Entry tags:

harry/draco, nc-17, worldcup

FIC: Montague and Capulet
Title: Montague and Capulet
Author: joanwilder (RaeWhit)
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Wordcount: 20,000+
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Character death of original (non-canon) characters

Summary: Harry and Draco live in peace together at Grimmauld Place, but it's taken a hard lesson, taught to them by their children, to get them there.

Author's Note: My heartfelt thanks to jadzialove and scarlet_malfoy for the excellent beta-reading. Written for the 2009 hd_worldcup prompt, 'Reparo in time saves nine.'

Montague and Capulet


We both realize now what we've done…but there are some times, no matter your regrets, where you don't get a second chance.

They say the only certainties in life are death and taxes. Being a wizard, I only know about the death part. How many times have I wished it could've been me, over the years, even when I was still at school? We don't get to make that choice, I guess.

But what the two of us have learnt is that the other choices…the ones we don't make, the ones we know we should make, but for some reason put off, or dig in our heels… Well, in a way, not making a choice can be the most terrible choice of all.

The sins of the fathers have come home to roost, we've found, whether we intended it or not. There's a saying that 'Reparo in time saves nine', but in our case, a simple act of reconciliation by either one of us would've saved immeasurable grief.

ooOOoo

The two of us rattle around in this old house that's too large for us. It's been almost two years since Draco came to live here, and there's a certain irony in that; after all, it's the House of Black, and he's more of a Black than I could ever claim to be. He'd decided to sell his little house and find a flat; since I've always felt the emptiness here, we agreed that Grimmauld made a sort of sense for him as well. Not many memories in this place for me to battle, and none for Draco at all.

"How was your day?" I ask him when he steps through the Floo.

He looks tired, but still smiles. "Tolerable. We got a shipment in; that's always interesting," he comments as he wrinkles his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Cabbage," I tell him. "Dobby thinks it's good for us."

"And Dobby would know," he says dryly. "What about you? Any progress with finding someone?" he asks, sitting at the other end of the table as we wait for supper to appear.

"Two applicants. We'll see. I want to check references."

I took over Ollivander's shop a decade ago, and have just recently admitted that I need help. Although Draco's position at Obscurus Books isn't one he particularly likes, there's no question of the two of us working together, if only because we know we've stretched the Wizarding world's tolerance, so far as the two of us are concerned. They know we live together, but seeing us in Diagon Alley, working side-by-side, would be a different matter, one neither of us is anxious to explore.

After supper, he goes his way, and I go mine. We meet up again at bedtime, as we take the stairs to the second storey.

And though it's been two years, and our routine is set, there's still this uncomfortable pause at the top of the steps when I shuffle my feet and he looks awkwardly at the forbidding portrait of Cygnus Black, before reaching out a hand to touch my arm.

"You all right?" he asks, his gray eyes hidden in the shadow as he begins to turn toward his room.

I squeeze his hand for an instant, then turn to head in the opposite direction. "I'm good," I lie. "Good night."

"Good night."

ooOOoo

We've had plenty of time to talk things out, to try and fathom what's happened and why, and we've both come to the conclusion that we missed our golden opportunity, right after the war.

That period of months when amnesty shone bright on our horizons, only to fade away when we both wasted it.

I suppose I bear more of the responsibility in this particular instance than he does. He had far more to deal with in that first year. The shame of his father's suicide must've weighed heavily on him, but I found it difficult to feel any sympathy, as Lucius Malfoy's attempt to cast the killing curse at me in the Great Hall, just after I'd brought down Voldemort, had come frighteningly close to putting an end to me. Lucius had been Stunned by an ever vigilant Tonks, then had decided to end his life in a Ministry holding cell that night, when faced with the specter of Azkaban again.

As a result, Draco and his mother lost all their lands and fortune; his mother married a short time later and fled the country. In retrospect, quite a bit for an eighteen-year-old to handle, seeing how he lost everything, except for Pansy.

Harry Potter, though, was a hero again. Not that I wanted it that way. I had grief of my own—the loss of Neville, who laid down his life in exchange for the destruction of a Horcrux. Ron's injuries were disabling, but Hermione would always stand by him. As friends should, we supported each other, especially those first months, and there was no need for me to worry about a roof over my head or where my next meal would come from. Most important of all, I had Ginny, of course.

The first time Draco and I met up was just after the inquest into the events surrounding the Battle for Hogwarts. On that particular day, Narcissa Malfoy had testified, and been begrudgingly cleared of wrongdoing. Without my testimony, of course.

We came face to face in a side corridor, at the door to the loo. We stopped and stared at each other. I remember that my heart pounded a bit, because I'd thought of what should happen that first time we'd meet. But oh how wrong I'd been, I discovered.

"You should be happy," I told him as I leant against the wall.

He looked wary. "Oh, why is that?"

"Your mother got off," I said with a shrug.

"No thanks to you," he bit out.

I straightened and crossed my arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Potter. You'd have been dead, had she not done what she did," he almost hissed at me.

"She didn't do it for me," I said as calmly as I could, knowing this would only make him angrier. Besides, in my own mind, what she'd done had been neutralized by the murderous actions of her husband, a short time later.

"She risked her life, lying to the Dark Lord like that! And this is the thanks she gets!"

Well, given what I'd thought over the months, my reply was immediate. "Oh, you're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he echoed my words of a moment ago.

"I mean, Malfoy, I pulled your sorry arse out of the fire, literally, and don't think I haven't noticed, so far as thanks are concerned. Haven't heard a word of that from you, not that I expected to." Of course, this was a lie. I'd believed for months he'd eventually have to say it, given what I'd done for him. Well, here was his chance.

His eyes became larger as his mouth dropped slightly open, and for a split second, I thought he might actually cave and do it.

I still believe that had he done it, the course of the future would've been altered. Not that this lays the blame entirely at his feet; no, I had plenty of occasions over the years to multiply this failing of his, ten times over.

I watched as the moment slipped away, and felt a confusion of regret, and relief. How would I have reacted, had he actually thanked me? What would I've said? I still don't know. But it's a moot point, because he didn't, in the end.

Shaking his head, he said bitterly, "You just did what you always do. You played the hero. I wish you would've left me there." He turned to leave, and I let him get halfway down the hallway before I called after him.

"You're welcome, Malfoy!"

ooOOoo

In the morning, we sit and share the Prophet before we both head off to work. When we exchange sections, I catch a glimpse of his eyes, and know he's not slept well. Again.

"You look terrible," I tell him nonchalantly, watching…waiting until his eyes drift slowly up to mine.

"Why, thank you, Harry. So do you," he tells me challengingly.

I run a hand through my hair and stare at him. "We have to stop this. Do you feel as dead on your feet as I do?"

He shrugs as he picks up his tea. "Probably." I watch as he sits back in his chair to look at me, the paper forgotten. "I'll live, and so will you. Nothing new for either of us."

"Something's gotta give."

ooOOoo

I find it funny now—that our lives after Hogwarts were so similar, except for actual fortune and wealth. The summer we both turned nineteen, we married our school sweethearts: Ginny and I in June, he and Pansy in August. Of course, my marriage was above the fold on page one, his stuck in the society pages in the ordinary wedding notices.

That next summer, too, we shared another life-changing event: the birth of our daughters. Jilly Claire Potter was born on July sixteenth, followed by Lisle Bea Malfoy on July twentieth. Treated by the Prophet in the same manner as the weddings.

I'd stopped thinking about Draco and even the war by that time, and Draco tells me he'd done the same. Children have a way of reordering not only your life, but your thoughts, the very way you process the world around you. I think that on the rare occasion that I thought of Draco and his family, I might've even believed that time would eventually mellow us both.

Sadly, I've found that time only increases bitterness, and resentment just foments more of the same.

ooOOoo

It was the spring before the girls were almost three that we ran into each other again. Ginny and I'd taken Jilly to Diagon Alley and were working our way from shop to shop when we saw them coming from the other direction.

"Harry, is that…?" Ginny nudged me as I leant against the pushchair.

"Yeah, Malfoy and Pansy, it is," I muttered, eyeing the couple with the child, also in a pushchair. I put my head down, and we would've gone our merry way without a word, if it hadn't been for Pansy.

"Harry? Ginny?" she screeched, then tugged at Draco's arm. Ginny and I stood and waited as they maneuvered across the Alley. When they stopped in front of us, the two pushchairs facing each other, it might've been funny, had either he or I had a sense of humor.

"Will you look at that?" Pansy exclaimed as she bent down to peer at Jilly, Draco standing sullenly beside her. "They're both redheads!"

Both of the toddlers sat forward and stared at each other, and even I had to smile. Until Draco opened his mouth.

"Lisle's hair is auburn, and that," he pointed at Jilly, "is orange. Doesn't look anything like you, Weasley. More like a Metamorph. You sure they gave you the right baby at St. Mungo's?"

The words slipped right out of my mouth, bypassing my brain. "And Lisle doesn’t look anything like you, Malfoy. Are you sure she's yours?" I asked, the smile still frozen on my face.

"Harry," Ginny murmured, as she gave me a definite push to get me moving. "Nice to see you. Beautiful baby," she said to Draco and Pansy. I sneaked a look at Draco's face as we angled the pushchair around them, and saw that he was still groping for words, his mouth twisted and his eyes murderous.

"That wasn't nice," Ginny told me disapprovingly as we continued down the Alley.

"Neither was he," I retorted.

"Honestly, it's been five years, Potter. I'd think the two of you could put it all behind you."

"Not likely," I said serenely, still enjoying that look of wrath I'd provoked.

ooOOoo

"Did you miss Pansy when she left?" I ask Draco, on a night when we've been liberally watering our sorrows with wine.

He doesn't even have to think. "No," he snorts. "Six years of hell, that's what we had. And Lisle made it harder, but sometimes easier as well. She was the only bright spot." His eyes darken. "I knew it wouldn't last."

"How? And if you did…why did you last as long as you did?"

"Pansy was bored from the beginning. Never enough money to do what she wanted. Having the baby kept her distracted for a while, but once she figured out it was a full-time job, well…" He shakes his head, flushing slightly. "I knew she was seeing someone. I'd come home from work, and there'd be a note to collect Lisle from her mother's." Draining the last of his wine, he Summons the carafe for more. "Sometimes I'd go days and not see her."

"But six years? God, Draco. I can't imagine you putting up with that," I tell him soberly.

"I was hoping she'd just…get it out of her system after a while. We fought a great deal, but I really believed Lisle needed her mother, so I tried the best I could. Until one day, she just didn't come back." His eyes are almost glassy from the wine, and his voice is slightly tremulous. Of course, I know the rest of the story, how Pansy divorced him and remarried a year later. Unlike Ginny, though, Pansy never had much time for Lisle—poor girl was lucky if she saw her on holidays, or once each summer.

"You had it a lot worse than I did," I murmur, snagging the carafe before Draco manages to empty it. Pouring the last of it into my glass, I bark out a laugh. "We were on the same schedule, though. Both of us divorced within months of each other. Although…" I hesitate, because I've never told this to a living soul, and although Draco is now my housemate and closest thing to a friend I've had in years, I'm not sure I want him to know.

He looks at me curiously. "Yours was a mutual decision, I heard. So the Prophet said," he almost sneers at me.

"Yeah, well, it was something we both agreed to in the end, not that I wanted it."

He eyes me and waits until I sigh. I was the one to open this can of worms.

"People change, I guess. Ginny did—we always said 'four kids'. But after Jilly, she was always putting it off—one excuse or another. She wanted to work and do something that mattered, and I wanted her to stay home and raise our daughter. She was bored too, I guess. But the big thing was…I think she figured out I wasn't who she thought I was. She told me she felt trapped; she hated how predictable I was, how content I was to just take one day at a time, never do anything exciting or spur of the moment."

"At least she didn't cheat on you," Draco offers as he slumps down into his chair.

"No…but I did. Once," I say reluctantly, knowing I'll have to finish it now.

He sits up straight again. "You did?" he asks, clearly surprised.

I know I'm about to sound whingy and irritable, but I don't care. "It was a one-off. One time, and you know me, I had to tell her."

"Stupid Gryffindor," he mutters, watching my face.

"I was drunk. But that wasn't the worst part." I swallow hard. "It was a bloke."

Even though we get on fairly well, I want to reach over and slap that silly smirk off his face. "A bloke?" he asks in disbelief. "You're queer?"

"No," I say testily. "I'm not queer, or at least I don't think…hell, what do I know? Like I said, I was drunk, I barely remember what happened. But for Gin, that was the final straw. She was never the same after that. Wouldn't even let me touch her."

"Have you…since the divorce?"

I shrug. "I'm a man. I have needs. So, yeah, a few times, but never with the same person twice."

He narrows his eyes. "But with men?"

Why, oh why, did I start this? Heaving a sigh, I admit it. "Yes."

He laughs. "Then you are queer."

"It doesn't matter now," I grumble, Summoning the second carafe from the sideboard.

"Well, maybe not now, but I'd say it was important at the time. Women can sense these things, especially that thing, and I imagine she didn't take too kindly to that."

"Well, whatever, she wanted out, and nothing I said made any difference. We shared custody for the first year, but when her work had her away for weeks on end, we agreed Jilly would be better off with me. Nearly killed Molly, not that it was any of her business." I sit and ruminate darkly for a moment, remembering all the nights Jilly'd cried for her mum, and how I'd been at a loss to comfort her. "But Ginny was still a good mother. She had her for weeks on end, and a large part of the summer. You know she was devastated when…" I upend my glass, unable to finish that sentence. Come to think of it, I never say the word, although I think it.

"I couldn't even find Pansy for the funeral, you know."

What can I say to that? It's stupid to say it, but I do. "I'm sorry."

Draco nods. "Does Ginny blame you?"

"Oh yeah, and she always will. It doesn't come up, though, since we rarely have reason to see each other anymore."

"Well, I'm sure she blames me as well," Draco tells me as he stands, then looks down at me for a moment, before adding, "On that sad note, I'm going to try the sleep thing. You coming?"

Shaking my head, because I know I'm not even remotely ready to try the sleep thing, I answer, "No, not yet. You go on up."

He reaches down and touches my cheek briefly with his fingertips, his eyes awash in that same grief I know shines out from my own. "Try not to…think too much. You're drunk, Potter. The two don't mix well together."

After he's gone, I bring my hand up and touch where his fingers were. Clearly, my confession…well, not quite a confession, but maybe a hint that I might be queer hasn't made me untouchable. But I realize I'll have to be more careful now. The last thing I want is for him to feel uncomfortable with me.

As the room spins around me, I'm sober enough to realize that this worry about Draco feeling awkward is the most ludicrous notion of my whole sorry life.

I sit and cry into my glass, thinking of Ginny and all that I've lost. For not the first time, I mull over the fact that she now has three children with her second husband. Damned if I can figure that one out.

ooOOoo

Draco and I seemed to be star-crossed, I had occasion to think on a brisk October day when Jilly was ten. I'd taken her to the Muggle zoo, the very same one I'd visited with the Dursleys when I was eleven. It was a perfect day, the sun in our faces, her childish excitement warming my heart and making me feel like I was the world's greatest father.

It was outside the aquarium that we ran into Draco and his daughter. They were just about to go in as we were coming out. We would've passed each other by, if it hadn't been for the two girls slowing to eye each other's hair.

"Malfoy," I said curtly, then turned to Jilly. "Jilly, this is Mr. Malfoy and his daughter…I forget her name?"

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets as he nodded. "Lisle. This is Mr. Potter, and…Jilly Potter."

"Hello," they echoed at each other.

"You and Lisle are almost the same age," I told Jilly as I studied the taller girl, who'd begun to resemble her father. Same uptilted nose, same high cheekbones, same slightly reserved expression.

"Oh. You'll be going to Hogwarts, then?" Lisle asked Jilly.

Jilly glanced up at me first, then smiled shyly. "Yes, next September. You as well?"

"I'll be eleven in July, so me too," Lisle replied, looking curiously at her father. "You're Harry Potter from the war?" she asked as she looked back.

"I suppose I am," I said, slightly amused when her eyes went wide, then I watched as wariness crept into them.

"My father's told me all about the war," Lisle told me.

Jilly wrinkled up her face, then looked up at me again as if for permission. When I hesitated, she asked me, "Were you and Mr. Malfoy friends at Hogwarts, Dad?"

I paused for a moment before I answered her. "We knew each other, yes."

Draco didn't seem inclined to allow this misconception to stand. "We knew each other, but we weren't friends. He was a Gryffindor, and I a Slytherin."

"Oh," Jilly said, slightly abashed.

Lisle squinted at Jilly. "Your hair is horribly curly," she told her.

"And yours is terribly straight," Jilly fired back.

Snorting, Draco nodded at me. "This will be an interesting seven years, I can already tell."

I was at a loss for words, thinking to myself that a good parent should know how to respond, in the face of two ten-year-olds who were getting off to a rather bad start. But before I could find the words, Draco took his daughter by the hand and turned to leave.

"See you on the train," Jilly said, seeming slightly remorseful.

Lisle seemed about to answer, then closed her mouth after a glance up at her father, who shook his head at her as he pulled her along.

ooOOoo

As I lie in bed, I think of that first meeting of those two ten-year-olds. It's clear to me now that Draco had already filled his daughter's head with his own version of things, his own prejudices, his own bitterness and misconceptions. Had I left things where they stood, though, perhaps it all would've turned out differently.

But I realize now that I'm as much to blame as he is, given the conversations I had with Jilly over the months before she left for Hogwarts. I filled her head with the same prejudices, the same water that should've been left under the bridge, only I'd done it a little later than my Slytherin counterpart.

We both sowed those first seeds in their minds. So why were we so surprised when they took root, sprang to life and bore fruit?

ooOOoo

All wizarding children their age had heard stories of the war, of course. Jilly was no exception, although up to that point, I'd dealt in generalities. With the realization that Hogwarts would put some very real meat on the bare bones of my details, I took up the task of 'educating' her.

I explained about House rivalries, about Death Eaters, about the persecution of Muggle-borns and half-bloods. I told her soberly about my experiences at school, the part I'd played in the war, and then, finally, I personalized the account with why Draco and I had never been friends, and never would be.

"But…Dad. There're still Slytherins at Hogwarts," she protested, just a month before the start of term.

"Yes, there are. But the Headmistress doesn't tolerate any House nonsense nowadays," I tried to console her, slightly disgusted with myself for putting this worry into her head.

"What if…what if the Hat gives me a choice too?"

"Well, then that'll be for you to decide," I told her carefully. "Remember, though, you've met Lisle. She'll almost certainly be a Slytherin."

"Well, I won't be," Jilly declared with confidence. "I'll just tell the Hat like you did."

"Good girl. Not much chance of you being anything but a Gryffindor, though. I know my girl," I said fondly with a smile.

She chewed on a fingernail. "Dad, do you think there'll be kids who don't like me because of you?"

Tapping her atop her nose, I bent down to kiss her goodnight. "Not likely. I was a hero, remember?" Suddenly remembering the standoff at the zoo, I added, "But if they do, you give it right back to them, you hear? You're Jilly Potter, after all."

Adoration shone out from her eyes. "Yeah, I'm Jilly Potter."

ooOOoo

I hear the Floo and I smile, hiding it behind my teacup.

"You're home early," Draco says as he pulls out a chair and sits tiredly. "I can't recall the last time you were here before me."

Setting my cup aside, I fiddle with my spoon while I deliver my line. "Get dressed. I'm taking you out for supper. Muggle place, casual, but good food."

He rolls his eyes. "All right, I'll bite. What's the occasion? You renewed the Ministry contract."

"Got that in March, Draco. Don't you listen when I tell you things?"

"All right…let's see. You've won the wizarding lotto, then."

"Have to play to win," I tell him snidely. "And I don't play. I'm richer than Midas."

He puts his head in his hands, then rubs at his temples. "I give up. Tell me."

"Happy Birthday," I say disgustedly. "Honestly, you really didn't realize?"

He looks up, stunned, then I can see the wheels turning in his head. "Oh, yeah, I guess it is." He frowns. "How old am I?"

I make a harrumphing sound. "You're now one year older than I am…for seven weeks, when I'll catch up."

"Let's see, I was born in '80, so that makes me…" He smiles lopsidedly.

"Thirty-eight, Draco, and I never realized you were so mathematically challenged."

"Time flies," he opines.

"It certainly does. Especially since I'm starving while you figure out how old you are. Now, will you go get dressed, or do I have to do that too?"

He laughs as he stands. "You wish."

I watch as he Disapparates, then think idly to myself, Yeah, maybe I do.

ooOOoo

It's a quiet little restaurant I've chosen; there're only a handful of patrons here. I like Italian and I'm hoping Draco does too, but he doesn't even seem to consider before he orders.

While we wait for our food, we're unusually quiet, until he says, "I didn't forget about my birthday, you know. It occurred to me last week…and I decided that was enough of a remembrance."

"Thirty-eight's not that old," I tease him.

"Nah, that's not it. It's the other birthdays coming up…"

Well, he's right about that one. July's a tough month for both of us, that's for certain. "Isn't it funny how birthdays in families all seem to bunch together? Yours in June, then mine in July." I swallow before adding quietly, "And the girls, of course. Then Ginny's in August." I tilt my head at him. "When was Pansy's?"

His face goes blank. "I don't know," he mutters. "I don't think I ever knew."

I snort. "Ah, well, that was your mistake. Women don't appreciate that sort of lapse."

He screws up his face. "Maybe in February. Yeah, that's when it was…I think."

We share a rueful laugh, then when Draco's attention seems to drift again, I grope for something to say, and finally find it. "You know, Snape was our age when he died."

"He was? I thought he was older, for some reason."

"Because when you're seventeen, everyone over thirty seems ancient," I tell him with a smile.

"Yeah, doesn't feel all that old now, though." He looks up at me suddenly. "What do you think Snape would think? About…" He waves vaguely in the air. "…all that's happened? To you and me?"

I've already thought of this, and I have to confess I'm not sure. After all, I'd not known him at all, not really. "I think…you'd have a better idea of that than I would." I watch as he considers. "So?" I'm intrigued by why he looks miserable all of a sudden.

"He…he always tried to talk sense into me. Especially after Father went to Azkaban at the end of fifth year. Didn't listen, though. But still, even that last year when he was Headmaster, he still tried. Looked out for Mother and I, the best he could."

"Must've been hard for him. Playing two games at once."

Draco has the most expressive eyes I've ever seen. It's been a long while since I've seen them hard, like they are now.

"After the war, I missed him. Really didn't have anyone who'd be straight with me, like he always was. Mother missed him too. I can't tell you how many times she said, 'Severus would know what to do.'" He ran a hand over his forehead. "You had friends, I know. And I had Pansy, not a great help. But I think…"

I wait, watching as he struggles for control of his voice and his face, thinking to myself, 'Way to go, Potter. Nice birthday present, this trip down memory lane.'

"I think I might've got my head on straight if he'd been around. He'd have been all about putting the war behind us, making the best of what was left." He glances up at me, then adds softly, "He would've told me to make things right with you. That I owed you a Life Debt. That I should push my pride down and do the right thing."

"You've done that, though."

He laughs bitterly. "Yeah, a day late and a Galleon short."

I know how hard he is on himself, only because we're the same in this respect, so I have no choice but to say it. "He'd have told me a few things as well, I'm sure. About forgiveness…and expecting too much too soon from you."

"Maybe. We'll never know," he adds, almost forlornly.

I lift my glass, and nod at his. After he picks it up and shoots me a puzzled look, I clink them together. "To Severus Snape, who would at least be happy with us now."

He smiles. "To Severus Snape."

Neither one of us has much of an appetite after this, it seems. We pick at our food, and I'm figuratively ironing my hands for ruining the evening, when the proprietor catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. I nod resignedly. This was my plan, after all, so might as well go on with it.

When the wait-staff of three brings the cake, alight with candles, singing, 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', Draco blushes—a rare enough event—and kicks me hard under the table.

And suddenly, the evening is redeemed, as he glows with pleasure. Such a little thing, a cake, and the small gift of a book he's wanted, but he seems happy.

And because he is, so am I.

ooOOoo

Putting Jilly on the train that first year was one of the hardest things I'd done in my life, mostly because I felt sorry for myself. What would I do without my little ray of sunshine? Who would pester me to eat and comb my hair in the mornings? Who would fill my evenings with Exploding Snap, my weekends with flying in our secret meadow?

Little girls must grow up, and fathers must accept it graciously, I'd told myself firmly, but I still missed her terribly. There was a letter every week, and I relived my own first year through her eleven-year-old eyes.

That Yule was the best of my life, I think. I had her to myself for an entire week, listening to her girlish chatter, her eyes bright as she filled me in about friends, classes and teachers, flying lessons, potions and forbidden joke shop treats.

Both she and Lisle had done their fathers proud, being sorted into their fathers' Houses, with nary a suggestion from that meddling Hat. I reluctantly said goodbye when she left for her week at the Burrow, but joined them on Christmas Day, at Ginny's insistence. Why should your daughter have to spend the day without you? she'd demanded when I'd tried to decline, like I did every year.

It was an awkward day, feeling like a fifth-wheel, watching Ginny and her husband and their children. But well worth the sacrifice to see the look on Jilly's face when I arrived.

For the remainder of the year, I weathered through getting up every day and hauling myself off to work, looking forward to June and my Jilly.

She was happy to be home, and for the first few days, it was like it'd always been between the two of us. As the layers of her year were peeled away, though, I learnt that an old House rivalry had been rekindled, namely between her and Lisle Malfoy. They'd had 'words' on several occasions, mostly concerning their fathers. Alarmed, I told her that what was between Lisle's father and myself was exactly that: between the two of us.

But I could tell that in the short space of a year, the girls had managed to find each other's buttons and push them often. On the one hand, I worried, but on the other, I was proud of her; she'd done what I'd told her, after all—taken to heart the advice that she didn't have to sit back and let anyone harass her.

We spent a great deal of the summer flying, Jilly determined to make the Quidditch team that second year. After all, Lisle was sure to try out as well, and Jilly confessed that the girl was wicked on a broom. I thought I detected a certain insecurity behind her passion to succeed.

That Autumn of their second year, Lisle was picked as Slytherin Seeker, while Jilly was named as the Gryffindor back-up Seeker. For weeks, her letters were full of despair and contempt for her nemesis, but I remembered my own competitive nature when it came to Quidditch, and mentally made a note to settle her down at Yule.

"She wouldn't have been picked unless she were very good, Jilly," I tried to reason with her, knowing that Draco couldn't have afforded to buy his daughter's way onto the team the way his own had.

"You're right," Jilly confessed. "She's good. But it's…Dad, she taunts me about it constantly!"

"Well, next year, Layton will be gone, and you'll be Seeker then, hmmm?" I suggested with a smile.

She brightened. "Yeah, definitely."

"So then you'll have a chance to show that Slytherin your stuff. That'll make her shut it."

"I'll show her," she said stubbornly, her lower lip quivering.

"Jilly," I started hesitantly, "competition is one thing, but the two of you…you have to try and get on. The Headmistress tells me you've both brought your friends into this…thing between you, and that's not acceptable at all."

Her chin came up at that. "Dad." She swallowed hard. "Dad, she says things about you."

I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. "Oh, really. What sort of things?"

"That you were a spoilt prat. That you broke the rules and got away with it. That you were always making up stories about fighting Voldemort. That you defended the old Headmaster, when everyone knew he was a traitor." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I can't just…stand there and let her say things about you. Things that aren't true!"

Why was I not surprised? The well had been poisoned and I shouldn't have expected otherwise. "Jilly…just because she says those things doesn't make them true—I know you know that. Have you talked to your Head of House?"

"Professor Delacour won't help. She said I should just ignore her. 'Steegz and stonze can break my bonze, but words will nevair 'urt me.' That's all she says."

I had to bite back a smile at her imitation of Fleur. As I considered my daughter, though, a probable truth occurred to me. And before I even asked, I knew the answer. "So, what do you say to her, Jilly? About her father, hmmm?" I ducked my head to catch her eyes.

"I…I might've said a…few things. But only because she did first!"

"What things?" I asked solemnly.

"Well…everyone knows her grandfather was a Death Eater. And that her father tried to kill Albus Dumbledore. And he did horrible things to Muggle-borns, and fought with Voldemort in that battle!"

"Jilly…you know he didn't try to kill the Headmaster. I told you this," I told her, concerned.

"Well, that's not what I heard," she said, almost defiantly.

"Whatever you heard, young lady, you should keep to yourself," I told her firmly, grasping her chin. "One of you has to stop this, and since you're the Potter, I suggest it will have to be you." I found I had to add, "Many of the things you've heard about her father are no doubt true. He was a berk, a sad excuse for a wizard, without a shred of integrity. And it sounds as if he's taught his daughter well. But as I said, it'll be up to you to take the higher ground. I'm not in any danger, being talked about by a little girl."

"It's not fair. Would you let someone talk about your father that way?"

Hmmm, valid point, I thought, thinking of Severus Snape. "I'm not telling you it'll be easy…and I suppose you have to speak your mind sometimes. I really do understand, Jilly. But try to tone it down, will you, and don't say things you know aren't true, just to hurt her. Doing that makes you just like her, and you don't want that, do you?"

I reached up and wiped away the tears about to overflow. She smiled tremulously.

"No, Dad, you're right." She sighed and wrapped her arms around my neck. "I'll try."

"That's all I can ask," I told her as I rubbed her back.

ooOOoo

No, that's not all I should've asked. As a parent, I shouldn't have been asking at all. I should've shaken her, hard, and told her that hatred is a destroyer, that it kills your best instincts and makes you blind to the truth. I should've told her that the better person would turn the other cheek, and understand that her Head of House's words had been saner than her father's.

But I didn't.

Mea culpa.

Mea maxima culpa.

ooOOoo

In the weeks following Draco's birthday, I can sense that something has changed between the two of us. I try to puzzle it out, this warmth I feel from him, this lightness I see in his eyes when I catch him looking at me.

We've been living here together for almost two years, and of course we've become comfortable with each other, but there are still moments of profound awkwardness, mostly because I think we both realize how bizarre our circumstances are.

We've done caring things for each other before. He makes breakfast for me sometimes, and on occasion, I've massaged the stiffness out of his shoulders after a hard day at the book shop. We've taken turns talking each other out of our more depressing moments, finding that often one of us is up when the other is down.

That little birthday dinner, though, our discussion about Snape, and the cake and gift afterwards—that'd been new territory. The most personal thing I've ever done for him, in fact. I imagine that was the catalyst to the change I see in him now. I wonder about myself and my reaction to this slightly different Draco, this…optimism I feel. A hope that both of us might one day get out from under this cloud of grief that still chokes us…keeps us from sleeping, and gives us nightmares.

I know I must have been on the verge of sleep by the way I startle when I realize he's in my room. Not the first time, for sure. He doesn't do it often, but sometimes when it's a very bad night, he flees his bed to sleep on mine.

"Draco?" I mumble, as I see his form move away from the door.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," he whispers.

"Blanket's on the cedar chest…" I yawn and roll to my side to face the door. "You find it?"

"Got it."

I feel the bed dip as he lies on top of the coverlet, then see the flickering shadow as he snaps the folds from the blanket. As usual, he settles on his side, his back to me. The strangeness of this arrangement wore off long ago, as he's never actually in the bed with me, but on top of it. Even in summer, when there's just a sheet between us, he takes care not to touch me.

The bed shifts as he makes himself comfortable, and I watch as he bunches the pillow beneath his head, his hair silver in a swath of moonlight.

I've just closed my eyes when the motion in the bed makes me open them again. He's moved himself backward, closer to me, until I can smell the scent of his hair. My mind is still registering this…this something he's never done before, when he speaks.

"Your arm…can you…" It's almost as if he can't get the words out.

"My arm?"

He exhales loudly. "Your arm, can you give it here?"

Oh. He wants my arm… I reach out and rest the middle of my forearm on his shoulder, then am wide awake when he grabs my hand and pulls my entire arm to drape over him.

Oh.

Cautiously, I move as close as I can, and wrap my arm around him until he curls his hand around mine and pulls it to his chest. "I know…this is weird, but I…I just wanted." I see him flex his neck forward. "I just needed…."

I squeeze his hand. "S'all right. I know. Go to sleep."

In short order, he does. But I am left awake.

To wonder.

ooOOoo

To my great delight, and the even greater delight of my daughter, she easily snagged the Seeker position in her third year. Her letters home were full of Quidditch, and of course I went up to Hogwarts for the two games in Autumn. There never was a prouder father. I found myself looking forward to her match with Slytherin in April. I did have occasion to wonder if Draco were anticipating that as much as I was.

At Yule, there were the usual grumblings about the Slytherins in general. I imagined that the old House rivalry had reasserted itself, but Jilly didn't mention Lisle, except to tell me they'd both been tossed from Potions once for 'disrupting class.' It appeared that my little talk with her had done some good, but still, I reinforced what we'd talked about over the summer. Jilly promised me that she'd be careful and try harder to hold her tongue.

Any delusions I entertained that the problems had been resolved were quickly put to bed when I was summoned to Hogwarts in early March. Minerva had been brusque and to the point: come this evening at seven to discuss your daughter's behavior.

I worried, of course, and mentally fueled my defensive arsenal, prepared to cite Jilly's accusations of the summer before to the Headmistress, if necessary. A resolution that was only strengthened when I stepped out of her office Floo to find Draco already seated in front of her desk.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Minerva set the tone for the meeting.

"Mr. Potter, have a seat. You're late. How are you?"

"Fine. You?" I ignored Draco as I sat and arranged my robes around me.

Minerva looked no different than when I'd had her as a student. Perhaps a bit more gray hair, but the forbidding look in her eyes told me that little had changed when it came to tolerating nonsense. Not that I intended any.

"I decided to speak to the two of you together. As this concerns your daughters and you both deserve the same speech, I see no need to repeat myself."

I shifted uneasily in my chair, already humiliated over what I knew was to come.

"This petty feud between the two of them has gone on long enough. Today, I had to confiscate both their wands. I'll be returning them after you've each had the opportunity to speak to them."

Draco gasped. "Took their wands? Why?"

She frowned until he abruptly closed his mouth. "I've talked to them on more than one occasion, you should both be aware. They've been at each other throats since they were first years. I wondered why at the time, but now I realize the only explanation is the two of you and what they've most likely heard at home." She eyed us with disgust. "Shame on both of you."

I leant forward and opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. "No, hold your tongue, Mr. Potter." As I sat back, I shot a sideways glance at Draco, who was staring straight ahead.

"Last term, Professor Stanley sent them to me after they'd acted out in Potions. I spoke to both of them separately then, and discovered the rubbish you two have filled their heads with. They were both contrite, so I'd hoped I'd nipped it in the bud, but clearly I was wrong."

She fastened her eyes on Draco. "Today, your daughter cast a Stunner at Miss Potter, in plain sight of dozens of students."

I immediately took offense. A third year casting a Stunner, and on my Jilly, no less!

But Minerva glared at me. "In response to a barb about Mr. Malfoy being a Death Eater, whose wife left him because he was practicing Dark Arts."

Suddenly deflated, I stared at her, my eyes wide. "Jilly said that?"

She nodded. "And that's just the half of it. I learnt that last week, your daughter cast a Stinging Hex at Miss Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch," she paused as she shifted her gaze to Draco, "after your daughter, Mr. Malfoy, had taunted her with the implication that she'd only made the Gryffindor team because her father had bought her a place on it."

She waved her hand wearily. "I'll not go into the rest of it; what these two believe about each other and their fathers is complete and utter bunk. But I've been able to deduce that much of it has come from the two of you; some of it they're making up as they go along." She lowered her voice, which was slightly shaking now. "And for the first time in more than a decade, I've had to deal with members of your two Houses setting themselves against one another! Something I worked very hard to root out after the war, and for the most part, I'd believed I succeeded. Until now. Sides have been chosen, and students who formerly had no difficulty getting along are now drawing lines in the sand. I won't have it! Not again!" She slammed the palm of a hand to her desk, then sat back, her usually pale cheeks slightly flushed.

"It's none of my concern what the two of you think of each other. But as adults, I expect you to keep it to yourselves, and not pollute the next generation. Why you didn't put an end to all of this at the end of the war is beyond me. I would've thought that both of you, given your experiences, would've been eager to set aside your differences…set an example." She sighed. "Once again, clearly I am wrong. And horribly disappointed." She looked at Draco, then to me. "Which leaves us with what must be done now. Be it on your heads."

"Headmistress…I've tried to talk to Jilly, honestly," I told her, twisting my hands in my lap.

"Same here," Draco muttered.

"Well, you'll both be talking to them momentarily. But I must caution you—any further misbehavior on this scale will see them both expelled, as much of a hardship I know that would be. Given your high profiles, the press will have it in a heartbeat. Do and say what you must to rein them in. And a bit of goodwill between the two of you might do a great deal to reverse the tide. As your former professor, I believe I have the right to tell you both that you've behaved abominably," she bit out.

A silence stretched out, with neither Draco nor I having a word to say to each other. Goodwill, I thought to myself. How in bloody hell does that begin to happen, after…what? Over twenty years of loathing and mistrust.

"Mr. Malfoy, Lisle is waiting for you in Professor Stanley's office. Do your best. Use the Floo," she instructed him, then waited as he stood and headed for the fireplace.

After he was gone, she looked at me almost pleadingly. "You must set her straight, Harry. I know it's been difficult, raising her on your own. But I fear for both of them, if this doesn't stop." As I stood, she shook her head sadly, and waved me to the Floo.

I left for Professor Delacour's office without saying a word in my defense. Because there wasn't one.

ooOOoo

The split second of Floo travel didn't give me much of a chance to compose myself or plan what to say. I felt humiliated and horrified and fearful, all at the same time.

"Dad!" Jilly cried out when I stepped from the Floo. She nearly knocked me over as she threw her arms around my neck.

I held her close as she cried—huge wracking sobs that wrenched my heart. For a moment, neither of us spoke, then Fleur stood from her chair and announced softly, "I'll leave zee two of you alone for zee moment."

When the sobs had become occasional hiccoughs, I pushed her away and used my handkerchief to wipe her face. "Are you all right?"

Rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, she nodded miserably. "My shoulder's sore from where I fell, but I'm fine. Dad…I'm sorry." Her eyes radiated remorse, and once again, I felt a twinge of guilt. But there was serious work to be done, so I pushed it aside.

"Jilly," I said sternly, "I've just spoken to the Headmistress, and," I paused, "Lisle's father was there as well. So she's told us everything. The two of you have us all very worried."

"I know, Dad. I…but she Stunned me!" she moaned plaintively.

"Jilly," I growled. "You provoked her, and cursed her last week out on the pitch. I know it all, young lady. We talked about this last summer, and at Yule, you remember? So why?"

"She's always looking at me, Dad. She says things in class, so only the students hear. And last week I ruined a potion, and I just know she did something! And—and she keeps telling me I'm a worthless half-blood, that I'm not pure like she is."

I felt a muscle twitch in my cheek. "Well, that part is true. We've talked about this as well, several times. There's nothing special about being a pureblood, you know this, Jilly. This is what the war was about—people thinking purebloods were better than the rest of us. And it just isn't true, so you can hold your head high and just ignore her when she brings that up. Although," I sighed heavily as I remembered, "I realize how hard that can be, truly I do."

"The Headmistress took our wands," she said tremulously. "I’m so ashamed—she's never taken anyone's wand before."

Taking both of her hands, I said, "She did that to make certain you had time to settle down, and to let the two of you know how serious a thing it is that you've done. Hexing one another…" I shook my head. "Never again, young lady. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes blinking rapidly. "I know… I was just so angry, Dad!"

"I'm very serious about this, Jilly. If the two of you do something of this sort again, you'll be expelled. Permanently. You don't want that to happen, I'm sure, and neither do I. And there is absolutely no excuse for using a wand because you're angry at what she's said. No excuse at all," I told her flatly.

"I know. But what if she draws her wand?" she asked, her eyes suddenly narrowed.

"First, don't you give her reason to. I know what you said to her, Jilly. And if you think about it, she Stunned you because she was angry. You were as much at fault as she was, seeing how you hexed her as well. But," I paused, as I thought this through, "I don't expect you to stand by and let her hex you. You may draw your wand, but only if she's drawn hers too. Understood? And if you have to use it, only a defensive spell."

"All right, I guess," she sighed and slumped into her seat. I knelt in front of her.

"You need to stay away from her, Jilly. You and she are…very much like her father and I were. I'm well aware that you're not entirely at fault, but you have to promise me that you'll do everything you can to stay out of trouble. Can you do that?"

She leant forward to wrap her arms around my neck again. "I will, Dad, I promise." She began to cry softly again, and my heart was about to break when she sobbed next to my ear, "Take me home, Daddy. I want to go home."

Patting her back, I pulled away and tipped up her chin as I shook my head. "You don't mean that; I know you, sweetheart. Running away won't solve your problems, and besides," I said with a slight smile, "you're a Gryffindor. Not a very good example to set for the first years."

She sniffed and rummaged in my robe pocket for my handkerchief again. After scrubbing at her face, she gave me a watery smile. "I suppose not."

I stood and reached down to pull her up, then tucked her hair behind her ears. "After I leave, you'll be getting your wand back. I trust you, Jilly," I said solemnly, waiting until she nodded in reply to continue, "And maybe, after a few days, you and Lisle could sit down and talk things out. Her father's most likely telling her the very same things right now."

"Talk to her?" she asked doubtfully, pulling away from me. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"Start with swallowing your pride, and tell her you're sorry. That's always a good place to begin." I suddenly realized that I was asking a thirteen-year-old to do what two adults had neglected for over a decade.

"I'll…try, Dad. Honest, I will."

"That's my girl," I told her as I hugged her again. As I headed for the Floo, walking backward, I reminded her, "I'll see you in a month—the match with Slytherin, yes?"

She smiled, and suddenly she looked so much like Ginny that it took my breath away. "Sure thing, Dad."

ooOOoo

We've finished dinner in mid-July, sitting at either end of the table in the kitchen. It's been a mostly silent meal. It's July after all, a month that seems to catch both of us off guard, given the birthdays coming up.

I absentmindedly stir sugar into my tea, then look up and decide to ask him. "Draco, you remember when Minerva called us to Hogwarts…that March?"

He starts, and I realize he's forgotten I'm here. Pushing his cup to the side, he sighs. "Yeah, I remember. So?"

"When you talked to Lisle that night, what did you two..?" I see the wariness in his eyes, so I explain, "I was thinking about it today, what Jilly and I talked about."

Leaning his elbows on the table, he rests his chin in his hands. "I got her side of it, and I let her know I knew about her part in it." He stares at me for a moment before going on, "And I told her it had to stop. That it was out of the question for her to be expelled." He smiles humorlessly. "Slytherins don't need to use their wands when Gryffindors get mouthy, is what I told her. The whole 'cunning and don't get caught' speech, and only as a last resort was she ever to draw her wand and use it. Lot of good that did." He rubs his eyes, then looks at me again. "Well, we don't know about that part, I guess."

I'm a bit amazed at how alike our little discussions had been. "I told Jilly mostly the same," I murmur, thinking that yes, little good had come of it.

"She cried," he says softly as he swallows visibly. "Something she rarely did. She was so ashamed about having her wand taken," he admits.

"It's funny, how alike the two of them really were," I mull aloud. "They might've even been friends."

Draco nods. "I don't know what came over me—and I've wondered how things might've been different if I'd not suggested…that they try and talk things out…in private."

I'm stunned. For a moment, I can't even speak. I grasp for words, and when I find them, they come out raw and hoarse. "Same here. They must've decided on…"

He grimaces. "The pitch."

I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak again.

"And this is the worst part. She…" He flushes, and before he even gets the words out, I'm filled with horror and regret and a sudden urge to lay my head on the table. "She begged me to take her home."

"Jilly too." The silence between the two of us is almost deafening, until I ask, "What did you say to that?"

His eyes are bright. "That she had to stay and face things. That she'd be the laughingstock of the school if she left. That it wasn't the Slytherin way."

I almost whisper, as if saying it out loud will alert the world to our failures. "We should've taken them home. God we should've taken them home."

"Well, we didn't," he says flatly, his shoulders slumped as he pushes back his chair to stand. "And that's that. So many things we both could've changed, and that was the last of them." As he rounds the table for the door, he briefly squeezes my shoulder on the way out.

I mutter to the empty room, "The very last."

When I go to bed a short time later, I know sleep will be hard to find. I'm not surprised when Draco slides onto the bed in less than an hour. This time he doesn't need to ask: I drape my arm over his shoulder and pull him close, but still, I'm aware that neither of us sleeps.

PART TWO