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Harry picked herself up off the marbled floor of Malfoy Manor, dusting at her silvery dress robes in a rare capitulation to vanity. She was early for once, having no need to slip through Grimmauld Place and swap outfits with Archie. No house elf awaited her this time, and she recalled hazily that at least one member of the Malfoy’s staff had been dismissed when Draco’s gift of empathy first manifested. Right now she was just grateful for the opportunity to collect herself.
Flooing to Draco’s grand estate was far from a novel experience, but in this body? With an unfamiliar face and a different name? Harry’s hands betrayed her creeping sense of disquiet with a faint tremor.
Perhaps she should’ve refused the invitation outright, damn any social repercussions or political disfavor for her discourtesy. What business did the Malfoy Heir have inviting a halfblood witch from a Light family to his birthday anyhow? She hardly expected a scandal to result from such circumstances. The Ruse was far more important to maintain than any veneer of pureblood propriety after all; propriety wouldn’t keep her out of Azkaban.
But instead she’d accepted, even RSVPed her assent, which landed her in the Malfoy’s vestibule with nothing but Harriet Potter’s unaltered features as a bulwark against the S.O.W. Party’s scrutiny. Her core was a projected shell that Snape had sniffed out effortlessly, and her emotions a roiling brew that threatened to draw Draco’s notice. Too late, she cursed the hubris of her past self.
As if summoned by the scent of her distress, her friend–Rigel’s friend, Harry corrected herself–appeared in the doorway. He looked well enough given the toll these last few months had taken on all of them. Perhaps Draco had gotten off easy, she considered, with how she’d fettered his family’s involvement in the whole Rigel Black debacle. She steeled herself before offering a polite greeting to the party’s celebrant.
“...Heir Malfoy. How lovely to see you again,” she said, forcing a flat affect into her voice like diffusing castor oil in a bubbling tisane. They’d met, of course, when Harry was yet posing as Rigel who was posing as Harry, but the circumstances were vastly different. “Thank you once again for your thoughtful invitation.”
His sense of pureblood decorum might’ve once masked his intentions, but now Draco’s stormy eyes could barely hide the turmoil within. She knew he couldn’t even ask the questions on the tip of his tongue, not overtly, but she’d be foolish to ignore the real reason for the unexpected invitation: her ties to Rigel Black.
Did he really think it would be so easy to ply her for insights? Then again, Draco had never been the most shrewd snake in Slytherin; that dubious honor fell squarely on her own shoulders. More likely than not, he was still chomping at the bit to get his hands on Rigel, on her, and demand some sort of recompense for her betrayal.
“I’m honored you accepted, Miss Potter,” Draco finally said when he’d gathered his wits enough to mind his manners. He still looked as if he’d just gone ten rounds with Remus’ boggart but his thin lips pressed into an almost amicable impression of a smile. “I’m sure your summer has been an eventful one.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied automatically, and instantly regretted it. How could he know, when she held all the cards so close to her chest? She was no empath, but she saw the flash of emotion that crossed Draco’s countenance before a decade of etiquette training took over and wiped it clean. Harry cleared her throat and ventured into safer territory. “You have a lovely home. I’ve heard the Malfoy Garden is second to none in the wizarding world.”
“Yes, my father prides himself on the careful upkeep of the grounds,” he said, sounding agreeable enough. He waved her down the hall which she knew led out to a grandiose veranda. “Please, shall we step outside for some refreshments? My classmates are…preoccupied in the library, but they’ll be with us shortly.”
“I’d hate to keep you from joining them,” protested Harry. Of course, she realized, the Malfoy Heir had not abandoned his party guests to roll out the red carpet for a halfblood acquaintance. No doubt she’d intercepted his rendezvous with the other Slytherins, his true friends. “I’m sure I could find my way.”
“And I’d hate to leave a guest astray in our halls, Miss Potter,” he countered smoothly. Draco raised a hand as if sensing her forthcoming objection; perhaps he had. “It’s no imposition. Truth be told, I’ve been purposefully excluded from the proceedings.”
“Please, call me Harry,” she said. Her head tilted curiously at his words, eyes darting over to study Draco as they set off. Harry regarded him with a detached curiosity, or at least as detached as she could manage given the circumstances. He didn’t seem too put out by his exclusion, and Draco was not one to sit idly on the sidelines. “Birthday preparations? I can certainly understand your predicament.”
“We can dispense with the formalities, then. Call me Draco.” He glanced over at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Was that recognition that flashed through his eyes? Or just annoyance? Not for the first time, Harry wished for his gift of empathy. After one uncertain second, Draco shook his head at her remark. “Not exactly. It’s more of a…scholarly inquiry, one I’ve recused myself from at this juncture.”
Her fists clenched within her voluminous sleeves but her mind (and perhaps more importantly, her emotions) remained tranquil. There was only one school-related affair Draco could be referring to, the same circumstance that led to this whole song and dance.
“You’re talking about Rigel.” Her voice was icy, conveying as much disapproval as she could short of outright scowling at her host.
“I’m not!” he denied swiftly. Draco fumbled for the right words before pressing the attack. He stared her down with a piercing glare that rivaled her own emerald gaze, any semblance of unease long since quelled. “And neither are you, I’m told. Maybe we’re alike in that way.”
No doubt he was referring to the stack of letters on her desk, most of them penned in Pansy’s recognizable hand. It’s not that Harry was intentionally spurning the attempts at correspondence, but she still had no idea how to reply without giving the game away. In the flesh, the distinction between herself and Rigel was evident enough but on paper? With all the formidable discernment of her old schoolmates levied against her?
“Of course I’m not interested in discussing that.” She looked away, unwilling to face the dejection writ large across his elegant pureblood features. Her nails, trimmed sensibly short though they were, dug into her palms. “What’s there to say? He’s an outlaw. A criminal.”
“You can’t seriously believe that!” Draco snapped, but he stopped himself for fear of violating his family’s pact. They stood at the threshold now, neither making a move to join the festivities outside. Her host let out a long breath, his tension dissipating with the exhalation. “He doesn’t deserve this…this manhunt. Hasn’t he been through enough already?”
Only now did she feel a twinge of remorse for calling in her life debt. It was the smart thing to ensure the Malfoys’ compliance, the right thing, but seeing the results up close cut deeper than expected. They’d trusted Rigel, despite everything, and she’d wielded that trust as a bludgeon. Harry forced those feelings back down lest Draco’s empathy catch her flat-footed.
“Do you really believe that?” she asked, hardly daring to believe the words coming out of his mouth. Her own words came out too raw, too vulnerable, but it was so very difficult to keep her voice steady now. “That Rigel is, what, the victim in all this? The hero? Despite everything he did?”
“My father says he’s a charlatan, the Daily Prophet has designated him an insurrectionist…I don’t particularly believe either of them.” Draco didn’t seem to notice the lapse in her pretense of innocence. As he spoke, he only grew more assured. “I believe we were friends. He might’ve said otherwise, but that’d hardly be the first lie he fed me.”
Harry felt a twinge deep inside; it was like a tug on her core but far gentler than the invasive prickle of Riddle’s magical trace or the agonizing resonance of the timeturner. It took her a beat to identify the strange sensation as something akin to hope. She’d always presumed that giving up the ruse would mean giving up her friends at Hogwarts, all those brilliant and ambitious purebloods who never knew her as Harriet Potter. She understood that after the charade was over, she would stand alone. Accepted it. And yet…
Harry ventured another dubious glance in Draco’s direction. “And yet you still trust him?”
“Beneath all the falsehoods, I never doubted who he was,” he told her without a moment’s hesitation. Draco’s eyes softened in a way she’d never seen before. “He was good, maybe too good for us. I think that’s why he thought he had to cut and run.”
An awkward silence fell over them as Harry tried and failed to reconcile Draco’s verdict with the outrage she’d anticipated. The ruse had to stand, her rationale insisted, but would it be so wrong to allow herself this one indulgence?
“I’m sorry that I can’t help you and your classmates with Rigel, truly,” said Harry, even as her pounding heart slowed back to a steady rhythm in her chest. She extended a hand in Draco’s direction tentatively. “But I’d like to be friends all the same, if you’re amenable.”
Draco stared at her, and she cursed her moment of weakness.
“I’ve found myself short a friend, as it so happens,” Draco said at last, his expression wry. “And if Rigel trusted you, then I suppose I can as well.”
He took Harry’s hand in his and it felt at once as though her most foolish and fanciful wishes had finally come true. The two of them exchanged a cautious smile and stepped outside to face the S.O.W. Party together.