alps isn't something you ever forget."

"I'll keep it in mind for my next holiday." Harry did his best to keep his tone light; he didn't want to make it sound as if he meant anything more by that.

"You do that." Draco finally tore his gaze away from the pictures. "Out of curiosity, is there a reason why you're refusing to sit down?"

"Probably the fact that you didn't invite me to?" Harry replied with a smirk.

Draco clucked his tongue. "Where are my manners? Do have a seat, then. Would you like something to drink?"

"Gladly, as long as it isn't Austrian wine, I've had my share of vinegar for the day."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "No stomach for dry wine, have we? I admit it's a bit of an acquired taste, but most people here seem to believe that sweet wine is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, or something."

"I'm sure you'll find some other Austrian peculiarity in your fridge to torture me with."

"I usually stick to water, but now that you mention it, there may be some of Mrs Vlk's elder blossom syrup left." Draco disappeared into the adjacent kitchen while Harry gingerly sat down on the creaking sofa.

"Who's Mrs Vlk?"

"The old woman you saw in the corridor," Draco's voice came through the open door. "She lives next door and regards it as her personal responsibility to save me from starvation. It took me until yesterday to finish the birthday cake she gave me, and my birthday was two weeks ago."

"Thank God for Preservation Charms," Harry murmured, which reminded him of the apricots he'd saved. He was still rummaging through the contents of his bag when the sound of a fridge door being opened in the kitchen suddenly caused movement behind one of the half-drawn curtains. A fuzzy, black-and-white cat jumped down from the windowsill and disappeared into the kitchen like a flash.

A few seconds later, Draco came back, carrying two glasses filled with a pale yellow liquid and shoving the cat out of the kitchen with his foot. "You've already been fed, you greedy bastard, so get the hell out of here." The cat gave him a disdainful look and jumped onto the sofa, where it sat next to Harry and stared at him.

Draco put the glasses on the coffee table and lowered himself into the armchair. "Does he bother you?"

"I don't mind cats, although he looks as if he might mind me."

"That's just his way of getting acquainted. Give him five minutes, and he'll use you as his personal scratching post."

Harry tentatively reached out to scratch the cat behind the ears; it immediately curled up next to him and began to purr. "Had him for long?"

"Since I moved in here. He used to belong to Mrs Vlk; she had him for more than ten years, but then her asthma started acting up, so she couldn't keep him around any longer. When I moved in next door, she asked me if I'd take him in because it's hard to completely relocate an old cat, and she didn't want to have him put to sleep. I've always liked cats, so I agreed, although I had no idea that me adopting Max would lead to her practically adopting me."

Harry couldn't help grinning at this. "That's positively sweet. Do you also rescue baby birds who've fallen out of their nests?"

"Of course," Draco deadpanned, "but only to use them as potion ingredients because I brew poison for a hobby. Some of it is in your glass, by the way, so you're lucky that you obviously aren't planning to touch it."

Making a face, Harry reached for the glass and took a sip. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." Draco pointed at the paper bag that Harry had placed on the table. "Brought your own antidote?"

"What? Oh, no, I got these from the waitress at the place in Spitz you recommended, and I thought you might like some."

Draco's face lit up. "Ohh, apricots? I thought there wouldn't be any this year!" There was an almost childlike glee in his eyes when he reached for the bag. "So you met Gothic Sandra? I always take my American groups to that particular Heurigen to let her remind them that they didn't step onto the 'Sound of Music' set when they crossed the Austrian border."

"She didn't introduce herself, but unless all waitresses there dress like that, it must have been -"

Harry forgot what he'd been about to say because he'd made the mistake to look at Draco, who'd just bitten into one of the apricots and was now licking the juice off his fingers. Harry quickly averted his eyes, but it was too late because Draco had already noticed him staring.

"What's the matter?"

Harry took a deep breath. The bastard is doing it on purpose! "I believe this is the point where Ali would start talking about public indecency."

Draco, clearly unimpressed, reached for another apricot. "Since this is my flat, it would be private indecency at the most, wouldn't it?"

There was something decidedly suggestive in his tone that threw Harry for a moment. Was it just his wishful thinking, or was Draco actually flirting with him? His uncertainty made his next words come out harsher than he'd intended. "I don't remember you eating like this back at school. Did you start your working career as a rent boy or something like that?"

He'd intended it as a joke, but Draco's face froze into an expression of icy resentment. "I'll thank you not to make fun of my past predicaments."

Harry stared at him, feeling as if he'd just been hit over the head. "Draco, I... God, look, I'm sorry -"

Draco kept glowering at him through narrowed eyelids for a moment before he burst out laughing. "And you're the most gullible idiot I've ever met." He was laughing so hard that he almost choked on the last piece of apricot and had to take a sip from his glass before he could continue. "I can't believe you fell for that!"

"Hey, how was I to know?" Harry was aware that he was blushing, but there was nothing he could do about it. ""It's not as if you've told me much about what happened to you after you left Britain!"

"I was already wondering when you'd begin with the interrogation." Draco still had tears of laughter in his eyes, but now he was growing serious again. "Fine, I see no harm in telling you - but only on two conditions."

"I'd have expected no less from a Slytherin. Let me guess: you don't want me to tell anyone back home about you."

"Very good. The other condition is that I get to ask a few questions in return, and that you will answer them this time."

This gave Harry pause, but finally, his curiosity won out. He'd managed to answer Rita Skeeter's questions without really saying anything for years now, so he was reasonably confident that Draco wouldn't get anything out of him that he didn't want him to know. "All right."

"Okay, then. I left Britain immediately after... after leaving Hogwarts with Snape. I'd expected him to hand me over to the Dark Lord, but he delivered me to my mother's doorstep instead. It turned out that my mother had been preparing for this eventuality ever since I had taken the Mark after my father's imprisonment. She knew that if I ever had to flee the country, I'd be on the run from both sides, and that there would be no safety among wizards for me. I have no idea how she made the necessary contacts, but she managed to get the documents that I'd need to hide in the Muggle world. We first went to France, where some distant relatives from my father's side took us in, but I couldn't stay there because the Dark Lord could still get to me through the Mark whenever he wanted."

Harry had been listening with growing astonishment. "You were Marked after all? But where's -"

"Why don't I have it anymore?" Draco rubbed the inside of his left forearm as if the mention of Voldemort's Mark had triggered some lingering pain where it supposedly once had been. "I got rid of it after the Dark Lord's fall."

"How? Some of the remaining Death Eaters tried that after Voldemort's death, but no one ever found a spell to remove it!"

Draco smiled, but there was no humour in it. "There is no magical way to remove it - but there's always plastic surgery."

Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You went to a Muggle doctor to have the Dark Mark removed?"

"Ironic, isn't it? To be honest, it wasn't my idea. I told everyone here that it was a tattoo which I'd got thanks to some ill-judged impulse when I was a teenager -"

"- which wasn't even that far off the mark, I suppose," Harry couldn't help murmuring. Draco ignored him.

"Ali hated it; she said it was tacky and ugly and pestered me to get rid of it. Finally, she dragged me to a friend of her family who's a plastic surgeon - I'd never have been able to afford the procedure, but she insisted on paying for it as a Christmas gift. I still suspect that she did it for the sake of her parents, who were unhappy enough with our relationship to begin with."

"Why's that?"

"Well, she comes from a rather upper-class family, and I suppose they considered a penniless foreigner with a questionable background a bit of a mesalliance."

Harry did his best to keep a straight face, but he didn't quite manage it. "Just imagine that."

Draco shrugged. "I can't say I blame them; I'd probably have reacted in the same way if I'd been in their position. Anyway, the doctor first tried laser, which didn't work - he couldn't quite believe it and kept asking me what kind of colour had been used, so I had to make up a story how I'd been totally smashed at the time and didn't remember a thing. Finally he had to cut it out and repair the damage with skin grafts. He did a great job, though; the scars are barely visible, and he told me they'll fade completely over time."

He held up his left arm, and Harry leaned closer; now that he knew what to look for, he saw the faint red lines on the pale skin. He also couldn't help noticing that the fine hair on Draco's arm was completely colourless, which reminded him of his musings on the subject from the night before. He quickly backed off before his thoughts wandered further in that direction. "So you came to Vienna because of the Mark?"

"My choice was rather limited - there aren't many places in Europe which are totally devoid of magic. I had a German tutor when I was a child since my father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, so I finally decided to go to Vienna."

Harry frowned at this. "They speak German at Durmstrang?"

Draco merely rolled his eyes. "Harry, your level of ignorance about both the magical and the Muggle world is nothing short of astounding. Durmstrang is the biggest magical school in Central Europe, and its students come from at least a dozen different countries. Therefore, classes are held in German and Russian, and every student needs to speak at least one of these languages."

Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. "Okay. So Vienna it was - but why didn't your mother come with you?"

Draco looked down at his hands, which he'd folded in his lap. "I asked her to, but she wanted to remain in contact with wizarding Britain in case she'd hear from my father; she hoped she'd get to him before the Dark Lord did if he got out of Azkaban somehow. She couldn't have done that from Vienna, so she stayed in France."

Harry swallowed; he suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. "Where's your mother now?"

"My mother is dead." Draco's voice was dispassionate, as if he were talking about someone he barely knew. "She was killed in France less than two months after I'd left. I have no idea what happened or who did it, and it really doesn't make any difference now." He ran his fingers through a strand of his hair. "That's the reason these are still black - my mother wanted to make sure I wouldn't be recognised among wizards, so she used a spell on me that only she could remove." Only now did he look at Harry, who was about to speak up when Draco cut him off. "If you say 'I'm sorry' again, then, so help me God, I'm going to hit you."

Harry held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "All I was going to say is that I think it suits you. The hair colour, I mean."

Draco gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I've got used to it, now that I finally have enough privacy to magically get rid of facial hair. Before, it was a real nuisance." He threw Harry a quizzical look. "How can you dark-haired blokes stand it? No matter how carefully you shave, by early afternoon you always look as if your face were dirty!"

Harry self-consciously rubbed his chin where, sure enough, he felt the familiar scratch of stubble. "It has never really bothered me. I must admit I have a hard time imagining you with a five o'clock shadow, though."

Draco made a face. "And you'll never get to see it if I can help it. Where was I?"

"You were talking about how you came to Vienna."

"Right. So here I was with my Muggle papers, a little money, and no clue about the Muggle world. The first months were - well, let's just say they're a part of my past I don't like to dwell on. At least I had a EU passport and was therefore allowed to work, so I did all kinds of odd jobs, although -" he glanced at Harry with wry amusement, "- not quite as odd as the one you thought me capable of. I found a place to stay in a flat that I shared with several university students, and it was mostly from them that I learned how to function among Muggles. I also realised that I would need some kind of training if I ever wanted a better job, so I finally went to a job centre where they made a few suggestions, and the tour guiding programme was among them. You even get a bit of financial aid for this kind of education, which was just as well because I wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise, no matter how much I worked on the side. It turned out that the training programme is very popular among foreigners - many of my classmates had just moved to Vienna too and had even bigger problems with the language than I had, so I didn't stand out so much, which helped a lot. I made a few friends there, Gerda and Ali among them; by the time the training was over, I felt that I finally had my feet on the ground."

"How..." Harry paused for a moment, carefully trying to choose the right words. "Don't get me wrong, but how did you manage to - to live with Muggles? I don't mean the technical aspects, but rather... you know, given your attitude back at school, I'm really surprised how easily you seem to have made friends in the Muggle world."

Draco reached for his glass and took a sip. "First of all," he said while he put it down again, "there was nothing easy about anything I just told you. Second, what did you expect me to do? Spend the rest of my life in total isolation?" Only now did he look at Harry. "My attitude towards Muggles hasn't changed very much. I've always been convinced that their growing influence in the wizarding world would finally ruin our way of life, and that's exactly what's happening in Britain right now." Harry was about to protest, but Draco kept talking. "This here, however, is their world, which never had been of any interest to me before, but since I had no other place left to go, I had to learn how to live with them. They're not my kind, and I'll never be one of them, but they're all I have."

Deep down, Harry felt that he should be appalled by what he was hearing, but he realised that he couldn't quite manage it. He tried to imagine what it would mean for him if he suddenly found himself stuck in the Muggle world, surrounded by people who could never understand his true nature, and he had to admit that even he, who had grown up among Muggles, was horrified by the idea of spending the rest of his life stranded in their world.

"Is there no one from your past you're still in contact with, though? What of all the other Slytherin students who disappeared when the war began?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You're not after any of them, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "You know about the Ministry pardon. No offence, Draco, but if it applies to you, it certainly applies to your classmates who have nothing but their family affiliations speaking against them."

"Does that mean your side hasn't located any of them?"

"It's not as if we had reason to look for them, remember? I heard once that Zabini is in Italy, but that's about it."

Draco nodded. "Sicily, to be exact; he still writes me from time to time. Nott went to the US; last I heard, he was teaching at the Salem institute. Goyle is in Moscow, working in his uncle's business, but since he's unable to figure out the Muggle postal system, I haven't heard from him for a few years now."

"What about Crabbe?"

Draco kept looking straight ahead. "He didn't make it." He took another sip from his glass before he continued. "The only one I get to see on a semi-regular basis is Pansy, since she lives in Prague with her husband. Besides, Snape writes three or four times a year, so I have at least some idea about what's going on in wizarding Britain."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet at the ankles; as if this had been some kind of signal, Max the cat got up from his place next to Harry and wandered over to Draco, where he curled up in his lap. "Am I done answering questions now, or was there anything else you wanted to know?"

His tone was light, but Harry remained serious. "To be honest, you told me a lot more than I ever expected you to."

Draco sighed softly; he kept his eyes on the cat in his lap when he answered. "I admit it's - refreshing, you could say, to be able to talk about all the things I can't mention in front of Muggles. Whenever I speak to my Muggle friends, I have to be constantly on my guard to make sure I don't slip up in any way. I'm used to it by now, but still, it's nice not to self-censor everything I say for a change."

Harry remembered his conversation with Ali in the car and wondered whether he should tip Draco off that Muggles were somewhat more perceptive than he obviously gave them credit for. "You never talk about your past with any of them?"

"Only in the most general way I can manage, but never in detail - it's just too hard to predict what exactly might seem odd to a Muggle. Take Ali, for example: the only time I let on anything about my family, she almost gave me a heart attack."

"How so?"

"We were talking about names because she keeps complaining about hers, and when I pointed out that my name wasn't exactly common either, she asked me if there were any other weird names in my family. I didn't see any danger in telling her that my grandfather's name had been Abraxas - but when I did, she started giggling and asked, 'Was your grandmother a witch?' I think I needn't tell you how that went over."

Harry frowned. "Why on earth would she ask that?"

Draco smiled ruefully. "Just my luck. Turns out there's a popular German children's book called 'The Little Witch', and the witch in question has a talking pet raven named Abraxas. I think it goes without saying that I never mentioned my family to her after that."

"Fair enough. But what about Pansy? You said you see her from time to time."

Draco sighed softly. "Pansy has her own problems, she really doesn't need to hear everything about mine too." When he saw Harry's questioning look, he added, "I try to see her whenever I'm doing a tour to Prague, which is about once a month, but we always have to meet in the Muggle part of the city since I'm not exactly welcome in the wizarding community of Prague. She has never said so, but I suspect she has to meet me behind her husband's back; he'd probably give her a lot of grief if he knew that she's still friends with a former Death Eater." His expression had been serious, but now he smirked at Harry when he added, "Still, I suppose that thanks to you, I'll have a lot to tell her tomorrow."

Harry froze. "You're going to Prague tomorrow?"

Draco made a face. "Two day-trip with a bus full of German managers. I can hardly wait."

"Oh." Harry couldn't think of anything else to say to that. "Well, then you'd better ask me your questions now, since you won't get another chance after today."

"When are you leaving?"

"Day after tomorrow."

If this information had any impact on Draco, he certainly didn't show it. "There's just this one thing I wanted to ask you the whole time: what the hell are you doing here?"

This wasn't what Harry had been expecting. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm on holiday here, as you should have noticed by now."

"Oh, please. No sensible wizard even comes near a Dead Spot if he can help it, and you go on holiday in the biggest one in Europe just because you felt like it? I hope you don't really expect me to believe that."

"Dead Spot?"

Draco shook his head. "Did you ever pay attention in History of Magic? Dead Spots are places where, like in Vienna, no one has done any magic for several centuries - to such an extent that there is nothing left for a wizard to work with. They cause a constant drain on a magical person's innate magic, and if you're not careful, they can suck you completely dry and eventually leave you powerless. That's why I came here, after all - like you said, the Dark Lord himself wouldn't have been able to throw a hex here, you can't Apparate, and even owls can't find you. It's perfect if you have to hide from the wizarding world, but it's usually not a place where a wizard would want to spend any length of time."

When Harry didn't answer immediately, he added, "You are hiding here, aren't you."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let's rather say that I needed a break."

"Did you get tired of the fawning admirers?" From Draco's tone, Harry couldn't really tell whether he was mocking him or not.

"It was more than that, I'm afraid. You see... during all these years, before the war and during, I knew that my main purpose - hell, my only purpose was to overcome Voldemort. I was the only one who could kill him, and that's what I had to focus on, for the sake of my friends, the Order, and basically the whole wizarding world. It was daunting, and there were times when I was sure I would never be able to do it, but I always knew that this was the goal I was fighting for. Then I killed Voldemort, and it should have been over, but in fact, the worst part of the war had only just begun. I lost more friends and allies during the year after Voldemort's death than during all the years before, and I have never felt so helpless before - I'd done my part, and it still hadn't been enough. I felt like I had let down everyone who ever had trusted me to save them, everyone who had believed that I would be able to put an end to it all."

"You did put an end to it all eventually though, didn't you?" Draco pointed out. "To the best of my knowledge, there have been no more Death Eater attacks since Bellatrix Lestrange was arrested two years ago."

"Yes, but that wasn't my doing! I mean, I was still fighting, together with the Aurors and the Order, but even though they all treated me like their leader, it was mostly Kingsley Shacklebolt who did all the planning. I was hardly more than a figurehead." Harry took a deep breath and tried to steady his voice. "Then, after everything was finally over, everybody acted as if I'd single-handedly saved the world. I alone was the celebrated hero, the one whose picture was in all the newspapers every day..."

"Yes, I can imagine how terrible that must have been for you." Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Harry shot him a dark look. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

Draco held up his hand. "Fine, go on."

"They offered me a rank in the Auror Corps that I didn't deserve - actually, I didn't deserve any rank since I'd never gone through Auror training. But I took it because I didn't know what else I should do with my life. I had never given the question what I wanted to do after the end of the war much thought, mostly because deep down, I'd always been convinced that I wouldn't live to see it anyway."

"Funny, that," Draco said dryly, "before the war, I was totally convinced that I'd come out on top, and look where I am now."

Harry sighed. "Draco, I realise that my current problems may not seem that big to you in comparison to what you have to deal with. Still, I..."

"I wasn't implying that," Draco interrupted him, "and to be honest, I don't envy you in the slightest. At least I'm in charge of my own life, while you probably have everyone from the Ministry to the Daily Prophet trying to use you for their own ends."

Harry stared at him. "Do you really mean that?"

Draco held his gaze levelly. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Was that the reason you had to hide in the only place where the wizarding world would leave you alone for a week?"

"Pretty much, yes. I just felt I had no life left to live for myself - every word I say, everything I do is treated like a matter of public importance, even though I haven't done anything that was in any way important to the public since the war ended. Everybody else around me gets on with their lives, but I'm completely stuck. That's why I decided to come here when Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley suggested that I take some time off - I wanted a break from the attention, the expectations I can't fulfil, from everything."

"From magic, too?"

"That's what I thought, at least." Harry shook his head. "I mean, I grew up among Muggles, I spent my summers without magic every year until I came of age, so I really didn't expect that it might pose a problem for me. When I stood in that crypt on my first day here, I could practically feel the magic dying in this place centuries ago, and it was almost liberating for a while. It didn't last, though - I only noticed today, in the Wachau valley, how much I'd begun to miss magic already during the few days I've spent here."

There was a strange smile on Draco's lips when he answered. "That's because whatever you do, you can't run from being a wizard. Magic is a part of you; that's why a place like this, where people have completely given up on magic, is such a hostile environment for someone like you and me. It's fine for Muggles - like blind people would have no problem living in constant darkness, but anyone who has the ability to see would never stop missing the light."

Harry couldn't help feeling that this was something Draco had told himself many times over. "Is that why you sat by the river, spinning pebbles in the air?"

"When I came here, I had two choices: either give up on my magic, let the draining effect take its toll on me until there was nothing left, or hang on to it with all my might. I chose the latter - I had to focus on my own, innate magical power, to train and strengthen it as best I could to learn how to withstand the effect this place has. It wasn't easy, but if I hadn't done it, I'd have given up a part of who I am."

Harry slowly shook his head, his eyes never leaving Draco's. "How do you do it, Draco? From everything you've told me, every day you spent here has been an uphill battle, and no matter what you've achieved for yourself, it can never replace what you've lost. How do you keep going?"

When Draco answered, there was an expression in his eyes that Harry couldn't read. "I don't dwell on things that just aren't possible no matter how much I might want them to be."

Letting out a breath he had been holding without even realising it, Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat; he suddenly felt deathly tired.

He only noticed that he'd dozed off when he was woken by the feeling of a warm, rough tongue licking his nose.