Walking Between Stones

Part 4 - A Friday Matinee

There he is.

He looks like an out of place tourist in my mind's eye, a figure from a long ago dream rudely thrust into the harsh reality of everyday life - my life, or lack there-of.

He is all confidence and elegance; not a strand of hair out of place, not a wrinkle or loose thread threatening the perfection of his grey Armani suit.

He's different, and yet the same. He isn't the Draco I knew and he is. He's a little like an actor in a play.

'Tonight the part of Draco Malfoy will be played by...'

I stood by and watched the curtain fall on our story seven years ago and here I stand on the brink of an encore presentation.

The wizarding world with all of its awe-inspiring magic and glorified heroes is not the youthful dreamland that I once believed it to be. Draco Malfoy has aged while I wasn't looking. He's finally grown into that haughty superiority that he tried so vainly to pull off as a teenager. He possesses a more mature air, a subdued confidence, a quiet understatement of power, and he's still as sexy as sin.

I stand outside on the sidewalk of Bruton Street, observing Draco's countenance through the Guinea Grill's glass window. Business men continually brush past me and enter the pub with their clients and co-workers, and I wait for the moment when Draco will look up and see me standing here.

He slowly drinks his pint of Young's and examines the black leather planner spread open on the bar in front of him.

Draco doesn't look the least bit uncomfortable, in fact, he looks completely at home here.

All of a sudden I feel the urge to make a run for it. He hasn't seen me yet, I can still slip away unnoticed.

Stand up a Malfoy? That'd be a first.

But this lunch is more than just the reunion of old school rivals and ex-lovers, it's for my own peace of mind. Selfish perhaps, but I really don't want (or need), another death on my hands.

I watch as Draco takes a quick glance at his silver wristwatch.

I turn away from the window and sit down on the wood and wrought iron bench placed out front of the pub. Pink and purple flower baskets are revolving slowly in the breeze over my head alongside the Grill's quietly rustling black and gold awning.

I close my eyes and breathe, reflecting upon the horribly stilted telephone conversation that led up to this moment.

"Hello?"

"Draco?"

A pause. "Is that you, Potter?"

At least one hurdle past - I don't have to tell him who I am. "Yes."

Another pregnant pause. "Was there something you wanted or did you just call to see if I was still alive?"

What's that supposed to mean? Was he simply being sarcastic or was there a deeper meaning to his words?

I lean on my kitchen counter, my forehead resting in my palm.

"Potter?"

"Yeah, I'm still here." I wearily rub a hand over my eyes.

"Could've fooled me."

Ah, now there's some of that famous finely disguised Malfoy sarcasm, that seemingly unaffected voice spoken with just the barest hint of bitterness. I know every nuance, every inflection of that smooth voice. Years of studying its depth and subtlety serves me well as I listen to him over the phone.

"As stimulating as this is, Potter, I must urge you to get to the point. I have a busy life you know...or maybe you don't."

There it is again. Maybe it's more hurt or wounded pride rather than a festering bitterness.

Doubtful, but possible.

"How are you, Draco?" I ask with difficulty, the syllables of his name sticking in my throat.

A dry laugh escapes the other end. "I don't know why you suddenly care about my well-being, but since you asked - I'm doing just fine. How are you?"

I smile and lower myself onto one of my rusty kitchen stools.

That's a loaded question, but not a subject I care to get into over the phone.

"I'm fine," I reply, injecting a sense of easy cheerfulness. For some reason I don't want him to know that anything is wrong.

"Was there anything else then, Potter?" Draco asks, not even making an attempt to hide his impatience.

"We need to talk."

"I thought that's what we were doing."

I pause before blindly plunging ahead. "I need to see you."

There's silence on the other end.

"Draco?"

"Yeah." He exhales heavily and I can almost see him running his hand through his hair. "Sure, fine. Meet me for lunch tomorrow at noon at the Guinea Grill in London."

"Great, thanks-"

A loud click and the line goes dead.

"-Draco," I finish lamely.

I hold out the receiver and stare at it, inwardly groaning at the thought of an entire in person face to face lunch with that man.

I glance over my shoulder and catch Draco closing his notebook and slipping it into a leather briefcase.

This shouldn't be so hard. I shouldn't be so intimidated by this man. I've seen him naked, I've seen him gushing blood, I've seen him cry, I've...

Oh, sod it all to hell.

I stand and push through the glass doors.

Draco is in the midst of straightening up from placing his briefcase back on the floor at his feet when his eyes meet mine. He pauses for only a fraction of a second before standing, a cool smile in place and his right hand extending for a formal handshake.

I must admit that I'm a little thrown by this. I'm certainly not deluded enough to expect a hug, but a handshake? It's so cold, so impersonal, so distancing, so...putting me in my place.

"Hello, Draco." I smile in way of greeting.

"You look like shit, Potter."

My smile turns to a smirk as I firmly grasp his hand. "As complimentary as ever, I see."

Draco returns the smirk but his eyes are still cool. "Join me for a pint?" He seats himself back on his bar stool and indicates the empty seat next to him.

"I don't drink anymore," I say casually, pulling out the mahogany stool.

Draco eyes me speculatively. "No wonder you look like hell, you could use one."

"No thanks." I wave the bartender over and order a water.

Draco watches me suspiciously, as if trying to work out an especially complicated puzzle. "So why did you want to see me?"

I calmly place my hands on top of the bar. "I thought we were going to have lunch?"

"The restaurant's in the back and doesn't open for another fifteen minutes, we'll have to wait. What did you want to talk about?"

"It can wait."

Draco raises a pale brow in annoyance. "So I'm to endure fifteen minutes of small talk before you get to the point?"

"Yes," I reply irritably. "So sorry to submit you to the tediousness of my company."

"Yes, well...you should be."

I roll my eyes as the bartender returns with my water. "Thank you. So, how is your family?" I ask in an attempt at civility.

"The wife and kids are fine," he replies flippantly, reaching for his beer and taking a long drink.

I wrap my hands around my glass with a sigh, drops of condensation running down over my fingers. A glance at the antique clock on the wall across from me tells me that we still have fourteen minutes to go. "I see you haven't grown out of your whole sarcasm thing."

"It serves me well."

"Aren't you getting a little old for it?"

"I am not old, I'm three months younger than you are. Speaking of which, isn't it your birthday today?"

"You remembered," I say in surprise.

"I hope you're not expecting any presents, or a gaggle of waiters to come marching in during lunch to present you with a bowl of ice cream topped off with a sparkler."

"I'm not holding my breath."

There's an awkward silence as Draco drains the rest of his glass.

"I have to ask," I speak up. "Why did you choose a muggle restaurant in the middle of London?"

Draco carefully wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin before answering. "Because I work nearby and this place is convenient. I often take my lunches here."

"You...work nearby?" I am completely thrown by this bit of information.

His brow creases slightly as he turns to stare at me. "I know you disappeared from wizarding society, but are you so completely cut off that you have no idea what's going on at all?"

"I..." I frown and shake my head.

Draco's expression carefully smoothes over as he places a few pounds onto the bar for his beer. "I own the I.W.R.C. which-"

"What's that?"

"Have you been living in a cave, Potter?" he snaps.

"Yes. What is the I.W.R.C.?"

"It stands for International Wizarding Relations Corporation."

"And you do what exactly?"

"Just as the name would suggest, Potter, we establish co-operative relationships with wizards from other countries all over the world. We conduct business, trade ideas, share information and new technology, plus we monitor the muggles and keep an eye on their activities. We've also just recently struck a deal with Satan and have agreed to hand over all first born muggle children to him in exchange for a wider range of Bertie Bott's flavours."

"Thank you for your honesty," I reply dryly.

"No problem. Now I think it's your turn to spill, what has the elusive Harry Potter been up to?"

I take a large gulp of water and crunch thoughtfully on an ice cube.

Draco's aristocratic nose wrinkles in disgust.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, swallowing.

"Where are you working now?"

"No where."

Draco swivels on his stool to lean sideways against the bar and stares directly at me. "No where? What happened to your job at the children's welfare centre?"

"Wizarding children," I remind him with a hardened edge to my voice.

"You gave up helping abused children just because of your selfishness?"

"You're hardly one to talk," I say through clenched teeth.

Draco waves his hand dismissively. "Fine, so you've been unemployed for seven years."

"Not quite. If you really want to know, the list of my short-lived careers is as follows," I tick them off one by one on my fingers, "Auror, children's welfare worker, cook, bus boy, and assembly line worker in a paper manufacturing plant. I quite my last job yesterday. Anything else you want to know?"

"Yes. Why the hell did you call me here today?" Draco's cool eyes suddenly narrow. "Do you need money? Is that why you called me, because you need to borrow money?"

"No!" I exclaim in disbelief. "I don't need any money, and believe me, you'd be the last person I'd call if I did."

"Well you certainly couldn't call, Weasley."

I pause distractedly. Sitting here with Malfoy and hearing him take shots at Ron's financial status has just given me a serious case of deja vu. Somehow it doesn't feel like that previous life happened to me anymore now that I've been forced to live in the non-magical world, or the 'real world' as I refer to it. I feel like I'm breaking a barrier, spanning the line between two different worlds as I sit here in a muggle pub conversing with the ex-prince of Slytherin. I almost long for the days when it was Malfoy and his goons pitted against us - incomparable Gryffindor trio.

"Have you seen Ron at all lately?" I ask, snapping back to the present.

"Oh yes, just yesterday we were at the local garbage dump picking out a couch for his shack."

"Would you stop?" My tolerance level is dropping rapidly.

"Then don't ask foolish questions. We weren't friends before and we certainly aren't now."

"I was just wondering if maybe you'd heard how he was doing is all," I mutter, quickly growing tired of our verbal sparring. I'd forgotten how draining they could be. "It's just like old times, isn't it?"

Draco once again deliberately smoothes his expression. "Seems nothing has changed."

I hate it when he masks his emotions like that. I look away from him and pick up my glass only to discover that it's already empty. I drop it back down onto the cardboard coaster a little harder then I intended and find myself eyeing the artfully arranged liquor bottles across from me.

"Nothing has changed?" I think bitterly. "Everything has changed. I've changed, you've changed, the whole fucking world has changed..."

What's the harm in having one little drink? I deserve it after all. Anyone in Malfoy's company for over ten minutes deserves a good stiff drink.

"Hey!" I try and catch the bartender's attention as the place begins to fill with more and more noisy customers. "Can I get a Scotch - neat?"

"Coming right up, sir." He smiles obligingly.

"I thought you didn't drink anymore?" Draco asks pointedly, like he's trying to make me feel guilty, which I do, which in turn makes me angry.

"I don't."

"What are you going to do? Hold it?"

"Mind your own business." I take out some money and plunk it down on the bar as my drink arrives. "Thanks."

Draco shrugs indifferently and removes a pack of fags from the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

"Still smoking?" I observe unnecessarily as he lights up.

"I just thought that while you're indulging..."

I absently swirl my drink, watching the deep tones of amber liquid circle the glass at my command. "I guess we bring out the best in each other."

He actually smiles, albeit a sardonic one, but still a nice change from the repetitious smirks and sneers.

I still haven't touched my drink. I almost don't need to, the fumes alone wafting up to my alcohol sensitive nose are enough to make me tipsy. I sigh heavily and set the glass back down.

"I think we should just forget about lunch."

Draco exhales, the smoke floating upwards to hang in a hazy cloud around the lights above us. "After all this you just want to forget it? How typical."

My hands clench convulsively around my glass. "I just need to know one thing before I go."

"And what pray tell is that?"

I lift my glass in one swift motion and the Scotch burns a fiery trail all the way down my throat. I hide my distaste for the vile stuff and push the empty tumbler away from me. "Have you ever been tested for Aids?"

Draco slowly lowers his arm, his cigarette coming to rest on the rim of the ashtray. He frowns slightly, his mask lying forgotten by the wayside. "Of course. I have to schedule regular check-ups every time I leave the country on business. They screen for everything."

"And?" I lift my eyes to his face.

"I'm fine - clean." He pauses uncomprehendingly. "What is this all about, Harry?"

I wipe the last vestiges of alcohol from my lips with a clean, white napkin and stand. "It's nothing. Thanks for seeing me."

Draco grabs my arm as I make to turn away. "Don't feed me that bullshit," he hisses.

I look down at where his hand is gripping my arm. "Let go of me."

He withdraws his hand, as if surprised by his outburst, then instantly grows angry once more. "I know you didn't call me out of the blue to reminisce about old times. Just tell me so that I don't feel as if I've wasted my time for nothing."

The Scotch is warm in my stomach and only serves to fuel my anger at his cutting words. "Fine, you really want to know?"

He nods, even as his eyes convey a slight hesitation.

I smile a little triumphantly at that.

"I'm HIV positive."

There. The bomb has been dropped.

Now to watch the ensuing devastation.

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it. His cigarette all the while burning away, forgotten, the dead ash dropping off into the glass tray.

He doesn't look exactly flabbergasted, that would be too undignified for a Malfoy, but a speechless Malfoy is definately worth witnessing.

It crosses my mind that he is the first person I've told.

At that moment a kind looking waiter approaches Draco. "Excuse me, sir, but your table for two is ready in the other room."

I smile, my eyes not leaving Draco's face. "Looks like it'll just be for one," I say. "Goodbye, Draco. It was nice seeing you again."

I turn and exhale shakily as I walk out the door.

Behind me the waiter is still trying to get Draco's attention.