Chapter 4
In the weeks that followed, Harry kept on watching Malfoy for signs of deceit, for the mask to slip, and if that meant a bit of light stalking, well it wouldn’t be the first time. But by all appearances Malfoy was who he presented himself to be. Reformed bad boy, making up for the disastrous mistakes of his youth, which of course he was pressured into.
A victim. An upstanding member of society. A man of influence. A Malfoy.
Six months after Malfoy was released from prison, Harry finally decided to give him a chance. He walked up to the Manor doors, knocked once and was greeted by a house elf.
So not quite that changed then.
Birdie introduced herself with a bow and an offer to take Harry’s coat. He declined politely, making it clear he wouldn’t be staying long. “Is Malfoy home?”
“Master is in the sitting room, sir.”
Harry followed Birdie, taking in the Manor as he went. It wasn’t his first time being back here — he took up the invitation to the ball as part of his recognizance efforts — but in the light of day it looked different. It had a colder feel to it somehow, the sunlight not quite making its way through the windows and into the halls.
When they arrived at their destination, Birdie knocked once and motioned for Harry to wait outside before entering the room herself. A moment later, Malfoy was at the door and the elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers.
“Harry!” Malfoy greeted him with his customary dead eye smile. Maybe Azkaban makes real smiles harder to access, Harry thought (rather generously if he were to say so himself), shoving away any lurking suspicion.
“I wasn’t expecting you," the blond said, making no move to let Harry into the room. "Do you mind if we sit?" Harry asked, pushing open the door. Harry felt the other man's shoulders stiffen for a brief moment as he brushed past him but his face gave nothing away. "Of course, my apologies," Malfoy said, following Harry inside and gesturing for him to take a seat on a chaise longue.
Harry walked past the stuffy old chair and sat down in the seat just behind it on an equally uncomfortable looking sofa. A mess of files lay open on a coffee table in front of him. Harry eyed them with interest as Malfoy pulled out his wand, hastily closing the documents and banishing them out of sight.
"What was all that?" Harry asked innocuously. Malfoy's usually placid smile turned venomous, but only for a second. Still, Harry caught it. He offered Malfoy a genuine smile of his own in return. “Work for the department?”
“No, nothing like that. Just some paperwork for a few of the charities I’m running, you know how it is.”
Harry knew it was a lie. He saw the file marked with Draco’s name. Pored over it enough times at work for his eye to easily be drawn to it in the pile.
"Can I offer you a refreshment?" Malfoy asked, taking a seat in an armchair next to the sofa and drawing Harry's attention to an antique bar cart in the corner of the room. The brass was shiny enough to blind.
“No, thanks. Sorry to just drop in, I don't mean to stay long. I just wanted to give you something,” Harry said.
“Oh?" Malfoy summoned a drink for himself. He couldn't be completely sure since the wizard seemed incapable of showing any real emotion, but Harry would bet the current bored expression on Malfoy's face indicated irritation. Well, that would soon change, Harry hoped. With another warm smile for good measure, Harry pulled out the long, thin box, engraved with Ollivander’s stamp from his robes and opened it to reveal the Hawthorne wand, offering it to Malfoy.
Beyond the raise of an eyebrow, there was no sign of recognition on the other man’s face. “Thank you," he said blandly, accepting the box.
Harry shrugged, his mind racing. That’s all? Thank you? 10 years without his wand and you’d think there’d be a bit more of a reaction than a simple thank you.
“No problem. Well, I should get going," Harry said standing up abruptly. "See you around, Malfoy.”
“Yes. See you," Malfoy said. He watched Harry exit, not rising from his own seat.
Harry quickly left the Manor the way he came, his suspicions returning tenfold.
Malfoy didn’t recognize the wand.
**
Harry was at a loss. Over the next few days, he replayed the weekend’s incident over and over in his mind searching for something he could have missed. Nothing jumped out at him.
On Wednesday something else did.
It was a routine training session for new Aurors, just a simple demonstration of duelling techniques but they were one instructor short so Robards had asked Malfoy to step in.
“Not to worry lad, we just need you to take up the stance and deflect the spells that come your way.”
Malfoy offered an easy smile. “No problem.” He took up the stance across from Harry, waiting for the signal to draw his wand. When they got it, Harry noticed it wasn’t the Hawthorne wand in Malfoy’s hand.
He set that information aside as he got into training mode, showing the class basic techniques to disarm an opponent. As soon as he aimed his spell, Malfoy put up a Protego. Harry’s next spell went wide, getting past the shield nicking Malfoy on his left side.
“Sorry about that, Malfoy. See class, that’s the benefit of a moving Protego.” Malfoy looked stone faced but turned a tight smile on Harry as he looked at him.
“What’s that?” One of the new recruits called out. “What?” Harry asked. “There on Mr. Malfoy’s chest? Did he get hurt?” Harry looked only to find the evidence of his hateful curse branded across Malfoy’s chest.
Malfoy took the question. “Oh this? No, just a war wound. Living with the dark lord wasn’t always pleasant, you see."
Harry raised his eyebrows at the lie. They both knew how those scars ended up on his chest. Was Malfoy lying for Harry’s sake? He opened his mouth to say something when the bell chimed alerting recruits it was time to move on to their next lesson. They filed out of the room, chatting loudly and Malfoy followed.
Before he made it out the door Harry caught up to him. “Malfoy!" He called, stopping in his tracks. "Why did you lie?” Malfoy tilted his head, looking at Harry quizzically. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Your scars,” Harry started. Malfoy’s face straightened back to its pleasant mask.
“Oh, yes. It’s a bit embarrassing I suppose,” he grimaced.
“Embarrassing?”
“Yes, well, we all have childhood scars, don’t we Harry?”
Harry blinked back at Malfoy, his mind racing anew.
“Yeah. Right. Sorry to pry.”
When Saturday arrived Harry was up at first light. He had some real prying to do.