annafugazzi | And I'll Tell You No Lies (Ron), Day 3 pt 1

Pairing(s): Harry/Ron. Also Ron/Hermione, past Harry/Ginny in the background.
Summary: It all started with a stupid interrogation. Or: Don't ask a question if you're not prepared to hear the answer.
Rating: R
Word Count: 32,202
Warning(s): Can't think of any.
Epilogue compliant? EWE, baby :)
Author's Notes: Author's Notes are different in this section, because presumably you've already gone down to the end of Day 2 ;)
Thank you so much,

taradiane, for the prompt, and thanks to

scrtkpr,

naatz,

tree00faery,

authoress_girl, and

schemingreader for betanesses :) :)

0000000
Day 3

"Team Three, where's Weasley?" asked Trainer Sullivan, as the trainees settled in to begin debriefing the next morning.

Harry glanced at Malfoy and Varley, who both shook their heads. He cleared his throat. "Not sure, sir."

Trainer Sullivan glanced at his watch. "One of you go find him, please. We made it clear that all of you trainees are supposed to be here for the debriefing--"

"Sir," a younger Trainer interrupted him, "it may be a family thing. Considering today and all..."

Sullivan rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Right. Yes, of course."

"I'll go look for him, sir," said Harry, standing up.

"Very well, go ahead, Potter," said Sullivan, scanning over his notes. "Now, then, Team One: Finnigan, McLaggen, Rousseau and Hopkins," he said, turning to them. "The case of the cousins trying to obtain Banned potions for their sick grandmother."

Harry left the room, grateful to be away from the sidelong glances and odd murmurs and silences of the debriefing room. Not that it was that much easier wandering about the Ministry, but at least he didn't know most of the people gaping at him, or determinedly avoiding his gaze. A pity, that; and just when the general Ministry folk had finally become used to Famous Harry Potter in their midst.

Where the hell was Ron?

Harry once more reprimanded himself for leaving - all right, there was no other term for it but running away from - Ron so abruptly last night. It hadn't felt, at the time, like there was any other choice, after his little confession. Ron had been gaping at him, his blue eyes incredibly wide, and Harry had been overwhelmed by an insane muddle of conflicting emotions - relief at having finally voiced what months of repression had failed to kill, dismay at making all of his noble suppression moot, hysterical laughter at Ron's expression... and instead of trying to deal, he'd slammed his locker door shut, turned and stalked to the Floo, and gone directly home to Grimmauld, leaving Ron still staring after him. Kreacher's dour presence had been comforting, for once, as Harry took refuge in a stiff drink and then stolidly made himself plow through his latest surveillance assignment.

He swallowed hard. He should have stayed with Ron last night, should have at least said something beyond the bombshell he'd dropped on his best mate.

"It's not Malfoy, is it?" Ron had asked, and Merlin, Harry had so wished he'd been right.

God, if only. If he'd been smitten with Malfoy, yeah, OK, it would've been awkward, and he would've been worried about how Ron would react, but he was pretty sure past some unpleasantness, they would've been OK. Ron had been OK with him going out with Ginny in the first place - and breaking up with her, that first time. He would've got over finding out Harry was gay and drooling over Malfoy, especially considering that Harry was hardly going to date Malfoy, after all.

Ron wasn’t in the locker room, not in the trainee study hall, not in the canteen. In all likelihood he was already back in the debriefing room, and the meeting was going on without Harry.

One last place to try. He headed towards the small Auror Training Potions Lab, finding it empty but for two empty tea cups and today's Daily Prophet, which he hadn't read past the headline on page two. He glanced down at it now.

"I think it's rather irresponsible of him to make such a lifestyle choice when young children are looking up to him," says Pansy Parkinson, who attended Hogwarts with Potter.

"Attended Hogwarts with Potter". Harry supposed that sounded better than "tried to hand Potter over to Voldemort". Nice. He skimmed lower.

Interestingly, it seems many of Potter's close friends and associates have either known all along, or were unsurprised by the revelation that the Boy Who Lived is a homosexual. No comment could be obtained from any of his colleagues in this year's Auror Training programme. One can only wonder whether they are being diplomatic, or are afraid of angering Potter, who, although unquestioningly brave - some would say recklessly so - is also rumoured to be unstable and dangerous.

He pushed the paper away and decided to make one more effort. He stepped into a Floo, calling out "Diagon Alley!" He landed, coughed a few times, and stepped down the street, ignoring the glances and whispers from the proprietors opening their shops. He stopped in front of Wheezes. Closed. Of course. He'd known it would be. He cast a quick detection charm; nobody inside.

Blast. He leaned his head back against the wall.

The Burrow. If Ron wasn't back at the debrief already, he had probably gone to the Burrow. The Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley would be, where probably all the Weasleys would be. He himself was supposed to go there, later today...

And he couldn't go there right now, couldn’t face the Weasleys. What must they think of him now? Not only would they all know by now that he'd ditched their little girl – again – but he'd been exposed in the newspapers as some kind of pervert. If the Prophet was any kind of indication, the wizarding world wasn't exactly on board with acceptance of gays. He frowned, realizing that he had no idea what any of the Weasleys thought about people like him.

He Apparated directly outside the wards of The Burrow, took a steadying breath, and cast a detection spell long-distance.

Thank God, no Ron.

He gazed at the house, chewing on his lip, shrinking from the thought of seeing them all. They probably felt about as charitable towards him right now as... as all of them had felt towards Lee Jordan, when Lee had skipped town barely two weeks after the Battle, buggering off just when George had needed his best mate the most. Not that any of them had voiced their displeasure in front of George - who, for some reason, didn't seem too upset over it - but the collective sense of betrayal they'd all felt had been intense.

He swallowed, feeling sick. The thought of the Weasleys putting on a polite face for Ron's sake, the way they all had with Lee for George's sake, was intolerable. And if Ron didn't want him around any more...

All right, this was getting stupid. He was standing outside The Burrow imagining possible expulsion from the only family he'd ever known, when for all he knew, the Weasleys might not even give a damn.

He Apparated back to the Ministry, stubbornly ignoring the employees who averted their eyes from his, the ones who whispered to a colleague upon sight of him, or the few who gave him barely concealed sneers. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back in the Great Hall during second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, or fourth year, when he had supposedly cheated to get into the Triwizard Tournament, or fifth, when he was supposedly an attention-hungry liar.

With the notable difference that this time, what people were whispering about him was the truth. He couldn't exactly comfort himself that hopefully eventually his name would be cleared. He stepped into the lift, glanced at the witch next to him and suppressed a sigh as he caught sight of the Prophet article she was reading.

"This does make it a little more difficult to swallow that his closeness to Dumbledore was purely a mentor-protégé relationship, doesn't it?" says Dolores Umbridge, who taught Potter Defence Against the Dark Arts three years ago. "It was clear to me even at the time that there was something highly improper going on between those two."

Oh ugh now he was nauseated on top of everything else. He shuddered, then heaved a grateful breath as the door opened on his floor.

Right. He braced himself before entering the room. He'd tried to find his wayward partner, but he was not Ron's keeper, after all. He entered the Training room, rolling his eyes to see Ron already there, looking tired and subdued. He made his way down, noting that the debriefing was on the fourth team.

"What did I miss?" he asked quietly, sitting down.

Ron shrugged. "I just got here, sorry," he said uncomfortably. "Malfoy? Can Harry see your notes too?"

Malfoy nodded, eyes focused on the Training group, who was summing up all points. Harry took out his quill and started copying Malfoy's notes. At least he was no longer feeling distracted by Malfoy's presence, Harry noted with relief as he wrote.

Group 1
- Suspects getting Banned potion for g.mother's malady
- Finnigan actually competent! uncovered 2/3 of major points from Suspects
- McLaggan marginally competent, but intolerable bore
- Rousseau suspicious twit, no points for interagency cooperation

Well. That wasn't terribly helpful. Perhaps he should have stayed for the debrief, rather than running off to find Ron.

"Brocklehurst, you were supposed to take off your own head before tripping the hex," Sullivan was saying, and Harry wondered if there was any other profession in which such a sentence would make sense.

There probably was, in the wizarding world.

Group 2
- Suspects suspected MoM is werewolf
- Davis did Slytherin proud, Carmichael bleh
- Pendergrass, Brent: avoid working with at all costs; incompetence is the new black

Harry kept copying, absently wondering if writing snarky snap judgments of fellow trainees was something all Unspeakables were supposed to be doing, or just Malfoy being his usual special self.

It was very nice, he realized as he continued writing, to no longer be attracted to Malfoy. Not so nice to be distracted by Ron again, though. It had been nice getting a break from that in the last few days; what with his weird obsession with Malfoy, he hadn't had much left over for Ron. Not that he was obsessed with Ron or anything, but he certainly hadn’t missed the wistful twinges he so often got in Ron's presence. He glanced to the side, almost wishing he could go back to fancying Malfoy again.

And what with Ron knowing, now, all that Harry had been thinking about him...

All right, not all that Harry had been thinking about him. There was that fantasy with the Snitch and the Quidditch hoops that Ron would never find out about.

Group 3
- Weasley found 3/4 of information
- only team to find 1 Suspect not on Veritaserum; now forced to consider Weasley capable
- only work with Varley if feeling especially suicidal

Harry sniggered, then noticed a murmur going around the room and realized that at some point in the last few minutes, the atmosphere had changed from dutiful attention to a rather dull debrief into suprise and earnest concentration.

"Follow orders, people," Sullivan was saying.

He elbowed Ron gently. "Sorry, what just happened?" he asked Malfoy, and he and Ron leaned closer to him.

"Apparently all the Suspects were duped," said Malfoy, his voice low. "In every case, we were being manipulated by somebody else. In our case, McAllister wasn't planning on doing anything; Katie Bell just planted evidence against him to make me get the dragon net and harness for her. She was going to take them both, so she could start another Goblin-Dragon War."

Varley shushed them, her eyes glued to Trainer Sullivan.

"Remember how easily you broke laws and regulations to reach your goals," Sullivan was saying now. "You two," he gazed sternly at McLaggen and his partner, "your grandmother was sick, so you thought it was all right to steal a Banned potion? If this had been a real case, the potion would've wreaked havoc on the wizarding population of Britain." He faced them all. "Follow orders, people. Go with what the Ministry and the regulations say. No matter what you think is going on, no matter what you think you may know. It's too dangerous to do otherwise."

Harry and Ron glanced at one another as the trainees murmured to each other, most of them nodding seriously and seeming to agree.

"Are you serious?" asked Harry.

"I beg your pardon?" said Sullivan, frowning, and Harry suddenly realized that this was the first time Sullivan had made eye contact with him today.

"Potter," Malfoy said in a low, warning voice. Harry bit his lip. Damn. This really wasn't the right time to do this. But he couldn't just let it go.

"Are you serious," Ron stepped in, to Harry's relief, "that we should follow what the Ministry says, no matter what? That's the lesson we're supposed to swallow here?"

"Do you have a problem with this, Weasley?"

"Yeah, we've got a problem. It's a load of bosh."

A general murmur of alarm went up from the room, and Harry wanted to cheer. For the "we" as much as the sentiment. We. Things might be a little off-balance right now, but he and Ron were still a "we" and there was just no expressing the relief of that.

"I beg your pardon?" said an older Unspeakable. "Was your oath of loyalty to the Ministry just words to you, then?"

"Excuse me?" said Harry, angry now. "I'm not sure I heard you right," he said, leaning forward and feeling the resentment at all the sidelong glances and titters and half-seen newspaper bits froth out, because there was no way anybody would get away with saying shit like that to his best mate today, of all days.

"Do you have something to say, Trainee Potter?" said the Unspeakable icily.

"I believe you were calling Trainee Weasley's loyalty into question," Harry shot back. "Because he didn't agree with the point of your little exercise. So yeah, I have something to say about that."

The man's eyes narrowed. "I'd say it's a legitimate question, Trainee," he said. "You two just got here, and the first time your loyalty's tested, you start questioning us?"

Harry saw red. "First time our loyalties are tested?" he snapped back. "Short-term memory failing the training programme, is it?" There was a murmur around the room, and Harry could feel Ron tug on his sleeve, but not since Snape had anyone in authority pissed him off this thoroughly. "Besides, loyalty to what? To the Ministry? Or to wizarding society?" The Unspeakable's mouth pressed into a tight line. "There's nobody more loyal to that than Ron," Harry said angrily. "He proved that last year, while thirty-two of your experienced fellow Aurors and Unspeakables showed otherwise."

There was a shocked silence. Ron took a shaky breath.

"You are out of order, Trainee Potter," said Philips.

"Oh yeah?" Seamus Finnigan spoke up unexpectedly. "Why's that?"

"The training programme is not supposed to be an opportunity for these two to throw their weight around," answered Philips. "They didn't even get all their NEWTs."

"Oi, they didn't get them because they were running around trying to save our arses," snapped Seamus. "Besides, I didn't either. Neither did five other trainees this year. And whose fault is that? Ours, or the fault of the thirty-two loyal Aurors and Unspeakables, who followed what the Ministry said to the letter?"

"Perhaps we were hasty in letting you in," said a witch at the back of the room. "Some of you, anyway."

"Perhaps you were," said Ron sarcastically, turning to face her. "You didn't have much choice, though. You were a little short of Aurors not in Azkaban."

"So you came in unprepared, and you admit it," added an Unspeakable next to her. "But you still expect everyone to kiss your arse?"

"No," said Harry. "But I don't expect to have you act like we wormed our way into the programme and don't have any right to be here."

"This is getting out of hand," said Sullivan. "And this is not the proper time or place to debate this."

"Perhaps it should be," said the elderly wizard next to Philips. "I think the lads have a bit of a point." He turned to Varley. "What do you think, Trainee Varley?"

Varley's mouth opened, then closed. She suddenly looked very young. "I... I don't know," she stammered, turning red. "I'd have to think about it."

"Malfoy? What do you think?"

Malfoy looked startled and nonplussed for a moment, then glanced at Harry and his face went unreadable.

"He asked you a question, Malfoy," said Philips. "Do you agree with your teammates?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Yes. The rest of the training exercise was useful. But I don't agree with the moral you're trying to teach us."

Ugly mutters broke out around the room.

"Typical Malfoy, think they can do whatever they please."

"He's just sucking up to Potter."

"Got a little too in love with the idea of being in love with him, did you Malfoy?" somebody called out from the back of the room.

Sullivan cleared his throat loudly. "All right, everybody, settle down," he said sternly. "This is not going to devolve into name-calling." He gave them all a glare. "We will continue this no doubt fascinating discussion tomorrow when we reconvene. Right now, the Ministry is allowing all employees to take the time to attend memorials. The one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is starting in three hours." He looked around the room, suddenly seeming a bit at a loss.

Philips spoke up. "People, try to put this behind you. Remember we are both celebrating our liberation from tyranny, and mourning the deaths of those who did not survive You-Know-Who's reign."

"Pompous arse," muttered Ron, and Malfoy sniggered.

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"Malfoy," said Harry, approaching Malfoy at the lift. "Erm, thanks."

Malfoy glanced at the other staff waiting for the lift and pretending to ignore Harry. "For what?"

"For not turning on us in there," he said. And God, what a difference it made, no longer being romantically bonded to Malfoy. Without the romantic bond, Malfoy felt almost... friendly.

"I agree with you," said Malfoy.

"Still," said Harry. "You didn't have to take a stand. You could've just waffled, like Varley."

"Varley's a certified twit," said Malfoy scornfully.

"She's not that bad," said Ron. "Thanks anyway, though. For backing us up."

Malfoy's eyebrows rose, but he nodded.

Yeah, friendly. Not hostile, not "he seems like a decent bloke on the surface, but then pixies look pretty decent at first glance too"... actually friendly.

"See you later, Malfoy," said Ron, and turned to Harry. "Come on. Mum's said we should stop by The Burrow before going to the memorial."

They walked in uncomfortable silence to the Floo, until Harry put out his hand, stopping Ron. "What is it?" he asked.

Ron hesitated before answering. "I'm not, you know," he said, his voice low. "Loyal. Least, I haven't always been."

He wasn't meeting Harry's eyes, and Harry had never felt so awkward with him. He and Ron had had some bad moments in the past, to be sure, but there was nothing that compared to this, and he had no idea how to respond to what Ron had said.

"Look, I... I'm sorry to have dropped this on you," Harry said instead.

"Why?"

"You weren't ever supposed to find out."

"What part?"

"Both."

"I asked, both times," said Ron. He took a deep breath. "So you were never going to tell me?"

"I... yeah, eventually, I was working out how to tell you I was, erm, gay." Gay was close enough, Harry had decided a few months ago when he'd finally faced this and then thought about what to tell Ron. Bi would probably just confuse things.

"Yeah?"

"But I wasn't, erm, going to tell you I was... that I, you know, with... you. You know." He grimaced, reflecting that not since doyouwanttogototheballwithme had he been that spectacularly inarticulate. He drew himself up. "I mean, you weren't supposed to know that part."

"Why not?"

Harry blinked. "Because you're my best mate and I didn't want you to feel like I was perving on you whenever you turned your back?" Ron blushed bright scarlet and perhaps inarticulate was the better choice here. "I didn't want to make things weird between us."

Ron cleared his throat and looked down. "Or maybe you just didn't want me to bugger off on you," he said quietly. "Again."

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Did you think I would, last night? Is that why you took off first?"

"No. Only..." Harry steeled himself. "Only I didn't want to look at you and see you pitying me, all right?"

Ron looked up at him, startled. "Pitying you?" he repeated. "I--" he broke off, and swallowed hard. "I don't. And I wouldn't leave," he said firmly. "I won't. I've let you down twice, and I can't blame you for thinking I'd do it again. But you're my best mate." Harry realized this was probably something Ron had rehearsed last night, but it wasn't any less heartfelt for all that. His throat tightened as Ron continued. "Whether you're going out with my sister or not. And whether you're gay or straight, and whoever you fancy - even if it was Malfoy; nothing changes that."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Come on," said Ron, turning to the Floo.

"Ron. Erm." He paused.

Damn it, this was so awkward. He'd imagined the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts would be difficult enough, but had never in his wildest dreams thought he might have to be dealing with an unintentional outing at the same time.

"Are you sure I should come with you?" he asked, and Ron gave him a puzzled look. "Your mum reads The Prophet, Ron," he pointed out.

Ron's eyebrows went up. "Bloody hell, yeah. I forgot about that. Bollocks."

Harry sighed. "Why don't I just meet you at Hogwarts?" he suggested.

"No, don't be daft," Ron began, frowning.

"Look, you've got enough on your plate with... with all your family's going to be dealing with today." Which was probably an understatement. "I'll finish up some work at the library, then join you at the memorial. One o'clock?"

Ron's shoulders slumped slightly. "All right," he said, and turned away, then turned back before Harry could go more than a few steps. "No. Come on, Harry, don't be an idiot."

"Ron..."

Ron reached out his hand, dropping it before touching Harry. "Harry... please. I need you there."

Harry hesitated, then let out his breath and nodded and they entered the Floo.

"The Burrow!" he called out, coming out at The Burrow and stepping out of the Floo. He dusted himself off, glancing around. The place was so very quiet, and it wasn't right, the air of subdued sorrow that so often permeated the house these days. The place should be full of life, of Mrs. Weasley cooking and chatting and the wireless playing Celestina Warbeck and Charlie making jokes and the twins making explosions and Fleur flouncing... and it wasn't.

It was quiet, and grey. Fleur and Bill were on the couch in the living room, Fleur stroking Bill's hand gently and murmuring to him. Percy and his latest girlfriend sat near them silently, Percy's worried eyes fixed on his parents: Mr. Weasley, looking lost and helpless, and Mrs. Weasley, nervously waving her wand at a large pile of black candles on the table before her and muttering to herself.

He glanced over to the kitchen, spotting George, Angelina, Lee and Ginny all clustered about a cauldron that was sparking and emitting a large quantity of coloured smoke. George's attention was fully absorbed in his task as he carefully measured and added what seemed to be random bits of ingredients from various bottles and envelopes, Angelina and Lee appeared to be chopping, slicing and crushing ingredients, and Ginny carefully took notes, no hint of her distaste for Lee or Angelina visible on her face.

Ron exchanged a glance with Harry. Well, Harry supposed, if Ginny could be civil to Lee and Angelina for George's sake, so could they. Harry drew in a breath, putting out of his mind the fact that Lee had skipped out on George just when he needed him most, and that Angelina had taken advantage of George's instability and taken up with him as if he were a replacement for Fred...

George had forgiven Lee, and was probably still too traumatized to realize there was anything wrong with Angelina's actions. And today? Really wasn't the time to deal with either issue.

"Hello, Harry," said Ginny. He glanced at her nervously. "I'm glad you came," she said.

He blinked, unable to read her mood from her carefully neutral tone.

"Especially in light of The Prophet today," she said.

Harry felt his face heat up.

"I asked him to come," said Ron, glancing at his mother, slightly nervous. "Told him he didn't have to worry about anybody giving him grief here."

"Yes, dear, of course," said Mrs. Weasley quietly, and gave Harry a hug that he tried to tell himself wasn't any less genuine than normal. "You're always welcome here, dear."

George nodded and gave him a distracted clap on the back, and Harry was struck by the certainty that, had Fred been here, his coming out would've been the subject of at least a dirty joke or two, if not a spectacularly tasteless prank.

"Erm, Mrs. Weasley, can I help you with..." he gestured vaguely at the candles.

"Oh, no, dear, everyone's already offered," said Mrs. Weasley. "This part's a one-person job, I'm afraid."

"We can use more help in the kitchen, though," said Ginny, and Harry swallowed as he and Ron moved to the kitchen.

"Is this the candle thing that Mum offered to help with for the memorial?" asked Ron. "Wasn't it supposed to be done this morning?"

"Yeah, she had it all working then," said Ginny.

"She had candles... working?" said Harry. "What were they supposed to do, other than burn?"

"There's one candle for each person who died in the Battle," said Angelina quietly. "The candles are charmed with the same magic that animates portraits, so each one has a bit of the personality of the person who died. Then they're dipped in diluted Amortentia so that the scents each person loved will be in the air near their candle."

"Which is a lovely idea," said Ginny, "but unfortunately at the last minute they changed how close together the candles would be. It's not going to be a treat to the nose to have, say, cinnamon for Fred, next to... whatever it was that Snape liked to smell."

Ron grimaced. "Don't really want to know what Snape liked to smell, no matter where his candle is, thanks."

"Oh, Mum included magic to make sure nothing noxious came out," said Ginny. "But she didn't factor in perfectly nice smells that just don't mix well."

"Peach has a lovely scent," said Angelina. "But trust me, it's not to be combined with Quidditch leather." She gave George a small smile, but George was too absorbed in his cauldron notice or respond. Angelina handed Ron and Harry small silver knives and an assortment of leaves that Harry vaguely recognized from Auror Potions as having to do with olfactory illusions, and set them to chopping.

"Bugger. No good," said George, his voice clipped. He waved his wand over the cauldron, Vanishing the potion. "Yeah, peach and Quidditch leather's disgusting. We also - I also found out a few months ago that the smell of horses combined with bacon is very disturbing. You don't even notice it, either, until you're good and nauseated."

"I think it probably gets you thinking of barbecued horses or something," said Lee.

"What was the other one you smelled this morning?" asked Ginny.

"Chlorine," said George. "Near bubblegum, sweets, and sausages, it's all right. Next to fresh-baked bread it's a bit revolting."

"Who'd have chlorine as their favourite scent?" asked Ron.

"Martha Chang," said Lee. "Mother was a Muggle athlete. Swam for Britain in the Olympics in 1968."

Typical Lee. Always had the information. Brilliant radio personality; shit friend.

"By the way, why isn't Hermione here?" asked Lee.

"She's, erm, doing some things at Hogwarts," mumbled Ron. "Helping set things up, that kind of thing."

Ginny gave Ron a level look. "Yeah, I was surprised to hear that, Ron," she said. "I assumed she'd be here."

Ron shrugged. "It's all right. I didn't mind. She was needed there."

Ginny's eyebrows went down. "Needed here, too," she said, and Ron's mouth set into a hard line.

"I think we're going to need more hellebore and lodestone sand," said Angelina.

"And dried persimmon, bitter aloes, frankincense, and sage," said George absently. "Ginny, could you get some from the shed?"

Ginny nodded and headed out, pausing at the door. "Harry, could you come with me? It's all in dozens of tiny bottles and envelopes; by myself it'll take me forever to bring it in so none of the ingredients react to each other."

Harry rubbed a weary hand over his hair, realizing that, really, he pretty much owed it to Ginny to go with her, whether he wanted to be alone with her or not.

"Was that why, then?" she asked once they were in the shed, her hands busy sorting through dozens of bottles and vials and small cloth bags that all looked the same to Harry.

Harry didn't bother to ask what she meant. "Yeah."

She shook her head slowly. "I never suspected..." she trailed off, then turned away from him and picked up a large bottle of blue sand and uncorked it, transferring some of it into a small vial. "Did you ever want me that way, then? Or was I just a convenient cover for you?"

Harry shook his head. "I did. Want you, I mean."

"The way you want a girlfriend, or the way you want a Mummy-substitute to take care of you?" she asked bitterly.

Harry drew in his breath at the accusation in her eyes. "I didn't want a Mummy-substitute," he said, clamping down on sudden anger. "I wanted to go out with you. I thought about you that way from the moment Ron and I saw you and Dean kissing, back in school. I wanted--"

"When you broke up with me, the first time, I thought it was you being noble and self-sacrificing, but it was really just a convenient excuse, wasn't it?"

Harry pressed his lips together. Right. He'd expected things to be awkward today, but this went beyond his wildest fears.

"It wasn't an excuse."

Ginny handed him a jar of innocuous-looking leaves and a small envelope. "Fill the envelope and put the jar back on the shelf. You didn't even try to contact me - I spent the entire time worrying about you and missing you and you... you probably just forgot all about me, didn't you?" She put purple dust from a large bottle into an envelope and sealed it, then started to re-cork the bottle.

"I did think of you," Harry protested. "I worried about you. I watched your dot all the time..."

Ginny paused in mid-cork. "My what?"

"Your dot, on the Hogwarts map." Ginny blinked. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, nothing," she muttered, and corked the bottle with a bit of difficulty, a flush on her cheeks. "So you missed me, then." She took a deep breath. "Just not the way I missed you."

"I thought I did."

"What changed?"

He shrugged helplessly, trying to put something into words that just couldn't be expressed. "I... I always thought I'd die. I always thought marrying you, spending my life with you, that was all a happy ending that I'd probably never get to see. Just like becoming an Auror. I didn't know if I'd ever survive to get there, so I didn't think about it much." He cleared his throat. "And then I was there, and... and I didn't know if that was what I really wanted after all."

"How'd you know?"

"How does anybody know?" he asked, his face heating as he thought of the thoughts and dreams and fantasies he'd had about Ron. How to explain it? The desire to touch him, the unthinking contentment in his presence that turned to focused interest, the sinking realization that what he felt for Ron had changed, as surely and disconcertingly as his feeling for Ginny had changed in sixth year, and knowing that this was far, far worse--

"That last fight we had," Ginny persisted. "When I didn't want to keep us just at snogging, and I wanted us to--"

"I wanted it too," Harry said, feeling his stomach churn. "I did. But it didn't seem right."

Ginny nodded. "Fine," she said abruptly, picked up her tray of ingredients, and walked out. He stared after her, then finished packing the small bottles into their container and headed back to the house, stepping back as the door opened and Mr. Weasley came out.

"Oh - Harry, sorry, didn't realize you were still out here."

"Yeah, just bringing in more ingredients for George."

Mr. Weasley nodded, not moving from the doorway. Harry waited, but Mr. Weasley appeared deep in thought. Harry cleared his throat.

"Charlie's here," said Mr. Weasley. "Just got in."

"That's good," said Harry. He looked into the kitchen window, where Charlie was being greeted with none of the usual boisterous Weasley welcoming.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "It's... it's good to have you here, Harry," he said.

"I wasn't sure if..." Harry began, then stopped. "Ron asked me to come, but I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, what with the papers and--"

"Ron was right to insist," Mr. Weasley interrupted. "This is where you belong. And it means so much to Molly, having you here."

Harry blinked.

"She'd like as many of her boys here as possible," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "We're down one."

Harry instinctively glanced over at George, working with Angelina on the candle potion, both of them subdued and blank-eyed in their shared grief. Mr. Weasley followed his gaze, frowned slightly and shook his head, and headed out for the shed. Harry entered the kitchen and was struck once more by how damnably quiet everything was, especially considering the number of people in attendance.

Into the silence, the Wizarding Wireless announcer's smooth voice floated over them all.

"And as we prepare to remember the sacrifice of those who died during the reign of You-Know-Who, and those who fought to end his reign, the wizarding world has been shocked by allegations that the main architect of You-Know-Who's demise is a homosexual." Harry's stomach flipped over in mortification and he felt an ache begin in his forehead at the announcer's smooth tone, and his prissy pronunciation of 'homo-seck-ssual'. "The Prophet broke the story this morning, and the wizarding world is in a tizzy trying to figure out what we think of this."

"Tizzy is pretty much how I would describe it, Howard, yes," said a woman's voice.

"Opinions range from disbelieving to outraged to amused. There are many who are saying that if true, these allegations do nothing to diminish the importance of what Mr. Potter has done for the wizarding world. Others say that while they still respect his accomplishments, they cannot in good conscience call him a role model any more."

Lee suddenly stopped chopping, turned and glared at the radio. George reached out and gently squeezed Lee's shoulder, then pulled him close, whispering something in his ear. Lee closed his eyes and sighed, nodding, his forehead smoothing itself.

"We don't have to hear that rubbish, Harry," said Ron, picking up his wand and pointing it at the radio, which squawked off.

"Ron," said Ginny, "I think Mum wanted us to listen for an announcement about the memorial today. Not that any of us want to hear the rubbish they're blithering right now, but--"

"You don't have to turn it off on my account," said Harry.

"We're going to the memorial," said George. "Who cares what those morons are saying about it?"

"But Mum said--"

"It's all right," Harry said. "You don't need to keep it off." He waved his wand at the radio.

"Yes, there are many people who admire him greatly," the woman was saying. "And many people quite disappointed in him right now. What would you say to that?"

"Well personally I've never understood why anyone idolized him," Pansy Parkinson's voice floated over them, and Harry groaned. "Honour him of course, as the person who was technically responsible for You-Know-Who's downfall, but see him as a role model? That's not quite right."

"Fucking bitch," muttered Lee, and George squeezed his shoulder again. "So Pansy 'Let's hand Harry Potter over to Voldemort' Parkinson wants to talk about role models, does she?"

"Anyone who thinks you're not a good role model can kiss my arse," said Ron vehemently. "You're worth more than any ten of them." He reached out to give Harry a comforting clap on the back, then hesitated and drew back, picking up his knife and slicing with renewed vigour.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, and noticed George frowning slightly at Ron, then raising his eyebrows and glancing at Harry in surprise.

"Wasn't she the one who wrote the Weasley Is Our King song?" asked Lee.

"Yeah, that's her," said Ron. "Her and Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy," the female radio host's voice said, startling them. "Who hasn't said much about this. He was not exactly known for being a friend to Potter; why wouldn't he come forward?"

"He's got his own reasons," said Pansy.

"Why would he not back you up, though? You were in Slytherin House together, weren't you?"

"We were, yes," she said, her voice sounding angry. "But it's not like he'd know what house loyalty was if it came up and bit him in the arse." She paused. "Besides, I happen to know that Draco Malfoy is also gayer than a gift basket."

"What?!" said Ginny.

"Merlin!" said Ron.

'A gift basket?' was the first thought that went through Harry's mind. Lee and George gaped at each other, then turned back to the radio.

"Oh my," the woman said. There was a small pause. "Now is that true, or are you trying to bring down Draco Malfoy because he is now an Unspeakable, going to play in the memorial Quidditch match, and you... are not?" There was a pause. "After reports of your actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, when you suggested handing Potter over to You-Know-Who--"

"That's nothing to do with it," snapped Pansy.

"Is it lack of House loyalty, or lack of loyalty to you?" said the woman, her friendly manner gone and her voice strongly reminiscent of Rita Skeeter's on the scent of new scandal. "Has he broken ties with you because of the negative publicity over--"

"You people are all the same!" said Pansy, her shrill voice bordering on hysterical now. "I was scared, all right? I didn't see why the rest of us had to be killed just to protect one person. And most of you tossers who say nothing but shit about me would've done the same thing!"

"Miss Parkinson--"

"And it doesn't change the fact that Draco's queerer than a three-Knut coin, now does it? Couldn't get it up for a girl for all the Galleons in England!"

"Miss Parkinson--"

"And I should know, the freak, why do you think he was always such a drama queen whenever Potter was concerned? He wanted him, that's why. Wanted to take Potter and bend him over a desk and--"

The radio squawked as Lee savagely turned it off. "Miserable waste of radio magic," he muttered.

"This is why I keep telling you you've got to bring back Potterwatch, or something like it," said George. "Instead of keeping on trying to work your way up on the Wireless. You're too good for those tossers."

"They're hopeless," Angelina agreed. "If you'd only let George help you set it up, instead of just talking about it whenever you get drunk together..."

Lee took a deep, calming breath.

Charlie poked his head into the kitchen. "Erm, all right, then, everybody's still busy with the candles... does anyone mind if I get us some lunch?" he asked. "I brought enough Romanian chiftele feed the whole Wizengamot." He glanced around the room. "A round of the Lighting Vodka I brought might be in order too."

0000000

God, the little sidelong glances were getting old, thought Harry as he got out of the carriage he'd shared with Bill and Fleur, Ginny, Charlie, and Percy, and waited for the carriage bringing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, George, Angelina and Lee. So odd, to see adults getting out of the carriages instead of children. Sobering, too, to notice how many people could see the Thestrals that pulled the carriages.

And thank God he'd come to Hogwarts with the Weasleys, because without their solid presence around him at this rate he probably would've hexed the first person who said something even slightly off to him. Which would probably not endear him to the MLE.

He glanced around at the people gathering on the lawn, the day sunny and bright and perfect for celebrating.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, and Harry turned to look for her. "I'm so glad you're here," she said, running to him and giving him a warm hug. He hugged her back, hard, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought to wonder what Hermione would say of the whole mess in the papers. She pulled away after a moment, then looked worriedly into his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine," he said. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, a curious expression on her face as Ron followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out of their carriage. Harry stepped back and politely turned his head away. Although Ron and Hermione were normally a sight more restrained and decorous than Ron had ever been with Lavender, today of all days he didn't really feel like watching his two best mates snogging.

Hermione only gave Ron a warm hug, though, both of them rather oddly formal with each other, and then turned to greet Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

Harry frowned slightly. Shit. No, Ron wouldn't have... oh God, had Ron talked to Hermione about what had happened last night? And now they were both - oh God. Harry was suddenly reminded of the time he'd accidentally shrunk himself down to elf-size for an entire day, in third-year Transfigurations, and the two of them had not been able to keep from laughing at him--

No. They wouldn't be laughing at him, openly or not. They would feel awkward, though, and feel sorry for him, and...

He clamped down on a surge of anger and embarrassment. Ron had every right to tell Hermione. She was his girlfriend, and what Harry had said had been huge, and who else would Ron have talked to about it, especially after Harry had run away? And yet. He and Ron were best mates. The kind of thing he'd said was supposed to be kept confidential.

No, the kind of thing he'd said wasn't supposed to be said at all, Harry chided himself. He couldn't exactly blame Ron for not acting according to a social script that simply didn't exist.

Ron was watching Hermione with an odd look on his face, and Harry couldn't really take it any longer. He pulled Ron back slightly, as they all started towards the gates. "What happened last night?"

"What?" asked Ron.

"What did you tell her?"

"Who?"

"Hermione," said Harry.

"When?"

"Last night. After... after I left. Did you tell her--"

"I wouldn't tell her about that!" said Ron, his face turning that special shade of Weasley red.

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing. I didn't talk to her."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"I just didn't." Ron pressed his lips together, glancing over at George. "All right, I did try. I Floo-called her. But I couldn't. It... I didn't say anything."

"Oi, move along," said George. "Bloody skeleton cavalry's giving me the willies, and if one more of them snorts in my ear I'm going to scream like a little girl."

They moved towards the seats that had been set up near Dumbledore's grave, all of the Weasleys and their friends sitting in a row as the crowd settled and quieted down, and a small wizard in black began the service with a prayer. Harry held himself still, listening to the man as he helped them try to make sense of what had happened here one year ago today. Listening to the soft murmurs and sighs, and a few sniffles and sobs, as they paid their respects to the people lost.

It didn't seem like a whole year ago, and yet in some ways it seemed much longer. The wizarding world was still so full of sorrow and pain. The victory seemed so hollow, in so many ways, considering the price paid. Families and friends of those lost a year ago were taking a long time to get past the fear they'd lived under, the fact that their fears had come true, the spaces left by those who had fallen...

Harry glanced down his row of seats. Mrs. Weasley was pale but dry-eyed, holding Mr. Weasley's hand as he silently wept for their son. George and Angelina and Lee all looked blank, Lee barely holding himself together. Ron looked perpetually exhausted from still trying, as far as he was able, to fill what he could of the void Fred had left in George's life. Even Ginny had changed, her eyes no longer those of a little girl.

All that grief, over only one person who'd died - one person who was larger than life, to be sure, but one person still. And their world had lost so many Freds. So many families were left aching, wounded, some with more than one loss. Andromeda Tonks, for example, had lost nearly everyone. Dennis Creevey had lost both his brother and his father. And that was without counting all the Muggles who had died in a war they hadn't even known anything about.

So many people gone, who should have been here to celebrate the victory they helped bring about. Harry could almost sense their spirits, could see their faces so clearly, alive and happy or worried or angry or scared or triumphant. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin - not to mention Snape, Dobby, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Cedric Diggory, and so many others. And he could see them dead, lying still and blank: Colin so very tiny; the light in Snape's eyes going out; Dobby covered in blood; Remus, Tonks and Fred lying silently among so many others in the Great Hall...

Harry glanced at Ron, who hardly ever acknowledged the difficulty of trying to fit into his brother's shoes. Who hardly ever seemed to let himself mourn Fred, no matter how much support Harry and Hermione offered him. It had been wanting to comfort Ron that had made Harry see how much he cared for him, how much he wanted more than friendship from him. Watching Hermione take over as Ron's confidant, watching him go to her when he couldn't deal with the stress of Aurorship and moonlighting for George, had made Harry unexpectedly jealous, and no matter how much he told himself there was no need for him to feel that way, it still hurt. And it forced him to confront his own feelings towards Ron, and finally acknowledge that what he felt for Ron was rather more than the brotherly affection he'd always felt in the past.

Harry shook himself impatiently. He and Ron were closer than many brothers, and Harry had no right to take that for granted. He'd get over this crush eventually, and things would go back to normal between them. He was lucky to have Ron and Hermione in his life, no matter what little complications arose among them. There were enough losses to mourn in the wizarding world; mourning for something that had never happened, and never would, was ridiculous.

Finally the prayers were done, a Ministry official talked about the lessons of war, and Kingsley had finished off with a comforting summary of how far they'd come - the children back at school, Azkaban empty of all but Death Eaters, and so on - and then those who had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts were asked to come stand in the front. Harry thanked God that he'd insisted, despite considerable pressure, to be just one of the people before the crowd, instead of The Boy Who Killed Voldemort Twice. Standing among students and their families, Professors, members of the Order and the DA, and Hogsmeade villagers, it wasn't so difficult to face the crowd and note how many of them seemed to be whispering about him.

And then the formal part of the memorial was done.

"Harry, it's so good to see you. I didn't know if you'd make it in today," said Hermione, giving him another hug.

"Of course," said Harry. "I wouldn't have missed it."

"I know you wanted to."

"Yeah."

Hermione shook her head at him fondly. "I know, you hate being the focus of attention. I still think it would've been good of you to say something, though."

"Are you joking? After this morning?"

"What about this morning?"

Harry blinked.

Ginny chuckled, leaning over to Hermione. "I take it you haven't read the papers?" Hermione shook her head, and Ginny gave a slightly bitter laugh. "Can't believe there's actually something you are going to be the last to find out." Harry shot her a nervous glance, and she smirked at him. "Well? Should I tell her, or would you like to do the honours?"

Harry blew out his breath and waved a 'go ahead' hand at Ginny.

She smirked. "Turns out apparently things weren't ever going to work out between Harry and me. And your virtue was perfectly safe - from him, anyway - the whole time you were sharing a tent last year."

Hermione blinked, utterly lost.

"He's not playing for our team, Hermione. According to The Prophet, he either proudly stepped out of the closet yesterday, brazenly flaunting his 'lack of moral fibre', or he was dragged kicking and screaming the whole way." Ginny gave him a cool glance. "Which was it?"

"Neither, actually," said Harry, grimacing and congratulating himself on not having read more than a few nauseating paragraphs of the article.

"That's outrageous!" said Hermione. "They can't - Harry, you don't have to put up with that kind of thing any more. You're not a child any more, you need to go to the Wizengamot and press charges for defamation and--"

"Save your breath, Hermione," said Ginny.

"What?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You remember what Dumbledore said once, about how even The Prophet is bound to be right once in a while, by accident if nothing else?"

"Yes?"

"This is one of those times."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Ginny sniggered. "So much for all of your, 'I'm sure he'll come around eventually' then," she said. Hermione gave her a stricken glance and Ginny's expression softened. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me. You couldn't have known." She turned back to Harry. "I'll get over it, Harry," she said, and her tone almost would've sounded kind but for the bitterness in it. She headed off.

Harry waited a moment, but Hermione was still blinking rapidly, and he could see her trying to fit new information into her understanding of the world around her.

"You're... gay, then," she said, turning to him.

"Yeah. Or bi. I dunno. Saying that would most probably just complicate matters, though."

"Yes, I can imagine." Hermione shook her head. "Rita Skeeter must feel Christmas came early."

Harry grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"God, I can only imagine public reaction. This isn't the Muggle world, you know. Though even in the Muggle world, this kind of revelation would spark a media frenzy." She sighed and patted his arm, looking after Ginny. "You know, Ginny and I talked about this a lot."

Harry frowned. "What? Our break-up? Or me being gay?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your break-up, of course." She sighed, looking away over the crowd of people mingling on the lawn. "I pointed out to her that even if you two didn't end up together forever, that's not the end of the world. She's loved you for a long time, but things don't always work the way we'd wish. Sometimes what we think we want, isn't what we really want at all. We're not kids any more." She lowered her gaze. "Just because we always thought we'd end up together doesn't necessarily mean we will."

"Really?"

Hermione shook her head thoughtfully. "Don't get me wrong, I can understand her feeling devastated. But on the other hand... well, she lived without you before. An entire year, in which she didn't know when you'd be back - or even if you'd ever come back again."

"Yeah." Harry sighed.

"Besides, we've all changed so much. The war changed us, Harry. Maybe you and Ginny wouldn't have worked out even if you weren't, erm, gay. I don't know."

"I'd always thought that... that someday we'd maybe get married," Harry admitted softly. "If I thought about the future at all."

"I know. But it's not... it's not just you, who's figuring things out right now. Everyone's had to adjust. I mean, Neville's working here, almost a Professor, believe it or not. I don't think that would've happened if not for the war." She looked at him speculatively. "In fact... I didn't want to say this when you two first broke off," she said slowly, "because I suppose I was also hoping you'd end up together in the end. But Ginny's been spending a lot of time with Neville." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I don't think there's anything going on between them - I think they both think of the two of you as a couple - or rather, they, erm, did." She paused. "Anyway, they're very close. If not for the war, I think they would've just been fellow Gryffindors, more acquaintances than friends. But last year, they went through a great deal together, running the DA with Luna."

Harry nodded, his mind reeling a bit. Neville and Ginny?

And yet it did make a certain amount of sense.

"So, who knows," Hermione sighed. "We've all changed. Even I've ended up considering some things that... well, you know the placement I was arguing about with Ron--"

"What placement?" asked Harry.

Hermione frowned. "You know, the placement. In Holland. Next year."

Harry blinked.

Hermione's lips thinned slightly. "Ron didn't say a thing to you about it. Typical." She sniffed. "I was thinking of taking a placement in Holland. We argued about it for weeks. I pointed out that even after I'm not in school any more, it's going to be hard to find time to see each other; he'll still be so busy with the shop and Auror training, and with me apprenticing with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - and then I heard about the opportunity in Holland with Van der Vitch Ltd--"

"Vanderwho?"

"Van der Vitch, it's a magical cosmetics company - don't laugh - that's been doing wonderful things in Magical Creature protection. The current owner was appalled when she inherited the business from her mother and realized how many of the cosmetics the company manufactured used ingredients taken without fair value from the magical creature - and then," Hermione was warming up to the subject, her cheeks becoming flushed and her eyes wide, "then there the most horrifying rumours as to how some of their suppliers obtained ingredients. Powdered unicorn hoof, for instance, or Acromantula venom, or Veela hair - oh God now I know you're not straight, Harry." Harry blinked. "The mere mention of anything Veela-related makes most men perk up and listen no matter what you're talking about, but you've got the same glazed look in your eyes Ron gets when I start talking about Van der Vitch."

Harry shook his head, disorientated. "And... so you're going to Holland? To work for Van der Vitch?"

Hermione shook her head. "Probably not. It's not worth the arguments. Plus I'd have to leave my parents behind."

Harry nodded slowly, still somewhat stunned. He'd had no clue Hermione had been considering any such thing. Or that she and Ron had fought about it. His two closest friends, and it was as though he was becoming a stranger in their lives.

And no doubt they felt the same about him, after the whole gay revelation.

Hermione looked tired, he realized. Her eyes were older, darker than he remembered. Although she no longer radiated extreme tension, as she had since around the middle of second year, she was still so sad and preoccupied. And so very many wizards and witches were, even a year after the war.

He sighed, and looked over to where Ginny had disappeared. Hermione followed his gaze.

"She'll be all right, you know," she said gently.

"I hope so."

"Come on. Let's chat," she said, pulling his hand through her elbow. "We can get away from all these people and you can tell me what on earth happened that got you in the headlines again."

Harry nodded, then suddenly balked. "I... can't," he said. She was his best friend. The closest thing he had to a sister. And he fancied her boyfriend. "You... go, be with Ron. I know you don't get to see each other enough. I'll... I'm going to take a look at the Memorial Wall."

Hermione frowned, obviously itching to drag it out of him, then gave a small shrug and touched his hand. "All right," she said, and walked away.

Harry walked to the Memorial Wall, absently acknowledging a few greetings and steadfastly ignoring the occasional glances and whispers. Halfway there he spotted Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, an obvious empty space around them as they talked in low tones. Harry spared a moment's pity for both of them. Much as he deplored their former (or possibly current) political beliefs, it could not be easy to be so publicly shunned. He was rather surprised they'd shown up at this memorial in the first place; it certainly showed more character than he would have credited either of them with.

He glanced around, spotted some people looking at him the same way they were looking at the Malfoys. Marvellous. His pity for Malfoy grew as he realized Malfoy was now dealing with two separate kinds of prejudice at the same time.

Malfoy and his mother seemed to be arguing, and to Harry's surprise, she seemed to be subtly gesturing Malfoy towards Harry. Malfoy was shaking his head stubbornly.

Ah. She was probably telling Malfoy he should be seen with Harry. Possibly to try to bolster their status; Harry might be the Boy Who Liked Other Boys, but he was also still The Hero Who'd Done For Voldemort. And while normally Harry would've refused to be used like that... it was partly his fault Malfoy was being doubly shunned today. He stayed where he was as Malfoy finally acquiesced with ill grace and they started moving towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I'm so pleased to have the opportunity to speak with you," said Mrs. Malfoy as they reached him. "I never did thank you in person, for all that you did for Draco. During his trial."

Malfoy's eyes met Harry's in what Harry could only assume was mute apology for his mother bothering him.

"That's all right, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said uncomfortably. "I only told the truth. Besides, you did thank me."

"I sent you an owl. It would've been more appropriate to speak to you in person at the time, but I did not wish to presume."

"That's all right. I didn't mind."

There was a brief silence, in which Harry racked his mind for something innocuous to say. "Nice weather we're having" didn't seem quite appropriate.

"I take it you will also be part of the demonstrational Quidditch game today," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yeah, I'm going to play Beater."

"Have you ever played that position?"

"Nobody's going to be in positions they've played before, Mother," said Malfoy. "It's supposed to be more comedic relief than serious sporting event."

"You're one of our Chasers, right?" said Harry. Malfoy nodded.

"I thought you were on opposite teams," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"No, they moved Hester Albright over, so there would be--" and Harry broke off, because 'one former Death Eater on each team as a sop to the families of the Losers Of the War' was not something you could possibly say without sounding completely crass. He felt a slow flush crawl up his neck and to his cheeks.

"So that there would be a balanced number of Unspeakables on each team," Malfoy stepped in smoothly.

"It is mostly Magical Law Enforcement personnel, then, is it?"

"Mostly," Harry nodded. "And a few other people too."

"More Aurors than Unspeakables, though," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Malfoy looked like he was refraining from rolling his eyes with great effort.

"Yeah, I suppose so," said Harry.

"And Miss Albright... she is related to--"

"Damien Albright, yes," said Malfoy, his lips thinning. Harry frowned, vaguely recognizing the name as belonging to a suspected Death Eater who had left the country after Voldemort's fall.

"And an Unspeakable as well," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yes, Mother, I believe that has already been established."

"It is a pity you did not go into the Auror programme, Draco," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Malfoy's lips thinned even more. "My supervisors see it differently."

"Your supervisors can afford to not care what the public thinks of them," said Mrs. Malfoy, her voice losing a tinge of its cool blandness.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and then his gaze was caught by something behind his mother. "Isn't that Aunt Andromeda?" he said. "You had said you wanted to speak with her."

Mrs. Malfoy gave him a level gaze, then turned to look for her sister. "Indeed. Please excuse me, Mr. Potter; I must go and say hello."

They both nodded to her politely as she moved away.

"Should I ask what that was about?" asked Harry cautiously after a moment.

Malfoy started to shake his head, then seemed to reconsider. He took a slow breath. "My mother is of the opinion that I would help the Malfoy family rehabilitate itself most if I chose a profession with a better reputation than that of the Unspeakables. Such as the Aurors."

"What's wrong with the Unspeakables?" asked Harry.

Malfoy gave him a level look.

"All right, yeah, you're a bit... creepy," said Harry. "What with answering almost every question with, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.' But there were more Aurors than Unspeakables who ended up in Azkaban after the war."

"That's because there were more Aurors to begin with."

"It worked out to one in five Aurors, one in seven Unspeakables," said Harry, and was pleased to note Malfoy's look of surprise.

"True. I didn't know anyone outside of the Unspeakable department even knew that."

"We're not all utterly clueless among the Aurors, you know."

"Hard to tell, with twits like Philips and McLaggen running about. In any case, the figures don't much matter to my mother."

"Damn. I'm sorry."

Malfoy shrugged.

"Oh, erm, by the way, I wanted to thank you, for not saying anything to the papers yesterday," said Harry. Malfoy blinked. "I know I already did this morning, but... well, you could've said something. Your own private life might not have come out, if you had."

Malfoy made a dismissive gesture. "I doubt that would've made much of a difference. Pansy was pissed off that her own sins came up again. She just lashed out at whoever she could. Harpy scorned and all that."

"She might not have, if you'd supported her in the papers instead of saying No Comment."

Malfoy shrugged. "If anything, this is probably for the best. With what the paper said this morning about you, the pressure's not exactly on me now, is it?"

He did have a point. "How is your mother taking it?"

Malfoy smiled bleakly at his mother, now making stilted small talk with Andromeda. "My mother's had to accept all sorts of difficulties in the last few years. Believe it or not, having me forced out of the closet is not the biggest problem she's had to face. It doesn't even qualify for the top ten." He shrugged. "Your own news has eclipsed mine. What else is new." He paused. "Except this time, I don't mind at all."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose not."

"I should probably go and say hello to my aunt as well," said Malfoy. Harry caught Andromeda's eye, and noted distinct discomfort in her expression as she returned his wave.

"Yeah, tell her I said hi," said Harry. "I've got to, erm, check on the candles at the Memorial Wall. I'll probably come by and see her later."

There was no need to assume that Andromeda's wintry expression was due to what the papers had reported this morning, Harry told himself sternly. For all he knew, she was just upset because of the significance of the date. Or she was feeling awkward at having to talk to her formerly estranged sister. Or maybe she was missing Teddy, and wishing she'd brought him. He still didn't have the heart to deal with whatever it was right now.

He didn't really have the heart to deal with anything right now, but just up and leaving didn't feel right either. Perhaps he'd feel better after a soothing walk around the lake.

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3 part 2