An End And A Beginning

Epilogue

It was exactly two years to the day since Lucius Malfoy had passed away as Draco, his mother, and Harry sat together at the breakfast table in the Manor. Outside, the autumnal leaves on the trees outside had already fallen and winter had set in early. A cold sunshine made the light glisten on the frost that sat heavily on the lawns at the back of Malfoy Manor and that had refused to lift in three days. Draco watched the Owl swoop away towards the pale gibbous moon that sat low in the morning sky and seemed to add to the whiteness of the morning. He opened up his copy of the Daily Prophet and laid it down on the table next to his plate so he could read the front page without interrupting his breakfast.

'Mr Potter,' said Narcissa.

'That sounds ominous,' said Harry cheerily.

Draco looked up and fondly watched Harry reach for a triangle of toast. He loved the way Harry's face was healthily tanned—they'd just returned from a week in the south of France, wine tasting. As his eyes roamed Harry's face, Draco thought that really, he ought to try and persuade Harry to do something with his hair before he came down for breakfast, it was quite outrageously disrespectful... and distracting. And he still really didn't understand why he found Harry's broken nose so fucking hot—

Harry caught eyes with him and gave him a very particular smile. Draco knew what that smile meant, the smug git, it meant Harry knew exactly what Draco was thinking and would do something about it if his mother wasn't sitting at the table too. He turned back to the headlining story of the day, blushing faintly at being caught.

'Well,' said Narcissa in an exasperated voice, 'I'm tired of waiting. Mr Potter has yet to tell me of his intentions and whether they are honourable or not.'

'Harry is always honourable...' said Draco, only half-listening because he was quickly preoccupied by the frontpage; the article was about him.

The article was declaring how wonderful the young Malfoy heir was because he'd yet again donated 20,000 galleons to the St Mungo's War Veteran Charity and 20,000 galleons to Wool's Orphanage. For the third year in a row. It was nice... nice to be the centre of attention, naturally, but nice to be the centre of attention in such a worthy way. The right sort of notoriety.

He smiled to himself, quite pleased by it all.

And then he looked up because a particular stillness shrouded the table. Both his mother and Harry were watching him with raised eyebrows but he wasn't sure why.

Ignoring them, Draco asked Harry, 'is Andy Smudgley on your payroll?'

'Who?' said Narcissa, surprisingly put out by her son's behaviour.

Harry just looked amused.

'That reporter, the one for the Daily Prophet who called for our sentences to be revoked.'

'I couldn't possibly bribe journalists,' said Harry innocently. 'Imagine if news like that got out.'

'The only thing worse would be if it got out that you'd put him under an Imperius.'

Harry snorted, 'I thought you just said I was always honourable.'

'One man's honourability is another man's dishonour.'

Harry laughed.

'You're talking in riddles, darling,' said his mother.

'Either way,' said Harry, 'I haven't put Andy Smudgley under an Imperius or bribed him. And yes, Narcissa, my intentions are honourable.'

'What!' said Draco, nearly spitting out the sip of tea he'd just taken.

'Pardon,' corrected his mother. 'And do keep up with the conversation. I asked if Harry's intentions were honourable. It's just,' she said, addressing Harry, 'there's been no sign of you making this... arrangement... with my son official—'