A Stranger Garden

Chapter 16.

2065

February

If there was one thing that Draco was grateful for 'living' in these portraits, it was that there was no sense of smell. He could wallow in his own excrement and he wouldn't be able to smell it.

In fact, he'd been almost doing that for roughly twelve years. Twelve long years he'd marked off in minutes. Twelve long years he'd been alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Even if he had been able to smell himself he wouldn't have cared. Even if the whole Ballroom reeked of him, threatening to knock everyone out with the stench, it wouldn't have mattered much.

No one had been in to see him in twelve years.

He couldn't say for sure why that was, but seeing as Harry hadn't been in and the last time he'd seen him, Draco had just confessed to having had a plan to kill him and torture him for the rest of eternity, he could make a pretty accurate guess.

He'd known, of course, that this would happen. He told himself that every day in between counting the minutes. It didn't make it any easier to bear though. It just made him not want to leave his bed.

The mere thought of visiting any of the paintings Harry had given him threatened to overwhelm him and filled him with a pain so sharp he was sure he bled.

The one exception he made was the ballroom where the piano was. In the aftermath of the confession he hadn't thought of the piano, and later, several years later, when he did, he knew that the lessons were not going to be forthcoming.

But some inner calling made him want to learn. Made him want to attempt something really hard and difficult which was going to take so long to achieve that it might restore his faith in himself as a worthwhile...not human, he wasn't really human, was he...entity, maybe? Whatever it was, he'd taken years to get to the stage where he could play a song and have it be recognisable as something worth listening to.

Sometimes he wondered what they all thought of the mournful tunes coming from the room. Mostly he didn't care that they could probably all tell he was depressed. He tried not to think about it. In fact he tried not to think about anything when he wasn't playing the piano. It was bad enough thinking when he was running his fingers over the keys; when his whole mind was filled with thoughts of Harry that ate through his stupor and left him more alone than ever.

When it became too much for him he'd burrow down in his bed and fight to not think of Harry, or anything else, until he fell asleep, exhausted from the battle.

The day Kitty had woken was one of the worst days he'd had since 'the event'. She followed him around now, meowing piteously when he forgot to feed her, though she needed food about as much as Draco did.

Draco did have to admit that she was a cute little thing. She was fluffy and sweet but nevertheless a devastatingly harsh reminder of the bond he'd shared with Harry and so he found he could not love her. Even after two years.

The one thing Draco did like about Kitty was that she sat on his piano when he played. He thought she liked keeping him company, though he had no idea why; he wasn't good company for anyone. Perhaps that was why; cats seemed to like you the more you ignore them. Perhaps she just liked feeling the vibrations from when he played, because she often set to purring in accompaniment.

"She likes the music," came a voice Draco had never heard before. He jumped, startled, and turned to see who the owner was, wondering if he'd been speaking aloud.

The blond hair gave an indication of his identity, but seeing as Draco hadn't seen this young man since he was a child, he wasn't completely certain.

"And you are?" Draco's voice was rusty from the lack of use and it probably came out ruder than he expected, but then he hadn't spoken to anyone in the last twelve years. There was the possibility that Harry had sold the manor and this was the new owner. Or something. He had the air of belonging to this place.

"I'm not surprised you don't recognise me, it's been years since I was in here." The young man was smiling tightly.

"I apologise. I thought I recognised you, but it's been so long, I wasn't sure. Draco, isn't it?" Draco realised that if the young Draco was able to enter the Ballroom then Harry must have altered the wards. For a moment his heart skipped frantically in his chest. Lily could have come in at any time and burnt every single one of his paintings. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered if she had, he thought momentarily before turning his attention back to Draco.

Young Draco nodded. "It is."

Draco wanted to ask so many questions about what was happening outside the ballroom, how Harry was, if he'd taken care of his health. He wanted to ask if Harry missed him at all. But it wasn't fair to do any of that, no matter how much he wanted to. So he asked a simple question instead. "How are you?"

"There is no need to make polite conversation. I will finish what I came in here for and then leave. You do not need to accompany me."

Draco blinked. Was he being dismissed? In his own Ballroom? "Excuse me?"

"You have several rather important works on your walls and I have come to inspect them. I am an artist you see and my father is organising an exhibition for my works. He is thinking of adding effect by including some of these paintings." He spied the picture of the picnic on the hillside and grimaced, muttering snidely, "Pretentiously romantic."

Draco frowned thinking that young Draco had no right to call something as beautiful as the picnic painting, pretentious. He loved that one. He loved all his paintings. Even though he had no use for most of them anymore, they still meant something to him. The thought of losing them... "Did Harry say you could remove them?"

"My grandfather barely says anything anymore. Father and Dad run the household now and make the decisions."

"Is he unwell?" Draco asked, worried that some illness may have robbed him of his speech.

"No, since he stopped coming in here all the time, he just speaks less and less. No illness. Just age I suspect."

Guilt hit Draco like a hammer to the chest. He'd known he'd really hurt Harry, but he thought that Harry would have moved on, found someone real to love. This closing in on himself and becoming insular was unlike him. Unless he had really loved Draco. Dropping his head down into his hands, Draco felt swamped by the flood of emotions trying to claim him.

Kitty rubbed her nose against Draco's hair, making little distressed noises as if she knew Draco was upset. Draco looked up and picked her up, giving in to her demands for attention this once. Immediately the little fluff ball begun to purr and snuggle into his arms.

Young Draco began to walk around the room, inspecting the paintings, making the occasional comment on an aspect or a colour shift.

Draco was too caught up in his own emotions to think much about the young man and just let him go on his way. He did register that they'd been right about him though, he was arrogant and haughty. He wondered if the killer smile was still there.

"No wonder grandfather doesn't come in here anymore, you look a mess."

He'd momentarily forgotten the presence of the young man while he'd been reminiscing and worrying about Harry. Now he looked up in response to the rude statement - it was rude no matter how true it was - to see the young man gracing him with a smile that seemed to light him up from inside. So there it was. Still there after all.

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but found himself smiling with him, instead.

"Personally, I think grandfather should just get over whatever it was that stopped him coming to see you; he's been a basket case ever since. He even let his ex-wife live in one of the groundskeepers cottages on the estate until she found another rich old man to look after her and took off for Spain."

Draco smirked. So Ginny Potter was still acting the whore. Nice to see that his assessment of her character had been correct.

Still, being right didn't make Draco feel any better about Harry's state of mind.

"I would love to see him again," he said, hoping not to sound too desperate.

"You're both as bad as each other. You look like you haven't bathed once in all those years and grandfather has cut himself off from anyone who isn't family."

"Will you..." Draco stopped. He had no right to ask young Draco to beg Harry to come and see him.

'I don't think he will give in now. He's very stubborn in case you didn't realise."

"I know." Draco gave a small smile.

"I tell you what, I'll speak to him if you bathe and take care of yourself again."

Hope? Was that some small lantern of hope glowing off in the distance?

"You'll ask him to come and see me?" There was no squeaking in his voice, there wasn't. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're both miserable without each other. Most everyone thinks he's just outgrown the fad but seeing you like this, it's obvious you're both grieving."

"After twelve years?"

Young Draco shrugged. "Maybe if you'd been on different continents he could have moved on but you were always in the same house, how could he forget you?"

"And I suspect because it was my house and you have my name that's making it harder. Who knew I'd be grateful that someone had the same name as me? I always thought I was unique, an individual."

"Oh, you're that, I am sure," young Draco replied, giving Draco that smile again that made him feel all warm inside. This young man was definitely a charmer, no matter how arrogant.

"And what of the paintings?"

"Oh, I don't think we'll use any, they might be masterpieces but they don't suit the tone I want for the show, they're too bucolic."

What a relief. Draco would take his bucolic, pastoral scenes over anything else, masterpieces or not, merely because Harry had given them to him.

He almost couldn't wait for Draco to leave. He had a bath to take.

.o0o.

May

"Teddy, it's good to see you again. It must be twenty years since we saw you last." Scorpius' hand was out, ready for Teddy to shake.

"Scorpius. Good to see you, too, although I'd wish it was under better circumstances."

"True. Come in. They all can't wait to see you again." And perhaps you can do something with Harry, he added to himself.

"How is everyone really? Letters just don't seem to tell the full story, do they?"

"Well, we're all pretty shocked. None of us expected anything like this."

"No, I don't think anyone ever really expects death, do they. Even after a long illness, there is still such grief."

Scorpius nodded, remembering that Teddy had dealt with more than enough death in his life. "Did Victoire come with you?"

"She did, but she is staying with Ron. I needed to be here."

"We're expecting everyone to come back here after the service. With so many relatives and people who wanted to say good-bye, this is about the only place that will hold them all."

"Sounds about right. I never saw the day when Potters and Weasleys would own Malfoy Manor."

"Well there are a lot of Malfoys living here, too. You know that Al and I adopted the name."

'True. But Al was born a Potter and his mother was a Weasley. Just never seemed possible when I was a child. They hated each other."

Scorpius led Teddy through to the lounge where several other family members had gathered. "That all seems so pointless now, doesn't it?"

"It does. I sometimes wish I'd never agreed to sell the Manor to Harry."

"Why is that?"

"Well, look at what happened to him. That wouldn't have been the case had I not sold him the Manor."

"You can't tell that," Scorpius replied, shocked. But before he could expand on that Teddy was engulfed in family all hugging him and excited to see him, despite the sad occasion. There would be time enough to speak to Teddy later, he thought and gave himself over to the family. Al came to him and slipped his arm around his waist and he leaned in gratefully.

Later at the service, which was attended by more people than Scorpius had seen in the one place in several years, he watched his family saying goodbye to a well-loved member. It was sad and it was a stupid way of dying, he thought. But then, Hermione always had been one for pushing the boundaries of wizard medicine.

Harry had even come out of his self-imposed silence to say something about Hermione and her life. It was moving and heartfelt, but he saw Ron grimace and turn away when Harry moved from the lectern to give him his condolences.

This breakdown in their friendship was almost as hard for Harry to take as Hermione's death. Al had tried to speak with his Uncle Ron about it yesterday before the funeral but, as he'd whispered to Scorpius while they were snuggled up for the night, Ron blamed Harry for losing him his family.

According to Al, Ron thought that Harry was responsible for Hugo's death, for Rose's subsequent pledging herself to medicine and by association spinsterhood thereby squashing any chance of grandchildren and now Hermione's death. Though why that was Harry's fault, Scorpius didn't know.

That wasn't quite true. Hermione had been working on a permanent cure for alcoholism for James' eldest Timothy. Somehow a potion had overheated and exploded in Hermione's face, killing her instantly. It had something to do with the reaction of the different ingredients to the make up she wore. A stupid accident, but Hermione was dead all the same and Ron was blaming Harry. He also blamed Harry for the fact that Ginny was like she was. Scorpius didn't really know his mother-in-law that well, they'd been well and truly divorced by the time he'd married Al. But he couldn't see why that was Harry's fault, either.

Seeing Harry's pain now, he wished that he still spoke to Draco. Harry would never think to confide in any of his children and now his closest friends were lost to him, too. Draco would have been the perfect choice to help Harry through his grief. Maybe Teddy could help. Scorpius resolved to approach him later.

.o0o.

The house elves had done the family proud with a massive but tasteful spread set out in the gardens of the Manor. Seeing that it had dawned a cool but sunny day, Scorpius decided that the fresh air would be a less constricting atmosphere than inside.

More than three hundred people milled, speaking quietly about Hermione and retelling stories of how she had cured this one of spattergoit, or mended this one's broken arm or leg, or assisted in an emergency. Without fail, every single person only had good things to say about Hermione Weasley.

Scorpius looked around at the gathering, pleased that every detail had been anticipated and the event was flowing smoothly. He spied Harry sitting in a corner with one of Lily's grandchildren asleep on his lap. He looked tired and grey, fraught with pain and grief and Scorpius was hesitant to approach him.

But he did anyway, sitting himself in a chair to Harry's right.

"Papa. How are you?"

"I'm doing fine, Scorpius. You don't need to baby-sit me."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm resting. It takes a lot to organise these things, you know."

"No, I don't."

Scorpius sighed. This abruptness has been growing worse over the years he'd stopped seeing Draco. He didn't speak much at all anymore and it seemed that when he did it was short and detached.

"You've not been well for years, Harry," he said reverting to Harry's name.

"I don't need you to tell me what I am or am not."

The baby stirred in Harry's lap and Harry expertly rocked her slightly until she settled back down to sleep.

"You need someone."

"What makes you say that?"

"Al told me Ron blames you for losing Hugo and Hermione."

"Al should have kept his mouth shut," Harry spat.

"If you want to talk about it, then I'm here, you should know that."

Harry shifted, looking uncomfortable. Either that or he was about to flee. "Why does everyone assume I need someone to talk to? I am not a woman blubbering over things like an emotional wreck. I'm doing very well on my own, thank you."

It was perhaps the longest speech Harry had made in a decade and it convinced Scorpius that Harry needed to speak to someone, if not him.

"Why don't you go and see Draco?"

Scorpius saw Harry's lips tighten hard enough for them to become white lines. Then they disappeared. "He's gone in to grab his paints. Said something about wanting to catch the garden in this light."

"That's not the Draco I was referring to and you know it," Scorpius replied patiently.

"I know of no other Draco that I'd care to speak with."

"Now I know where Al gets his stubbornness from. You. It's been twelve years. Isn't that enough time to punish both of you for whatever happened?"

"You have no idea of what happened. Stay out of my business, Scorpius." Harry virtually hissed the last as he stood and left, carrying the baby with him.

.o0o.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up, not having heard that voice in such a long time.

"Teddy!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" For a moment he thought that maybe something had happened to Harry and that had brought him back from America. But then he thought that perhaps if anything had happened to Harry he'd know by now. The portrait would have woken.

"Had to come back for Hermione's funeral and I thought I'd stop in and see you."

"Hermione died?" Draco was truly shocked at how much that hurt. Hermione was a contemporary and while he'd hated her at school, he'd been immensely grateful that she'd helped Harry when he had his heart attack.

"A mishap with a new potion," Teddy replied, nodding. "These are all new since I was here last."

"Harry used to buy them for me," Draco said, sadly.

"I know he doesn't come and see you anymore."

"Is he all right? Hermione was such a close friend."

"He's not doing that well, actually, which is another reason I've come to see you."

"What's the matter with him?" Draco asked anxiously, moving to the front of the portrait.

"He's not the Harry I remember, Draco."

"Well, he's older, he just lost his best friend..."

"I think he lost his best friend years ago when he stopped talking to you," Teddy cut in.

"But that was years ago and he has Ron anyway. He was always Harry's best friend."

"Did you know that Ron blames Harry for Hugo's death?"

Draco shook his head. "I knew Harry felt guilty over it, but not that Ron blamed him."

"Well he did, does. Also for Hermione's death."

"Why on earth would that be Harry's fault?"

"The way Ron sees it, Hermione was working on a cure for Timothy's alcoholism and the potion went wrong and she died and if Harry had been a better father, then so would James and then Timothy wouldn't have been a drunk. He's looking for someone to blame it on, that's all."

"Then why not Timothy?"

"Because Timothy can't fight back. I think Ron is looking for a fight."

"Oh, that would be right. Those Weasleys always did tend to go for the physical violence before using their brains." Draco sneered.

"Yes, well I can't see how any of it is Harry's fault, but for whatever reason, Ron thinks it is and until he gets past that Harry has none of his friends now and he doesn't confide in his children."

"I see. But why tell me, I haven't even seen Harry for twelve years."

"I thought if you would tell me why you and Harry fell out, I could try and talk him around. I am a solicitor, so I have good arguing skills." He gave a small smile.

Draco was torn. The sensible thing told him to tell Teddy and, hopefully, he wouldn't hate him like Harry did and, maybe, he would get Harry to come and see him again. The scared child wanted to run and hide at the thought of ever admitting his mistakes to anyone again. Not ones of that magnitude.

"Do you think Harry needs me that much?"

"He's not been the same since he stopped coming to see you, apparently."

Draco nodded. "Young Draco came in a few months ago and told me he'd try to get Harry to come and speak to me too but he never came, so I am not sure what good you think you can do."

After young Draco had left, Draco had bathed and dressed and eaten and cleaned up as best he could and he continued to do that for days and then weeks. He waited for Harry, always prepared and always bathed and looking his best.

But Harry never came. And to be honest Draco hadn't thought he would, but he carried on being prepared because strangely enough it had made him feel better to be caring for himself again.

"I can try. I want to see the smile back on his face. I have some idea of what the two of you meant to each other after all."

"How do you mean?"

"I knew there was something different, special about your relationship right from the start when he found you in here. It wasn't until he wanted to buy the Manor from me that I knew what it was."

"What was that?"

"Love. The two of you were in love with each other. So whatever it was that stopped that must have been extraordinarily traumatic. If I know what it was, then I have a chance of changing his mind. I'll know my battle field."

With those words, Draco knew he was going to blab the whole thing to Teddy and to trust that it would work. What choice did he have anyway? More months and years of loneliness? Or a chance that something Teddy might say would work?