Across the Great Divide

Chapter 2:

*****

There were multiple moments throughout Harry´s life when he really, truly wished to vanish unseen from the rest of the world.

The bulk of such unseemly glitches in time happened throughout the `childhood´ he spent in the Dursley home: unwanted, neglected, and absolutely alone. Every time his uncle bellowed, or his aunt turned pink with rage, or his cousin raised a large, pudgy fist, Harry had begged for the earth to swallow him whole - always to no avail. Later, at Hogwarts, this desire became less pronounced, yet still cropped up every now again; especially on the multiple occasions when he became Voldermort´s favorite source of downtime amusement, in between the Dark Lord´s other, more precedent hobbies of breeding chaos and mayhem amongst the wizarding world.

As an adult, Harry had never allowed himself to be placed into a situation where that particular age old defense mechanism would crop up... until now.

Draco Malfoy still moved with blatantly apparent self-confidence. His demeanor still radiated a pronounced regal air, and his eyes still shone with secrets untold... secrets Harry had always longed to uncover. His unwavering gaze had landed on Harry the minute he had stepped into Dumbledore´s office, and he had yet to remove it during the shocked, tension filled silence that followed - a sleek jungle cat ever assessing its prey.

For a brief, terrible moment Harry Potter wanted to disappear, but an innate combination of pride and remorse kept him seated, albeit frozen, as if the very idea of moving meant that the silence would end and the long fated confrontation would ensue.

It never did.

"Hello Potter," Draco greeted in a voice that was neither confrontational nor pleasant; angry nor particularly pleased. It was a voice he would use on anyone for any reason: a stranger on the street, an old acquaintance at a party, a colleague from another department. It wasn´t until that moment, with indecision and confusion running rampart within him that Harry realized he had secretly hoped that Draco would make a scene... it was no less than he deserved, and, although somewhat masochistic, it would prove that his absence had been felt; powerfully, enough to merit anger.

It was selfish, he knew, to expect something. To hope that his departure, cowardly as it had been, was noted, and contemplated over, leaving the blonde man with the same sort of mind numbing emptiness that Harry had felt the past two years. That Harry had caused *himself* the past two years.

The guilt had never left him - would probably always be with him. Yet currently the guilt was at war with the pain that he hadn´t been missed, that maybe he had imagined the connection that had been developing between them, resulting, ironically, in a flee that had essentially escaped nothing; apparently there had been nothing to escape.

All of this conflicting emotions warred with his instinctive shying away from anything overtly emotional. God he felt things too deeply, always had, allowing things to affect him; get to him. He wished he could turn that particular aspect of his personality off, like Draco did so effortlessly.

Would he always be at war with himself? Would he ever find peace? Would he always run at the first signs of profound emotional, heart-risking attachment? Would it always hurt when his actions resulted in indifference years later? Would he always feel for Draco Malfoy like he did now, despite the current, unspoken rejection?

He didn´t voice these questions out loud, of course, opting instead to reply with what he hoped was a neutral "Hello Malfoy," yet came out slightly more soft than he had intended, all the while praying that his eyes didn´t betray him.

Hermione had once confessed to him that she could always read what Harry was feeling through his eyes; that they gave him up empathically to the world.

He wished he could turn that off too.

To Harry´s relief, Dumbledore remained a constant, the wide smile he had initially greeted Harry with never leaving his face as he watched his two former pupils exchange pleasantries, then motion for Draco to sit, as if everything in the universe was exactly right.

Harry wondered, as he often did whenever he was in the close proximity of his old headmaster, just how much of that innate cheerfulness and optimism Dumbledore always exhibited was genuine and how much of it was calculated, but he couldn´t help but be grateful for it, no matter the cause.

At least someone was glad to see him. Two someones actually, as Fawkes the phoenix continued to perch comfortably on Harry´s knee - a spot he had refused to budge from since the moment Harry had sat down. In the back of Harry´s mind he wondered if the bird had some sort of sixth sense into his emotional state, considering all the numerous occasions Harry had been summoned to Dumbledore´s office during his seven years at Hogwarts, he and Fawkes had bonded fairly well, and the phoenix had developed a habit of seeking him out during the times when he soft, gentle comfort was most needed. Times like now.

He knew what was coming, had known what his future held well before he had left two years ago. And he also knew that he wouldn´t turn away from it, not again. It was fitting that Harry Potter would pick up where James Potter, the father he had never known yet was constantly compared to, had left off... Working for Dumbledore, protecting the wizarding community from the dark arts, an auror yet not.

Dumbledore´s Order did not answer to the Ministry, or anyone else. They kept the peace their own way, away from the stringent constraint of red tape.

And from the looks of it, Draco was a part of it all as well.

It made complete sense to him, really. Both he and Draco were independently wealthy. Neither of them were bound to the social obligation of finding a job, and they both had enormous chips on their shoulders when it came to the dark arts and an underground movement of Deatheaters that still existed, albeit covertly, despite the fall of Voldemort two years prior.

So no, Draco´s chosen profession didn´t surprise him in the least; it was the ramifications of Draco´s profession that worried him.

They were, undoubtedly, going to be working together, just as they had two years prior. Just as they had when they....

He could feel the heat rising to his face, just as he felt the penetration of Draco´s gaze, neither making him very comfortable. He glanced down briefly towards Fawkes, for comfort, and then dutifully raised his gaze to Dumbledore, refusing the impulse to look in Malfoy´s direction, no matter how much he wanted do.

"I was just telling Harry how truly wonderful it is to have him back with us. Wouldn´t you agree, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, breaking the silence while simultaneously causing Harry to cringe. He was almost afraid of Draco´s answer, yet also eager to hear it.

There was no doubt about it; he was a glutton for punishment.

He could feel Draco´s eyes bore into him more potently than before as the Slytherin replied with a curt, "Of course," his voice still devoid of any real feeling, though Harry had truly expected no less.

Still, it stung. He had been prepared for it, in fact, he had been prepared for far worse; this time around, but it was painful nonetheless. Draco was truly indifferent to him and was making that point quite clear. Their past didn´t matter.

Struggling futilely to remain impassive, Harry kept his eyes trained on Dumbledore, briefly catching a glimpse of what he thought to be a small, amused, ironic smile, then wondering if he had imagined it not seconds later as the headmaster's expression returned to it's former jovial expression. With Dumbledore it was impossible to tell.

"It´s been wonderful seeing you again, Professor, but I really have to go soon. I promised the Weasley´s I´d help them prepare for the party. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?" Harry asked, silently praying that none of the urgency he felt to escape was evident in his tone. He felt no need to prolong this agony, in fact, time spent comfortably amongst the company of Ron and Hermione pretending that nothing in the world was wrong seemed pretty ideal; he already missed their tranquil solace.

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. "And Harry, I must insist you call me Albus. It would definitely be appropriate, as you´re no longer my student."

"Okay," Harry replied with a tentative smile, briefly forgetting his current predicament to gently tease the headmaster, "but that might take some getting used to, it just seems wrong somehow."

He heard a snort from the seat next to him, and immediately turned to look before putting any thought into what he was doing. Draco´s eyes shined with amusement, and for a brief moment, the blonde man´s cool exterior all but evaporated as he shot Harry an unpremeditated, saucy grin.

Warmth spread quickly throughout Harry´s body, flowing through him in a dizzying rush. He could feel his cheeks continue to burn as pronouncedly as he felt his heart thundering in his chest. Overwhelmed he quickly turned his focus back on the headmaster, Fawkes shifting and cooing softly on his knee - as if the bird felt the reaction in Harry´s body; as if he felt the sudden highly charged poignant tension that suddenly filled the large room. By the gleam glistening in Dumbledore´s eyes, Harry knew for sure this time that none of this escaped the older man´s notice.

"Maybe over time then," the headmaster responded with vague irony, leaving Harry to wonder if Dumbledore was referring to the use of his name, or something infinitely more personal.

"You wanted to talk to me about the Order?" Harry prompted imperceptibly, closing his eyes briefly to blank out everything but his purpose for being there, and a means to step forward.

"Yes, you remember the conversation we had before you left, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, eyes not so much as blinking as they landed on Harry´s face.

"I do," Harry answered slowly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"You are prepared to pick up where you left off then?" the headmaster prodded gently, his gaze intent and focused.

"I am," Harry answered with less surety, wondering again if Dumbledore had again intended a double innuendo, and equally unsure how to handle it if he had, but choosing, for his own sanity, to take the older mans words at face value.

"Wonderful," the headmaster replied with a wide smile, obviously satisfied with Harry´s short, succinct means of answering his questions. Dumbledore turned swiftly to his other prodigy, the smile, nor the slight twinkle in his eyes, never leaving.

"Draco, Mr. Potter has rejoined us at last. I would very much like him to shadow you for awhile, and for you to begin to inform him of our operations since his departure. I´m sure the two of you will have a lot to go over."

At the headmaster´s words, Harry risked a glance over in Draco´s direction, his heart sinking. He wasn´t sure he would be able to handle this; didn´t think he had the power to overcome not only his still-present feelings for the blonde man, but the terrible sin of what those feelings had resulted in two years prior.

His heart sank further when he realized that his trepidation had nothing on Malfoy´s. If Harry had wished a reaction from his former lover earlier, he got it now - simultaneously deciding that it had been an extremely foolish wish to begin with.

"Absolutely not! I don´t have the time nor the inclination to deal with this. Have Black or Lupin do it," Draco snarled, his pale, almost translucent skin glowing with pink tinted anger.

Apparently Draco wasn´t as immune to Harry´s presence as he had let on, but the venom emoting from his voice was so intense, that Harry felt his spirits sink rather than be lifted by the reaction. But then, did he really have any right to expect better?

Harry was startled to notice that Dumbledore was as taken off guard as he was by Draco´s sudden outburst, but to the older man´s credit he recovered quickly - very quickly; leaving Harry to deal with the emotional onslaught the outburst caused on his own.

"We are all adults here, Mr. Malfoy, and professionals, united in a cause we all believe in - the safety and harmony of our people. It will do us no good to dwell on the past, and whatever ill feelings still exist there. Every man deserves the chance to make a choice, deal with the ramifications of that choice, and move on to a future of his choosing, perhaps even overcoming previous misgivings and fears while doing so; as you are more than aware, Draco. Therefore, I must ask you to do this: for me, for Harry, and for the Order," the headmaster stated calmly, his eyes burning with an intensity that left no room for argument.

Harry felt rather than saw the blonde man next to him nod, as if Draco´s forfeit was a tangible sensation, his apparent `partner´ finally agreeing to Dumbledore´s logical if not ill-fated request.

All of which left Harry to wonder if he truly had chosen a path that would allow him to overcome not only his own previous misgivings and fears, but enough emotional apprehension to last a life time.

*****

He couldn´t seem to prevent himself from staring, no matter the willpower he was renown for possessing; and it annoyed him to no end.

They were restrained perusals, of course. Thinly veiled glances through partially lid covered eyes. As long as he had the allusion of subtlety; the act itself wasn´t a sign of weakness, nor a confession to feelings still turbulent within him.

More upsetting then his inability to remove his gaze from his former lover, however, was his body´s traitorous response. He was turned on: excited, elated, focused and attuned, and it was slowly driving him towards a combination of insanity and disgust.

Harry still moved with a form of grace, indigenous uniquely to him. Vividly powerful, to the point where most trained senses could feel it radiating off of him in droves, yet also subconsciously intent to not draw attention to himself; his movements understated, yet fluid. His large, unfathomable green eyes shone with wisdom well beyond his young years, but his face still hinted of innocence, and vulnerability... deceptively so. All in all Harry was a contradiction of allure, sensuality, and intensity; all hidden under a guise of an apparent congenial nature... one that Draco Malfoy was not fool enough to fall for again; one that he shouldn´t have allowed himself to fall for the first time.

Yet here he was; forced through social obligations to go to a party he didn´t want to be at, while in the company of the one man he wanted most to forget. Fate was indefinitely unkind, almost evilly so.

So why then did he feel the need to simultaneously choke, yell at, hurt, and caress the subject of his study? Why did his body feel the overwhelming urge to dominate, reclaim, and remap all the subtle curves and crevices of what had once been entirely open for him to explore? Why did he long to grab the lightly muscled shoulders of the dark haired man and demand an explanation for two long years of absence and heartache?

He was reminded again of how much he hated Harry Potter. Hated him... and loved him.

Hated himself for loving him.

It hadn´t helped that in Dumbledore´s office, earlier that day, Harry had looked entirely abashed and longing on the few occasions he had tentatively allowed his gaze to fall in Draco´s direction. And that, Draco supposed, was where the problem lay. Harry wasn´t supposed to be abashed, or longing. He was supposed to be the painted villain: heartless, unashamed - having no continued remorse over abandoning his lover without the common decency of leaving a forwarding address.

But no, never Harry.

Harry, who carried guilt around his aura as if it were a permanent accessory. Harry, who willing shouldered the responsibility of destroying a dark lord at so young an age so that others might be spared the terrible ordeal; Harry, who always championed for the underdog, bringing out the best traits of those who surrounded him. Harry, who showed profound loyalty to his friends and mentors, and Harry, who somehow managed to look lost and lonely, even in a room full of people.

Draco wished that his own pain could take precedence over his feelings, wished that he could deny that Harry was essentially a good person so he could be free to openly despise him without guilt; as he had when he had been young, foolish, and took anything his sadistic, power hungry father told him as gold - before he had gotten to know Harry. He also wished he didn´t remember, in vivid detail, how hot, almost burning, Harry´s skin felt to the touch. Or what Harry´s face looked like beautiful contorted in a moment of passion. Or the way Harry smelled; a tantalizing mixture of soap, sweat, and something sweet, zesty and uniquely him.

The gaiety of the party around him didn´t help his dark mood, even though he had made his peace with the Weasley clan ages ago - even though he had been invited to the gathering on his own accord and not because he and Harry would be attached at the hip for an indefinite period of time. So no, it wasn´t the company that bothered him so much as it was the mood. He *wanted* to be angry. He wanted to be resentful, and put out: mad at Dumbledore for forcing Potter on him for the next few weeks and mad at Harry for being so damn memorable that Draco still felt the phantom tease of his touch; literally and figuratively.

The alcohol currently burning its way through his system helped some, but not enough to dull his senses entirely. Not that he was expecting anything to be working for him, for once.

"You´re being rather obvious in your fascinated observation of Harry," a feminine voice announced from his side, jolting him out of his indulgent moment of self-pity. "I´ve watched you watching him for quite awhile."

"You mistake fascination with contempt," Draco responded with exaggerated annoyance, willing Hermione Granger to leave him in peace... well, as much peace as his turbulent thoughts would allow him to find at any rate.

"Don´t you think that Harry is in enough denial for both of you? It doesn´t look good on you, Malfoy. Really, you and I are both smarter than that. Uncertainty works for Harry, but you have always been much more direct with your feelings, varying though they may be," Granger replied with a genuine smile, showing no inclination of allowing his mood get to her.

Draco had developed a certain regard for Granger, two years prior, when they had been forced to work with one another to try and protect Harry from Voldemort. He had built-up a particular rancor indigenous to his dealings with her specifically: all honesty, all the time, no matter how brutal. It had been Granger that Harry had first confided his liaison with Draco to, and it had been Granger who had first given them her support; putting forth the effort to get over past misdemeanors that seemed almost trivial during the onslaught of war, to get to know Draco a little better. He wouldn´t have called them bosom companions, but they had understood each other and there had been a definite respect. Apparently she had picked up even more than he had been aware of during that time.

"Ever the mother hen, huh, Granger? Regardless of what `feelings´ you attribute to my surveillance of Potter, I assure you, nothing will come of them. I have no intention of sharing, doing, or thinking anything of Potter beyond what my position calls for. I´m sure he has told you that we are to be partnered up for awhile?" he asked, curious, despite himself, over what Harry had told his friends about their current predicament.

Granger pursed her lips, her eyes shining empathically. "He has. And, as always, his heart was on his sleeve. He´s stressed that Dumbledore put you in that position. Stressed that you were upset about it. And stressed that he still has all these feelings for you, and doesn´t quite share your ability to squash them so convincingly to the public eye. Well, most of the public eye, anyway. *I* can see them quite clearly."

Draco snorted sardonically, unable to control himself. "Still harbors feelings, does he? He has an exceptionally magnificent way of showing it. Today was the first time I have seen or heard a word from Potter in two years."

He knew his voice sounded bitter, just as he knew that he was, in fact, extremely bitter, so it didn´t bother him so much that Granger was getting the force of the aggression that he had longed, all day, to take out on Harry.

"Ah," Granger replied softly, her expression going sad, "that is where the paradox lies. He feels very strongly for you; always has, undoubtedly always will. Harry isn´t one to switch loyalties or to fall for anyone so easily; he also isn´t one to allow himself to be put in a position where he is forced to confront all these powerful emotions. In the two years since we left I have been watching him closely - watching him and waiting. It is your name he calls in the middle of the night, your face he looks for in a crowd. It is you he is most frightened of."

She paused briefly, her eyes regarding Draco thoughtfully, as if she were contemplating what more to tell him. "Our Harry can be a good friend; he can laugh and he can love, but he can´t show reliance or trust in matters of the heart; mostly due to the fact that, until Hogwarts, he experienced very precious little of it. From what I´ve been able to gather based on the limited information Harry has given Ron and I over the years, his muggle relations emotionally abused him to an almost drastic degree. Traumatizing him to the point where he withdrew into himself, became painfully and stubbornly self-reliant, and somehow came to believe that he was incapable of the kind of emotions that he was feeling towards you. He didn´t run from you, Draco, he ran from himself."

Draco felt pain, so sharp, and so severe, tighten in his chest as he became confronted with the logical yet heart rendering observations of one of Harry´s closest friends. A part of him wanted to walk into the crowd, grab Potter and squeeze until he couldn´t possibly hold him any tighter.

`I can relate, Harry, my childhood was less than stellar as well. The concept of love, or, at least, love without strings attached; love beyond expectations or duty, is just as foreign to me.´

Another part of him longed to hold on to his anger, his resentment. Potter was a Gryffindor, he was supposed to be brave; he wasn´t supposed to run. But he had, and it had hurt... badly. It was a betrayal that was almost impossible to get over, impossible to forgive.

"So sure of Potter´s feelings, are you?" he asked Granger, suddenly very, very tired.

"I am," she stated with unmistakable assurance. It was obvious to Draco that Granger truly did know Harry. Knew him, loved him; would do anything for him - even if it meant following him to the ends of the earth, even if it meant working against Harry, himself.

Yet that realization changed nothing.

"None of it matters though, not really. If Harry is that screwed up than he is going to have to learn to deal with it himself. I can´t do it for him. Neither can you, or Weasley, or anyone else who cares about him. Meanwhile, I can´t be his emotional punching bag. I´ve got my own issues to deal with," Draco said at last, although without any bitterness. He didn´t have the strength left in him.

"You may be right," she admitted, her expression just as weary, "but I think you should know... when Harry first got the letter from Mrs. Weasley, asking us - well, beseeching us really, to return, he didn´t act angry or upset or resentful; he acted... relieved. Like a part of him wanted to come home. Any conclusions you want to draw from that I´ll leave entirely up to you."

And with that, she left him alone with his thoughts, at last.

To be continued...