Running On Air

Chapter 3

Within seconds of pouring the memory into the assigned pensieve, Harry disappears into its depths. A room constructs itself lightning-quick around him, the memory quickly taking form. Half-height walnut panelling, a rich leather chaise, solemn-faced portraits in gilded frames, a marble fireplace — a room in Malfoy Manor, Harry would wager.

Narcissa stands by the fireplace, the flames casting patterns of light and shadow over her face.

"You are unhappy," she says slowly.

Harry turns around. Malfoy is behind him, he realises, standing and facing away from his mother, seemingly studying a family portrait on the wall. He's neatly dressed, as ever, but he wears no robes or cloak. It gives him a strangely vulnerable look.

Malfoy doesn't reply to his mother. He keeps staring at the family portrait. It consists of a far younger Narcissa and Lucius, Harry sees, standing each side of their son. Malfoy looks about ten or eleven and when Malfoy speaks next, he confirms Harry's estimate.

"This portrait was painted the day before I left for Hogwarts."

"Did you hear me, Draco? I'm asking if you're happy," Narcissa says. Malfoy, once more, doesn't respond. He keeps staring at the portrait, eyes locked on his younger self. Lucius and Narcissa look proud, Harry thinks, and so much more complete. The toll of the war was high indeed.

Narcissa watches her son with a frown on her face. "Draco — "

"I heard you."

Narcissa raises a hand to her necklace. It's a habit she has, Harry thinks, when she's anxious or displeased.

"You're not wearing your wedding ring," Narcissa observes, and Harry glances at Malfoy's hand. Narcissa doesn't miss a thing, he thinks wryly.

"I never do," Malfoy says, not turning his gaze from the portrait.

Several expressions shift over Narcissa's face, difficult to observe in the flickering firelight. She drops her hand from the necklace and changes topics. "Well, seeing as you're so interested in portraits, you'll be sitting for your next one in a few months. I thought the conservatory would make a nice backdrop."

Malfoy nods. Narcissa presses on.

"And perhaps a quote, carved into the frame? You'll have to give it some careful thought. Your father selected a Seneca quote about power, if I recall correctly. Perhaps you'll choose something similar?"

"I've got something in mind," Malfoy says.

"Yes?" Narcissa tilts her head expectantly. "Tell me, I'll be sure to tell the framer."

"We cannot accept," Malfoy says, "what we do not choose."

Narcissa is silent.

Malfoy crosses the room in a short number of strides and leaves, his footsteps fading down the hallway, and the memory dissolves to nothing.

Harry's not sure what he should make of it.

The Wandsworth Warriors win the Margate match.

Ginny arrives at the apartment just after five o'clock in the evening. Harry is standing on the balcony, staring out over the Thames, watching the trains. The wards suddenly shimmer, wavering across his view, and the next moment Ginny has tumbled into the middle of the kitchen, a portkey clutched in one hand. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with victory. She kisses him before rushing away again; the team captain has organised a celebratory dinner for the team.

"I'll skip the drinks afterwards and just come home," Ginny promises as she changes into a set of casual robes.

"Don't be daft, go and have fun," Harry says, and Ginny smiles as she kisses him again in farewell, rushing out the door again. A moment later, there's a brief pop as she Disapparates.