A Certain Kind of Memory

Through open doors, the dining-room declares
A larger loneliness of knives and glass
And silence laid like carpet.

ATTRIBUTION: Philip Larkin (1922-1986), British poet.

Friday Night in the Royal Station Hotel.

Waking alone had only one good thing going for it, Harry decided next morning as he stretched and sat up on the edge of his bed. That he didn't have to care about morning breath.

Everything else about it was pure rubbish. Bollocks.

He wasn't sure just why he was suddenly feeling like he was missing having company - he'd never been one to have lovers spend the night anyway. In fact, he'd not once had anyone back to this flat; not in the four years that he'd lived here. He'd tended to rid his sexual frustrations in the back rooms of clubs, thus endowing them with the lack of respect that he felt for himself in needing to relieve them at all. There was still part of him that thought that sex should be between people who cared about each other.

Annoyed with himself, he stood and walked through to the bathroom, lifting the lid on the toilet to urinate. Not having to wait for the bathroom was another good thing about waking up alone, he thought as the pressure in his bladder was relieved. See? There must be a hundred reasons why it was so much better to wake alone.

He flushed the toilet then turned on the taps in the shower. No running out of hot water, either. He grinned and stepped into the steamy warmth.

Unfortunately, the heat of the water against his cool skin aroused him. Damn, this was where it would be good to have a partner, lover, or boyfriend, even. He frowned and looked down at himself, cursing the appendage that seemed to take on a life of it's own at times. He'd thought he was supposed to grow out of that adolescent lack of control. Grudgingly, he wrapped his hand around it and closed his eyes, stroking as quickly and as business-like as he could.

A few minutes later, he stepped from the shower, relaxed from the quick wank. When was the last time he'd done that anyway? He sure hadn't lasted very long, which only made him feel like he was a horny teenager again.

In the kitchen he made toast and coffee and sat down at the table in the kitchen to eat. An owl had delivered his newspaper and it was waiting for him on the table, so he settled to read the paper while he ate.

After a while he registered that all he could hear was the humming of the fridge across the room. He put down his newspaper and coffee cup and looked around feeling the silence and the emptiness of the flat expand around him until it felt like it was crushing him. The humming became louder until it sounded like it was singing inside his head rather than outside it and he found himself holding his breath as if the noise of his breathing would also grow to be so overpowering he'd lose his mind. He'd never really noticed the quiet before; always been happy with his own company, but perhaps he'd never experienced it quite this way before. Thank Merlin he didn't have a clock. If he heard time ticking away in this atmosphere, he might scream just to hear a real noise.

He was being ridiculous, he told himself as he shook out the newspaper then dropped it on the table, the crackle placating his senses. All he needed was a radio. He wasn't lonely and he didn't want anyone to share his life.

Bollocks! Who was he trying to kid?

He still had no direction, no idea what he wanted to do with his time other than love his friends. Whilst that was fulfilling in itself, there was something missing and it seemed like the only thing his subconscious was telling him, was that he didn't want to spend the rest of his time alone. The insurmountable mountain of dating - finding someone to date in the first place - and then falling for him weighed heavily on Harry.

He wanted to, he really did. The desire not to be alone sat like an ache in his chest, the battle of the guilt attached to any liaison he might have, warring with the need to belong to something. Not someone, but something. He'd like to belong to a couple.

Maybe something without too much emotional attachment? Like Draco had said, something not serious, something that would give him that feeling of not being alone, of being part of something, of companionship. With the added benefit of sex.

He'd have to think about it, he decided, sighing and realising that he'd been tapping the table with his fingers, probably just to hear a noise. Frustrated, he picked up the newspaper and went back to reading.

"Harry, if you or him..." Michael Corner indicated Draco with a disgusted look, "play Seeker, the game will be over before we know it."

"So, what do you suggest this time?" Harry replied bristling, not at the suggestion that he not play Seeker, but at the look Corner had given Draco. It was old news as Draco said, but it still annoyed him nonetheless.

He gave Draco a glance and saw his clenched jaw; he was clearly restraining himself from making a cutting remark. He wouldn't though; they were here to play Quidditch and Draco had grown up and knew when to shut his mouth. It was always the same three that caused most of the problems. Corner, Smith and Finch-Fletchley. A couple of the younger men were swayed by their dislike of Draco as well, but they pretty much kept that to themselves.

He looked forward to these games, though they didn't happen that often and Draco only joined in occasionally, when he wasn't too busy with work. Generally, they had enough for two teams with himself, Ron, Draco, Blaise, Seamus, Alicia and George. Sometimes Neville would come along, but he always said he felt much more at home when his feet were still touching his beloved earth. They usually made a team against Smith, Corner, Finch-Fletchley, the two younger kids, whose names Harry could never remember, and Angelina and Cho.

"Find another Seeker." Corner sneered. Harry had never liked Michael Corner. Not since he'd been such an arse back in school over Ginny.

"Fine," Harry said, looking at Draco. "How about you and I play Beaters, Draco?" Harry grinned. "Ron can be Keeper, Blaise, you can play Seeker and Seamus, George and Alicia can be Chasers. Any problems with that?"

No one appeared to have any complaints and Draco's eyes had that look of being challenged in them. Ron seemed keen to get up and on the broom, too. "Come on, guys, if we win I'm buying drinks later," he yelled in uncharacteristic generosity.

"Any bribing of the umpire should consist of at least four shots of Firewhiskey and safe conduct home," Ginny called out. She came along to umpire the games when she could, but didn't play because it was the general consensus that as a professional player she had an unfair advantage.

Ron laughed and called back. "Blaise better not see you home, then. Can't call that safe conduct."

There was laughter amongst them and Blaise sniffed haughtily. "I'll have you know, our conduct is very safe." But he was grinning as he headed up above the pitch awaiting the release of the Snitch.

"Yeah," added Ginny, laughing. "You'll notice there are no little Zabinis running around the place."

"Too much information," screeched Ron, covering his ears as he floated near the goals.

George flew over to him. "Grow up, little brother, our wee Ginny is a married lady and as such we know she has to have sex, loathe as we are to admit that she is a grown woman and not our baby sister."

"All right you lot, you've given me nightmare material for a week now with all this talk of Weasley mating habits." Draco grimaced, though none of them took him seriously. "Let's get this game going or Weasley here will be shouting dinner not drinks and I don't think the moths in his wallet would survive."

With Ron spluttering that he wasn't skint, nor was he miserly he was just saving for his wedding, Ginny released the Snitch and the game was on.

Harry and Draco teamed up well when they stopped laughing over Ron's indignation. The game was shaping up to be a bit of a dirty one, though, for as much as Draco was competent at hitting the Bludger towards the other side's Seeker or Chasers, their Beaters were aiming the Bludgers directly at Draco, and Harry spent most of his time defending him.

It did, however, leave Blaise virtually unrestricted in looking for the Snitch and the Chasers had almost free reign in scoring, which they did easily. Soon the score was 90 - 20, and Harry was becoming annoyed by the behaviour of the other team.

He looked across at Ginny and yelled, "Can't you do something?" But she just shook her head and yelled back that they weren't doing anything against the rules.

Harry looked wildly round for Blaise and saw that he was chasing the Snitch. Relieved, he turned back to Draco, only to see both Bludgers heading towards the blond. There was only time to take out one of them.

"Draco, duck!" he yelled, and whacked the closest one to him. Draco didn't hear him in time, though, and the other Bludger crashed into his shoulder with enough force to push his broom off its flight path, unbalancing him.

Harry tried to turn his broom around to catch Draco and steady him but with a sickening feeling he knew he'd be too late. Instead, he pointed his broom toward the ground and urged it forward, hoping to catch Draco as he fell.

Faster and faster he flew. With barely any time to spare, he hooked Draco out of the air and onto his broom, hoping he could steady himself while he madly tried to pull up out of the dive before they crashed into the ground. It almost worked.

The grass of the pitch loomed up too close; Harry knew it was too close, but at this point there was nothing he could do. He vaguely heard someone behind him calling out something and then they hit the ground. He was expecting it to hurt, hanging on tightly to Draco as he was, but it didn't. One of the others had cushioned the ground to break their fall and so they mostly tumbled over a few times, getting tangled in each other's limbs, until they finally came to rest, Draco lying on top of Harry.

"You all right?" Harry asked, chest heaving with adrenaline and exertion.

"I will be when I hex that fucking Smith from here to Mexico," Draco muttered, not moving. "You make a good soft landing, though. Thanks, Harry." Draco tried to smile but the pain lines in his face made smiling difficult.

"Glad to be of service," Harry gasped, still out of breath and Draco's weight on top of him making inhaling more difficult than it should be. "Do you think you could get off me now? I can fix that shoulder."

"Er - right," Draco grimaced. "Sorry." He rolled off Harry just as the others landed around them and both angry and concerned voices mixed, competing to see if Draco was all right or berate Smith and Corner, who at least had the grace to look worried.

Harry ignored them, helping Draco free his shoulder from his robes and shirt. Feeling the reddened lump made Draco wince a little but Harry didn't think anything was broken, just badly bruised, so he performed a couple of simple healing charms that should help with the bruising and the pain, before rounding on Smith and Corner.

"Just what was that all about? It's supposed to be a friendly game, you arse, not a bloody chance to take your frustrations out on Draco."

Smith, who had been looking ashamed, narrowed his eyes at the attack. "It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. He wasn't supposed to get hit and fall off, but if he can't keep his seat on a broom then perhaps he shouldn't play." He ended this speech with a smug smile on his face that Harry wanted to punch away. And he would have, too, but Draco held him back.

"Not worth it, Potter." Draco turned to Smith and Corner. "All in good fun, right, guys? It was just an accident, not as if you meant for me to fall off my broom, did you?" Harry could see the dangerous glint in Draco's eyes and he smiled because it usually meant that at some point, when Smith and Corner least expected it, the sneaky ex-Slytherin would use his cunning and both of them would pay.

"Of course not, Malfoy," Corner snickered, thinking he was off the hook.

Ron glowered at both Smith and Corner. "You idiots should just grow up," he said.

"Oh, I don't know, Weasley," Draco replied, smirking. "Have a look in Blaise's hand. Their childish pranks seem to have lost them the game."

Sure enough when they all turned to look at a very smug Blaise, the Golden Snitch was fluttering weakly in his hand. "Sorry, boys, should have mentioned it earlier, but you were all having so much fun arguing I didn't like to interrupt."

George and Ron whooped and lifted Blaise onto their shoulders and the rest of the team gathered around and walked off the field, leaving Corner and his cronies there to commiserate, though Cho and Angelina whacked Corner and Smith on the shoulder and followed after Harry's team.

Draco elbowed Harry as they were all walking off. "You don't need to fight my battles for me, Potter," he hissed, glaring at Harry. "I'm quite capable of looking after myself."

"What?" Harry replied, perplexed. "I know you are, I wasn't..." He sighed. "I'm sorry, I guess it was just a natural reaction."

"Well, next time, don't bother. I don't need you to do your fucking hero thing for me," Draco said roughly, and moved to walk with Blaise.

Harry frowned. He knew Draco was very independent but that reaction was a bit extreme, surely? Looking around he was relieved to see that no one seemed to have overheard; there was no need to spoil the celebrations. He'd just steer clear of Draco while they were all at the pub and hope that he got over it, whatever it was.

When they reached the pub, Ron headed to the bar to order drinks for everyone and the rest of them found a large table and sat down. Ginny plonked herself down on her husband's lap and Angelina snuggled up close to George, which made Harry smile. It was about time those two settled down.

Ron arrived with a tray of glasses and a couple of jugs of Butterbeer and proceeded to pour them all drinks. "Cheers," he said, holding up his glass.

They all chorused "Cheers" in response and drank. Then George stood and raised his glass. "To the third best Seeker at this table. Blaise!"

Laughing, they all raised glasses to Blaise and drank. Then Blaise stood and raised his glass. "To Harry for the best catch of the day," and they all laughed and drank again.

Harry stood, getting into the swing of things and wondering if they'd make it all the way around the table. "To whoever it was that cushioned the ground for us."

"That would be me," Ginny squeaked, and grinned as they all drank to her. Harry blew her a kiss and mouthed "Thank you." She just nodded and then raised her own glass.

"To Draco for displaying the coolest temper in the face of utter stupidity that I have seen in a long time."

Draco gave her a wan grin as they all drank and then stood, a smirk on his face. "I'm sure I should be raising a glass to Potter here, not only for defending me all through the game but for catching me when I fell. What a gentleman. However, he gets enough adulation, so if it's all the same to you lot, I'd like to raise a toast to Weasley here for buying the drinks."

As they all laughed and drank, Harry was sure he heard Draco say, "It's more than I could do," but he wasn't sure.

After the toasting was done, and they all settled back to chat and catch up with each other, talk turned to work and Harry found himself listening to a conversation between Draco and Blaise that he wasn't sure he should be listening to. Their voices were lowered but they weren't whispering so Harry assumed that what they were discussing wasn't a secret. Thus he listened unashamedly.

"I'd love to come for dinner later, but I'll probably have to work," Draco said.

"You need a break, Draco," Blaise said, concerned.

"I've had a break. Playing Quidditch today was a break. Potter's party Friday night was a break."

"Yes, but when was the last time you took a proper break, not just a few hours off in the evening?"

Harry knew Draco had spent the day at his place yesterday, but apart from that Blaise might be right, Draco did seem to work most of the time.

"Look, I'm fine, Blaise. If I don't work, I don't get paid and then I can't pay my rent and then what will happen to me?"

"You have friends, Draco, friends who will always help you out and you know it. You have to let us occasionally, though."

"I don't want anyone's help," Draco insisted. "I won't be a charity case."

"It's not charity. You'd do the same if you could help any one of us, wouldn't you?"

Draco nodded. "Of course I would."

"Then why won't you let us help you?"

Draco's voice lowered to a whisper. Harry could barely hear it. "Because I don't deserve help."

"Cut the crap, Draco. You deserve it as much as any of us. You're just a stubborn fool letting his pride get in the way of making things just a little easier. And now this situation with that shop assistant has made it worse, hasn't it?"

Draco nodded, dropping his head.

"Well, what are you going to do? Can you brew another potion?"

"Of course I can, but they got what they needed elsewhere, so they don't need me to replace it, which means I lose the money for it," said Draco. "It was a stupid mistake not telling him to refrigerate it. Now I might lose them entirely and be left to live on the money Hermione pays me."

"Draco, you need to let us help. If not Ginny and me, then someone else. Think of it as a loan if you want. Plenty of people get loans to get them by, it's not charity."

Draco sighed. "I'll think about it, all right. But I still have a few irons in the fire, so I might be able to manage."

Ginny interrupted them by putting her arm on Draco's and smiling at him. "You've come a long way since school and you have many friends who would be only too happy to help, Draco. Don't forget that."

Draco's story had taken the edge off Harry's celebrations even further. No wonder he was so angry with Harry earlier. He was feeling like he'd lost control of his financial situation and being seen as able to defend himself was a way to keep some form of self esteem.

Harry fully understood Draco's need for independence and not wanting to accept handouts or charity. He did need help, though, and Harry wished there was a way he could help Draco out without it seeming like charity. Perhaps he had found his first mission in his search for ways to make his friends happy.

Seamus had said the other night that Draco should start his own Apothecary. It would be a perfect solution and Harry was sure there'd be a suitable shop available in Diagon Alley.

He knew Draco had excellent skills in potion making, having a success rate of 97%, which meant that he only ever got the most difficult potions wrong 3% of the time. Even the potion makers at St. Mungo's only rated 83%. Neville, he knew, was on the verge of completing his research into a new potion that prevented stomach ulcers and would be looking for someone to produce the potions for general use. And maybe he could owl and ask Madam Pomfrey if she could see her way clear to use Draco exclusively to supply the school infirmary with all of its problematical potions; the difficult to brew or hard to obtain ones. He wondered why he hadn't thought of that before. And then, if Draco could keep his current clients, there'd be walk in customers into the shop, too, so he might make a go of it once his expertise became better known. Enthusiasm for the idea cheered him immensely.

There really only remained for Harry to find out how to offer this to Draco without him being offended or refusing.

A couple of hours later he returned home, opening the door to his silent flat. He sighed and tossed his jacket on the table, kicked his shoes off and crashed on the couch. Quidditch had been great fun and a few drinks with his mates afterwards had been great, too, but coming home to nothing and silence and...to being alone...sucked to put it bluntly.

There was an answer there if he wanted to put two and two together, he knew, but it reeked of looking like he'd be paying Draco for sexual favours and that was a bit of an insult, so he refused to even look at it.

Besides, who knew if Draco even found him attractive. Or if he'd entertain a relationship with him for that length of time. Or...anything...No it was too preposterous.

Wouldn't work.

It would solve his own problem of companionship and a relationship with Draco did seem appealing; hell, they'd even talked about it before.

No. They were friends and he would find another way to help Draco. He didn't want to risk their friendship.

How would he do it anyway? Oh, Draco, how about moving in with me for a year, and having a relationship with me? Why? ...er...to prove Hermione wrong, maybe?

Great.

I want to prove Hermione wrong, so move in with me and be my lover for a year and I will set you up in your own shop. When the year is up I'll give you the deeds to the property and it will be all yours. Of course I can't tell you the real reason is that I'm dying and I don't want to spend my last year alone and I want to take some steps to ensure that my friends have good memories of me after I'm gone. Do you think you could handle that? Seeing as we're friends and you don't believe in messy emotional relationships there's no chance of you falling in love with me and so you won't be any more hurt than you would losing a friend. Right? And it won't matter if I fall in love with you, because...because I'll be gone soon enough without you ever knowing.

Harry sighed. Not in a million years.

It was ridiculous.

Draco really needed help, though.

Did he even find Draco sexually attractive?

Oh yes. That was pretty much a given.

Using Hermione was a pretty weak excuse.

Unless...

Unless he actually got Hermione to issue him a challenge. A bet. Find something Hermione really needed and offer it as a prize if she won.

He actually had the perfect thing. Dumbledore's books.

When Dumbledore died, he'd left most of his estate to Harry, who'd always felt that Dumbledore's collection of artefacts should stay together. Harry had already planned to have it written in his will, when he made one, that Hermione should get them as it was a renowned collection that rivalled any private collection in the Wizarding World.

But Draco liked Hermione - he'd want her to get the books, so wouldn't he be likely to sabotage the bet?

Harry sighed. This wasn't going well. At all. And he could hardly believe he was thinking this through as if it were feasible. Honestly.

Unless...he...yes he could give the books to Hermione anyway. Tell Draco that if he won the bet, then he'd give the books to Hermione anyway. And what did he stand to win from Hermione? The satisfaction of Hermione being wrong about something. For once.

It all sounded so business-like, so...Slytherin actually. Scheming and manipulating to get what he wanted. He supposed occasionally that side did come out in him and, he further supposed, that seeing as he only had a year or so left, it was all right to be selfish at times.

A bet, then.