𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

Chapter 5

      "All right," Harry heard himself say.

      "Great!" Kieran responded happily, and that was when Harry opened his eyes. "You can just pop in after me--oh wait, you'll probably want to stop by your place first, get your kit for tomorrow, don't worry, I've got all the essentials, you can even have a new toothbrush if you like--why don't you do that and come round in, say, fifteen minutes?" Kieran rattled on enthusiastically.

      "All right," Harry said again, mechanically.

      "Okay then! See you in a bit!" And Kieran stepped into the Floo, whooshing away in flames.

      Harry headed into the adjacent grate, and did the same.

      He wound his way through the dark, silent living room and clambered up the stairs, no longer needing to tread quietly. That first night alone, his steps had been soundless as always, out of habit, until he'd fallen onto the mattress and it had groaned loudly beneath his weight, with nothing but himself to dampen the springs. Since then, he'd tried to be as noisy as possible, if only to fill the dense space of no one else breathing.

      Harry threw his briefcase against a clothing-strewn chair with a thunk, turned on the lights, and went to the dresser. He yanked open the second drawer--the top one was Draco's, still crammed with Draco's things--and it clattered toward him. Harry plunged a hand in, leaned his chest in, and stood there, fingers curled around the cool folds of a shirt.

      His fingers closed, furrowing cotton.

      He couldn't.

      Harry jerked his hand from the drawer and slammed it shut, jarring the miscellany on the dressertop. Loose change and a set of Draco's cufflinks skittered metallically. He turned away and went to firecall Kieran.

***

      The next few weeks passed in a blur of paperwork and distraction. Harry stumbled from meeting to meeting, tacking on tired smiles for those who expressed mild concern. "It's just a busy time," he'd say, hefting his briefcase or the scrolls of parchment under his arm. They'd nod in sympathy and he'd be shutting the door to his office, free to feel numb, and look like it.

      There was one bright moment--the moment he received a cream-colored envelope, among the usual barrage of interoffice owls one morning. It was large and heavy and Harry knew where it'd come from before he'd even turned it over to see the Malfoy family crest. He'd opened it quickly, not wanting to tear it but unable to wait, and slid out a tasteful invitation.

      Mr. Draco Malfoy and the Board of Trustees of the Malfoy Foundation for Children request the pleasure of your company...

      A knock on the door, and Nichols lumbered into view. "Harry, have you--ah, good, good, you've gotten yours," the boss said, flapping his own invitation in the air. "You will be attending, won't you? Ministry's got several tables--our department's got to put in a strong showing. I'll not have those bastards in Audit thinking they've got--"

      "I'm going."

      "Excellent, excellent! If you'd fill out the reply card there; I'm owling them all back myself, just to make sure..."

      So Harry filled in the little card, handed it over, and marked "Malfoy Foundation fundraiser" on his desk calendar.

***

      Harry tugged nervously at his dress robes--Draco had always liked these ones best--and breathed deeply as he entered the Manor. Swirls of people were already there, glittering and perfumed, though Harry was right on time. Unusually so, for Harry and a social event--but this was his one chance to talk to Draco, get Draco to listen.