Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Shades of Grey ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer:These characters do not belong to me. They were created by J.K. Rowling, rights owned by Warner Bros.

 

a/n: Please read this first! I finished this story about a week before “Deathly Hallows” officially hit the shelves. I had intended to post it before the book came out but fandom anxiety and an e-mail mix up with Eien no Ai (who was to beta this story) delayed things greatly. As such this fic has been marked divergence. Though I suppose it makes me a bad writer, I didn't want to completely re-write the story to fit DH's canon. Actually, if I'd really wanted to follow the book's canon by the letter, this story wouldn't even exist and would have to be scrapped. Anyway, I hope this story is still enjoyable despite that. It takes place during the summer after the events of HBP.

 

“Shades of Grey”

 

Harry Potter was a restless young man waiting to come of age. Though he really didn't fancy the idea, he was waiting to take his apparitions test before going after Voldemort's Horcruxes. It would come in handy when it came to the traveling he was anticipating. Harry only hoped that he wouldn't have to apparate too far from the places he called home. He dreaded the concept of leaving precious limbs behind.

 

Harry was currently residing at the house on Privet Drive. He'd managed to convince Ron and Hermione not to come stay with him while he was waiting to turn seventeen. They needed to be with their families and maybe think a little bit more about what it meant to follow Harry on this last quest.

 

So lost in thought was he that he didn't notice the owl on his windowsill until it began to hoot loudly. Startled and wanting to quiet the bird before his uncle could make a fuss, Harry scrambled out of bed. He didn't recognize the owl, it was a bit scruffy looking and appeared somewhat underfed, but he was hoping for news from the Order and didn't pay it much mind.

 

Harry quickly detached the message and unrolled the parchment. The hand-writing was unfamiliar and Harry had to read through it several times before he understood its meaning.

 

I need to see you as soon as soon as possible.

 

~D.M.

 

Draco Malfoy. Who else could it be? Harry scoffed derisively and wished he was seventeen just so he could send the message back to Malfoy complete with every horrible hex he could think of. Instead he crumpled it into a little ball, decided it would make excellent kindling if he needed to make a potion in the near future, and glowered at the owl.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Harry snapped. “I've got nothing for you. Go on, piss off then.”

 

The owl appeared thoroughly offended but took off without another sound. Seething, Harry slammed the window shut and stalked back to his bed. Malfoy had a lot of bloody nerve trying to contact him. What the hell was he thinking? Was it another mission from Voldemort?

 

Harry flung himself on the bed and spent the better part of an hour thinking about all manners of despicable acts Malfoy could be up to now that he was a Death-Eater. By the time he'd suitably calmed down about it, he came to the decision that he would deal with Malfoy when the time came. He had enough to worry about without adding this.

 

It was then that he noticed that the owl had returned and was gently rapping at the window pane. Harry glared at it, grabbed the nearest book (Ten Simple Steps for Successful Apparition!), and pretended to be completely absorbed in it. That only seemed to agitate the owl and it began to put up such a racket that he was forced to answer it a second time.

 

Harry snatched up the new message. Though he didn't really want to read it, morbid curiosity won out in the end.

 

I am not asking your forgiveness over my involvement in Dumbledore's death. All I ask is that you meet with me and hear what I have to say. There are things in motion that you are ignorant of and I think you of all people would be interested in what I can tell you. Don't be a prat, Potter. I am taking the bigger risk with this communication so you owe me the benefit of the doubt.

 

Give me the brush off again and the next message you receive from me will be a howler.

 

The memory of Draco sobbing in the bathroom returned to Harry unbidden, along with the knowledge of the horrors he must be experiencing under Voldmort's thumb. Despite all the message's talk of information to be shared, it sounded like Draco needed help. Much as he despised Draco, that spark of pity flared up inside him once more.

 

“Wait,” Harry told the scruffy owl with a reluctant sigh. Whatever the situation was, Draco had a point and if it was a trap…Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

 

He scrawled out a quick, unsigned note.

 

How do I know I can trust you?

 

Harry quickly rolled up the parchment and attached it to the bird's leg. He could barely remember the last time he'd waited so anxiously for a letter. When the owl returned a half an hour later, Harry snatched up the new message greedily. He supposed he'd expected some snarky remark but Draco's reply floored him.

 

If you must know, he killed my mother. I can't tell you anymore until we meet in person.

 

Harry sank down onto his bed with a heavy sigh. There was no question on who `he' was. He'd only met Narcissa Malfoy twice and even though he hadn't liked her, no one deserved to die by Voldemort's hand.

 

Harry found himself thinking on how Dumbledore had believed in second chances. He may have been wrong about Snape, but Harry had reason to believe that Draco was still redeemable. Without another thought on the matter, he wrote Malfoy back.

 

My condolences. When and where?

 

It took over an hour for Draco to get back to him. In that time, Harry found himself wrapped up in the profoundly surreal act of worrying about his long-time enemy's well-being. He hastily detached the letter, beginning to fret over how much they'd communicated over the past few hours. Was Draco holed up somewhere with Death-Eaters or was he on the run?

 

Don't trouble yourself with pity that you don't feel, Potter. We'll meet tomorrow. As for where, I'll let you decide. I'd imagine you know much more about muggle London.

 

Harry just barely stifled his annoyance towards Malfoy's inability to take his sympathy. Of course, he hadn't really given Draco any reason to believe he'd be anything less that overjoyed when it came to his personal suffering. Instead, he amused himself with Draco's assumption that Harry knew a lot about “muggle London”. Harry could count on one hand how many timed his aunt and uncle had allowed him to accompany them on day trips into the city. Loath to confess to Draco anything regarding his regrettable childhood, Harry quickly scrawled down directions to Oxford Circus's tube station.

 

The final letter he got from Malfoy set the time.

 

2 in the afternoon. Don't be late Potter.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

It had been easy enough to convince Uncle Vernon to lend him the money to catch a bus into London. His uncle was practically walking on air knowing that he'd be permanently rid of Harry soon enough. Of course, the man was by no means generous until Harry had casually let it slip that he would be meeting up with a schoolmate who happened to have a very foul temperament.

 

He left the house with nearly thirty ponds jingling in his pockets and felt only slightly guilty about it. Harry could have, of course, gone to Gringnotts to get some of his wizard coins changed into muggle currency but the exchange rates were terribly unpredictable. It all seemed to depend on the person doing the exchange and their talent in transfiguration.

 

Harry had his backpack slung over one shoulder and it was filled with all manners of Fred and George's more practical (or malicious) wheezes as well as his invisibility cloak. He'd left his wand behind to avoid temptation. There was no way he was going to risk charges of underage magic usage when he was so close to being legal.

 

Harry reached the meeting place a half an hour early, exactly as he'd intended. He quickly found the nearest bathroom and pulled on his invisibility cloak after entering one of the stalls. Harry needn't have bothered since few used the lavatories on the underground but better safe than sorry.

 

Much to his disappointment, the crowds were thin today. He supposed that it had to do with the lingering influence of the renegade dementors and he silently cursed his forgetfulness. Without his wand he'd be helpless against an attack should one single him out.

 

Already feeling uneasy, Harry waited and watched the passengers disembarking the trains. He wanted to be absolutely certain that this wasn't a trap, though he supposed it was a little silly to expect Draco to be running around with an entourage of Death-Eaters. Considering their hatred of all things muggle, Harry truly doubted they'd put any effort in trying to blend in.

 

Much to his surprise, Malfoy was punctual and arrived a few minutes before two. His muggle attire was innocuous enough, though he was dressed a bit too warmly for the early summer's warmth. He was wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved mock turtleneck, also in black. The colour did not flatter him and made his pale complexion appear chalky. Though Draco didn't look as unhealthy as when Harry had last seen him, he still looked like a pale facsimile of the spoiled git that had tormented him throughout his years at Hogwarts.

 

After making sure that Malfoy was alone, Harry returned to the bathroom, stripped off the cloak, and stuffed it into his backpack.

 

When he approached Draco, Harry was greeted with a familiar sneer.

 

“Just so you know, Potter, I recently came of age,” Draco told him coldly.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, “Are you threatening me?”

 

“No,” Draco replied quietly, “I just thought I should warn you in case you try something stupid, that's all.”

 

Harry snorted, feeling rather insulted, “Same old git of a Slytherin, you are. Look, you asked me to give you the benefit of the doubt and that's exactly what I'm doing. Anyway, why would I attack you with so many witnesses around?”

 

Draco just shrugged, “You've got a temper, Potter.”

 

He had a point, though Harry would snap his wand in two before he admitted it. “Whatever,” He said a bit snappishly, “Let's get out of here.”

 

“Where are we going?” Draco asked as he followed Harry toward the escalators that would take them to the surface. Harry noticed how nervously Draco eyes the moving stairs and had to suppress a small, superior chuckle. It was a bit of a treat to see Malfoy so unnerved.

 

“Dunno,” Harry admitted, “but I'll choose the place, thanks very much.”

 

“You don't trust me,” Draco accused.

 

“No,” Harry replied quite honestly, “I really don't.”

 

They were silent until they reached the top of the escalator. While Harry easily stepped off it, Draco had a bit more trouble and ended up tripping in his attempt. Without thinking about it, Harry grabbed his arm to keep him from falling on his face and lead him to the stability of the sidewalk. He must have held onto the arm a bit longer than Draco cared to have his help because he was soon yanking free of Harry's grasp.

 

“Let go, you bloody ponce,” Draco snarled, “I can walk on my own.”

 

Harry glared at him as Draco brushed at his sleeve as though to rid it of something dirty. “Piss off then,” He muttered irritably, “Next time I will let you fall on your stupid face.”

 

Draco suddenly rounded on him angrily. “What about you then? How do you suppose I'm going to let you choose where we go? For all I know, you told the Order about our little meeting!”

 

Harry was dumbfounded and blinked rapidly a couple times before replying. “Draco…You contacted me. I had assumed you thought I was trustworthy.” As for how Draco knew about Harry's ties to the Order of the Phoenix, he could only assume Snape had told him.

 

“Yeah well,” Draco scowled, “Seeing you again…I guess I'm having second thought about this.”

 

Harry supposed that he couldn't blame him. After all, he hadn't been exactly nice to Draco either. Harry vividly remembered using that horrible curse on him when they'd fought in the bathroom and all that blood. He chanced a glance at Draco's face and noticed that it had indeed left a faint scar, a pale shade of pink against his pallid skin.

 

“Listen,” Harry couldn't believe he was actually reassuring Draco Malfoy, “I didn't tell anyone we were meeting, at least not anyone who would bloody well care.”

 

“Not ever Weasley and that mudblood Granger?” Draco demanded.

 

Harry frowned at the ever-present slur from Malfoy's lips. “No, I didn't and don't call Hermione that. For someone looking to call a truce, you're not doing a very good job at convincing me that you've changed.”

 

“All I said was that the situation had changed,” Draco snapped, “Just because I've turned my back on…him, doesn't mean I'm in agreement with you muggle-lovers.”

 

“Fair enough,” Harry muttered, only to be civil. It really wasn't fair at all but he didn't feel like getting into that circular argument. “Look, there's a café. We'll talk this over coffee or tea…whatever.”

 

Draco nodded his assent, looking gloomier than ever. Harry supposed that he wasn't liking his little trip to “muggle London” one bit. Whatever might have been on his mind was never voiced, but he did follow Harry nonetheless.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Since Draco didn't carry anything but wizard currency, Harry ended up paying for Draco's order. Much to Harry's relief, it seemed that even pureblood prats like Draco could stomach Earl Grey tea.

 

They settled down at a small corner table where Harry watched with amazement as Draco spooned at least half a pound of sugar into his tea and turned it white with cream. He seemed somewhat subdued now, not nearly as anxious as when they were on the street. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the café was relatively empty. The music filtering softly from unseen speakers created enough ambient sound that their conversation would not be overheard unless someone was really trying to listen in. Harry still wished that he could use magic. Muffliato would really come in handy right about now.

 

“So what is this about, Malfoy?” Harry asked softly.

 

Draco looked troubled once more as he stirred his sickly sweet concoction. “You need to know that you won't be the only one fighting the Dark Lord,” he replied in an undertone similar to Harry's.

 

Harry furrowed his brow, “Are you…coming over to our side then?”

 

Draco scoffed rather rudely, “Not a bloody chance, Potter.”

 

“The why….”

 

“Perhaps because he did nothing to keep my father out of Azkaban and killed my mother?” Draco sneered bitterly. They glared at each other for a time before Draco sighed softly. He looked tired and inexplicably old.

 

“Anyway, it's not as glamourous as I'd thought it would be,” Draco confessed with the air of someone who was far too jaded at such a young age. “I suppose I'd thought that being a Death-Eater meant you were elite, but…that's really not the case. You're just…his servant and subject to his whims.”

 

Harry sighed and struggled with his new sympathies for Draco. It was really quite absurd to think that he actually felt bad for him. “But surely you knew?” Harry broached carefully, “Didn't your parents tell you?”

 

“Don't be mental,” Draco snapped, “No one liked to speak of the Dark Lord after he disappeared, not even most of the remaining Death-Eaters. It's true that my parents raised me to understand how important it is to uphold the purity of wizard blood, but they never talked about their lives as Death-Eaters.”

 

Harry could feel the beginning of a low-grade migraine throb at his temple. Of course he really shouldn't have been terribly shocked. What had he expected? For Draco to beg to join him in his quest to defeat Voldemort and vow that he'd abandoned his muggle hating ways?

 

“What are you going to do then?” Harry asked wearily, “Lead your own resistance front?”

 

“Maybe I will,” Draco eyed Harry haughtily, “Wouldn't it just kill your little `Chosen One' image if I managed to defeat the Dark Lord?”

 

“Don't make this into another pissing contest, Malfoy,” Harry glowered. “There are things that you don't know about Voldemort that I do. It's not a matter of using just the right hex or curse.”

 

Draco fell sullenly silent as he sipped at his tea. Harry stared down into his coffee cup and realized that he didn't want it anymore. A part of him just wished to get this over with. It was almost excruciating to be in Draco's melancholy presence. It was so much easier to deal with him snarling bigotries and wrapped up in his own self-importance. At least then Harry could hate him without guilt.

 

“Listen,” He took a deep breath and couldn't believe what he was about to suggest, “Why don't you come with me? I know you're clever and…you'll be able to fight when the time comes.”

 

“I suppose Weasley and Granger are going to accompany you as well? You lot are inseparable after all.”

 

“Well…yes, they are,” Harry replied haltingly. He didn't dare mention that he wished otherwise. It was funny to think that he almost preferred the idea of traveling with Malfoy over his best mates. The ugly truth was that if Draco was killed Harry would be a little sad but not devastated like he would be if Ron or Hermione came by the same fate.

 

“I think I'll pass, Potter,” Draco drawled rather insolently, “I don't think your friends would fancy my company much and I won't much relish theirs.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “You're probably right, but maybe I could tell you—“

 

“Don't,” Draco snapped suddenly, “I don't want to know what you're up to.”

 

Harry bristled, “I don't see how it could bloody well hurt. The more people looking for Voldemort's—“

 

“You git!” Draco hissed as he cut him off once more, “I can only hide so much from the Dark Lord.”

 

“So it's true,” Harry regarded him sadly, “You did take the Dark Mark, didn't you?”

 

“Not like I had much of a choice.”

 

“You did. But that's the difference between you and me, isn't it?”

 

Draco didn't say a word to that. His expression was a mixture of anger and reluctant acceptance. Harry wondered about the things that went through Draco's mind. What were his regrets and what did he want now that his whole world had fallen to pieces? Once more, Harry was placed in the uncomfortable position of feeling sorry for his long-time adversary.

 

“All that I really wanted was to tell you that I won't be in your way anymore,” Draco explained quietly. “Whatever you're up to, I don't care to know about it, but for now…We call a truce, alright?”

 

“Agreed,” Harry nodded slowly, “but what will you do now, Draco? Do you really intend to fight Voldemort and the Death-Eaters on your own?”

 

Draco shook his head and looked as world weary as ever. He struck Harry as a soul disconnected now that he had no idea where his place was in this war. Maybe he'd imagined that he could stay on the side-lines forever or that Voldemort was some misunderstood champion.

 

Much to Harry's surprise, Draco stood up and tossed a few galleons onto the table before him. “So I'm not in your debt, Potter,” The smile that twisted his lips was almost smug.

 

“Wait!” Harry grabbed his wrist before he could turn to leave, “There must be some way we can help each other!”

 

“Piss off, Potter,” Draco sneered, “I told you that I'm not interested in fighting on your side.”

 

Harry let him go and bit his tongue to stop from wondering aloud which side Draco was fighting on. He knew the answer as he watched Draco walk out of the café. Malfoy was on the only side that he'd ever really understood: His own.

 

Finis.