Chapter Six of 'How Noble In Reason'- Harry Potter Is Sorry

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Five.

Title: How Noble In Reason (6/9)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Flangst, a bit of sex, profanity. Ignores the epilogue.
Rating: mild R
Summary: The Head Auror thinks that there’s Voldemort-like magic in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. Harry agrees to investigate. The Head Auror thinks Harry should formally Court Draco Malfoy to get close enough. Harry doesn’t agree with this, but he doesn’t have a lot of choice.
Author’s Notes: This will be a short story, eight or nine chapters. In some chapters the angst is stronger than others, but it’s a light story for the most part. The title is a line from Hamlet.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Six—Harry Potter Is Sorry

“This is an excellent report, Potter,” Binks said, and looked through the pages with a greedy expression, as if he were savoring a few words at a time in preparation for the feast of the full report later. “Well done. You’ll have my commendation.” He put the report carefully aside in a stack of parchment that looked as if it would tilt and fall from just one more addition.

“And the money I spent on gifts for Malfoy will be refunded?” Harry managed to make himself ask the question in a calm voice. He sat bolt upright in the chair before Binks’s desk, his fingers twisted together. That would keep him from reaching across the desk to strangle Binks.

Maybe.

Harry took a long breath and brutally reminded himself that he had been the one to accept the commission to Court Malfoy. He hadn’t needed to do that. Binks had come up with the idea, but he couldn’t have forced Harry to do it that way. Or Harry could have written a “good” Courting letter for Binks and sent a ridiculously over-the-top one to Malfoy, and that would have solved the problem.

I could have solved the problem in all sorts of ways, if I had only been cleverer.

Binks nodded and beamed at him. “Of course, Potter. Could you think that we would let one of our bravest Aurors go uncompensated?”

Harry nodded stiffly and stood up, although Binks acted as if he’d like to delay Harry and talk about the case a while. When he was near the door, though, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Malfoy isn’t suspected of anything else, is he, sir? There are no other charges that the Auror Department wants to bring against him?”

“No,” Binks said, turning back to the report as if drawn by magnets. Then he abruptly looked up, eyes narrowed. “Unless you have charges that you want to bring against him, Auror Potter. Did you sense the emanations of any Dark artifacts while you were there? I’ll make sure to give you proper credit, and you can lead a task force that will invade the Manor tomorrow at midnight—”

“One of Malfoy’s parties would probably still be going on then,” Harry muttered, and waved a hand. “No, sir, I didn’t sense anything. I simply wondered.”

“Oh.” Binks sank back into his seat like a punctured balloon. “No, Auror Potter. Nothing else out of the ordinary has been reported.”

Harry nodded shortly and jogged out of the Head Auror’s office, heading for his own. There was nothing else that he needed. He had wanted official assurance that Malfoy was off the suspect list, though, because otherwise it could have been highly problematic for Harry to try and repair his mistake.

If he could repair his mistake. If he deserved another chance to try.

Harry had lain awake debating with himself about that last night. In one sense, it would be stupid to try and make up for his mistakes. There was nothing he could do to atone for destroying Malfoy’s trust. Malfoy would probably reject any overtures anyway, which he had a perfect right to do. And Harry had hurt him so badly already; why in the world couldn’t he leave him alone and let him get on with his life in grieving silence, while Harry got on with his in much the same sort of grief?

At least he had an answer for that one. He didn’t think Malfoy would get on with his life, in silence or loudly. He would retreat into his world of cold expectations and endless parties and loneliness, except that this time, the one fantasy that had given him comfort would be gone. Harry couldn’t picture Malfoy committing suicide or dying of a broken heart or any of that other nonsense, but he could picture him becoming a perfect automaton, never allowing himself to experience warm emotions again.

Harry didn’t want to do that to anyone. He least of all wanted to do it to the brilliant, smiling, risk-taking Malfoy he had briefly seen.

But that returned him to the same problem. How could he make up for it? Would Malfoy even want him to? Harry would have contacted him and asked, except that he didn’t want to put the burden of the decision on Malfoy.

Maybe this is what you deserve, Harry told himself as he pushed a quill up his slightly slanted desk and then watched it roll back towards the bottom and the great stack of reports he hadn’t yet finished. To spend the rest of your life mourning the chances lost and comparing everyone you date to him.

Then Harry blinked and sat up, because he had just had another thought that made too much sense to ignore.

It might be what I deserve, but it’s not what he does.

Harry nodded. Yes, he would have to be careful, and he would probably endure setbacks at first, but he would at least offer Malfoy apologies and the only gift he could think of that would possibly make up for what he had done. Or at least start to make up for it; Harry was too smart to think that one gift would make Malfoy smile at him and welcome him back with loving arms.

Maybe that would never happen, in fact. But Harry might cause Malfoy to feel a little better about things.

He wrote a swift note to say that he was in Diagon Alley interviewing witnesses—and that could even be true, because there were a few shopkeepers he could stop in and ask questions of—and hung it on his door, then made sure he had a pouch full of Galleons on his belt. As he stepped out in the corridor, he realized he was grinning.

Why not? At least I know what I’m going to try. The most important thing is the trying, not whether it works. If it doesn’t work, you try something else.

Harry had to admit, though, that he was really hoping this first try would work, if only because it would be so expensive.

*

The door of the shop gave a nasty creak when he opened it. Harry winced a bit, then decided it was probably deliberate and an interesting substitute for a bell. He looked around cautiously, wondering who would come out to meet him.

No one at the moment, it appeared. Harry was alone in a shop that had decided to be different from most others along the Alley. It was brighter than usual, rather than dimmer than usual.

Harry had to squint as he stared up at the crystal balls, glass globes, stained glass window panes, mirrors, and delicate ornaments covering the walls. On a perch directly above his head, a transparent bird preened itself with a sound of tinkling feathers. The far wall showed a mirror in a frame so elaborate that Harry felt his eyes getting lost in the curlicues and flowers and capering snakes of it.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked up. They had said that the proprietor of Grimoires and Glassworks was calm no matter who came into her shop, and it seemed to be so. At least she showed no inclination to make a fuss over him. She was a tall woman with a slightly unfocused gaze that reminded him of Trelawney and bright orange hair that reminded him of Ginny. She wore a sheer robe that somehow resembled glass without revealing her body. She halted a few steps in front of him and stared at him.

“Madam Lucent?” Harry asked, just to be sure.

She nodded. “Yes. What did you come here to purchase, Mr. Potter? I can’t imagine that you have much need of crystal balls. Most of your future has become real to you already.”

Harry hesitated, then decided that he wasn’t going to pursue that particular speech. His life had become much happier when he stopped believing that everyone who wanted to say something strange to him was speaking the truth. “I’m looking for one of the memory globes that you advertised last year.”

Madam Lucent smiled. It made her face seem to shine and brighten in unusual dimensions, as if she carried her own private sun around with her. “Ah, yes, of course. They’re much more convenient than Pensieves, though I’m afraid not as accurate. For one thing, you don’t have to worry about the memories spilling out.” She turned around and walked towards the back of the shop.

“What about them breaking?” Harry asked, following her. A thing that looked like a whip made of crystals hung from the ceiling and brushed his hair as he passed. Harry ducked automatically, thought of asking what it was, and then didn’t. He was here for the memory globes, and they were strange enough.

“You can believe that I mastered the charms that keep glass from breaking first,” Madam Lucent said, with an asperity in her voice that earned a laugh from Harry. “Ah. Here.” She picked up something from a shelf and turned around to show it to him.

Harry’s breath caught. What she held was a glass globe perhaps a foot high and ten inches wide, with a silver tower in the middle of it. Flecks of light vaulted and danced around the tower like snow in some Muggle toys Harry had seen. Now and then they formed patterns on the tower: dragons, birds, vines.

The base was gold. Harry winced at the sight of it. On the other hand, at least it might catch Malfoy’s attention and keep him from breaking it immediately.

“How is this different from a Pensieve?” he asked, although he thought he knew. But his recent experiences had made him wary of being sure that he was right in any particular situation. He took the globe gingerly from Madam Lucent and discovered that it was warm. The silver flecks swirled up and brushed against the glass, and that made it warmer still. Harry shivered and tried not to drop it.

Madam Lucent watched him for a few critical moments without answering, as if she wanted to see how he handled the globe before she sold it to him. Then she smiled. “A Pensieve contains the memories that someone puts into it, and it can keep those memories safe because, while it holds them, they are not in the giver’s head,” she said. “That is a tactic often used to protect against enemies who might use Legilimency on you while you’re carrying an important secret.”

Harry tried not to flinch when he nodded. He knew all about that, remembering Snape’s Pensieve and the way he had tried to protect his memory of Harry’s mum rescuing him.

“This globe absorbs the memory while permitting you to retain it, so that you can still look at it and know what it was even while the globe shows it.” Madam Lucent reached out as if she would stroke the globe, but instead hovered her hand above the glass. The silver flecks swirled towards her fingers anyway. “It also can’t spill, unlike a Pensieve. And the Pensieve gives you an objective perspective; you can see things that were happening at the same time which the owner of the memory might not have been able to see.” She looked up and directly into Harry’s eyes. “My globes give the person who touches them your perspective. They see and feel as you did. The globe conveys the emotional jolt.”

Harry swallowed. Yes, this was what he wanted. It would make him vulnerable to Malfoy, of course, particularly considering the memories that he was going to put into it.

But that was the point. If Harry couldn’t repair what he had done to Malfoy, or make up for it, he could at least show that he was willing to be equally vulnerable, and that Malfoy could have one of Harry’s secrets to betray because Harry had one of his.

“It’s a revealing gift,” Madam Lucent added. “I was surprised when you told me that you wanted one. Are you sure?” Harry knew she was probably thinking of all the people who would love to get hold of something like this so that they could embarrass the Great Harry Potter, or at least get some extra Galleons not to sell the story to the papers.

“I’m sure,” Harry said. “The one who’s going to receive this one is someone I trust.”

Madam Lucent nodded, not showing any emotion now. “Good. To activate the globe, you’ll need to lay both hands on it and wait until all the flecks of light rise to outline your fingers. That’s a precaution to prevent someone from accidentally using it when they don’t mean to. Then, think hard about the person you want the globe to go to and the memories, in that order. You’ll feel nothing when they pass out of you, so you’ll have to check the globe when you’re done to ensure that it actually contains the memories you wanted to give.”

Harry frowned. “How do I do that?” He hadn’t even thought about the fact that he would probably have to send Malfoy instructions for the memory globe. Of course, maybe he knew how to use one already, but Harry really meant to stop assuming things as much as possible.

“Touch the base of the globe with one hand, the top with the other, and lean your cheek against it,” Madam Lucent said.

Harry swallowed and tried to smile. For some reason, the vision of Malfoy that came to mind when Harry thought of him doing that was powerful and affecting.

It’s probably only because he’ll be in contact with part of you, you pervert, he told himself, and focused on Madam Lucent again. “You’ve taken plenty of precautions to prevent anyone from using these globes by mistake, haven’t you?”

Madam Lucent shrugged, not taking her eyes from Harry. “The consequences could be devastating if someone gave up memories they didn’t want to or saw memories they weren’t supposed to. Yes, I don’t want my gifts to be misused.”

“Wish I could say that I’d never misused mine,” Harry muttered.

“Pardon?’ A line of confusion stretched across Madam Lucent’s forehead, as if she didn’t know for certain what she’d heard.

“Nothing.” Harry shook his head. “Thank you for the advice, and the information on unlocking the globes. How much is it?”

The amount made him wince again, particularly since the Auror Department wouldn’t be compensating him for this one, but Harry still handed over the Galleons without fussing. After all, he had chosen this gift of his own free will. He didn’t have to send it. Malfoy would certainly not be expecting to receive it. He probably thought Harry was going to blurt out his secrets at any moment now, or laugh at him in contempt. After all, he hadn’t believed Harry’s apologies.

Why should he? Harry thought, heaving the globe out the door of the shop. And he’d probably burn or tear up any letter I sound, and rightfully so. He’s had enough of my words. If I send him something that can’t be mistaken for excuses or apologies though, perhaps he’ll listen.

Even when he leaned against the globe to check that the right memories had gone in, though, Harry tried to keep himself from hoping too much.

*

The letter came early the next morning, burning through the air like a comet. Malfoy had chosen a showy white owl to deliver it. Harry blinked and barely caught it in time as the owl tossed it on his desk as if it were a dead mouse.

Harry took a deep breath and opened the letter. The seal burned his fingers, but not worse than a Stinging Hex would have, and in moments he had it cracked and was reading what Malfoy had to say to him.

The letter was no more than a single line long, though, and bore no signature. If not for the fact that he had studied the handwriting on the solitary letter Malfoy had sent him when he first authorized Harry to continue the Courting, Harry might not have been sure who it was from.

Well, all right. The subject matter of the letter would have told him that, too.

Why would you show me that you’d been abused by your Muggle relatives?

Harry closed his eyes tightly. Malfoy hadn’t broken the memory globe. He hadn’t thrown it away. He had listened to Harry’s instructions about how to access the memories, and it seemed that he’d observed most of them. If he had stopped after the first, he might have thought that Harry had simply been beaten up by his cousin—he probably wouldn’t even have realized that Dudley was Harry’s cousin—and had nothing to complain about.

Harry seized ink and quill and parchment and wrote back, not pausing to think about his words. He had planned a lot to come up with the memory globe and the fact that Malfoy would probably like to see Harry just as vulnerable as he had made himself, but past that, he wanted to respond from his heart.

I sent that to you because you gave me a secret, and I wronged you. I also have power over you because of it, something that you must have realized. I won’t go to the papers, but I can’t blame you if you don’t believe me.

Now you have a secret that has power over me. Ron and Hermione know I was abused, but I’ve never shown them the memories. You could give the papers very specific details if you wanted. The balance of power is even again.

What you choose to do with this is up to you. I should admit that I’m feeling upset and helpless right now, like someone could inflict a wound on me any minute. But that’s probably how you feel, too.

Harry.

He sealed the letter and looked up. The owl was already hovering above his desk and snatched the letter before he could offer it, flying away.

Harry leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. The only thing he could do now was wait, weak and sick and shaky…

And hopeful.

*

The second letter came as he was leaving the Ministry for the day. Ron was walking with him, and stared slack-jawed at the white owl who winged up to Harry, landed on his shoulder, and shat triumphantly down his back while handing him the letter.

“Unpleasant owl,” he commented, his brow wrinkling. “Who’s that from, mate?”

Harry cast a spell to remove the owl’s shit in resignation and opened the letter. The paper inside was bent. Harry wondered if that was simply from the pressure of the owl’s beak, or if he could dare to imagine Malfoy pressing the parchment into the desk as he wrote, bending it because he was so angry.

What the fuck do you mean, Potter? What the fuck do you mean that you gave me those memories to give me power? I can’t have that again. You took it from me. Giving me a gift doesn’t equal returning me to what I was.

No signature, again, which Harry was grateful for when Ron peered curiously over his shoulder. He’d told his friends that he’d located the source of the Dark magic in Malfoy Manor and it had gone badly, but he couldn’t reveal many more details than that without telling secrets he shouldn’t.

“Somebody who likes the word fuck,” Ron said, and then suddenly looked slyly at Harry and nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. “You’re dating someone, and you didn’t tell me! Who’s the lucky bloke?” Ron always thought other blokes were lucky to be dating Harry, and not the other way around. Harry didn’t intend to change his mind about this yet. When and if he and Draco came to terms, then he would.

“I’d prefer not to say,” Harry said, and looked as coy as he could with an owl perched on his shoulder and apparently staring into his brain. “I don’t know if it’s going to work out yet. As you can see, he’s rather temperamental.”

“I’d say!” Ron hooted and clapped him on the back. “Well, good luck, mate. And if you need any help in hunting him down and holding him still until he listens to you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Harry shuddered at the mere thought of doing that with Malfoy. “I don’t think so,” he said quickly. “But thanks.”

Ron kept asking “innocent” questions and chuckling to himself until they reached the Apparition point, where he pounded Harry on the shoulder again and vanished. Harry shook his head and waited carefully until his emotions had settled. He’d learned the hard way that he should never Apparate when he was too upset.

Today, he learned the hard way that he should never Apparate with an owl on his shoulder that he wasn’t thinking about. He arrived home in a storm of feathers and outraged squawks, and had to go back to the alley behind the Ministry to find the half a wing that he’d Splinched into the wall.

*

It was almost midnight before Harry thought he’d written the right reply. He leaned back, gnawing on the end of his quill until the small feathers stood up rather like the ruffled back of the white owl, and read it over again.

Dear Draco:

(He hadn’t been given permission to call Malfoy that, but Harry thought he should soon, and this whole enterprise was one big risk).

I think you misunderstood me. I don’t want to return you to what you were before. For one thing, I’m aware that nothing can do that, and it would be stupid for me to think that I could achieve it. For another, I don’t want you to go back to the way you were before. Sure, you weren’t as vulnerable, but you were lonely. I want to give you companionship if I can, and prove that I’m sorry for what I did.

I want to make you stronger, instead. The only way that I can do that is by making myself as vulnerable as you were willing to do. I was lying all the time—not about how much I liked you, but about my motivations for the Courtship and why I was so anxious to get inside Malfoy Manor. I could have resisted harder when my Head Auror wanted me to Court you, but I didn’t. I think I was already acting under the pressure of curiosity about you. You have every right to be angry at me; I’m not trying to talk you out of that. I’m just trying to show you the truth.

What you do with that truth is up to you. Like I said, you could go to the papers. I have to admit that I don’t think you will, but you could.

You could also cut off contact with me and refuse to talk to me anymore. That’s more likely, and it would hurt.

Or you could use the truth some other way. I don’t know what way that would be yet. I don’t want to dictate to you. Think about it. That’s all I ask. You were too trusting when you revealed your secrets to me. You owe it to yourself to be more cautious and guarded this next time, and think about who to trust—even if it isn’t me.

Harry.

There were things in the letter that Malfoy might take offense at, but Harry didn’t see the point of filling the whole letter full of apologies when he’d already apologized. This would take or it wouldn’t. It was up to Malfoy now.

Harry felt uneasy about that, as if he were continually on the brink of a cliff and had no way to step back. But since that was at least similar to what Malfoy was feeling right now, if not equivalent, he would just have to continue on.

He sealed the letter and gave it to the owl. The owl tried to nip him. Harry rapped it on the beak and stared straight into its astonished eyes.

“You could tell your owner that he’ll get another gift in a few days,” Harry said softly, “unless he specifically forbids me to send it.”

The owl rose from its perch and swooped out of the window without answering him. Harry leaned back in his chair and fell asleep in his rumpled clothes, which made him late for work the next morning.

At least his dreams were pleasant.