Obliviate

NINE

                Six fucking years. Harry sat tensely at the bar of the hog’s head. His fourth glass of fire whiskey clutched between his numb fingers. He tossed back the amber liquid, sighing as it burned his throat. “How many is that now?” Came a voice he decidedly did not want to hear. “It’s none of your bloody business.” Harry responded as Draco slid into the seat next to him. Harry glanced over, nearly rolling his eyes at the sight of Draco bloody Malfoy sitting stiffly at the bar, wearing his immaculately pressed black suit, like he was attending a business meeting instead of a place to get drunk. “It is when my wife sends me out to check on you.” Harry snorted, raising the glass to signal another. “Well, when a bomb is just placed in my lap, I think I’m entitled to a little self-medicating.” Draco lifted his finger, signaling for his own drink.

                When Ginny came home to the burrow with Draco in tow, he thought for sure she had gone mental. Harry had said as much and effectively suffered Ginny’s wrath. Just because they remained friends gave him zero right to have any input on who she could or could not shag. Her words not his. Draco surprisingly turned out to be an alright person once politics weren’t involved and since he escaped from underneath his father’s thumb. “How did you find me anyways?” Harry grumbled, swishing the new glass around in his hand. Draco sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Why did you need to go and choose this establishment?” Draco asked, avoiding the questions. Harry shrugged; he didn’t want to admit it was because he felt like the bottom of the barrel so why not drink at the bottom of the barrel.

                Draco studied him silently as he sipped his drink. “Just come out with it. I reckon you have a lot to say about the subject. I worked with you long enough at the ministry to know your tells. You’re gathering your thoughts.” Draco smirked before setting down his glass and steepling his fingers along the bar. “Hermione told Ron that the two of you had a row.” Harry snorted, his anger flaring once more. “A row is putting it lightly. She betrayed me.” Harry tossed back his fifth glass, practically slamming it down on the bar. “She stole so much from me Malfoy. Things I will never get back.” Harry blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over as his thoughts drifted to Rosalee. Draco sighed, “Yes…well, she was a child in retrospect. Perhaps you should try to remember that. Children…” Draco paused, clearing his throat, “Children make mistakes Potter, we should know that better than anyone.” Harry glanced up; the memories of the war written all over his face.

               The war had not been kind to either of them. Whereas Harry had been the chosen one, the savior of the wizarding world, Draco had been the Slytherin prince. The heir to Voldemort’s kingdom. They had equally made their share of mistakes. “Wait…” Harry paused, the whiskey blurring his senses. “Hermione told Ron?” Realization dawned on Draco’s face as Harry pushed back from the bar, dropping some galleons along the sticky wooden top. “Potter, slow down and think about this.” Draco rationalized. Harry hated a rational Malfoy. Harry stumbled towards the door, the whiskey pulsating through his blood stream the more his rage burned.

              He apparated before Draco could catch him, tumbling on the front lawn of the burrow. “Harry? That you mate?” Ron called from the garden as he rushed over. “You fucking wanker!” Harry growled, swinging his fist at Ron’s face, connecting with a satisfying crunch. “Bloody hell Harry!” Ron yelled, causing the remaining Weasleys to come rushing out of the house. Blood spilled down the red head’s face and onto the white cotton shirt he wore. Harry was vaguely aware of the pop of Draco coming from behind him as he pulled back his fist for another hit. “You knew! You fucking knew all this time!” Harry screamed, his voice hoarse and broken. Ron shook his head, putting his hands up in front of himself. “Harry! Mate I swear! I didn’t know until a couple days ago!” Molly screamed as she rushed towards the scene, Ginny angrily rushing behind her. “Arthur!” Molly yelled out, desperate to stop the fight. Draco grabbed Harry’s arms, linking them behind his back as he thrashed. “You should have told me Ron!” Ginny and Molly made their way between them. “Harry come off it! This is no one’s fault but Hermione’s!” Ginny yelled.

              Harry whirled on her at the words. “Come off it? Gin, you knew for years how I felt about her! She wouldn’t have felt the need to hide if it wasn’t for you!” Things were getting out of hand. Ginny reacted faster than Harry would have thought as her hand whipped out, slapping his face. Draco spun him, his nostrils flaring with anger, “Potter, I get that you are angry, you have every bloody right to be, but I will only remind you this once. That is MY bloody wife.” Draco growled dangerously low, and Harry knew he was skating a fine line. Harry sank to the ground, his breath coming is deep pulls as his head fell into his hands. The silence that took over was deafening as the group stood around aimlessly, everyone unsure of the next move.

              It was Molly that moved first, coming to kneel at Harry’s feet. Harry had filled out since his school days. His shoulders broader, and his frame less lean and more defined. His face sporting a carefully groomed beard, gone was the childlike features that Molly would insist made him look nearly angelic. Sitting broken on the ground before her was the perfect mixture of her late friends. Tentatively she reached out and touched his knee. A quiet sob escaped his lips. “Harry dear.” She called softly, urging him to look at her. “He knew.” Harry broke; his green eyes sad. Molly sighed before licking her lips nervously. “We all knew dear. At least recently, the past few days, we all knew. She asked us not to say anything. She wanted to tell you herself.” Harry’s eyes grew wide, darting from one Weasley to the next. “All of you? You all knew, and no one had the fucking heart, the decency to tell me?!” He stood up, his rage renewed. How deep did this betrayal go. Ginny snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did you have the decency not to shag her behind my back?” Ginny mumbled. “Explains why she didn’t show up to my weddings though.” Harry spun, ignoring the tears that covered his face. “Sod off Ginevra. She was at your last wedding. In the back, carefully avoiding me and smiling as you married the ferret.” Ginny shifted uncomfortably, “And as for shagging her behind your back, I can’t say that I really remember that part.” Harry spit sarcastically, “Obviously, it did and I’m sorry for the part I played in hurting you, but honestly…” Harry threw his arms up in exasperation. “You knew. Every time you asked me to consider you as something more… I couldn’t, you knew why and still you pushed. After the war, all I wanted was to be part of a family, having no idea that I already was.” He glanced back at Molly, who gave him a watery smile. He turned away, unable to forgive the betrayal just yet. “In more ways than one. What I did was wrong… yes, I won’t deny that. I accept that responsibility, but you need to accept your part in this too.” Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes. He took an angry step towards her, “Tread carefully Potter.” Draco growled protectively. Harry let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Every one of you.” He pointed his finger, jabbing it in their direction, first Ginny, then Ron…landing finally on Molly. “Every one of you betrayed me just as much. You each took a turn twisting the knife that she bloody well stabbed into my back.”

             Without another word, Harry stumbled backwards and towards the property line where he could apparate out of there. He ignored Ron’s pleas and Molly’s sobs. Unable to face the people he considered family for so many years.

             Grimmauld place was no longer the dark hole in the wall, central location of the war efforts that it once was. 6 months after the war, George, Ron and Harry had all come in, eager to renovate. Eager to drown their sorrows and loss into tearing down the pain of Sirius’s childhood. Now as one would step over the threshold, they would walk into an invitingly bright foyer, the hostile portrait of Walburga Black removed and wrapped up, shoved deep into the attic. Moth-eaten velvet curtains replaced with soft cotton drapes, parted open to allow sunlight to streak through. As Harry stepped inside, he wished for the first time in nearly six years, to revert to the dimly lit home. “Mr. Potter.” Minerva startled him enough that stupefy slipped from his lips. Minerva however was faster, as she cast a wordless shield charm. “Merlin, Minerva. I’m sorry.” He slurred, the whiskey finally catching up to him.

             McGonagall inclined her head, her face leaving no room for argument that they were going to talk whether he liked it or not. He stumbled to the sitting area and flopped with a huff. He was acting like a petulant child and truly, he didn’t care. “Now then. It would do you well to remember your manners Mr. Potter, I know perfectly well that both Molly Weasley and I made sure that you had some.” Harry fought back the urge to roll his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. “My apologies professor. May I put on the kettle for you?” He asked, albeit begrudgingly. Minerva shook her head. “No thank you Mr. Potter, I intend this to be a short visit, as I’m sure we both need to return to school grounds relatively soon.” Her implication was clear. “Molly floo’d me rather quickly after you left the burrow this evening and gave me a general run of what occurred.” Harry glanced up, unsurprised to see the knowing look upon her face. “Let me guess professor…you knew as well.” He could keep the bite out of his tone and thankfully McGonagall didn’t acknowledge it. “Of course I did. Granted, I was unaware until Ms. Granger accepted the position with your daughter in tow, but I can’t say that I’m surprised.” Harry felt the disappointment crash over him. Everyone. Every single person who claimed to care for him knew about his daughter and blatantly left him in the dark. “Mr. Potter, Harry…I understand the position this puts you in-“ Harry stood up abruptly, causing Minerva to sit back in her chair, to look up at him. “No Minerva, I don’t think you do. I put my trust in you…in Molly…in Dumbledore, when I was a child. I was eleven years old and had no one. Not a single, solitary soul that cared whether I lived or died.” His body trembled as he spoke. “Dumbledore raised me like a lamb ready to slaughter and the only one who truly cared was a man that despised me because of my father. Something I had no control over.” He waited for her denial. Denial that unsurprisingly never came. They both knew the truth about his childhood, there was no sense in painting a pretty picture of something that was untrue.

            Hermione was the one person who believed in him with zero expectations and no other ulterior motives. Harry knew that was what made him fall in love with her years ago. She didn’t come to Hogwarts to befriend the famous Harry Potter. Not like Ron, who acted as though he saw a celebrity, not like Draco who wanted to befriend him just to say he could. She was muggle born and raised, much like himself and didn’t have a single care about some bloody curse he survived.

            “Mr. Potter,” Minerva began as she stood up, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re hurting. Truly I am, and I’m sorry for the unfortunate role I played in your dismal childhood. I did the best I could with the information I was given, by a mentor I had trusted as well. I have spent several years in repentance for it. Grieve however it is you feel you need to but remember that there is an innocent child at the center of this tragedy who thinks the world of both her mother and her father.”

                Harry stilled as Minerva made her way towards the front door. She threw a glance over her shoulder, her eyes assessing him. He wondered briefly what she saw there. “I’m cancelling your classes for the remainder of this week. Take some time to collect yourself.” Without another word and leaving no room for argument, she slipped out the door and left Harry alone.