A Stranger Garden

Chapter 11.

2050

"Draco. Where are you?" called Harry as he entered the Ballroom and couldn't immediately find Draco in any of the portraits. It generally meant that Draco was in the bathroom. These days it seemed like Harry spent half of his time wishing that Draco would accidentally on purpose leave the door to the bathroom open. Then he would berate himself for thinking about ogling a portrait. And at his age, too!

Moments later, a towel-clad Draco appeared from the bathroom, hair wet and body damp from a shower, and Harry's thought process stopped mid-thought. He forgot all about berating himself, caught up in staring at Draco for a moment. There were definitely a lot worse things he could be berating himself over.

"You called?" Draco's smirk made Harry realise he'd been caught staring and that his face probably showed every thought in his head. As usual. But Harry refused to blush; he was only human for God's sake. Anyone with eyes in their head would be having lustful thoughts about a bloody gorgeous Draco Malfoy covered only by a towel. Over the years, Harry had surprised Draco several times and each time he'd seen Draco naked, he'd been impressed.

"You could leave the door open and let me see properly," Harry teased.

"Or I could drop the towel..." Draco countered, letting his thumb slide under the edge of the towel as he thrust a hip forward provocatively.

"Promises, promises."

They both grinned, as Harry knew Draco wouldn't drop the towel; this sort of teasing banter had been going on for a few years now. It felt comfortable. Harry had admitted to himself a long time ago that had Draco been alive he'd have been interested in pursuing a relationship, but Draco wasn't alive, so the light flirting satisfied some small aspect of his appreciation.

But other than the one time Draco had basically goaded Harry into watching him wank, he'd never deliberately been naked in front of Harry. Accidents had happened, of course, they were bound to, but that line into premeditated nakedness had not been crossed.

"One day, I'll surprise you and stop wearing clothes all together," Draco said, donning a bathrobe over his towel. To Harry's disappointment this covered most of the perfectly smooth, pale skin up completely.

"Remind me to move into this room permanently when that happens."

"You just about live in here as it is. I'm not sure I could put up with you all day every day. It's taken me more than forty years to get used to your boring presence as it is."

"Well, that's a good incentive to not walk around naked, then, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes at himself, realising he'd just argued against Draco being naked.

"Ah, but then I'd never see you." Draco was smiling. "I know you're drawn back in here by the mere possibility that you might see this glorious body naked occasionally."

Harry laughed. "All right, you've got me there. The only reason I even consider visiting you is because I am obsessed with your naked arse."

"I knew it." Draco laughed too and sat down on his couch, keeping his legs together. "What brings you in so early today?"

Harry dropped into his own couch. "Remember last month when James and Theresa dragged me to Paris with them and the kids for a holiday?"

"The one where you took Timothy and Charlie into the hotel bar and proceeded to get them both sloshed?" Draco asked and grinned when Harry nodded.

"Timothy was of age. It's not the first time he's been drunk."

"No, but Charlie wasn't quite seventeen."

"He has to learn sooner or later."

"You're such a child, Harry."

"I refuse to grow old gracefully."

"It's a wonder Theresa didn't ban you from seeing the boys ever again."

"We've been over that. She knows they were completely safe. At least I didn't take the two younger ones in. I think even James would have hexed me if I'd taken his precious, innocent little girls drinking."

"Those girls are as innocent as you are."

"No need to remind me, I was the one who told you about catching Erica and the boyfriend under the stairs last Christmas."

"Yes, I know. At least it wasn't Cassandra. She's way too young."

Harry laughed. "Are you getting all mature in your old age, then?"

"You must be rubbing off on me." Draco grumbled, giving Harry a glare. "Bloody Gryffindors."

"I haven't been a Gryffindor for more than fifty years," Harry protested.

"Merlin, when you say that, it makes it seem like a lifetime ago," Draco replied, face dropping into seriousness. After a moment his smile reappeared. "Besides, once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor."

"Ahh, so once a snake, always a snake, then?"

"Touché. Anyway, get to the point. I do remember that holiday."

"Well," Harry began, grinning secretively. "I have a gift for you. Notice anything different?"

Draco frowned and looked him up and down, right from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, then shook his head. "Not particularly. Unless you're expecting me to tell you to get your gear off." Draco's smirk came out to play. "I will if you want me to."

Harry laughed and stood up. "No, you wanker, although I am sure you cannot wait to see my naked arse all wrinkled and old, it's not that."

"What is it then?" Harry could see that Draco was excited but terribly confused. How could Harry buy a portrait a present?

"Look around the room."

Eyes fixed on the way Draco's gaze tracked around the room, Harry noticed the second Draco saw the gift. His mouth dropped open and he went very still.

"Harry?"

"I know it's one of your favourite places and I knew you'd love to see it again, so this was the best I could do."

Draco took off through the several portraits until he reached the new one hanging in pride of place next to the Manor garden.

"It's just how I remember it."

"The apple and pear orchards are gone now and part of the Palace was destroyed in a terrorist bomb blast back in the thirties, but most of the gardens with the statues and water ponds where children sail boats are still there."

"Luxembourg gardens," Draco breathed, barely listening to Harry. This was the place he'd wanted to show Teddy on his first trip outside the Manor in ten years. This was the place that he'd wanted to see once more before he set his plan in motion to kill himself and Potter. Draco choked up at the conflicting emotions flowing through him.

As he looked out over the garden, it almost felt like he was back there. The artist had painted it on a sunny day, there were several white puffy clouds looking like they'd been scudding across the sky in a joyous tribute to the sun, while the pond had tiny waves painted in to make it appear like the breeze had whipped up just enough to carry the sail boats around jauntily.

Draco could hardly take it all in and Harry was still speaking, though all he could hear was the roaring in his ears. He forced himself to take notice when he heard the word 'fountain'.

"What? What did you say?"

"I said I remember you mentioning that your mother used to take you to the fountain tucked away on the north side behind some trees, so I had the artist search it out and include that, too. Did you know what the fountain was called?"

Draco shook his head, eyes darting to the area where the trees were clumped together, their branches affording secure shelter for the ornate fountain, offering it a peaceful cool buffer against the summer heat. "I was too young to know to take heed of names. I always just knew it as the fountain near the Palace."

"It's called the Fontaine de Medicis," Harry said and Draco turned it over on his tongue, finding he liked the way the French sounded on his tongue. He smiled, then, finding in his imagination that he was five-years-old again and his mother had told him to run and find the treasure behind the trees.

There were tears in his eyes as he ran towards the trees, hope gathering breathlessly in his lungs, excitement at everything warm and fresh and secure, shrouding him in pure ecstatic joy. His hair streamed behind him as he ran across the perfectly manicured lawns, the fact he couldn't smell it lost in the rush of delight at feeling the grass between his toes. He could have lost the loosely tied robe he was wearing for all he cared and it flapped around his legs as he extended his stride, Harry's voice becoming fainter, submerged in Draco's expectations.

He didn't know exactly what he expected; he knew many years had passed since he'd been there and nothing ever remains unchanged, but what he hadn't expected was to find it exactly the same. He stopped, heart pounding, at the iron railing at the end of long, rectangular water basin. The grotto was exactly how he remembered. When he was a child he'd snickered at the naked body of the woman. His mother had told him it was art and he should be ashamed of himself for treating it as anything else but beauty. He'd nodded at the time and from then on had always been reverent around great works of art, but he was only five-years-old and hadn't really understood, so the snickering had continued until much later.

The ravages of time had been visible even back then and they seemed no different now. Perhaps the groundskeepers periodically maintained the area. The seats surrounding the water basin were newer, although they still looked the same. Maybe the trees were taller, too. But the overall impression was a flood of memories of a time when he'd felt safe; the innocence of childhood, the total and complete understanding that you were loved and cared for and nothing bad would ever happen to you. From the time he was five-years-old until the week before he'd left for Hogwarts, Draco had lived with that beautiful childish view of the world and this place, where they'd visited every summer until then, was cemented firmly in his heart.

Right there, on that seat, his mother had sat with him, her arm warm on his shoulder as they'd watched a family of ducks swimming in the water. The filtered light allowed through the canopy of the trees had made the air subtle and cool, a calming sanctuary on a hot Parisian day.

He could see the Palace in the background; the artist had even managed to get glimpses of that right, although there wasn't much to see from within this grotto. Even as a child Draco had not cared for the Palace, instead preferring to play around the fountain. When there had been no one around, his mother had used magic to charm little boats to skip over the water.

It was peace...

"I wasn't sure what season to have him paint it in but he was there in summer so I let him do that. I can ask him to do more if you'd rather a different scene. He tells me that it's stunning in autumn."

Harry's voice broke the silence. Draco thought he might feel resentful that Harry intruded on his peace, but surprisingly it felt appropriate and like he was expected in order to make this picture complete. It made Draco whimper inside as to what that might mean, though he kept his embarrassing noises to himself.

"I bet it is. No, this is just how I remember it, Harry. I used to love the summer flowering colours in those huge urns along the fence. This whole place was green. Green from the trees, there was green residue around the water, even the water reflected the green trees, but those urns were a splash of vibrant...something..." Draco took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "Thank you," he breathed softly, though no less sincerely.

He turned to face Harry, finding him close to the side of the portrait. His arm reached out, wanting to trace the lines on this man's face. This man who, if he knew the truth about why he had a painted form of him hanging in the dungeon, would have all the portraits burned.

Draco found himself unable to articulate just what he felt about Harry at times.

Sometimes it was a burning hatred still. At times when the man frustrated him beyond words he wanted to reach out and shake him from his stupidity. The horrible time when the Weasley son, Ron's son, Hugo, died and Harry went into a blue funk that lasted several months. Draco wanted to kick Harry, or Potter as he'd reverted to calling him he was that annoyed, and remind him that he was not responsible for Hugo's death. How dare he take on guilt that wasn't his to claim? All the old resentful feelings returned; although Draco had long since resigned himself to his lot. At least he'd assumed he had. When the long forgotten hate returned he'd been surprised and not a little disturbed, until he realised that he was feeling jealous. Jealous that Harry felt guilty for Hugo's death from a concealed curse on an historical item Harry was purchasing for the museum and yet, he'd felt no guilt over his complicit part in Draco's death. Hugo as a curse breaker like his famous uncle should have known better. At the very least he should have known to use protective wards while he worked on something untested. Draco was jealous that someone else had the right to Harry's guilt and strong emotions, where Draco didn't.

That had been enough for him to realise that he really had moved on from hate. To what, he still had yet to work out. If he had been alive there would be no doubt Draco would be carrying a rather large crush on Harry; he knew himself and knew how his emotions traveled.

But there were two rather large obstacles.

One was that he was a portrait. Even if he could overcome that one and exist with a forever-unrequited crush on Harry, he knew that Harry could not see past him being a portrait. There was no future in it for either of them. Especially knowing that Harry would hate him when he found out about the real reason he was hanging in the dungeon and that he'd no chance of ever leaving the Ballroom portraits.

So, that left him in an odd place of wanting, but refusing to allow himself to want, because it would hurt him less later on.

It still didn't stop him from flirting. It was such fun to engage in harmless flirting that he couldn't refuse himself that one small pleasure. And he knew Harry appreciated how beautiful he was, because he made it very obvious. At times, Draco thought of showering late and deliberately leaving the door open when he knew Harry was about to arrive. Harry was always playfully complimentary when he accidentally came across Draco naked.

But Draco hadn't crossed the line and deliberately done anything like that. Yet. He rather equated Harry's appreciation of him as like that of someone watching good porn. Slightly interactive porn, but porn all the same.

Where you could look but never touch.

And ultimately that was as unsatisfying for him as it was for Harry.

No matter that Harry closed his eyes now and tried to lean into Draco's hand, Draco couldn't feel it and Harry's cheek ended up looking flattened as it pressed against the canvas.

The sharp realization of not having what he wanted made Draco pull back quickly, lest he become too mired in melancholy. Harry had done this wonderful thing for him and he should be bursting with joy instead of pining for something he could never have.

"Thank you, Harry. I will spend many long days in this wonderful, beautiful place."

Harry blinked a few times and stepped back, an uncustomary blush staining his cheeks.

"You're welcome," he said. "I often think you must get so bored in just these few rooms all the time. It must be worse even than your house arrest."

"It is worse," Draco acknowledged. "There are only so many things a portrait can recreate, you know?" Draco sighed. "And then when I was under house arrest at least I had hope that it would end some day. This will go on forever, won't it?"

"Until someone destroys the paintings, then yes, I assume it will carry on until the paint fades from the canvas."

Which wasn't going to be any time soon, Draco knew. Burning with the fever of revenge he'd had the artist use special paint; paint that was guaranteed never to fade or crack and peel. It was intended to last forever, just as his revenge had.

"There's one other thing in the painting. You will have to search for it though." Draco turned to look at Harry, one eyebrow raised in question. "I saw it in Paris and couldn't resist. I knew it would suit you perfectly."

"What is it?"

"Go and look. I think the artist painted it in a sheltered spot in the grotto of the fountain to keep it safe."

Curious, Draco walked around the cast iron fence to the statues at the end of the water basin, looking for anything out of place on the steps or tucked into one of the statues. He saw what looked like a huge soft pillow and as he neared he noticed that there was something sitting in the middle. He found a smile on his face when he recognised that curled up in the middle of the soft cushion was a tiny pure white kitten, sound asleep.

"Oh."

"Do you like her? I don't know how long it will take her to 'wake'. Maybe several years, she was only a kitten when I found her. And she was very pampered, too so she may live a very long life."

"She's beautiful, Harry."

"I thought that as I was taking your suggestion and traveling more that you could do with some company while I'm gone. And she's just like you."

Draco turned his gaze to Harry. "She's haughty and aloof and will suck up to you to get what she wants, but underneath all that, she's adorable," Harry said, smiling tenderly. "And talk about spoilt," he continued quickly as if to hide from the admission he found Draco adorable. But it was too late; Draco had already heard him and he smirked.

"I'm adorable, am I?"

"I thought I said, haughty and aloof and spoilt," Harry retorted, looking anywhere but at Draco.

"But underneath, adorable."

"Maybe deep down underneath where no one ever sees, because I certainly don't."

Draco laughed, then, all traces of his melancholy gone and his joy returned. Today was a fantastic day, fucking wonderful. As days go.

"Chicken." Draco griped playfully. Harry lifted his chin defiantly, a smirk playing on his lips. Draco let him get away with this one. He deserved some leniency today.