Children of the Eighth Day

Harry was on his belly on the kitchen floor scrabbling about under the sideboard with his wand, trying to retrieve the last of the hailstorm of oranges that had so rudely interrupted his morning coffee. He had just cornered the last one when he heard a pop from the next room.

"Harry?" Remus' voice called from the other room. "Harry, I hope I'm not intruding, I just -- good Godric!"

"Accio orange," Harry said, and the fruit flew the last few centimeters into his outstretched fingers. With a satisfied grunt, he pushed himself up off the floor to find Remus standing over him, hands in pockets and a highly amused smirk on his face.

"Having trouble with your breakfast?" Remus asked, glancing pointedly at the pile of oranges on Harry's breakfast table. Most were in varying stages of destruction, having fallen quite unexpectedly from the ceiling. All were bruised, if not split open, and some were oozing.

"No," Harry replied evenly as he placed the last orange with the rest of the massacred fruit on his table. "No, I have a feeling they were behaving exactly the way they were meant to."

Remus raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Harry knew that working with Fred and George had given his old friend a uniquely jaded view of anything even remotely unusual.

"Coffee?" Harry asked, gesturing with one hand to the half-full pot still on the stove. "Or I can make tea if you'd rather."

"Coffee's fine."

Harry busied himself pouring the coffee while Remus selected and began peeling one of the least offensive oranges.

"I come bearing messages from the clan Weasley," Remus said when Harry handed him his coffee. He drew out one of the mismatched wooden chairs and made himself comfortable. "Molly wants to know if you're bringing anyone with you to dinner tonight."

Harry groaned and sunk down into a chair opposite. "Tell her that I won't come at all if she's going to go down that road again."

Remus laughed. "You tell her. I'm not touching that one with a ten foot wand."

"Git."

"Coward."

Harry grinned and took a swig of his coffee. "You didn't come all the way here to call me a coward."

Remus shook his head. "The boys want to have a board meeting."

"You didn't come to tell me that, either."

Remus shrugged.

"A board meeting, eh? Sounds like they've got something new up their sleeves."

"I couldn't say," Remus said blandly, stacking his orange peels neatly on the edge of the table. "You know, I think they still see me as some sort of authority figure. They never tell me anything until it's... too late."

Harry grinned. "When do they want to get together?"

"Tonight. After dinner, if you're available."

"At the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked, though he already knew the answer. "Who's buying?"

"Do I really need to tell you?" Remus replied, popping an orange section into his mouth. He looked pleasantly surprised. "These are quite good."

Harry snorted. "A Malfoy only sends the very best."

"You can't expect me to let that one slide," Remus said with a wry smile. "What did you do?"

Harry couldn't help but grin at his own cleverness. "I put toothpaste in his hair. Blue toothpaste."

"You can take the boy out of Gryffindor..." Remus said with a shake of his head.

"Or Slytherin," Harry replied, setting the coffee mugs in the sink. "There's a reason that fruit normally arrives in baskets and not by air. I might very well have a concussion."

Remus regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Harry, are you ever going to tell the others that you're still in contact with him?"

Harry grew still watching the water swirling around the scratched basin. "I..." He searched for the right words. "I don't think they would understand." He glanced over his shoulder at his friend. "Fuck," he added with a lopsided grin. "I'm not even sure I understand."

"You should give them more credit," Remus said frankly, standing from the table. "I'd better go. I assume you have your reservations." He glanced at Harry. "For lunch, I mean."

Harry leaned against the sink, his face suddenly solemn. "Remus, I know what you came here to ask--"

Remus held up his hand. "Plenty of time for that after our 'board meeting'."

Harry nodded curtly and watched Remus disappear from his kitchen with a loud pop.

Feeling unusually pensive, Harry made his way to the wardrobe in his bedroom to select appropriate clothing for lunch. He quickly abandoned the search, however, as Malfoy would mock whatever he chose anyway.

Once dressed, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Wide green eyes stared back at him from an unfamiliar face. He ran a hand over his chin where, for the last three weeks, a thick black beard had been. He should have kept it, he mused. People might not have been so quick to spot him in his African safari guise.

He deliberately put on black shoes with his brown suit just to make Malfoy's hair stand on end, even though it was likely to earn him a twenty minute lecture.

Such was the nature of their friendship.

If someone had told him five years ago that he would make a habit of inviting his worst schoolyard enemy to lunch whenever he was in town, he would have either laughed at them until he was blue in the face or hexed them into the next week, depending on his mood. Yet now it was second nature. The only hard parts were getting the reservation and thinking up a new prank.

Harry wandered back into the living room of his flat, smiled at the familiar squashy furniture and shelves full of books, scowled at the gargantuan pile of mail waiting for him on the floor by the window, and promptly ignored it.

People still wrote fan letters to the Boy Who Lived. He didn't know how to tell them that that Boy didn't Live here any more. Most went into the fire unwanted, unopened, and unread.

He had asked Malfoy once if he got any letters. Draco was as much a celebrity at the end of the war as Harry had been. The papers had made much of his story, painting him as a fairy tale prince eschewing the path of evil to become Harry Potter's right hand man.

Harry still had one of those articles saved somewhere. He took it out to read it when he needed a good laugh.

And Malfoy had hated it. Hated it with almost as much passion as he hated Harry. Almost as much passion as he hated his own crisis of conscience. Almost as much as he hated what his father had become.

Malfoy had told him that fallen princes don't get fan mail.

Harry snatched one of the few oranges that was still in one piece and grabbed his wand.

With a loud crack echoing in his ears, he Apparated to an alley he knew off of Piccadilly and walked the remaining distance to the Ritz.

Watching his lunch companion approach from over the top of his menu, Malfoy made a point of scowling, and he made an appropriately surprised and horrified face when Harry tossed him an orange before taking his seat.

"I'm going to be black and blue for weeks."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. And I'm sending you my cleaning bill."

Harry just smirked.

For a moment, they stared at one another across the little table, and Harry felt the old tension building up inside him. Not for the first time, he wondered why he thought these lunches were a good idea. He always suspected that this would be the time that he was left sitting alone drinking ice water in the Palm Court, that this would be the time Malfoy would say something to end this game they were playing at.

"I assume by the look on your face that either you once again failed to find what you were looking for," Malfoy drawled, laying his menu across his plate, "or that you had some bad fish last night for supper."

Harry began to relax. "If I knew what I was looking for, I might have an easier time finding it."

Malfoy shrugged eloquently. "Maybe the act of looking is enough. We are Seekers, after all."

Harry took a sip of the wine Malfoy had already ordered. It was excellent.

"How the devil did you get in, anyway?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Harry smiled to himself. It was always the same. "You always have to know, don't you?"

Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer. "If there is a weak point in the defenses on my flat, I think I have a right to know about it."

"Your defenses are crap, Malfoy." Harry grinned. "And you have to face it: I'm much better at Defense than you ever were."

"Fine. Don't tell me."

While Malfoy sulked and pretended to read his menu, Harry studied him. His hair was shorter than he had been wearing it before, perfectly tousled in a way that Harry, with his naturally unruly locks, could never hope to imitate. Malfoy made fashionable clothes look casual and sipped expensive wine like it was water. He was at home here in all this luxury, while the starched linen, elaborate centerpieces and polished silver made Harry feel like a scruffy orphan again.

The waiter returned, but before Harry could open his mouth, Malfoy had ordered for them both. Harry raised an eyebrow at him as the waiter traipsed away with their menus.

"You need to expand your palate," Malfoy said by way of explanation.

Harry scowled, but only to hide his amusement. "Yes, Professor Higgins."

Malfoy shrugged. They stared at one another across the table for a long moment before Harry broke the silence, as he almost always did.

"I need to liquidate some of my assets, and I need your advice about which ones. The twins have got something new up their sleeves and they want to have a meeting about it -- which can only mean that it's going to be expensive."

"And you're willing to foot the bill yet again?" Malfoy asked disdainfully.

"They've done well so far. I've had excellent returns on my investments with them, even by your standards."

Malfoy sighed audibly, which was a sign that he had no way to refute what Harry said. "Find out how much they want and let me know," he said finally, as though the very words were painful.

"I'll also need some more cash. I'm planning a trip to--" Malfoy looked up sharply. "What?" Harry asked him.

"You've only been back in England for -- what, two days? -- and you're already planning another trip?" He leaned back in his chair, holding his wine glass in the cup of his hand and throwing his other arm over the back of the chair. "Where to this time? Tibet? Antarctica? Japan?"

"America," Harry said tersely. "There's a sect in Salem that's been rather active lately, and there are rumors of necromancy."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. "Why?" he asked at last.

Harry shrugged. "Why does anyone practice necromancy? I expect some--"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Malfoy interrupted.

Harry frowned slightly, suddenly unable to meet Malfoy's cold penetrating stare. "I have to be sure," he said at last in a low voice.

"You killed him," Malfoy replied bluntly. "One would think that would be certainty enough."

"There was no body," Harry argued. "If there had been a body, I could have torn out his heart and burned it to ash right along side the rest of him. I could have dumped the ashes in different seas at opposite ends of the Earth. I could have been sure."

"That's a bit obsessive, even for you," Malfoy said blandly.

Harry was about to reply when the waiter reappeared with their first course. For a few moments, they filled the uncomfortable silence with the rituals of food, the scrape of silver on china, the rustle of linen. This was common ground, equal footing, territory not fraught with missteps and danger.

"This is quite good," Harry said around a mouthful. "What is it?"

Malfoy smiled indulgently, the way a parent might smile at a particularly obtuse observation on the part of a child. "Terrine of foie gras with Sauternes jelly and toasted brioche."

Harry blinked at him.

"Why do you come?" he asked suddenly. Malfoy looked up at him with a confused look. "When I invite you to lunch," Harry clarified. "Why do you come?"

Malfoy regarded him for a moment before answering. "I am afraid that if I don't I might wake up with a Flobberworm in my bed."

Harry winced slightly, but smiled. "That was a long time ago. You can't possibly still hold that against--"

"You'd be surprised," Malfoy replied quietly, looking down at his food.

"When was the last time you went out?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. "You change subjects faster than a Snitch changes directions."

"Answer the question, Malfoy."

"I went out last night, for your information," Malfoy answered in an unconcerned tone, "to the opening of a very important new club. It was dreadful."

"A Muggle club?"

"So?"

"When was the last time you went out with wizards."

The silence that stretched out for just a moment too long was answer enough for Harry.

"I choose," Malfoy said very carefully, "not to move in certain circles."

"You aren't your father, Malfoy," Harry said directly. "It's history. People forget."

"Oh really? The same way they forget that you were the Boy Who Lived?" Malfoy's sneer was vicious. "Tell me, how many fan letters were waiting for you at home after this particular trip? I expect they could keep you warm all winter at the rate you get them -- if you were ever home, that is." He pushed his plate away and set his fork at four o'clock. Lunch was over.

"I joined the revolution too late, Potter."

Harry watched the muscles tighten in the back of Malfoy's jaw -- the only indication that he was agitated. His cool manner betrayed nothing else.

"I denied you. I hated you."

"You saved me," Harry said simply.

Malfoy blanched. His grey eyes darted away and would not meet Harry's face. "Bad form throwing that back in my face," he said glibly. He snatched his wine glass and drained it in two large gulps. "Anyway," he continued, "fat lot of good that temporary insanity did me. They still put me on trial."

"Everyone knew it was a farce," Harry said dismissively. "You were never in any danger of being convicted."

"Why? Because you stood for me? I deserved Azkaban for some of the things I did."

Harry sighed. "I believe people can change."

"Do you really? How convenient that must be for you."

"I didn't believe it until you--"

"I almost didn't," Malfoy snapped. "I almost let you die."

Harry looked up and their eyes locked across the table. "I know," he said.

"You want to know why I'm here?" Malfoy asked, suddenly breaking the stare to watch the city outside the window. "Answer yourself. Why aren't you with Weasley and Granger?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll see them later tonight. Mrs. Weasley is making dinner for everyone."

"They are your two best friends in all the world. You haven't seen them in more than a month, yet you're sitting here dredging up old times with me," Malfoy said frankly. "Seems I'm not the only one avoiding certain company."

Harry scowled down at his lunch. Malfoy was right, of course, and that was always infuriating. He wasn't entirely sure why he was he at the Ritz instead of at the Burrow, why he always choose Malfoy's company before anyone else's during his brief stays in England.

But he did know. Some part of him did. Ron and Hermione had each other. Ginny and Neville had each other. Remus had his work with the twins. It was a bit much to be thrown back into their company all at once, expected to fit where he no longer belonged. A third wheel. A square peg.

"Decompression," he murmured under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" Malfoy drawled.

"Come with me," Harry said suddenly. "To dinner tonight." Malfoy' pulled a horrified face and Harry sighed. "To the pub, then. Have a pint with Remus and me when we're done with business." Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but Harry beat him to it. "If anyone understands what it's like to be an outsider, it's Remus," he said.

Draco stared at him, and Harry thought that it was the first time he had ever seen him look genuinely surprised.

"Come with me, Draco," he said again.

~

It was raining in London when Harry Apparated into an alley a few blocks from the Muggle entrance of The Leakey Cauldron. He preferred not to appear in crowded places unless it was absolutely necessary.

You're as bad as Malfoy, he told himself as he turned up the collar of his jacket against the rain. The orange of the streetlights turned the droplets to fire as they fell, like tiny shooting stars.

Harry walked quickly, ducking his head in the rain, and he wouldn't have noticed the figure standing across the street except that a flash of movement caught his eye.

He was standing under a street lamp, head bowed, hands deep in his pockets, his black leather jacket glistening in the rain. Harry wouldn't have recognized him except for the shock of pale hair dripping into his face. Frowning into the darkness, Harry quickly glanced up and down the empty street before jogging across the blacktop towards him.

"Malfoy?" he called, not quite certain he could believe what he was seeing. Malfoy started at the sound of Harry's voice and looked up. He was soaked, and Harry wondered how long he had been standing there in the rain. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled one hand from his pocket to smooth back his dripping hair, shining silver in the lamplight.

With that gesture, Harry suddenly saw a flash of the boy Draco had once been, proud and sure, standing on a stool next to him at Madam Malkin's being fitted for his first set of school robes and tossing his name and family pride about like a Quaffle at a Quidditch match.

The man standing before him now was different; the intervening years had not been kind. He put on a face to the world the way he put on his expensive suits and affected arrogance, but in the rain, in the light of this streetlamp just barely driving back the darkness, Harry could see Draco's mask beginning to slip.

"I thought you weren't going to come," Harry said, forcing a light tone despite the tightness in his chest.

"I wasn't," Draco replied softly, his words almost lost to the staccato of the rain. He glanced up and met Harry's eyes. "But someone told me that people can change."

Harry grinned and threw an arm around Draco's shoulders, leading him across the street towards the Cauldron. "That's awfully convenient," he said.

Draco glanced up at him, his eyes cool and calculating, searching Harry's face for any hint of mockery or ire, but Harry knew there was none to be found.

"If I come in," he said slowly, "you have to stay."

"Of course! Did you think I was going to leave you alone with those idiots in--"

"I'm serious, Harry," Draco said, cutting him off. "No more trips. No more searching." He sighed and shrugged deeper into his coat. "It's time we both leave the dead to the dead."

A rush of emotions filled Harry all at once. They washed over him so quickly he could hardly put a name to the feelings. But a little voice in the back of his brain which sounded suspiciously like Hermione said simply, Let it go.

"I'm willing to try if you are," Harry said at last.

A smile played at the corners of Draco's lips. "I knew you couldn't resist a challenge."

The normally noisy pub was relatively quiet for the hour, but Harry could not help noticing several pairs of eyes trained eagerly on the newcomers. Potter and Malfoy. Dumbledore's favoured two. Together again for the first time.

Harry spotted two red heads and one grey one sitting at a quiet table set apart from the rest of the room, and he steered Draco towards them. The identical looks of unmitigated shock on the twins' faces were almost comical.

Only Remus seemed unsurprised. He rose as Harry and Draco approached, watching them with brown eyes glinting in the warm torch light. When they reached him, he smiled wryly.

"Welcome back, Harry," he said warmly. Harry grinned as Remus turned and extended his hand to Draco. "And welcome back, Mister Malfoy."

Draco glanced at Harry for half a moment, and then accepted Remus' hand.