Chapter Text
Draco apparated to Malfoy Manor just before he collapsed, a house elf rushing to his aid. The echo from the apparition bounced off the cold marble walls. The elf brought with him an extra strength calming draught. Draco spilled half of the potion trying to raise it up to his mouth.
“Dobby will help Master Draco.” The elf said before taking the vial and pouring it into Draco’s open mouth. As the potion went down the tremors lessened. “Dobby will draw Master Draco a calming draught bath. Unless Master Draco thinks otherwise.” Draco stuttered through a response, “Y-yes Dobb-by.”
Narcissa rushed into the foyer to help Draco up, “Draco, my dear dragon, what happened?”
A wince left Draco’s mouth before he spoke, “Auntie Bella was…disappointed…at the lack of information I’ve gathered from the Order.” He was able to grit out.
Narcissa pulled Draco into the sitting room off the side of the foyer and pushed him onto a couch. “Dragon, do not push yourself. You are not Severus.” She scolded.
After the worst of the shaking had passed, Narcissa helped her son up the Manor’s steps into his bath. She left with lingering eyes on his still trembling hand.
Later that night, Draco found himself in the backmost pew of St. Giles, again. Draco was still trembling slightly, but it was no longer noticeable. Draco was preparing for another night of listening to Harry’s voice for an hour in relative silence when a young girl came running through the doors.
“Dwaco! Come meet my fwiends! Will, Emily, Chris, come meet Dwaco!” She waved her little hands, motioning for her friends. A little horde of kids about Marcy’s age came running into the church. “I begged my mom to let me come back for you! You should come to our mass! It’s at 9 on Sunday! Then I can show you my other fwiends!” Draco looked down at her green eyes, they welled up and she started to pout. Draco sighed, “Yeah, I will Marcy.”
She giggled and ran to her seat, leaving Draco to watch her blonde head sit down. His grey eyes continued to watch her through the whole service. When her sister went up for Eucharist she tilted her head for him to join her. He gave a small smile and shook his head. She eventually gave up and stood in line.
After their first meeting, Draco went to the library to research about Christianity and realised he was far behind for his age. Draco had not had his first communion. He had not been baptized. He had never been in a church before St. Giles. He wanted to, for no other reason than to say he did. He did not believe in God. Magic didn’t offer any devotion. It gave and did not ask for anything in return other than to be used.
The closest thing he had to devotion was the cycle of the Sabbats, even then, most wizards have renounced the old ways. They preferred Christmas and New Years over Yule and Samhain, muggles over their own history. Hogwarts used to give days off to celebrate at school, before Dumbledore. He remembered the Yule log that would burn in the firepit at Malfoy Manor.
After he bid everyone a good night, Draco went home to the Manor library. He sat and he read. Researched through the old books about the Wheel of the Year. Found something sparked within him when he read about traditions he partook in as a child. Traditions the Dark Lord promised to bring back. And yet, 3 years after his rise, they are still not in place. When Draco read, he felt more connected to his magic than ever. More than when he read the bible or any other book. Draco went to bed with his fingers tingling and his mind racing.
𓆩 𓆪
He did not come back the week after, he came back that Sunday. After having breakfast at Malfoy Manor, he left for St. Giles at nine. When he arrived, he saw Marcy’s blond head swiveling around looking for him. Once her green eyes locked onto his grey ones she ran over.
“Dwaco! You came! Mummy said you wouldn’t,” She pouted at the idea, “But I knew you would. Father Vale says you’re nice!” She smiled again, her face lighting up and her front two teeth missing.
“Does he now?” Draco asked with an eyebrow raised, looking for the signature mop of black hair. The sun shone through the stained glass of the church, casting vibrant shadows of color on the pews. Before he could talk to Harry about anything, a larger group of kids than last time ran up to him. Draco took a quick step back on instinct.
The kids were overwhelming, loud and touchy. It was difficult for Draco to fully appreciate the children. Their names started mixing. Their voices grew louder. And then suddenly he was in Hogwarts, fighting his friends with nothing other than his fists and wit. He’d lost his wand somewhere. He’d lost his sanity somewhere in the Room of Requirement, maybe before then. His breath came in puffs and his hands shook as they brought death.
“Draco?”
His head spun to the sound of the voice, his wand in hand. Harry stood there. Just standing. He didn’t look anywhere else but his eyes. Draco quickly hid his wand again. And breathed.
Just breathed.
In sync, together.
When his breath came as easy as the one before it, Harry nodded and went to start the service.
The kids noticed Harry starting and went to their seats. Marcy pulled Draco to where she sits in the front of the church. Draco was too tired to resist. When he fell into his seat, Marcy sat next to him and swung her feet. It was different hearing Harry’s voice so close.
“Please open your books to Philippians 3,” A pause of rustling pages, “Today we will be looking at lines 12 to 13 specifically.”
Draco took the bible that Marcy handed to him and looked for Philippians 3.
“The scripture starts like this: ‘Not that I have already reached the goal or am already perfect, but I make every effort to take hold of it because I also have been taken hold of by Christ Jesus.’ Paul starts with a negative, already starting his thoughts in a way that we interpret as bad. He wants us to know that he, and in turn us as children of God, are not perfect. And he talks of a goal, in the verse before that goal is resurrection. He knows that for us to reach resurrection, for us to reach the Kingdom of Heaven, we need to be taken hold of by Christ. He realises that, even if he is not perfect himself or has not fully reached the goal of being ‘ready’ for resurrection, he has let himself be taken hold of by Jesus Christ. His word choice here of ‘taken hold’ is partnered with a vision of something violent or controlling. In our modern world, to be taken hold of is scary or frightening. But if we let ourselves feel the presence of good in us, we will reach resurrection. It feels like Christ Jesus in his verse is referring to the seed he’s placed in our souls, something we’ve talked about before. He helps us grow this seed, Christ is the gardener and we are the plants he cares for. He wants us to do these good acts, he calls on us to do so.
“In the next lines he says again, ‘Brothers and sisters, I do not yet consider myself to have taken hold of it.’ He highlights—again—that he does not think he is perfect. Not because he can be or because God wishes us to, but because we cannot be perfect until we reach salvation. We cannot truly know if we have done enough and that is enough. He calls us brothers and sisters, letting us feel familiar with Paul, letting us feel a connection with him. If my brother cannot be perfect, neither can I.
“‘But one thing I do.’ Here, in this line, Paul shows us that for all of his talk of being ‘taken hold of’ by Jesus, there is something we can do to reach resurrection. What we can do is forget what is behind and reach forward to what is ahead. Paul is telling us to forget the things we’ve done in vain, fake acts of good, the sins we’ve committed, and reach forward. What I picture when he says ‘reach forward’ is a runner puffing out his chest at the finish line, doing every last bit of effort into the end, even if he knows he’s going to reach it. That is how we should look at Heaven, it is not a destination that comes to us, or we reach by walking. But a goal that we reach for, we put energy and effort and time into. Because even if we do all of the good things Paul did earlier in these verses it would not be enough if you did them for the wrong reasons. And that is what Paul is talking about. Forgetting the past, let it fall into oblivion, into memory, and reach for the good, true good, we can do now.
“These few lines feel as if they hold contradictions, and if just read without interpreting, they do. But if you take the time to fully understand the gospel of God you will understand that we do not do good just to do it, we do it to understand that it could bring joy to another. And that the past is a phantom, mistakes were just that, and we will do what we can now, in this moment, to fix what we can.”
Draco couldn’t breathe again, it seemed to be a recurring condition. Harry usually liked to have his eyes roam the congregation as he presented his sermons. But this time, his Avada Kadavra eyes stayed locked on his ash-grey ones. Talking to him instead of at him. His words held weight that he couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. All that ran through Draco’s mind was how he needs to pensive this memory.
“If you take nothing else from this sermon other than that, I will have done my job.”
Harry looks away.
He holds his arms out and starts with communion.
After the service, Draco politely bids goodbye to Marcy and her family before quickly leaving. Draco doesn’t think of his apparition, which is a good way to get splinched, but just ends up at the old Granger residence. He stood on the sidewalk of the townhouse, noting the dying plants in the flowerbeds, the closed curtains, and the ‘no trespassers’ sign.
Draco walked up to the house, trudging through the extensive wards on the house to knock on the door. A moment later it swung open to reveal a frazzled Hermione Granger. Her short hair stuck out at odd ends from her messy bun, her glasses falling down her nose, and clothes hung loose around her frail frame. She looked surprised to see Draco there.
“Draco? Is something wrong?” Her head peeked out of the doorframe to look out onto the sidewalk. Then she looked closer at his face. “Do you need to talk?” She didn’t even wait for him to respond and just ushered him in. The Slytherin girl led him to the couch and started making tea. It reminded him of the first time he’d been here.
𓆩 𓆪
It was the summer between his 2nd and 3rd years and the whole world seemed to be in mourning of the girl weasel. Draco walked up to the house, trudging through the extensive wards on the house to knock on the door. She was one of the only Mudbloods in Slytherin, even the Sorting Hat knew her kind didn’t belong in the great House of Snakes.
His mother was standing on the sidewalk, giving an encouraging, although strained, smile. Draco stood there too long to leave a guest on the porch before Granger opened the door.
“Draco? Is something wrong?” Her head peeked out of the doorframe to look out onto the sidewalk, noticing Narcissa and smiling meekly. Draco took this time to take her in. Her wild, frizzy hair, her shortened teeth, her muggle clothes. She didn’t look like the witch she was.
“I just wanted to…apologise for my misconduct over the last 2 years. It has come to my attention that you would be a very useful ally, should you accept.” He spoke elegantly, holding out his hand.
“I do,” She responded, shaking his hand firmly.
𓆩 𓆪
Draco is shaken from the memory by the sound of an electric kettle.
“Earl Grey, right?” She calls out from the kitchen. “Yes, please.”
She came out holding two steaming mugs of tea and placing one down in front of Draco. She sat across from him staring pointedly with an eyebrow raised.
“Where have you been the past 5 weeks? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Draco is grateful for the easy conversation Hermione always seems to exude.
“Would you be surprised if I said church?” He answers in a small voice.
Hermione blinked, took a breath, then paused.
“What?”
“I went to Godric’s Hollow on Halloween, like you told me to, and I found this priest and at first I thought it was Potter, but I don’t think he has the scar and he doesn't have the last name Potter. But I watched his mass and I just kept coming back and today I had a flashback. Don’t look at me like that Hermione. His sermon was about me, he was looking at me the whole time. I know it was about me, he literally saw me freak out. He saw me freak out! And it was about growth and forgetting the past! He kept looking at me, I don’t think you understand Hermione, it was intentional. I know I sound crazy. I said stop looking at me like that! But I’m not. I just don’t know what to do!” He finished with flailing hands.
Silence.
“Draco…”
Draco slumped on the couch, “I know.” He groaned.
“And you said he was a priest?”
“I know!” He yells, hands covering his face.
“The last time I heard you like this it was 5th year and Blaise Zabini had his growth spurt.” It felt like the final nail in the coffin. Draco knew what he sounded like, but he didn’t want to accept it. He was 21 years old, he could handle these things maturely, surely?
Hermione sighed, “What’s his name?”
“Harry Vale,” he muttered into his hand.
“Do you want to go next week?” She asked in a soft voice.
Draco didn’t respond. Instead, he took a sip of tea.
“Would you like me to go with you next week?”
A wave of emotions pass his face, before eventually settling on a mix of fear, anticipation, and longing.
“I couldn’t ask that of you, Hermione. It’s too dangerous for you to leave the wards. And for a mass? I couldn’t.” Draco stared.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering Draco,” She squares her shoulders. A Gryffindor-like fire burns in her stance.
“It’s obvious you want to go back. If you’re too scared to do it alone, I’ll go with you.” Hermione’s dirt brown eyes stared at Draco’s mist grey. There was a steel to them and no answer would please her except the one Draco knew he wanted as well.
Draco paused. He thought of how dangerous it could be for Hermione. What if this was the one mass he went to that was raided by Death Eaters. What if someone recognises her? What if I have to leave and she gets stranded? But what if she makes a friend? She’s been so lonely.
Draco looked to the floor, heart heavy in his chest. “Please,” a breath, “Please come.”
“Okay, pick me up at 7:30,” She answers normally.
Draco took a steadying breath, “7:30 it is then.”
𓆩 𓆪
The pop of apparition sounded in the graveyard behind the church of St. Giles. Hermione stumbled onto the bench next to them.
“God, I always hated Side-Along.” Her eyes widened.
“Hermione! Less than 5 seconds here and you’ve already lost your decorum.” Draco pinches the bridge of his nose.
She waved him off and walked over to the Potter’s graves. There were still flowers on their graves, but Hermione left her own as well.
“Draco?” Both him and Hermione spun around at the sound of his name.
A flicker of emotion crossed Harry’s green eyes. “Who is this?” He turned to face Hermione, “I’m Father Harry Vale. Pleasure to meet you..?” He said with his hand outstretched
“Hermione Granger, I went to school with Draco.” She replied, shaking his hand.
“Ah, so you could tell me all of the embarrassing stories?” He chuckled.
She laughed with him, “For the right price.” She joked.
Harry’s smile appeared more strained than normal. But it disappeared in an instant. “You disappeared after last Sunday’s mass. Is everything okay?” Harry asked, finally turning to Draco. His heart stuttered for a tiny moment as his eyes locked onto Harry’s.
“Yeah, just needed to be somewhere. But I’m free today,” Draco tried to play it off, “I’d told Hermione about you and she insisted she come by.” He smiled a little shyly.
Harry’s smile widened and continued to make conversation as the group walked over to the main church. They passed by an old gravestone, it was weathered and sunbleached but very well taken care of. It caught Hermionie’s eye and she read the headstone.
Gailus Vale
October 1, 1960–December 13,1981
He had a gift for making strangers feel like family.
She paused, “Harry, is this your father?” Harry stopped in his tracks, eyes wide as saucers. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then started again.
“No, er. I was eleven and I had grown up in an abusive family. They hadn’t told me my last name. I came here and the other people were asking about my name,” a pregnant pause. “I took his.” He looked longingly at his headstone, “It always had flowers.”
Draco looked at Hermione, her eyes had calculations in them instead of empathy. “What happened to your other family? Where are they?” Draco asked cautiously.
Harry cocked his head, “Last I heard they were in France but I don’t know.” He said it mechanically, tiredly. “They haven’t exactly sent postcards,” He chuckled self-deprecatingly.
Draco pursed his lips and sighed. Hermione still was connecting the invisible dots in her head and Harry looked like he just wanted to run away. Draco checked his watch and as a result so did Harry. They both realised how late it had gotten and went to the church to watch the service.
The mass went as normal, with a typical message and scripture. Hermione still wouldn’t stop looking at the sky, picturing her big corkboard of red strings. Draco watched Marcy, who still hadn’t noticed him. Harry fell back onto a regular homily he’d done before and with a similar message to the masses he typically preached. Harry finished halfheartedly and stepped down from the podium.
Draco saw Marcy running up to the blonde man after and launching into a description of her past week. Marcy took him by his finger and led him to the front of the church, towards Harry. Draco listened enraptured, nodding along at the correct points and interjecting with ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s. In the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione also seemed captured in this moment but looked at Draco rather than Marcy. When Draco’s eyes drifted upward he noticed Harry looking as well.
Marcy then started to talk to Harry, asking about Sunday school and her sister. It was Draco’s turn to stare as Harry talked to Marcy. Her green eyes looked into his, their eyes almost looked the same shade. He talked so easily with her. They’d know each other for years. Draco was the outsider, intruder. He didn’t belong in this little bubble Harry made for himself. A sanctuary was what he called St. Giles. A fishbowl was what Draco thought it was.
Draco finally tore his eyes away from them to look back at Hermione. Her eyes held weight to them, they flicked to Harry then back. They somehow looked heavier than before. It clicked, a tiny nudge in his brain let the pieces fall into place. It was obvious now that he thought about it, Harry Vale is Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy fell in love with Harry Potter. It made so much sense in his head, the great Harry Potter was a priest. The great Harry Potter was a cornerstone in his community. The great Harry Potter was just a man. A man who didn’t even know his last name. What does he do now?
“Draco?” Harry softly called out, clearly not wanting to startle him.
“Harry.” He answered back.
He took a breath.
“I think you’re a wizard.”