Differentiating Thresholds

Chapter 3 - Granger

"Do you think its funny not answering your owls? Minerva's written me three times already asking if you're okay. Two weeks, Potter! You cannot go two weeks ignoring people. They worry. I worry. And Minerva needs a response as soon as possible. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for her to find a replacement if you turn her down. This is serious, Harry." Her voice softened. "Are you okay?" Potter had the decency to look abashed.

"I'm fine. I just had some stuff on my mind."

"Oh, Harry." She unfastened her cloak and threw it across the back of the sofa, then laid a hand on his forearm. "Do you want to talk about it?" Potter shrugged. "Let's sit down." They settled onto the couch, Granger's hand rubbing circles on Potter's back.

Draco hung back in the hallway, glad the sofa was facing the opposite direction so he wouldn't be caught eavesdropping. He looked at Hermione carefully, thinking that if Harry hadn't told him who it was, he probably wouldn't have recognized her. Her hair was cut short in a bob and dyed a deep burgundy. She wore stylish glasses and Draco thought she must have gone blind from staring at so many old tomes. Even her posture was different--she held herself with a confident grace she had lacked during her childhood.

When it was obvious Harry wasn't going to say anything, Hermione spoke again.

"Maybe you should talk to someone...a healer, perhaps."

"No," Potter said firmly.

"Harry...it might help."

"Mione, I am not seeing a healer!"

"Don't you ever call me that. You know how I feel about that name." Her voice was fierce.

"I know. I'm sorry." There was a moment of contemplative silence before Harry spoke again. "Stay for dinner. You can fill me in on everything that's been going on." There was mutinous look in her eyes but she nodded anyway. "Good," Harry began. "But first I need to tell you something." Draco could hear the nervousness in his voice. "I have a guest...someone...well, someone from the past, you could say."

Hermione's eyes lit up and she jumped off the couch, looking around expectantly. "Who? Oh, is it Dean? Seamus? Don't tell me, it's Neville, isn't it? It's been ages since I've seen him." Harry chuckled.

"No. None of them. Actually, it's not really someone you'd expect, or like for that matter."

"Well, who is it?"

Harry's hesitation was obvious as he shot a quick glance to the hall where the blond was hiding. Draco flattened himself against the wall, hoping he hadn't been caught.

"You can come out, Malfoy."

"Damn," he muttered as he steeled himself to face them. He could hear Granger's voice from the other room. She was talking rather slowly, annunciating each word as if Potter were a child and she was explaining something to him for the twelfth time because he just didn't get it.

"But he's dead, Harry. There was a funeral, remember? Draco. Malfoy. Is. Dead."

"So I keep hearing," Draco drawled as he stepped out of the hallway and into the living room. "But as you can see, I'm very much alive. Hello, Granger." He felt like he was sixteen again and smirked at the absurdity of it all.

Hermione looked from Draco to Harry and then back again before crossing the room and stopping only inches from him. He raised an eyebrow, half expecting her to pinch him and see if he was real, when her hand connected hard with the soft skin of his cheek. The force was enough to make him wobble for a moment. When he regained his balance, he brought a hand up to the burning skin and glared at her. The urge to strike her back was tremendous but he resisted; he had never once hit a woman and wouldn't start now.

"I see you still have your violent streak," he snarled, reminded of that moment in third year when she had struck out at him in a similar fashion.

"You bastard!" She lunged forward but a strong arm around her middle stopped her. "Do you know what he went through? What I went through? Do you know what you did making everyone believe you were dead? How could you? How could you? You coward!" She pointed an accusing finger at him.

"He doesn't know," Harry murmured into her ear. "He didn't even know about the funeral. He doesn't know." Her body relaxed at his words and she pulled herself out of his arms, collapsing onto the armchair behind them.

"Merlin," she breathed as she buried her face in her hands.

Draco looked from Hermione to Harry, confused. What were they talking about? Why would his death affect either one of them? "Potter, I-" I what? He thought. He couldn't say he was sorry; he didn't know what he was supposed to be sorry about. He felt the anger rising in him.

"Will someone please tell me what in all hell this is about," he spat through gritted teeth. He looked between the two of them, Hermione still with her face in her hands, sobbing now and Harry rubbing his eyes. Potter sighed, glanced at Granger and then turned back to Draco.

"Why don't you go rest up a bit before dinner?"

"Potter--" he began, clenching his hands tightly at his sides to keep from reaching out and strangling the other man. Harry moved closer until he was only inches from his face.

"Malfoy," he said threateningly.

"I want an answer now," Draco ground out. The two men stared each other down. It was Harry who looked away first. He glanced back at Hermione again before locking eyes with Draco.

"Fine, but only after she's gone." He tone was firm and as much as the blond wanted to argue with him, he knew it would be useless.

"Whatever," he spat. "I'm taking a shower. I expect dinner to be ready when I return." He knew the comment was petty and childish but he didn't care. It was better than throttling Potter. He strode from the room and headed toward the bath.

~*~

"But you don't, do you?"

Granger's voice drifted in from the kitchen. Draco stood outside the kitchen door, freshly showered and, if possible, in an even fouler mood.

"I don't know. Do you know what it's like to find out he's alive? I still can't believe it." Harry's voice was soft. The sounds of dishes being removed from a cabinet were heard before he spoke again. "It hurts, Hermione. It hurts so much after all these years."

"I know, Harry," she soothed. "I know."

Draco fiddled with the hem of his shirt. A million thoughts were whirling through his mind. He and Potter had not been friends during Hogwarts; he wouldn't even dare to call them acquaintances and yet his death seemed to have had a profound impact on both his and Granger's lives. Why?

He supposed if things had been different, if Potter had died, he may have felt...something. You know you would have felt something, that voice inside said. You spent almost seven years spitting venom at him, trying to torture him, making his life even more miserable than it already was. You would have missed him whether you liked it or not.

"No, I wouldn't have," he mumbled softly to himself and yet...

He was actually glad when Potter burst through the kitchen door, dishware in hand. He placed two settings on one side for him and Hermione then came around to the other side to fix Draco's setting. It was only when he was heading back into the kitchen that he even acknowledged Draco. "Be nice," he said softly before slipping into the other room.

I'm always nice, he shot back mentally, settling himself down at the table.

It was less than a minute later before Harry returned, a large bowl of pasta and a plate of rolls in hand. Hermione followed behind him with a bottle of red wine and three wine glasses. Harry took the seat directly across from his and started piling food onto his plate with gusto. Granger, meanwhile, fiddled with the cork on the bottle and finally popped it open, pouring herself and Harry each a glass of the wine. Draco opened his mouth to remark but a warning glance from Harry stopped him. Instead he grabbed the bottle of wine from the middle of the table where she left it and haughtily poured himself a glass.

The dinner itself was horribly awkward. He expected the two ex-Gryffindors to least talk to each other but the only sounds were chewing and the clink of bottle against glass as more glasses were refilled. Draco couldn't take the tension anymore. He needed to say something.

"So where's the other member of the Golden Trio? Don't tell me he's run off and gotten married to someone other than you, Granger. With the way you two swooned over each other at school, I'm surprised you don't have a bunch of red-headed brats in tow." He scooped the last of his pasta off his plate, oblivious to the seething looks the other two shot his way. "Perhaps Weasley's at home babysitting?" The fork was half-way to his mouth when he finally looked up and froze.

"Always have to go and ruin everything, don't you, Malfoy?"

Potter ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Draco, for the life of him, couldn't figure out what he had done.

"What?" he asked.

"Thanks for dinner, Harry." Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Hermione, don't go," Harry pleaded, a hand on her arm. She took one long look at Draco and shook her head.

"I need to be getting back. I've still got to reconcile the books for the store." She walked back into the living room and grabbed her jacket where it lay over the back of the couch. "Goodnight, Harry," she said before disapparating with a loud crack.

Harry stood staring at the spot Granger had just disappeared from for a moment before gathering up the dishes. Draco stood to help, stacking his plate on top of the other two.

"Don't." Harry's hand gripped his wrist almost to the point of pain. He looked up to find the green eyes staring back at him coldly. "You've done enough tonight."

Draco stared open-mouthed as Potter disappeared into the kitchen. He still didn't understand what had gone wrong. It was just a little teasing. He had meant no harm. So why was Harry so mad at him? Frustrated, he stalked off to his room. He was already settled into bed and half-asleep when he heard muffled footsteps outside his room. He lay there in the dark waiting for Potter to knock but, after a moment's hesitation, he walked away instead.

"Whatever," Draco mumbled to himself watching a sliver of moonlight dance across the ceiling. He'd be gone tomorrow and Potter would just be a fleeting memory.

It was a half hour later when the door creaked open and Potter walked in shutting them both in semi-darkness. Draco sat up, noticing that Harry carried something in his hands, a bowl perhaps, the silvery light emanating from it partially illuminating the room. He placed it on the bed next to Draco and that's when he realized it wasn't a bowl at all but a pensieve.

"It was Dumbledore's," Harry said softly as his fingers traced over the runes etched along the basin. For a moment, he became lost in thought and Draco watched him, mesmerized. "There are a couple different ones in there," he finally said. "Maybe it'll answer some of your questions." He gave him a half-hearted smile and then walked out of the room.

Draco reached out a hand toward the basin but stopped right before his fingertips brushed the surface of the silvery wisps. He had the answers to his questions right in front of him so why was he hesitating? Because it's going to change everything. Somehow he knew it was true and the thought paralyzed him. Was he ready for this? Do I really have a choice? But he already knew the answer. He took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into Potter's memories.

The second his feet touched the ground, Draco knew exactly where he was. The Gryffindor boys' dorms weren't much different from Slytherin's aside from the garish red and gold. At first it looked as though he were completely alone, but then he spotted a lone figure curled up by the window. Harry sat gazing out at the grounds, his clothes a rumpled mess and his hair equally so. Draco walked toward him but something on the bed nearest Potter caught his eye. He picked up the newspaper clipping and almost dropped it when he read the headline.

FIRE AT MALFOY MANOR; WIFE AND SON PERISH

A suspicious fire erupted at the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire last night. Narcissa Black Malfoy, wife of convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, and their son, 7^th year Hogwarts student Draco Malfoy, were at home at the time of the blaze. The cause of the fire is yet unknown, though rumors have been circulating that You-Know-Who is responsible despite Mr. Malfoy's connection to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lucius is currently serving time in Azkaban after his arrest from the Ministry almost two years ago. He could not be reached for comment.

Beneath the article was a picture of the Manor, wisps of smoke still curling up from the ashes. It was dated March 15, two days after he had disappeared. He let the paper slip from his fingers and slid down to the floor, his head resting against the bed. A lone tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. He brushed it away, resisting the urge to cry. Not yet, he told himself. Later.

A soft knock at the door brought his attention back to Harry and he willed himself to concentrate on the scene before him. Potter looked at the door but made no move to get it.

"Harry, can we talk?" It was Granger's voice. "Please Harry. Ron's gone down to Hogsmeade with Seamus and Neville so you don't have to worry about him listening in."

Harry raised his wand and flicked it towards the door which sprang open, then turned his gaze back to the window. Hermione, looking just as he had remembered her during Hogwarts, walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She made her way to the windowsill and sat down across from Potter. After a few minutes of silence, he looked over at her and unexpectedly, to Draco at least, burst into tears. Great heaving sobs racked his body as Hermione enveloped him in her arms.

"It'll be okay," she whispered softly as she rubbed his back. Draco was surprised to see tears sliding silently down her cheeks as well.

"He's gone, Hermione. He's gone."

Draco gaped at the two Gryffindors. Was Potter crying over...him? Hermione's word from earlier echoed in his mind. Do you know what he went through? Do you know what you did making everyone believe you were dead? Potter didn't...no, he refused to believe it.

He watched them carefully, hoping his hunch was wrong. Hermione wiped the tears from Potter's cheeks with her thumbs. Potter eyed her for a moment and in that moment Draco saw the change in Harry, so small that had he not been really paying attention, he wouldn't have noticed at all.

Harry leaned over and brushed his lips gently against Granger's. Her eyes widened in shock and then closed. She sat there stiffly, Potter's hand in her hair keeping her from moving. He could tell there was a battle waging within her as she lifted her arm to push him away but after a moment of letting it hover in the air between them, she let it drop down to her side and visibly relaxed. Tentatively, she kissed him back. Harry began to pull her closer and Draco could see the desperation in him. Harry needed this, wanted this, thought that it would make him forget. But it won't, Draco thought sadly. It never really does.

If it wasn't for the creaking of a floorboard, none of them would have noticed Weasley had come into the room. His face was redder than Draco had ever seen it as he mumbled, "I forgot something."

Hermione jumped up from her seat at the windowsill. "Ron, it's not what you think."

Draco rolled his eyes at her comment. How typical.

Weasley turned to Harry, waiting for him to deny what he had clearly seen with his own eyes but he sat silent, staring out at the grounds.

"Harry, tell him!" Hermione's voice wobbled. When Potter didn't say a word, she burst into tears and stumbled over to the other man. "Ron, nothing happened. It was a stupid kiss, just a silly little kiss!" She reached out for him but he recoiled.

"Don't ever touch me again," he spat. He took one last look at Harry and then strode from the room.

Draco watched the scene dissolve before him and then clear again. He was still in the Gryffindor boys' dorms but it was night. Someone was snoring loudly and he wasn't at all surprised to see it was Longbottom. He looked around the room for Harry but didn't see him. It was then he noticed the drapes around one of the four posters were closed.

Draco slowly pulled them open and almost felt his heart stop. Weasley kneeled over a shirtless Potter looking murderous, a long sharp knife in his hand. Draco stepped closer to the head of the bed where Harry lay and noticed Potter's body lay stiff as a board against the sheets. The little prat had used a body bind curse on him and Harry could do nothing. Weasley was talking now, his words coming out low and harsh, the knife inching closer to Harry's chest.

"I was going to ask her to marry me, you know that, Harry. I was going to ask her to marry me. And then you had to take that all away didn't you? You just have to have everything, don't you?" He pushed the knife into the flesh, not deep but just hard enough to break the skin. Draco watched Harry's eyes start to water. "She was mine, Harry. Mine. Do you know what it was like seeing you two? Do you? I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest." Tears began to roll down his face. "I loved her, Harry. I still love her. And you...you were supposed to be my best friend." He sobbed openly and Draco watched tears also falling from Harry's unblinking eyes. Weasley had noticed too and it only served to make him angrier. "You were like a brother to me," he hissed as he dug the knife deeper into Potter's skin.

The blood pooled on Harry's chest and Draco had to look away. He fought the urge to retch and forced himself to look back. God, there's so much blood, he thought and had to remind himself that Potter would be fine, it was only a memory.

The scene faded around him again and this time he found himself in the Great Hall. Potter sat at the end of the table, alone. Draco noticed some of the other students shooting wary glances Harry's way. Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Granger rushed in a second later and ambushed Potter.

"Where is he?"

"I dunno."

"Harry..."

He said nothing, just continued eating his porridge.

"He's been missing for two days, Harry. This is serious."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but the words were muffled to Draco's ears as everything around him faded.

This time Draco found himself in a grassy field. Rain was pouring down all around them. Harry stood above a man, wand pressing into his throat, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He didn't know why but something about Potter's expression reminded him of his aunt Bella and he shuddered. The man laughed, exposing yellow crooked teeth.

"He begged for his life," the man said with obvious delight.

"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK ABOUT HIM!"

Harry's wand was steady as he stepped back, letting the man rise to his feet. He clearly expected to outwit Potter, but he didn't even get the chance.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a sickening thud as the body hit the grass.