Confessions of an Ex-Death-Eater

Wednesday 31st October 2007

After Confessions was published, all hell broke loose for Harry. He had five stock answers for everyone and anyone that asked (whether they be family, friends, acquaintances, work colleagues, people on the streets, or the press):

1. No, he didn't know anything about Mr Malfoy's book before it was launched.

2. No, he didn't know anything about the dedication.

3. No, he and Mr Malfoy were not in a relationship, and had never been in one.

4. No, Confessions was not the reason he had spoken for Mr Malfoy at his trial.

5. No, he had no further comments.

Eventually, the furore had died away and the Daily Prophet found a new victim to plague over some titbit of gossip, but during all this time Draco had been obviously absent from the public eye. In fact, Draco had been noticeably absent from the public eye since the war. Of course, four years of house arrest meant that the press couldn't get anywhere near him, so, rather unfairly, it was Harry who had been hounded. But then again, in those days, the press only needed a sickles' worth of gossip about Harry to give them a week's worth of headlines. The suppositions behind Draco's book were a positive galleon-making machine for them. Harry didn't know whether to be bitter or amused about it. At least, he thought, it will have done the book sales no end of boosting, just in time for the late-Christmas shoppers too. The book was, indeed, a sell-out.

Draco was watching him carefully from across the table. 'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'You know, for all the chaos it caused. I really didn't think about the reactions. I just wanted you to know.' His voice had dropped to barely a whisper.

Harry shrugged, 'well, what's done is done. It's all a long time ago now,' he said pragmatically. 'Well, I really must be going...' He turned away from the blond man again.

'It's why I came back to studying,' Draco said to his back. 'I came to realise that my knowledge and understanding of literature was horribly poor.'

Harry could hear Draco's voice was slightly shaky so he turned back around and watched him as he spoke.

'I started to read a lot after the war, anything I could get my hands on, you know, during the house arrest. I spent my time looking after little Scorpius and reading everything and anything I could. I fell in love with nineteenth-century muggle literature and began to wonder why we, in the magical community, didn't have anything similar. I wanted to write; I still want to write. One day, when I think I know enough, I will start writing again.'

Draco started to pack up his belongings, so Harry waited as he put his muggle library books and laptop away into a bag.

He was about to send the other books backs to their shelves when Harry said, 'do you need to scan out the books from here. I can arrange for you to borrow them.'

'No, it's okay, I'll come back tomorrow. I wasn't really supposed to be coming in, I just thought, last minute, I'd try the collection here.' He pulled on a thick grey-wool coat and a pair of leather gloves, cast a Feather-light Charm on his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

The two men fell into stride together as they left the building, the tall double-doors swishing shut behind them as they stepped into the darkness.

'Are you Apparating home?' Harry asked.

'Er, no.' And he noticed Draco's reply was somewhat quiet again. 'I drove here.'

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't comment beyond saying, 'I'm amazed you managed to find a parking space, it's a bloody nightmare here, even with the new carpark under Damocles.'