Mirror in Negative

It's amazing how a glimpse of normalcy can make you realize that perhaps your schooldays really were the best days of your life. Yes it was hell, but at least you could always count on it being hell, and exams were torture then but work is torture now. At school, every day was spent in the company of friends. These days you have to organize around job schedules and children. Granted they aren't your children, but they're your best friends' children and your god children and you've been helping raise them since birth.

That's been a good eight years now, nine since the wedding, and garter landing on your head or not you're still considered among the most eligible bachelors. Of course, you haven't cared much for a date in a while and now your class reunion is coming up and what have you got to show for ten long years?

Nothing but a chapter in a history book.

Huzzah.

---

It was somewhere in mid-May that the owl arrived with the invitation. Harry had known it was coming - Ron had told him - but of course Hermione had to send him one and make it official, even though they saw him at least once a week. He didn't see the point, but he wouldn't argue. This was her big project. She had been planning it since some time during the summer after graduation.

The thought of working on anything that long made his head spin.

Somewhere in mid-June it finally struck him that he really was going to have to see all of his classmates again. There Hermione was, a researcher in new age spell work, campaigning for the rights of magical creatures, married to an Auror, and everything anyone could expect the Headgirl to be. Then here he was, earning royalties from a biography he hadn't even written for himself, being asked to lecture at venues worldwide, and doing absolutely nothing better than moping because his dreams had died a tragic death along with Voldemort. Now Ron and Neville, good old Neville Longbottom, were doing the work he had always wanted to do. Granted, Neville preferred his school year job as Hogwarts Herbology professor, but still...the principle...

In short, by the time he reached Hogsmeade the night before the reunion, the great Harry Potter was feeling quite a bit less than great, thank you very much, and he wasn't ready to remeet his old friends and enemies on the battlefield of life.

---

There was a rather lengthy debate between Draco and...well...himself as to whether or not he should attend Granger's - scratch that - Weasley's silly little get together. It was so very muggle, for one thing, and he had no fond memories of anyone he knew for certain would attend, for another. Of course, if other Slytherins decided to show, he would be seen as reclusive if he didn't. Then again, it had been Weasley - the disgrace, not the mudblood - who had managed to turn his father into a raving lunatic, completely by accident. On the other hand, not going may very well give them what they expected, or worse, wanted. And so on and so forth. His mind was rambling to itself, really. He was loathe to play into their hands, and dare not give them anything resembling satisfaction.

Most of all, though, he was scared - scared of admitting that people such as Weasley and Gra...Weasley could possibly have anything better than he did...like a job.

How could a Malfoy face people he had always considered dirt when they had actually, materially managed to one-up him?

It was a disgrace!

...as was spending the night in a Hogsmeade inn the night before.

---

"You really could've stayed with us, Harry."

"I didn't want to intrude."

"Intrude? You're my best mate!"

Giving a half-hearted smile, Harry made his way with Ron to the Great Hall, so much like the old days. Professor McGonagall, currently standing in as Headmaster since the war's end, had been so kind as to agree to them using the school for this get together. She had agreed, with relatively little persuasion, that it was the best place for such an event to take place. Given the circumstances around their commencement, she believed it would do them all good.

Harry wasn't quite sure he agreed with that.

"Oh Harry! It's so good to see you!" Hermione always said that, even if she'd seen him just the day before. "I told the house elves not to worry about a thing, but they decorated anyway. I don't have the heart to move anything around, really. But if the two of you could just hang these..."

And then there was no use in worrying - not to mention no time.

---

Draco was sure to be fashionably late. In fact, he was determined to be. So determined, really, that he ended up pacing his room, completely prepared to leave, for a good thirty minutes before actually walking out the door.

When he finally arrived, the festivities had already begun. It was all fairly subdued, compared to the rowdiness of their class during the school days. Children made the place an obstacle course, always under his feet and trampling the small train of fabric trailing behind him. This irritated him greatly - especially when he noticed that one child had thick red curls - as the robes he wore were currently his most prized possession. They were emerald and ebony, expensive and painstakingly cared for. Before entering the castle, there hadn't been a single wrinkle in them, save the carefully pressed pleats and intentional creases. Now they were a mess from dodging hellions.

His past classmates, as compared to their offspring, were near silent. They chatted with those they hadn't seen enough to keep up with and looked around for others they could barely recognize. To Draco, however, it all seemed rather pointless.

There were plans for an organized reintroduction, or so he had heard in passing conversations. When dinner was served, they were meant to take their turns filling everyone in on their lives. While he made sure that people knew he was there, he also made a mental note to be gone by then. He didn't much fancy admitting that he had nothing to inform them of, save the gradual depletion of his inheritance.

So it was that he found himself wandering out the door, still cursing "obnoxious weasel welps" or some such thing, while the rest of his graduating class took their seats.

At least, he had thought the rest were taking their seats. The sight of a figure wandering along the outside of the castle wall proved his assumption wrong, however. Who else among them would want so badly to avoid that whole mess? That mop of black hair... Surely not...Potter?

---

Harry had quickly found that the shadows were the best place for an all but forgotten hero. He could avoid the gawking of children recognizing a legend, and steer well clear of unwanted questions from the people who knew the whole story. It suited him just as well, to watch the normal, happy lives unfold before him without actually touching them. The very idea of staining them with his presence left a bitter taste in his mouth.

No. They didn't need him there. He was just one more face in the crowd now. And no matter how often he had wanted that to be true before, it hurt to be left behind.

The very concept of dinner failed to sit well in his stomach, which was why he had chosen to take a walk instead. He was tired of the world knowing his life story, and he wasn't about to willingly share this mental collapse. They could all titter away about their wonderful jobs and glorious families; they could mourn lost friends and fawn over new children. Whatever they chose to do, he could care less. No one would make him take part in it.

And then there was a hand on his shoulder, and his heart dropped out as if he were a student in trouble again.

"Potter? By Salazar, it is you."

It took everything in him to stifle a groan as he turned to face his childhood nemesis. That same slick of white blonde hair and those damned stone-grey eyes met him as they always had, only there was something strange to them. The sincerity in their superiority seemed to have a waning feel. Those usually sneering lips were nothing but a tight line, and his pale brow was creased in some mix of confusion and exhaustion.

It felt like a mirror in negative.

"Malfoy," the remanents of surprise left a slight crack to Harry's voice, but he fought the instinctive cringe at the sound of it. His hatred of showing weakness to this stranger who had once been his enemy has not changed.

Now came the smirk, though the expression never touched those cold eyes. "I thought you, of all people, would be in there bragging over your achievements."

"Funny. I could say the same for you."

They were words without feeling, without that sting both men had come to expect from one another. Their loathing had flickered and sputtered and burned itself out, it seemed. Years without each other's ever so reliable snark had left them with nothing but their childhood preconceptions. It was a change that neither had forseen.

"Haven't you anything to tell them, then?" Draco's voice almost sounded hollow, following old pretense. "No grand adventures? No miraculous escapes?"

"No more than you, apparently."

The silence between them seemed surreal.

And then Harry broke as he turned towards Hogsmeade and sighed. "A drink?"

"Hmm." Draco nodded. "A drink."

---

"So he died, then?"

"Mmm. And I'm all but staring at the floor of an empty vault at Gringotts. Whenever mum decides to finally piss off and die already, I get the load I know she's been hording. Until then, however..."

Harry nodded - as Draco scowled - and poured another round.

"I've a good deal left from my parents, but that'll only last so long as these damned royalties hold out," he muttered.

"Demanding royalties for the use of your story in history books... Very Slytherin."

"Stuff it and drink."

Draco chuckled and did as he was told, leaning back in the chair with a groan. "Bloody brilliant way to spend the evening, wouldn't you say?"

"Getting sloshed with an old enemy. Spiffing."

"You know you're having a ball of it."

They lapsed into silence again, as seemed to have become customary between them - Draco staring at the ceiling and Harry staring at his glass, both drunkenly thoughtful but neither horribly talkative. It was oddly comfortable, really. There was something to be said of past enemies. They knew more about you than your friends, in some cases, and they could be brutally honest without a second thought.

It was a nice change.

"I need another drink."

Harry finally looked up, blinking as his mind wrapped around the words. "Only one more glass each. Didn't bring enough money for two of us to get drunk proper."

"Well, if we're not drinking, there's bugger-all to do, isn't there?"

"Could always go back to the party."

"Rather swallow a doxie."

"Why'd you bother coming, then?"

"Why'd you?"

"My friend organized it, remember?"

"Oh right," there was that old sneer, "the mudblood."

Harry was on his feet far too quickly at that, holding tight to the table. "You still have to say that, don't you? Just to be another stubborn purist!"

"Merlin, Potter, sit down before you take the entire table with you."

"I'm fine! I'm just tired of...!"

"Sit down, Harry."

"...the way you have to...!"

Then there were lips. Green eyes shot wide behind crooked spectacles as he lost his words in muffled protest. Grey stared back, too close and then too far.

"Now that you're quite done. Sit down."

Jaw hanging, mind blank, Harry sat.

Draco sniffed, eyebrows arched. "Now I was going to suggest we put our funds together. I was going to stay here again tonight. Were you?"

"Er...possibly..."

"Then we'll split the price of a room and we can put the rest towards more of this wonderful thing called alcohol."

"Wait. There'd only be one..."

The smirk said it all, and the bottle rose in one pale hand. "Have another?"

---

It's amazing how a glimpse of normalcy can make you realize that perhaps your schooldays really weren't the best days of your life. Yes you had everythin, but you couldn't quite always count on that everything to be good, and staying sane was hard enough then but it's almost impossible now. At school, every day was spent in the eyes of enemies. These days you aren't really sure who your enemies are. You didn't know what you were going to do after graduation and you still don't, but at least you're not the only one.

It's been a good ten years of nothing now, nine since you watched your best friends say "I do," and it took you far longer than it should have to realize that what you needed was in the corner of your eye the whole time. Now, with your class reunion going on without you, what have you got to show for forcing yourself to face the past?

An old enemy who's gotten far too close to be "just a friend."

Cheers.