a grave for flowers | drarry

chapter 5

chapter 5

"And now my job is to monitor Malfoy, I guess," Harry finished filling Ron in on why he wasn't at the raid the day before at lunch break.

"Why did Shacklebolt have to do you so dirty like that?" Ron asked, indignant on Harry's behalf. He took a bite of his sandwich.

Harry shrugged, not willing to tell Ron it was because Shacklebolt thought he wasn't getting enough rest. "It's not bad, honestly," he said, thinking about the rhododendrons that were half wilting at Grimmauld Place, and how he panicked when he woke up and saw their sorry state. "All I have to do is drop in, drop off the money, and leave. And it's only once a month."

Ron leaned back, a hint of a satisfied smirk on his face. "You having to give Malfoy money," he said. "Oh, how the tables have turned. I wouldn't blame you if he mysteriously turns up dead in his bed."

Harry shrugged again, because he still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Malfoy. He certainly didn't think about killing Malfoy in his sleep, and it frankly jolted Harry how earnest Ron was about doing Malfoy actual bodily harm.

And it became so clear to Harry, so very clear how Ron had never forgotten, had never let go. It was written all over the slight crease in his brow, in his his smirk that disguised unresolved anger for satisfaction. To Ron, every insult that was ever hurled at him from Draco Malfoy's mouth was a bullet in a battle, in a war that began far before Voldemort's resurrection. It was not in Ron's nature to forgive such a thing. 

Ron did not think of House rivalry as petty. He thought of the crown of "archenemy" as rightfully bestowed upon Malfoy's platinum blonde head with a spiteful spit and a kick into a cell in Azkaban. But Malfoy was not in Azkaban, and Ron could never quite reconcile with this reality.

Ron was different from Harry. Harry fought but didn't know why; Ron fought because he did know why, and all too well. Dead siblings and Gryffindor rage was more than enough to give him a purpose in life.

Harry said nothing more, and made a mental note to ask Hermione whether she knew how to take care of flowering bushes.

♢

Hermione, as it turned out, didn't know much about flowers. But she did know how to make a very nice cup of tea, and make a cup of tea she did.

"I heard about your new job, with Malfoy," she said sympathetically, handing Harry his cup and sitting down across from him. "Are you holding up alright?"

Why did everyone think Harry would either fall apart or somehow end up killing Malfoy? Harry sipped at his tea with irritation. "I just need Shacklebolt to stop giving me special treatment," he muttered. "Anyway, do you know anyone who knows something about flowers? I wasn't exactly like Neville in Professor Sprout's greenhouse." 

"Neither was I," Hermione pointed out. "I just studied extra hard for all her exams. Anyway, if you want to talk flowers, why don't you just ask Ginny?"

Harry stiffened, fingers rigid around the handle of his cup. "Someone other than Ginny," he ground out.

Hermione softened. "Have you still not talked to her?" she asked.

He hadn't. Not once did Harry see her nor hear from her after the day he told her to leave. Ron didn't speak to Harry for weeks afterward, but eventually came around to the idea that maybe Harry and Ginny weren't meant to be after all.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"No," Harry said shortly.

"You did defend Narcissa Malfoy, you know," Hermione said. "Ginny was bound to not take it well."