Entry tags:

harry/draco, nc-17, worldcup

Harry's Pockets Part Two
See previous post for header.

Part Two

"All right. Show me what you've got," Harry directed the clown as he leant his elbows on the counter to watch.

Pockets bowed first, then pulled a bright red floppy hat from a pocket. Holding it out in front of him, he made a grand production of extricating a small white ball from a tiny pocket on his chest. He held it up for his audience—Harry—to see, then placed it inside the hat. Carefully sliding the hat atop his head, he held both arms to the side for a moment, then slowly…slowly, his lips spread, revealing a white ball. He blew the ball out forcefully, then batted it so that Harry reflexively reached up to catch it.

"Hey! That was…" Harry stopped as he realized the ball was wet. "Ewww, that's disgusting. I don't think Luna will want to…" He stopped, watching as another white ball made its appearance, but this time he stepped deftly to the side and let it fall to the floor behind the counter when the clown sent it his way. "All right, that's impressive, but you're going to have to do something about…" He ducked as the clown spat the third ball in his direction. And then a fourth…fifth…and finally, a sixth.

Harry frowned as he bent over and picked up the slightly damp sponge balls with his fingertips; when they were all lined up on the counter, he shook his head in amazement at the clown. "You fit all of those in there, did you?"

Pockets stood on his tiptoes and held his hands out to both sides in a 'Ta da!" gesture.

"Well, I think you'll have to work this out with Luna. She might not want to catch these, being that they're…wet." His eyes widened as Pockets smiled, only to eject one final ball.

Eyeing the balls, Harry had to admit, "That's one talented mouth you've got there."

Pockets smiled widely, his expressive gray eyes sparkling as he bent his knees and lewdly palmed his crotch.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Had the clown just..? "Don't let the children see you do that," he said dryly, amused in spite of himself when Pockets soundlessly mimicked his words at the exact same moment as Harry said them.

The sound of the bell at the door made them both look to the side. Pockets let out a wheeze of delight as Luna sedately walked down the aisle toward them, that…huge, horribly grotesque Gryffindor lion perched atop her head.

"Hullo, Pockets," she said with a smile as she handed Harry the post. He shuffled through it, ignoring the two of them as they did a short version of ring-around-the-rosy in front of the counter.

Looking up, he pointed to the hat. "You wore that to collect the post?"

"Of course. It's been sitting in the back, feeling neglected for months. Time to take it out and show it the neighborhood, I thought."

Harry guffawed. "So…got a few strange looks, did you?" he asked with a snort.

"Oh, not really. They expect it of me by now. I think they consider me the local color, Harry," she said serenely.

"Loco color's more like it," Harry said with a smile.

"So, Pockets, did Harry tell you about his visitors last night?"

Harry rolled his eyes, watching as Pockets shook his head.

"Those two loons from the development company stopped by at closing."

Harry cocked his head to the side, stifling the urge to laugh aloud. "Not loons, Luna. Goons."

Seeming puzzled, Luna shook her head. "No, I think it's loons. After the birds. I should know; after all, Harry, I'm the one they called loony. After the birds, of course, because it also means crazy, and that's what everyone thought I was at Hogwarts. Of course, loons—the birds, not the development men—are related to the wizarding Augurey. My father and I tried to get close to a nest of them once, but of course it was too dangerous. If you hear them wail, well then you—"

"Luna," Harry said lowly and pointedly, jerking his head in the clown's direction. "I think you've just let the kneazle out of the bag…in a big way."

Pockets had been swiveling his head from Luna to Harry as they spoke, a frown on his face. 'Kneazle?" he mouthed.

"It's a sort of cat, actually a mix of—"

"Luna!" Harry said in exasperation. He looked apologetically at Pockets. "Don't mind her, she really is a bit loony," he said darkly in Luna's direction.

Luna smiled fondly at him. "All right. The goons came to see Harry again last night."

The clown raised an eyebrow at Harry, shrugged and lifted his palms upward in a 'And what?' gesture.

"And I didn't even let them in the door. I had my cell phone out in a heartbeat, and told them if they came around again, I'd call the police. They said they'd see about that, but then they left, so that's that."

Pockets didn't seem convinced, looking almost worried. He made a cutting motion at his neck.

"Well, let's hope we won't need to go that far," Harry told him. Glancing down at the counter, he smiled slyly. "Luna, I think Pockets needs you to help him play with his balls."

The clown's mouth dropped open, then he shocked Harry by positively leering at him as he slowly clapped in appreciation. Harry bent over in a small bow.

"Harry, I don't think Fred would like that," Luna said disapprovingly, looking from one to the other.

Pointing to the sponge balls on the counter, he said, "These balls, Luna. But watch out when you do; there's a surprise twist at the end."

"Oh, those balls. That can be arranged. Come with me, my merry jester."

Pockets gathered the balls up, smirking at Harry, then skipped down the aisle after Luna skipping ahead of him.

***

That night as they were about to close, Harry said nonchalantly. "Luna, I think Pockets is gay."

"Well of course he's gay. He's a clown."

"No, not that sort of gay. I mean gay. You know, as in queer."

"That's what I meant as well, Harry. Why would that surprise you? He's an entertainer, he knows how to listen to people with his heart, and he's sensitive and funny."

"What? So you're saying straight men aren't funny or sensitive?"

Luna shrugged. "Not in my experience, no."

"You happen to be engaged to a very straight, sensitive, funny bloke. Remember him?" Harry reminded her sarcastically.

Shooting him a withering look as she flipped the door sign to 'closed', Luna replied, "Fred Weasley is the funniest, dearest, most sensitive man I know—he's an exception, I think."

"You said it, not me," Harry said wryly, thinking of all the times he'd seen Fred's less than sensitive side.

"He's considerate, he knows exactly what I like, and the way he makes me feel, Harry….mmmm. Just last weekend, he woke me up in the middle of the night, and do you know what he—"

"Luna! Too much, too much. Stop. Stop," he laughed at the blank look on her face. "That belongs to you and Fred. Gay men don't usually want the gory details."

"Oh, your loss, then," she smiled, not in the least bit embarrassed. "But you're right about Pockets; I knew it from the start."

"Yeah, makes sense the gay man here would be the last to figure it out," Harry muttered to himself as Luna headed for the back of the shop.

***

Harry wouldn't say he was obsessed with the clown, but he did think of him a great deal now. Over the past two weeks especially, he'd become increasingly curious about…well, about the gentle man beneath the clown suit. He was clearly a sensitive person, one who was fond of children, and funny as well. Harry wondered what his story might be…how he'd ended up as a clown, what things were important to him, why he'd become attached to Harry and Luna and the shop, because it was clear that he was, as well as loyal to the point of defending their right to run their business.

"I wish you'd talk to me, I mean really talk," Harry told Pockets one afternoon when they were alone at the counter.

Pockets pointed to his chest, then flipped his forefinger over his lips as he nodded.

"Yeah, well, not that sort of talking. You can make yourself, I don't know, understood. But you have to admit there's a…lack of depth to what you say."

The clown leant against the counter, pursing his lips, then frowned. Reaching out, he caught one of Harry's hands, then ran a finger along the edge of Harry's fingernails.

Surprised, Harry didn't pull his hand away, but only laughed. "Yeah, I bite them. Old habit. Ever since I was a child." He squinted at Pockets' fingers. "Not you, I see. God, you look like you have them manicured," he murmured.

Shaking his head, the clown pointed to himself proudly.

"Part of that total makeup philosophy, huh?" Harry asked, watching as the clown stood and stared at him solemnly as he bobbed his head up and down. Suddenly, Harry didn't know exactly why, but he felt like finally confessing to the clown. "You know, Luna's the one who wanted you here."

Pockets drummed his fingers on the countertop, then yawned.

"She had to talk me into it, actually. I didn't want you at all," he said softly. He knew Pockets had to already know this, but was curious to see what his reaction would be.

The eyes in the painted face slid up to meet Harry's, and ever so slowly, he was able to raise just a single eyebrow. Harry was impressed by the maneuver in spite of himself.
The clown seemed to have total mastery over even the smallest muscles of his body.

"And now…" Harry swallowed once. "Now I look forward to the days you come. I know the children do too, and that's part of it, but it's more than that for me. You've done more than you know here, for both Luna and myself. And I just wanted to thank you…and tell you I’m sorry I didn't want you from the start. You're part of the team, Pockets, and I can't imagine us without you."

The clown raised the other eyebrow, looking shocked. His appearance was so silly that Harry laughed aloud. Pockets stood up straight, twirled in place, honked his horn, then reached into his pocket, making Harry come to life.

"No confetti!" Harry protested, just as Pockets threw a handful.

Grinning widely, the clown was unapologetic, watching gleefully as Harry picked the paper bits from his face. "All right, we have to come to an understanding about the confetti," Harry muttered darkly as the clown held his sides and shook with pretended mirth.

They both looked to the back, at the sound of Luna singing. The clown pointed in her direction, then hugged himself, twisting from side-to-side.

"Yeah, I love Luna too," Harry smiled. "But what I just told you…about me liking you; that'll be our little secret, all right? Otherwise, she'll be off to get a…monkey or a parrot or something. I have to be the voice of reason here," he added almost regretfully.

Pockets used a hand to pantomime zipping and locking his lips, then tossed the invisible key to the side. His eyes shining, he nodded as Harry laughed out loud again.

***

"You're sure?" Snape asked him that Saturday afternoon.

"Well, I've not seen anyone," Harry admitted. "But you know I'm not paranoid about things like this. It's a sense I've got, that's all."

"Hmmm, and your senses in the past proved fairly accurate, if I recall correctly."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, see, and that's the only reason I think it's actually happening. It's probably those development people, although why they'd follow me when I close up doesn't make much sense."

Snape shook his head. "Certainly it does. Considering they've moved to intimidation tactics. They're just taking it to the next step. I know I needn't advise you to be cautious," Snape murmured with a frown.

"Wand in hand, cross the street erratically, look over my shoulder, yeah, I'm doing it all. So far, nothing. But someone's there. Won't get close to me, though."

"See that they don't. Muggle or not, don't hesitate to defend yourself. And if you'd like, I could arrange some surveillance. "

Smiling, Harry replied. "You mean Aurors? Checking to make sure poor little Harry Potter's bad boys keep their mitts to themselves?"

Snape obviously didn't find the matter funny. "I'd rather do that than have to claim your body from the Muggle morgue," he said scathingly, then made a face. "See that you pay attention."

"Give me a bit of credit, Severus. I made it through the war, with nary a snake bite on my neck."

"Touché," the Minister muttered.

"So, how's Teddy?" Harry asked brightly. "And Tonks?"

"Nymphadora is nesting already. I've been instructed to build a crib, not purchase one. And I've promised Teddy that I'll take him to your shop on a Saturday. Two weeks from today—will that be convenient? He's been badgering me for months, because I've not seen it yet."

"Oh, I can't imagine why not," Harry retorted dryly. "I've only been there for five friggin' years. Yeah, two weeks from today will be fine. Around ten would be good."

They sat quietly for a while, Harry tossing out bits of biscuits to the pigeons.

"So… your Aiden…" Snape began.

"Not coming back," Harry said quietly. "I've done it again—managed to scare off a perfectly normal, good-looking—"

"Imbecile."

Harry looked sideways at him. "I wouldn't call him an imbecile."

Snape shot him a withering look. "Not him. You."

Sitting up straighter, Harry frowned. "Why me?"

"Because a Muggle relationship will never last," Snape said shortly. "There's too much you must conceal. Any man you manage to get close enough to will realize that you're hiding a large part of yourself. So, deal with it, and move on. I've not said this before, but you're wasting your life on unsuitable…partners. Do yourself a favor—and all of us who care about you—and face the truth. Time to make your peace with who you are, and where your place is."

"I like my life the way it is," Harry muttered. "I love my shop, and what I do—"

"Oh, for god's sake, that's not what I meant and you know it. Keep your shop, what the bloody hell do I care? But if you don't want to end up alone for good, then look to your own kind." His face softened. "You deserve to be happy."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. So did Lupin. Look where it got him." He looked at Snape guiltily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that as…since you…I shouldn't have…"

"He died and I married his wife. Nothing for you to apologize over." Snape paused. "He would be happy for us, I think." He glanced at Harry pointedly. "And, Lupin would tell you exactly what I have. If you can't accept it from me, well, then from him."

"I'll think about it," Harry agreed, if only to change the subject.

***

That niggling feeling that he wasn't alone persisted—on both Saturday and Sunday nights when Harry finally pushed himself out the door to head for home. But as he'd told Snape, he saw no one, and was starting to wonder if he was becoming slightly paranoid.

On Monday evening, he stayed later than he usually did. The street out front was lit by the street lamps as he shut the interior lights down. He stood at the door and peered through the panes before cautiously undoing the lock. He'd just begun to let himself out, when they struck.

The door was pushed inward, and Harry stumbled backward. There were two of them, that he could see, stepping over the threshold and then hurtling toward him.

One taller than the other, the set of the broad shoulders familiar even in the light streaming in from the street.

Harry's hand went down to his pocket and his fingers closed around his wand, just as the figure made a lunge. The man was almost on top of him as Harry brought his hand up, his mouth already forming the words of a Shield Charm. Suddenly, a whoosh of sound and energy threw Harry backward, causing him to careen into a carousel of merchandise. Struggling to right himself, Harry lost the battle as he fell, his head hitting the metal base of the fixture with an audible crack, then the world went dark.

***

The shop was largely intact, but it'd taken Luna and Harry the better part of an hour to repair the damage, magically, in between astonished and concerned customers. The police had been there to take a report, of course, and they'd been filled in about the prior run-ins with Aegis Corporation. Their faces had become grim when Harry'd related this information; it appeared he'd not been the only one in the row of shops to be on the receiving end of such intimidation.

Harry was slightly puzzled when Pockets appeared just as the police were leaving.

"I called the school and asked him to come," Luna explained. "We're all in this together. Besides, I knew he'd want to know."

The clown nodded vigorously, his expressive face almost thunderous beneath its makeup, the lips drawn down in a moue of concern. He reached around and used his fingers to prod at the sizeable lump at the back of Harry's head.

Harry stood there resignedly and let him do it. For some reason, he felt strangely comforted and reassured by the…rather large clown presence. When he was finished, Pockets led Harry into the back room, Luna following along behind them. The clown seemed to take charge of the two of them, gesturing them to the overstuffed chairs as he made a pot of tea. When they'd all been served, the clown pulled up a chair opposite them, then pointed at Harry and then touched his lips.

"He says, 'Talk,' Harry," Luna said. "And this time, tell us all of it. I don't think you did," she chided.

"Well, that's because I don't want the police to…" He stopped at the look on the clown's face. "All right."

Pockets reached forward and patted his hand, then sat back in his chair, his large gray eyes fastened on Harry.

"I don't know…exactly what happened. I was about to lock up, and had just opened the door, when they pushed their way in."

"The development men?" Luna asked.

"Didn't see their faces, but yeah, I'm sure it was." He took a sip of his tea, grimacing at the pain in his neck when he tilted his head down. "We sort of struggled…and I managed to get my….er…" He glanced at Luna and shot her a look of distress. "…weapon out, and that's when I fell and hit my head. I think…I…er…managed to get a…shot off, though. Probably scared them off, because when I came to, they were gone. And the shop door was closed."

"You have a gun, Harry?" Luna asked incredulously.

Harry pursed his lips at her in disgust, then glanced at Pockets. "Of course I don't have a gun! I…I…" He lowered his voice and said it as quickly as he could, thinking that perhaps this way the clown would miss most of it. "I think I got a Protego off. Must be what threw me backwards, casting the spell at such close range."

Eyes wide, Luna whispered, "Well, you've just let the kneazle out of the bag this time." She looked at him accusingly, then smiled at Pockets. "It's a sort of cat."

"Luna," Harry groaned, "you're just making it worse. Pockets, I have a sort of…weapon, and that's probably what scared them off. Good thing, too." He muttered under his breath at Luna, "It's so easy to think he might not hear well since he doesn't talk."

Pockets stared from one to the other, his mouth hanging open. He shook his head so hard that his cheeks jiggled, then continued to stare at Harry, his eyes calculating. Finally, he lifted his hand and made a gun with his fingers. Resting it on his arm, he aimed in the direction of the front of the shop.

"Yeah, sort of like that," Harry said, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. When he finally looked up, the clown wagged a finger at him, then turned the finger-gun on himself, and used the other hand to pantomime a struggle for control of the pseudo-weapon.

Harry shot him a weary look. "Take my word for it—they'd never use it against me, trust me."

"Well, no more staying late. And from now on, you're leaving at six when the shop closes, when I leave," Luna said firmly. "No more staying to watch the telly and play on the computer. Not until this loon business is over," she said soberly.

Harry and Pockets shared a delighted smile.

***

Pockets had left to return to the clown school, as it was Tuesday, but he'd promised to return for closing, in spite of Harry's declaration that he and Luna could handle his earlier departure time on their own.

"Funny thing, though…" Harry said to Luna, joining her from the back of the shop where he'd been resting. "I wasn't sure about getting the incantation off…so I just did Priori…"

"You did?" Luna blinked at him twice.

"Yeah, and I didn't cast the Shield Charm. So the question is…what happened? What was it that made me fall? It was almost like…a Protego, but it couldn't have been."

"And what made them leave?" Luna asked the question that'd been on Harry's mind, ever since he'd cast Priori Incantatem.

"Something scared them off, that's for sure," Harry said grimly. "I'm wondering if Severus…." He shrugged. "He's coming by a week from Saturday with Teddy. I'll talk to him then."

***

The following Monday, Harry sat in the middle of the Magic Corner, happily watching the mayhem around him. Pockets had warmed up his audience with a round of face painting, then had produced, one by one, musical instruments for each child to play as they paraded in a circle around the Corner. There were maracas, kazoos, sand blocks and clown horns; some shook tambourines, others played harmonicas. But best of all was the sight of Callie, marching proudly in the midst of the little band of merry troubadours, striking her little silver triangle in time to the made-up tune. Pockets led the way of course, banging on a little drum, knees lifted high as he pranced and twirled around the circle.

"I'm taking you both out to supper, my treat," Harry told Luna and Pockets when the children had gone. "To celebrate…our success." He waved toward the Corner.

"Oh Harry, I’m sorry, I'm off to the Burrow with Fred tonight," Luna said, the disappointment clear in her eyes.

Pockets seemed deflated too, so Harry was inspired to do what he did next. Wrapping an arm round the clown's shoulders, Harry smiled brightly. "That's all right. Pockets and I'll go anyway." He looked sideways at the clown. "Are you in?" he asked.

The clown appeared shocked, then when Luna nodded at him, he gestured down at his clown suit, lastly wiggling his feet, then looked up in question at Harry.

"I don't care what you wear," Harry told him with a smile. "I'll be proud to sit beside you; anyone has a problem with that, well then, fuck 'em."

As they headed down the street for the restaurant, Harry had second thoughts, and voiced them. "Listen. Just don't use the horn, or…" He turned his head to fix Pockets with a meaningful glare. "…god forbid, confetti. Clear?"

Pockets reached out and squeezed his hand and tried to tug him along, but Harry resisted, adding his last condition, "And no skipping!"

***

Harry stared at the clown. "Why? Why would you leave? I thought you loved coming here. What's changed your mind?" he asked perplexedly.

Pockets pulled off his skullcap to show a full head of black hair. Reaching up and removing his nose, it was suddenly clear to Harry…

He had to struggle to get the word out. "Severus?"

"You need to find a wizard, Harry. Time's running out," the Minister told him, almost sadly.

"What? What do you mean?"

Turning to leave, Snape just shook his head.

The pounding on the door made Harry's eyes fly open. He glanced at the clock at the bedside, then rubbed his eyes, still disoriented and disturbed by his dream. Snape as the clown…now that definitely qualifies as creepy.

The sound at the door made him leap from the bed and pull on a tee shirt. It was three a.m. Wednesday, and visitors at this time of night couldn't be a good thing. Grabbing his wand, he crept stealthily for the door, then looked through the peephole viewer. He relaxed marginally when he spied two uniformed policemen standing there.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Harry Potter, owner of Party Props on Lassiter Street?"

Harry's heart thudded in his chest, and in a split second, he knew. He didn't yet know how or what, but still, he knew. Remembering his recent lack of vigilance, he swallowed once and called through the door, "May I see some identification, please?"

After examining the cards they held up, Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, then resolutely opened the door. "I’m Harry Potter," he told them, looking at their somber faces. "What's happened?"

"There's a fire, Mr. Potter. We need you to get dressed and come with us, sir."

***

Harry sat on the kerb with his head between his knees as Luna draped an arm around his shoulders. The smell of burning creosote stung the inside of his nose and made his eyes water. Looking up blearily, he sadly looked at the incredible sight from the street corner where the crowd had been cordoned off.

When they'd first arrived, there had been flames along the top front of the row of shops. Then the shop fronts themselves had been consumed in a blaze that had the firemen retreating to the other side of the street as they wrestled their hoses. Harry'd watched, stunned, as the roof of his shop and then those of the four others had fallen in with a groan of twisting steel and crackling hot timber. He'd been only vaguely aware when Luna had arrived. Having nothing to tell her, the two had sat mutely for the past hour as they watched their livelihood go up in smoke.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, Luna finally spoke. "Oh, Harry, it's so awful."

Harry forced himself to consider the damage. Party Props was completely gone, its sagging shop front broken at the crossbeam, the space where the windows had been, grinning at him with a gaping maw. The fire was almost completely contained now, with only flickers of flames still lighting up the far end of the row. Fire hoses crisscrossed the puddled street as the fire brigade concentrated on the last of the fire.

"I should've stayed. I should've known they'd do something like this," he muttered.

Luna sat up and turned to him. "And ended up dead? Don't be stupid, Harry. It's just a shop—well, it wasn't just a shop, I know. But it's replaceable. You're not," she said as she hugged him fiercely.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up to see a man in fireman's clothing, standing in front of them.

Harry struggled to his feet. "Yes?"

After glancing over his shoulder at the scene of destruction, the man turned back. "Your sprinkler system alarm alerted us. By the time we got here, though, the whole row had caught. Did you keep any chemicals in there? Solvents, paint thinners?" the man asked.

Shaking his head, Harry told him, "No, nothing like that. Only thing out of the ordinary would've been the helium canister. Could that...?"

The fireman shook his head. "No, but…" He pointed to a huddle of people seated on the kerb. "A few of the other owners said you'd recently had some trouble here."

"Yeah, we did. Group of developers who wanted us to sell." His face hardened. "All but two of us agreed," he added bitterly.

The man eyed him, then hesitantly offered, "Nothing official, you hear? But we think some sort of accelerant was used. The forensic team will go in, once it's cooled down. We'd like you to come down in the morning and make a statement, answer some questions if you're willing."

"Oh, I'm willing all right," Harry murmured, suddenly filled with outrage, now that the shock was wearing off.

"Right, then. In the meantime, I'm sorry, but you won't be able to get back in there. Nothing's salvageable, and the structure's unsafe. You'll need to notify your insurer's in the morning as well. They'll want to come out and take a look first thing."

Harry thanked the man and shook his hand. Luna tugged at his arm.

"Come on. I'm taking you home with me. We'll call Fred to come—he'd want to know."

"Hold on," he said, putting his hand out to stop her.

Arms hanging to his sides, Harry ran his eyes over what had mostly been his home for the past five years. Wasn't it strange, he thought, a place filled with paper and balloons, costumes and toys, a place where he'd worked and planned, a place where he'd made so many memories, most of them good ones. Faces of children and the sounds of laughter, visions of small successes and a few minor setbacks, the Magic Corner, the clown…all of it gone in the space of an hour.

For not the first time in his life, Harry was struck with how fleeting and fragile everything was. Oh, he was grateful that no one had been hurt, but he had no idea what to do with this new sense of loss, this fury that something so valuable could be taken from him against his will, when he'd done nothing…absolutely nothing but work hard and look forward to their future.

He turned and nodded soberly at Luna. "Let's get out of here."

***

Harry was grateful for Fred's presence the next day; the three of them made the obligatory rounds together: first the fire marshal, then on to the police station, ending with a meet-up at the…what was left of the shop at eleven with the insurer, who clucked sympathetically as he surveyed the damage from outside the bright orange barricades that had been set up.

"Well, financially, it's a total loss, of course, but you're well-insured; no problems with the pay-out, once the arson report's been filed," the man told him.

"It's only money," Harry muttered as he gawked at the mind-numbing wreckage in front of them.

The man's eyes softened. "That's true. But at least you'll have it to start up again."

"Yeah, I suppose. Some things aren't so easily rebuilt, though."

When they were finished at nearly one, Harry begged off from lunch. "Really, the two of you go ahead. I'm knackered, and I have to…see someone before I collapse."

Luna's eyes widened. "Pockets. Harry, you go home. Fred and I can go—"

Harry couldn't explain why, but he wanted to go on his own. "No, really, I'd like to do this by myself. I know that sounds strange, but…he's never met Fred, and I…oh hell, I don't know why. I'll just tell him and then I'm heading home. Humor me," he said irritably, then immediately regretted it. "Luna, you should get some sleep too. We've been up since three."

Luna's eyes filled as she wrapped Harry in a hug. "Tell Pockets I said hullo." She pulled away. "And Harry, I know you're upset—I am too. But we'll figure this out, I promise you. Back at my place for supper?"

Harry shook his head. "Let's make it breakfast at Kimley's. Don't want to get up for supper."

"Kimley's at nine, then? I'll be there," she promised, and after another hug, and a squeeze to the shoulder from Fred, Harry watched as they headed for the underground.

***

Standing uncertainly just inside the arena, Harry looked at the group of clowns gathered at the far side. He was considering his approach, when he saw Pockets talking animatedly with his hands. Their eyes connected across the space and the clown stopped, mid-conversation, dropping his arms. When Harry lifted his hand, Pockets slowly started toward him.

He must've read something in Harry's face, because there was no jubilant greeting, no gesture of 'what're you doing here?' just a slight tilt of his head as he studied Harry, a question in his eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt you…but I didn't want you to just show up this afternoon," Harry explained, then blurted out, "The shop's gone…there was a fire during the night."

Pockets' mouth dropped slowly open, and for a moment he stood without moving, then after raising a finger for Harry to wait, he turned and trotted back to the group in the corner. Harry watched and realized that Pockets was actually talking, when the group of clowns turned to look at him curiously.

The clown disappeared for a moment into a room off the side, then returned, carrying a backpack slung over his shoulder. When he reached Harry, he stopped and considered him for a moment, then murmured, "You look like you could use a drink."

Out on the pavement in the sun, they walked shoulder to shoulder, Harry following where the clown led. "You talked to me," he said in disbelief.

Pockets let out an, "Un-huh," and motioned him around the corner. They took off at a brisk pace. Harry didn't pay much attention to where they were going, but they walked for ten minutes, before the clown pulled at Harry's sleeve and pointed to a three-story building of flats. They went up in the lift, not speaking, then down a hallway to a door at the end of it.

Once inside, Pockets motioned Harry to a chair in the small sitting room, then headed for the kitchen, returning with two bottles of cold beer. Harry took one gratefully, then watched as the clown sat opposite him.

"What happened?" Pockets asked him, and for a moment Harry didn't answer, fascinated by the clown reaching down to pull off his bright yellow shoes. When the clown looked up at him again, Harry began to tell him.

"Started around three…police came to get me…"

The clown had his shoes and socks off, and was wiggling his toes in obvious relief as he worked at the high-rufffled collar.

"Called Luna to meet me there…not sure how it started, but…" He paused, watching as Pockets undid the buttons down the front of the suit, then peeled it off, revealing a slim, muscled body clothed in a thin white tee shirt and white boxers.

"Aegis," the clown muttered, as he stepped into the small bathroom, leaving the door open so he could hear Harry.

Harry stared at him, distracted for a moment by the sound of the man's voice. "Yeah, that's what we think. The marshal said they found traces of a high-powered accelerant."

Pockets was smearing his face with a white cream…over his eyebrows, onto his ears, and down his neck. Harry was mesmerized, as he realized he was about to meet the man underneath the suit…finally. When the clown met his eyes in the mirror, Harry realized he'd stopped his story.

"The whole row is gone. All five, so I guess they win in the end," he said humorlessly.

The clown shook his head, then turned on the tap and leant down to rinse off the cream. He reached for a towel and used it to take off the rest of his makeup, preventing Harry from seeing his face.

Then, as he turned back to the room and Harry, he reached up with a hand, and in a fluid gesture pulled off the black skullcap. A cascade of silvery blond hair fell to his shoulders as he shook it out. His face…his features…the set of his mouth…and his eyes, of course, were already apologetic as he took in the look on Harry's face.

"Well, I guess I've just let the kneazle out of the bag," he murmured as he walked back into the room and took the seat opposite Harry again. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he suddenly seemed worried. "Harry?" he asked.

Harry's mouth didn't seem to want to work, but he finally managed an almost-whisper. "Draco Malfoy. You…you…I can't believe…you, Pockets…" He shook his head and took a shaky breath. "All this time…" Harry was beyond amazed, astonished, or shocked: he was flummoxed.

"I'm really sorry…. You've already had enough of a shock today." Draco rubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "I considered not doing it, while we were walking, but…" He smiled lopsidedly. "I knew this was going to be far beyond Pockets' ability to…be of any use to you."

Harry's mind was racing. So, this was…Draco Malfoy?

A shock, yes, but the most bothersome thing was the notion that Draco had known…he had to have known.

"You knew," he accused softly, "when we made the agreement."

Draco sat up in his chair, looking insulted. "I have eyes. Of course I knew it was you. What I didn't know, when the office asked me to meet with the party shop owner, was that it would be you. I'd briefly met with Luna, of course, but she'd only told me that there was a children's group that needed a clown three times a week. I didn't put it together until the two of you showed up."

Harry considered this for a moment. "But once you knew…."

"Didn't matter," Draco said soberly. "And I don't regret it," he said with a hint of defiance in his voice. His face seemed to soften as he took in the expression on Harry's face. "You…never suspected?" he asked curiously.

Harry shook his head, then rested it in the palm of his hand. "No."

"I…I was planning on telling you…soon," Draco confessed. "I thought we might've got to that point…where it wouldn't matter. What I do at the clown school, instructing, well, it's fine for a living, and I like what I do there, but what I do in your shop…" He smiled at Harry. "That's a clown's bread and butter. I'm just…sorry I had to tell you under these circumstances."

Harry waved his hand. "Like you said, it doesn't matter. Especially not now."

Draco seemed slightly alarmed by the resignation in Harry's voice. "Tell me again what happened. What does the fire marshal plan to do? Do they have evidence? When will you know?"

Harry talked then, filling Draco in on all he'd learnt from the marshal, and the police, and the insurer's. He told him that Julian had decided not to rebuild but would sell, and that meant that Harry was as good as dead in the water. With Aegis already owning all but the Party Props land, how could he rebuild with a ruin around him? They'd just wait him out, was his guess.

Watching Draco's face, though, Harry had to fight the wild urge to pinch himself to make certain he wasn't dreaming. Pockets was Draco…or should he say Draco was Pockets? Oh hell, his clown, his gentle, sensitive, funny, great-with-children clown, was—it boggled his mind—Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, whom he'd not seen since Lucius Malfoy's trial, when Harry'd had to testify to the events that occurred in March of 1998 at Malfoy Manor. Draco'd seemed like a specter then, pale and thin and solemn beside his mother in the very front row, his face fixed as he listened to the damning evidence.

This was clearly the same person…but so very different, not only in appearance—understandable, since almost ten years had passed—but there was a remarkable absence of resentment, of arrogance, that Harry'd always thought was part and parcel of the Slytherin pain in the arse. And on top of it all—the most difficult to assimilate, in fact—was that this man and Pockets were one and the same.

"Harry?" The sound of his name pulled Harry back to himself.

"Hmm, so that's it. Nothing I can do but wait," he said as he tried to keep from staring at his…Draco.

Draco got up and went to retrieve two more bottles of beer, then handed one to Harry as he sat. "Luna…I'm glad she insisted you not sleep in the shop anymore."

Harry had to agree this time. "Yeah, good thing, that, although I wonder…" He didn't finish. "She said to tell you hullo."

The gray eyes sparkled. "I love Luna—she had it right, you know. She was a loon at Hogwarts, but I see her differently now." He laughed softly. "The day she walked in with that bloody Gryffindor hat on…"

Harry didn't know why he suddenly knew right then, but he did. Perhaps it was the affection in Draco's voice; more likely, it was the slightly guilty look on his face. Oh well, how could he've known? Luna loved everyone…mostly, and Pockets had been a clown, for crying out loud.

"Luna knew it was you, didn't she?" he asked, not really a question.

Draco nodded. "Cornered me the second week. Told me not to let you know, though, because…how did she put it? Because you had a 'clown' thing, and it would take a while to convince you. Me, well, I thought it'd mostly be a 'Draco Malfoy' thing, and you'd never be convinced." He smiled uncertainly.

"You were safe long ago, on both accounts," Harry told him wearily. "Nothing of what I said to Pockets would change; you've pulled your weight. The children love you, and there was a time or two when you came in handy. With the loons," he smiled slightly.

Looking to the side, Draco didn't seem to want to meet his eyes. "Well, it was the least I could do. Someone should've been watching your back," he said uncomfortably, staring at the label on his beer bottle.

It took him a moment longer to figure it out, but then Harry sat up suddenly. "It was you!" When Draco winced, he added, "You were following me, weren't you?"

Draco made a face. "It's different with Muggles. I saw you trying to be diplomatic, and I knew that wasn't going to stop those two."

Harry struggled to form a reply, and could only come up with, "Why? Why would you even care?"

His eyes narrowed, Draco said, "Are you seriously that stupid? You saved my arse once, remember? And besides, when I'm in character…well, let's just say Pockets had reason to be fond of you and Luna, not to mention my twenty-five pounds per week. Seeing you in your shop, how you were with the kids…it was easy to forget about the person you were before."

"Still the same person here, Draco."

Draco tilted his head. "If you like to think that, then all right. But I don't think so."

Harry was suddenly weary of it all—this day, this conversation, all of it. It must've shown, because Draco abruptly changed the subject.

"I'm really very sorry about your shop. You should take some time to regroup…before you make any decisions."

Standing unsteadily to his feet, Harry nodded. "That's what Luna and Fred told me." He set his empty bottle down, then headed for the door, with Draco just behind him. "Thanks for the beer, and for…" He shook his head, then rested it against the edge of the open door.

"You can get home all right?" Draco asked him.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." He was about to step out, when he turned back. "Listen, Luna and I are meeting at Kimley's for breakfast at nine…if you want to come. It's a strategy meeting, I'd wager. You're part of the team, so if you'd like…"

Draco seemed taken aback for a moment, then quickly recovered, his gray eyes warm. "I'd like."

Harry pursed his lips, thinking he should say something else, but then pivoted out into the hallway. With a wave of his hand, he murmured, "See you then." He felt Draco watching him as he trudged toward the lift.

***

There was bound to be awkwardness, Harry realized, as he eyed Draco over his cup of tea at Kimley's on Thursday morning. He'd planned on having a little talk with Luna when he arrived, but had to swallow it when he saw that Draco was already there, the two of them with their heads together, laughing, as he made his way to the table.

"So," Luna began, after they'd placed their order, "we have fourteen parties booked from now until the end of August, not including the hospital visit in July."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Right, I'd forgotten." He truly had; their remaining engagements had been the last thing on his mind. "Well, we'll have to cancel, I suppose."

"Cancel?" Luna frowned. "Harry, why in the world would we do that? They're counting on us to—"

Harry cut her off. "Because we have no way of delivering. I think they'll understand," he muttered, glancing up to see Draco shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"Of course we can deliver! I've already talked to Fertey's, and they've agreed to supply us at cost. Really, we don't need much, and the three of us are the most important part of the parties. Isn't that right, Pockets?"

Draco looked solemnly at Harry. "I'm still in, if the two of you are."

Looking from one to the other, Harry sighed heavily. "Well, we did make a commitment. And…" he paused as he watched Luna's face light up, which decided him. "…it's not like we have anything else to do."

"Until the shop's rebuilt," Luna added, watching Harry hopefully.

"Haven't decided that yet," Harry murmured. "All right, so we'll carry on over the summer with these, but don't book any more," he said pointedly to Luna. Nodding at Draco, he said, "I'll pay you, of course."

Shaking his head, Draco stipulated, "Only the party rate. And nothing for the hospital. Luna and I've already worked this out."

"Oh you have, have you?" Harry shot Luna a mock-withering look.

The server arrived with their breakfasts, and for a moment the conversation stalled. Then when Harry caught Luna nudging Draco, he smiled wryly, "The two of you had this all decided, didn't you?"

"Yes," Luna said simply with a smile. "I contacted everyone yesterday afternoon, and assured them we'd be going forward with the parties. I knew you'd agree," she added confidently.

As they ate, it was mostly Luna and Draco who talked, Harry occasionally mumbling when spoken to. He was still in shock, he defended himself inwardly, not only because of the fire, but because he was sitting here, eating breakfast with the last person on earth he ever would've imagined. It was funny, and ludicrous, and a bit outrageous, all rolled into one.

Harry watched the man out of the corner of his eye as they ate, scrutinizing the way his mouth worked—how it lifted at the corners when he was amused, how it drew down to the corners when he frowned, how the skin crinkled at his eyes as the muscles in his face worked, how he raised that talented set of eyebrows to express himself…

It was then that he finally had to accept that Draco truly was his clown. There was no mistaking it, he had to admit, watching the set of Draco's shoulders when he shrugged, the way he gestured with his hands, even the timing of how he reacted to Luna's ever-present hilarity. He supposed he had an excuse for not putting it together before, but there was no denying it now. He'd been duped by the clown…Draco…Pockets, whatever.

He was suddenly brought up short by the silence at the table, and looked up to see both Luna and Draco staring at him expectantly. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Where did you go just then?" Luna asked gently, her eyes full of compassion and worry.

Smiling crookedly, Harry answered, "Nowhere important. Just contemplating my life."

***

Luna was the first to leave, and for a while after, Harry and Draco filled in a few of the most obvious blanks: the friends from Hogwarts they both still kept in touch with, Draco's teaching schedule at the clown school, Harry's meetings with the Minister in Victoria Park, then a brief silence before Harry moved on to more personal things.

"I was sorry to hear about your mother," he said quietly.

Draco didn't look up, toying with a salt shaker. "Thanks."

"So…you still have the Manor?" Harry asked.

"No, we sold that before she died, actually. Too many bad things…." He shrugged, then looked up at Harry. "My father wasn't happy about it, but seeing as how he's in for life, I didn't care what he thought."

Harry struggled with what to say. "Do you see him at all?"

"Once a month, usually. I…it's what a son should do, I figure." He looked up at Harry, his gray eyes dull. "Terrible place, Azkaban is, even without Dementors. I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

Shuddering, Harry replied, "Can't imagine. I was surprised at the time. That he got a life sentence."

Draco snorted, then smiled humorlessly, an expression that Harry suddenly recognized. "I wasn't. I was surprised he didn't get Kissed. So was he. My mother was the only one who was shocked." He shook his head. "Anyway, he and I…we've sort of made our peace with each other. Nothing else left to do."

Harry was silent, watching the sadness and suffering in Draco's eyes, which hardened slightly when Harry was caught at it.

"Don't feel sorry for me, Potter." He drained his cup, then placed his napkin on the table. "Have a class at noon, so I'd best be off. So…" He stood and looked down at Harry, then stuck out his hand. "We have a deal on the parties, then?"

Reaching out to shake his hand, Harry nodded. "Deal. And thanks…for yesterday. Took me a while to process it all, but it's slowly sinking in. The shop…" He couldn't help but stare at Draco one last time. "…and you."

Draco seemed to understand, nodding as he pushed his chair in. Then he paused to say, "I'm so used to spending Friday afternoons at Party Props. So…how about I bring us takeaway tomorrow night?"

Harry opened his mouth, then suddenly closed it. Well, why the bloody hell not? What else do I have to do? And besides, there're still things I want to know… "My place? Do you know…" He closed his mouth abruptly, then shook his head. "Of course you know, seeing how you followed me," he said mockingly.

"Yeah, I do know where you live," Draco told him, seeming entirely unrepentant. "So, we're on? Say seven?" he asked as he turned to go.

Hesitating, Harry nodded. "Be ready to tell me how you ended up…you know, in the clown thing," he told him emphatically.

Draco nodded, unsmiling. "All right, since you asked for it. See you then."

Harry watched as he threaded his way among the tables, then tracked his progress down the pavement, until he was entirely out of sight.

***

He had a restless night; after hours of trying to drift off to sleep, when he finally did, his dreams were the stuff of nightmares…Harry sadly surveying the wreckage of the shop after Luna pulled an Erumpent horn from the magician's hat…Severus lying bloody and cold and dead in the Shrieking Shack…the sound of his mother screaming…Pockets leering at him grotesquely, just before he burst into flames.

He was up and down all night, then finally gave up at nearly five a.m., when he made himself a cup of tea and sat by the window to watch the city come to life. He was weary in mind, exhausted in body, his temper simmering just below the surface. Of the long list of things he'd suffered in his relatively short life, he decided that the loss of his shop was by far the most personal violation of all.

***

"Yikes, this is hot," Harry said, his eyes beginning to water.

"Hmm, yeah, Gai Pad Grapao. It's the chilies." Draco pushed a fizzy drink across the table toward Harry.

After gulping down half of it, Harry pushed the carton away. "So, I just have to say this…and get it out there."

Draco sat back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head as he raised an eyebrow. "So, say it.'

Harry stared at him. "That eyebrow thing—how long did it take you to learn it?"

Laughing, Draco asked, "That's it?"

Harry made a face. "No, that's not it. You distracted me with the…eyebrow."

Draco shrugged. "Every clown builds his own repertoire of facial expressions," he stated, amused. "That's one I practiced for quite a while. Got it from Severus, actually."

"Oh yeah, he's the eyebrow master," Harry said ruefully, then picked up another carton and sniffed it carefully before he dug in. "No, what I wanted to say was…" He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, then his eyes drifted to Draco's face. "We haven't said two words to each other in ten years; then you spend hours in my shop. Granted, I didn't know it was you, but I swallowed my anti-clown…prejudice, and got…sort of attached to you. And now…here we are. You have to admit it's a bit weird," he finished self-consciously.

Smiling slowly, Draco brought his hands down to pick up his drink. "You got attached to me, huh?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not to you, to the clown, idiot."

Draco tilted his head to the side. "I am the clown."

"You know what I mean," Harry said quietly. "Just a bit of a shock…takes some getting used to."

Shrugging, Draco admitted, "I imagine so. I've had plenty of time to get used to you, though."

After wiping his mouth with his napkin, Harry waved at Draco. "So, the clown act. How did that happen?"

Draco stood and gestured toward the sitting room. "You done? This'll take a while."

They sat on either end of the settee, angled toward each another. "Started with my mother, actually. Do you…know what happened to her? I mean, did Severus tell you? He knew."

Harry shook his head. "Only that she was sick for a long time, no details, though."

Eyes seeming far away, Draco began, "She didn't do well after Father's trial. Kept hoping his sentence would be commuted, or at least reduced. Wasn't until the final appeal was rejected that she saw the handwriting on the wall."

"That would've been three years afterward," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, about that. At that point, we were still at the Manor. I convinced her we should sell then, too many memories in that place. So we got a smaller house in Devon."

"You still have it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I do. Don't spend much time there, though," he said. "She never liked it there. Wouldn't go out, then wouldn't get out of bed. I think at that point I knew she was in serious trouble. Took her to Andromeda's for a while, but they didn't get on, mostly because Mother was a bitch about everything—accused Aunt Andie of abandoning us when it counted. They fought a great deal. So back to Devon we went."

Draco sighed and got up and went to Harry's fridge for another fizzy drink. Without asking, he brought one for Harry and handed it to him, then retook his seat.

"To make a long story short, she just…fell apart. Wouldn't eat, didn't sleep; I'd find her wandering the house in the middle of the night, not making sense, like she didn't know where she was. Ended up in St. Mungo's for a while; they couldn't do much either. Tried to force her to eat, to get up every day and talk to the Healers."

"She missed your father," Harry said gently, remembering the proud woman at the trial.

"Yeah, that was it. Along with knowing he was never coming home. She begged me to let her die in peace, get her out of St. Mungo's. So it was back to Aunt Andie's. By then she was too weak to get out of bed. Still not eating. But at least she was with family."

"I didn't know she was even there. I sort of got out of touch with everyone for a while," Harry murmured.

"Aunt Andie was really good to her. But I was in London one weekend, when she called me to come to the house." He swallowed, his face wan. "Aunt Andie found her that morning when she took in her tea. She must've died sometime in the night. I felt horrible for not being there. And I suspect…that she might've taken something. But we never found any evidence of that."

"I'm so sorry," Harry said as he shook his head, wishing there was something else he could say.

Draco nodded stiffly. "Anyway, all of that was to tell you how I started on the clown trip. When she was in St. Mungo's, I was there almost every day. In the afternoons, I'd go out to the Muggle park down the way, sit in the sun, sort of trying to keep my sanity," he said wryly. "And there was this troupe of clowns—three of them, actually, who were there during the week. They performed for the children, roamed around doing bits of spontaneous gags. One of them befriended me—told me later he could tell I was very sad and needed a laugh." He smiled as he remembered. "Unlike Pockets, he was a talking clown, so we…talked, over a period of weeks. And…that's how it started. Ended up taking me to see the clown school. I watched him for a week, then signed up for their amateur class."

"Ah. So that's how it started, then, wanting to be a clown?" Harry asked.

Snorting aloud, startling Harry, Draco scoffed, "No, I didn't want to be a clown; I wanted to fuck the clown."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You what?" he asked with a snort of his own.

"Sorry to disillusion you. I was attracted to the clown, and yes, I wanted to fuck him, is why I went." He propped his feet up on the table in front of the settee, then glanced at Harry. "And I did for a while. Didn't last—it never does, but we're still friends."

"But…you're a clown," Harry felt compelled to point out stupidly.

"All right, Harry. Here's the rest of it—what you've been waiting to hear, probably." Resting his head on the back of the settee, he rolled it to the side to look at Harry, his eyes suddenly serious. "I stayed and finished the amateur class—eight weeks' worth, since I didn't have anything better to do. At the end of it, we gave a little performance—you know we have a grandstand there? They brought in a group of children for it, and the…strangest thing happened to me. Something I'd never expected, because up to that point we'd never had an audience. Anyway, two of us were doing a gag, and there was this little girl in the very front—sort of reminds me of Callie, now that I think of it—she was all wide-eyed and just…mesmerized by the whole affair."

Draco ducked his head for a moment, then looked up at Harry. "Don't know if you'll understand this, but here goes. I was watching her face…and I saw it happen."

Harry's own eyes were wide. "Saw it happen?"

"The funny. She laughed at me." He shook his head with a smile. "All those years of provoking reactions from people, and this was the first time I did something…at no one's expense but my own. I made her laugh—I made her happy, and it was the most…intoxicating feeling. Powerful, but in a good way—something I'd never felt before. And…" He shot Harry a slightly worried look. "And that's when I knew."

Studying the man for a moment, Harry finally spoke. "And you're so good at it. Being vulnerable…connecting to people."

Draco's eyes grew large. "So, you do understand," he murmured. "That's it exactly. Not where I'd ever seen myself ending up."

"Who would've ever thought you'd be so much better at that than me…connecting to people," Harry said almost mournfully.

Laughing softly, Draco disagreed. "You do it too—connect with people. Look how the kids love you."

"Hmmm, yeah, they're the only ones," Harry lamented.

"I doubt that," Draco said, eyeing him speculatively. "You know… I felt the same way with you as I did with that little girl."

"With me?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, the first time I made you laugh. What an odd experience…after all the things we did to each other over the years, that was the most satisfying."

Harry pursed his lips. "You really are a clown, you know that?"

"So I am," Draco said serenely.

The evening grew older, as they sat and talked for several hours. Harry was now comfortably slumped on his end of the settee. Draco was droning on, talking about clown makeup and wardrobes, and since they'd moved to whiskey long ago, Harry was pleasantly buzzed, idly thinking to himself that maybe tonight he'd be able to sleep without nightmares.

He didn't know how long he'd had his eyes closed, but was vaguely aware of the dip in the settee as Draco got up. He couldn't have cared less when he heard water running in the kitchen and the sounds of washing up.

Just on the verge of sleep, he felt his shoes being pulled off, and the soft touch of a sheet being tucked in around his shoulders. The last thing his consciousness registered was the quiet snick of the door being carefully closed.

PART THREE