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Hogwarts Express to King’s Cross Station, early summer 1996
Draco stalked down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, seething, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing in his wake. He was going to find Potter and make him pay. It was all Potter’s fault that Father was in Azkaban, and it was up to Draco now to defend the Malfoy name. Father would be proud of him, when he got out of Azkaban. Which he would, of course he would. Prison wasn’t meant for Malfoys.
Potter appeared in the corridor, alone. Perfect. Draco raised his wand. But no sooner had he started his attack than a horde of Potter’s friends swarmed out of the nearest compartment and sent their own spells zinging through the air.
Hexes and jinxes crisscrossed, collided and recombined. Everything was chaos.
And then, for Draco, the clamour abruptly fell silent. He was handled roughly by figures he couldn’t clearly see, hoisted into the air and lodged somewhere. Something was uncomfortably constricting his body, and all he could do was wriggle silently. The light was too bright, the air too dry.
He withdrew into himself as best he could and waited.
After a bit, as nothing further seemed to be happening, he ventured to take stock of his surroundings. His foot was picking up a thrumming sensation. There were many scents in the air, but none seemed to be from green growing plants. That was all right though, he wasn’t hungry at the moment. He couldn’t quite remember where (or who) he was, but it didn’t seem important. Maybe later, when the light was dimmer, he would set out to do some exploring. But for now, there was no rush. He retracted his eyestalks and settled in to sleep.
o0o
Three gigantic slugs oozed on the overhead luggage racks of the Hogwarts Express where Harry and his friends had deposited them. Ernie Macmillan made a pleased comment anticipating Malfoy’s mother’s reaction when she saw what happened to her son, and Ron joked that Goyle was better-looking as a slug.
Harry was grateful to his friends for coming to his defence. But even seeing Malfoy reduced to a literal slimebag couldn’t lift his spirits, fogged in by grief. For so long he’d anticipated these holidays as two precious months with Sirius. And now Sirius was dead, because of Harry’s mistake, his loyal loving rashness.
Harry knew that at the battle at the Department of Mysteries he’d put his other friends’ lives in danger too. He could still hear Lucius Malfoy’s cold voice instructing the other Death Eaters: “Be gentle with Potter until we get the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary.” Like Voldemort years before, giving orders for Cedric’s death: “Kill the spare.”
Lucius Malfoy could rot in Azkaban. But it wouldn’t bring Sirius back.
Harry returned to his train compartment, shared some Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties with his friends, played Wizarding Chess with Ron. All the while wishing he could just be someone else, somewhere else, with some other history. Some other future than murderer or victim. In some other world.
Summer 1998
Draco was locked up while awaiting his trial. Not in Azkaban, but somewhere more like a cellar. Low-ceilinged, and lighter than the cellar at Malfoy Manor, because there was a narrow strip of window that started at ground level. It was boring and lonely, and he was worried about the trial, but it was less terrifying than living at the Manor with Bellatrix, Fenrir and the Dark Lord had been. He was fed, otherwise ignored, and not tortured – except by his regrets and nightmares.
Draco spent a lot of time looking out at the sliver of weedy garden outside the little window. Sometimes a bird would hop by, or a beetle would scurry past. A spider wove a web across the windowpane. At dawn or twilight, a slug would make its way slowly along, leaving a silvery trail in its wake.
One evening on the full moon, he saw something glistening, dropping slowly from a branch that overhung the window. Looking closer, he saw two large spotted slugs. They were twined around each other, descending like aerialists from a shining rope they had secreted themselves. They curled around each other in a ball, spinning gently in the air, and slowly from each a long white tube came out. The tubes also twined into a ball, then gradually fanned out like petals of a flower.
Draco watched, fascinated, this balanced, graceful and unhurried mating. Wondered if he could ever dare to let himself be that vulnerable with another, that tender.
Not while he was his father’s son.
The mid-2000’s
Harry was so very tired. Tired of the sordid details of dealing with crime. Tired of the endless quagmire of Ministry politics. Weary of fame and the way it warped his relationships.
He wanted to get out of these rooms and meetings and complications. Breathe some fresh air. Be away from people for a while. Restore himself, and then see where his curiosity led him.
His past, painful and joyful, burdened and consequential, was what it was, for better or worse. He could turn toward a different future, though.
He quietly gave notice, saying he needed a change of pace. Told his friends he was going on a flying tour to clear his head, and not to worry. Stood on a hill with his broom, felt the breeze on his face. “Magic of the air and land and sea,” he said, “I humbly ask. Show me where I need to go.” And he rose into the air on his broom, and let the wind take him.
He landed on an island full of apple trees.
o0o
Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me…The Tempest, Shakespeare
Harry was never sure, later, how long he had stayed on the island. He knew how long his friends said he’d been away, but the island seemed apart from the world’s time. The apple trees were laden with ripe fruit and yet also hung with fragrant blossoms. There was a clear pool ringed by hazel trees, where he caught a glimpse of salmon swimming. Sometimes he would hear music or the tinkling of bells. The air was sweet and temperate, the light evenly bright, the water pure. And though he had no memory later of meeting anyone there or indeed of doing anything in particular, he knew he hadn’t been bored. In that tranquil place, his weariness ebbed away and health flowed in.
And finally, his heart deeply at peace, Harry sat astride his broom again, and thanked the island, and flew up into the sky to let the whistling wind take him back. And the wind took him on a wild and winding route, over rocky islets where puffins nested and mermaids sunned themselves, over woodlands and moors, and circles of standing stones, and the great white horses carved into the chalky hillsides, and the giant chalk figure of the rude man of Cerne Abbas. And everywhere he felt the currents of the magic of the land.
o0o
Draco leaned over the washbasin, looking at himself in the mirror, and sighed. He’d faced worse challenges, certainly – no one now was tasking him with murdering his headmaster in order to keep his parents alive. But it was hard to muster his self-assurance in an environment still so alien to him.
Fortunately, Draco had avoided Azkaban. At his trial some years earlier, an exhausted-looking Potter, called to the witness stand, had testified that Draco was coerced and ineffective when it came to killing and torture. Potter hadn’t looked at him the whole time. Hardly a ringing endorsement, but the best Draco could expect.
Tired of the ostracism he faced in wizarding Britain, and wondering what else his father might have been so deeply wrong about, Draco dipped his toes into the Muggle world. Tracey Davis, the half-blood in his year at Slytherin, had been surprisingly helpful in keeping him from making the worst ignorant blunders. She said he’d helped her at Hogwarts in the war years, before her parents pulled her out. To tell the truth, he barely remembered that, but of course Slytherin had to look out for its own. No one else would.
But to stay in Britain yet keep away from the wizarding world, was to always be aware of what he was missing. Finally Draco wanted a fresh start altogether, in a different hemisphere, and headed to North America. He dropped his father’s family name in favour of his mother’s, Mugglified his first name, worked odd jobs like gardening for a while, and then decided to see what a Muggle education was like. Community college was said to be a forgiving place to start.
Now it was the first day of the term. He looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. His clothes were all right, he supposed. But the face that looked back at him was too much like his father’s. Impulsively he spelled his hair black, to match his new surname. The difference was startling. His grey eyes flickered under dark brows, and his skin seemed even paler under his dark fringe of hair. A new look, a new name, a new life.
He stepped outside into a light misting rain. As he turned to lock the door behind him, he saw a slug in the garden, gliding smoothly and very slowly over the ground. Two pair of tentacles on its head waved gently.
“Hello there,” Draco said, and then walked to his first day of biology class, smiling.
Some years later
Dear Mr Jameson,
I was intrigued by your note in Science Wiz on past volcanic activity as a possible conduit for (or result of?) geo-magical forces in the Giant’s Causeway of Northern Ireland. In my research on marine creatures that seem to straddle the magical/non-magical border, I have become interested in undersea volcanic vents and the life forms that survive around them. I would be interested in your thoughts.
Yours sincerely,
Derek Black
Dear Mr Black,
Thank you for your message. I’d love to find out more about the borderline magical undersea creatures and talk volcanic-magical theory. I have a particular interest in how magic lives in landscapes.
Yours sincerely,
Evan Jameson
Dear Mr Jameson,
I am on my way to do some biological research in the Southern Ocean. As you may know, the Andean Volcanic Belt extends to Tierra del Fuego, and there are subglacial volcanoes in Antarctica as well. I know very little about the magic native to those parts.
I know it’s short notice, but have you any interest in an antipodean expedition?
Yours sincerely,
Derek Black
Dear Mr Black,
That sounds intriguing! I might be able to get over there, but not for at least a month – I am currently in Australia and expect to be here a while. I hope to get permission to walk one of the songlines.
Yours sincerely,
Evan Jameson
Dear Mr Jameson,
I am afraid we will miss each other, as I will have to get back to my university. Too bad.
Best wishes with your songline research – sounds fascinating. I have had the pleasure of diving in the reefs off Australia but haven’t yet been able to spend much time on land. Have you by any chance seen a platypus?
Yours sincerely,
Derek Black
Dear Mr Black (or should it be Professor?),
Sorry for the delay in responding! I was graciously permitted to walk part of a songline. It gave me a lot to think about. I hope to be able to tell you about it in person someday!
I saw an animal swimming that could have been a platypus but might have been a water rat. What’s your interest in them?
I did see some echidnas (spiny anteaters), which I was very glad of. I wonder if they might help me investigate telluric currents, which some theories connect to ley lines and songlines.
Please call me Evan, by the way.
Yours,
Evan J.
Dear Evan,
As I believe I mentioned, I am interested in animals on the border between the magical and Muggle worlds. The platypus seems as strange a mix of characteristics as any chimaera - who would expect a venomous, diving, egg-laying mammal? But it’s known to Muggles and accepted by their scientists.
What’s a telluric current?
Derek
Dear Derek,
Telluric currents are currents of electricity that flow underground (or undersea). Echidnas (and your platypuses) have electroreceptors in their snouts (and bills) that allow them to perceive those currents. Unusual for a land-dwelling animal, I hear.
Still waiting to hear about more of your borderline magical creatures…
Evan
Dear Evan,
Will you by any chance be attending the Wizarding Science conference in Iceland in August? Perhaps we could meet and talk then. There are plenty of volcanoes in the land of fire and ice!
Yours,
Derek
Dear Derek,
I was hoping to go to the conference, but found it difficult to book lodging, afraid I left it a bit late. Though the chance to talk with you does give me extra motivation. I suppose I could pitch a tent somewhere, it shouldn’t be too cold there in late summer, right?
Evan
Dear Evan,
Ah yes, lodging was a puzzle. I found a place nearby but was only able to book a double room, though all I needed was a single. So, as luck would have it, there’s a spare bed.
I don’t know how you feel about bunking with strangers. I don’t believe I snore, but there’s always Muffliato. Anyway, you’d be welcome to share.
(We could talk magical magma late into the night. Or not.)
Yours,
Derek
Derek,
That would be brilliant, thank you!
Evan
Dear Evan,
Good. I’m looking forward to it. I’m staying at a little inn called the Snigl og Lundi (Slug and Puffin).
See you in Iceland!
Derek
o0o
“What are you doing here?”
Harry, arriving at the inn to meet Derek for the first time, was startled to be greeted so abruptly by someone he didn’t recognize. Someone with a shocked expression who was peering at his forehead as though to see through the glamour to the lightning scar below. The stranger’s black hair and grey eyes reminded him fleetingly of the photo of Regulus Black. But the pale features were more angular, even pointy, and that voice…
“I could ask you the same,” Harry said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at an improbably black-haired Draco Malfoy.
“I’m here as a scientist,” Malfoy said slowly, still looking dazed. “A malacologist.”
“Mal-ecology? What, you study the relationship of evil to its environment?” Harry snorted. “That’s fitting.”
Malfoy glared at him. “No, it’s from the Greek word for soft. As in mollify. I study molluscs.”
“Clams and things?”
“Yes, and octopuses, squid, snails. And slugs, terrestrial and marine.”
“Finally joined the Slug Club, did you?”
“If you like,” Malfoy said shortly. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing here.”
“Wasn’t aware I owed you an explanation. What makes you think you even know me?”
“You have a certain… you-ness that’s impossible to mistake, so I don’t know why you bother with the glamour.”
Harry shrugged. “It works on most people. If you object to my presence so much, you can always leave, you know.”
“I can’t, I’m waiting for someone,” Malfoy said in irritation.
“So am I.” It was odd how much Malfoy looked like an older Regulus, Harry thought. Of course, they would have been some sort of cousins, Malfoy’s mother was a Black…
“Evan should be here by now,” Malfoy murmured fretfully, looking around.
Realization struck Harry and he groaned.
Malfoy frowned at him and then his eyes widened. “Oh. No. You can’t be. You’re...” He sighed and seemed to deflate. “James’ son. Going by a patronym, how Icelandic of you.” Malfoy drummed his fingers against his leg and then sighed again. “Well, Evan, do you want to look at the room?”
“Seriously?”
“I apologize for my rudeness earlier. You took me by surprise, but that’s no excuse.”
“You’ve never needed an excuse to be rude before,” Harry said.
“I hope I have gained some maturity since my misspent youth.” Unlike you, said Malfoy’s face. He continued, “I offered to share my room with you, and the offer stands. You are free to do as you like.”
Harry looked at him, considering. He was tired and didn’t look forward to finding other lodging that night. He was confident he could protect himself if necessary. He could sort out another place to stay in the morning.
Harry shrugged. “All right.” He just wished that the Derek Black he’d looked forward to talking with had been real. But given how awkward it was to talk with Malfoy, better to minimize the time they spent together. “Then I’ll go out and find some dinner. Be back later.”
Malfoy nodded. He looked resigned.
When Harry returned, late, the lights were out and Malfoy appeared to be asleep in the bed nearest the window. Harry quietly readied himself for sleep and lay down on his own bed.
Hearing the soft even breathing from across the room made his thoughts drift back to the years of dormitory living at Hogwarts. Of course, it had never been Malfoy in the same dormitory room. Because Harry would never have taken the Sorting Hat up on its offer to put him in Slytherin. Imagine having Snape as Head of House... And Malfoy surely wouldn’t have been in Gryffindor. Or Hufflepuff. Maybe Ravenclaw... Harry fell asleep.
He awoke at some point in the middle of the night. Something was flickering against the wall. He reached for his glasses and put them on. It was a little film loop playing over and over – Malfoy seemed to be projecting it from a wand. In the film, a fish moved forward and gazed at him curiously. Its long, graceful fins flapped like wings, and it was walking across the seafloor on thin sticklike legs.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry,” Malfoy said. “It helps me sleep.”
“What is that?” said Harry.
“A sea robin.”
“It should be in Fantastic Beasts.”
“Muggles discovered it.”
“Why does it walk around?”
“To taste with its legs, they think.”
“What?”
Harry would have asked more, but Malfoy had turned off the projection and turned his back. Harry took off his glasses and lay wondering, and laughing a little, until he fell asleep again.
When he awoke it was late morning. He’d been more tired than he knew. Malfoy was gone. Harry dressed, went downstairs for some breakfast, and then walked to the building where the conference was being held.
In a hallway he caught sight of a familiar broad back and head of curly red hair. “Charlie!” he called.
Charlie Weasley turned around and looked puzzled. Harry remembered that he didn’t usually have the glamour on when he visited Charlie. “It’s me,” he said.
“Oh, Ha- - er, happy to see you!” Charlie said.
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Harry said. “We could have bunked together.”
“I just port-keyed in for the day. Have to get back to the reserve soon, there are new dragonets that need extra care. But I’m here for a panel on climate change and dragon conservation. Want to come?”
“Sure!” said Harry.
“Have you heard any interesting talks yet?” Charlie asked.
“No, I got here late. Have you?”
“Yeah, I just saw a great presentation. A real slugfest, with all kinds of nudie beauties.”
Harry laughed. “Sounds more your style than mine, Charlie, but it’s hard to imagine something that rowdy at a conference like this!”
“Well, I’m pulling your leg a bit. There was something in the write-up about vampiric blue dragons, so I had to go. It turned out to be about sea slugs, but they’re more interesting than you’d think.”
“That’s a low bar to clear, mate,” Harry said. “I can’t think of much that sounds less interesting than a sea slug.”
“Don’t let Professor Black hear you say that. Great talk, even if my friend here doesn’t think so,” Charlie said, turning to speak to Malfoy, who unfortunately was just behind them.
“Thank you,” Malfoy said to Charlie. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Even if your friend didn’t.” He spared a cool glance at Harry.
“I’m afraid I missed it,” Harry said. “Not too partial to slugs. Being as they’re, you know, slimy.”
“You have something against lubrication?” Malfoy inquired, arching his brows.
“Well, no. Not where it’s, uh, warranted,” Harry said. You do not have to answer every rhetorical question, his mind informed him too late, as Charlie snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. Harry flushed. Malfoy looked amused.
“You should tell him about those blue dragons,” Charlie told Malfoy. “But calling them vampires is libel. They don’t suck blood!”
“You think sucking venom is any improvement?” Malfoy countered, smiling.
“I defend dragon-kind. Even the slug ones,” said Charlie. “Speaking of which, I’d better get to my dragon conservation panel.”
“I’m looking forward to that,” Malfoy said. “We desperately need to find solutions to global warming. It’s affecting the marine plankton and the corals.”
“Yeah? I heard the Merpeople are unhappy about it too.” And to Harry’s annoyance, Charlie and Draco continued their discussion on the way to the room where the panel would be. And as it was a small room and already almost full, Malfoy ended up sitting next to Harry.
The talk was absorbing, though, and Malfoy actually asked some good questions, so in the end Harry didn’t mind his company.
Afterwards Charlie came up to say goodbye to them before taking a Portkey back to Romania. He gave Harry a hard hug around the shoulders and waved to Malfoy and then was off.
“He was nice,” Malfoy said.
“You do realize that’s a Weasley,” Harry said.
“Yes, I rather gathered that from his name. Not to mention his hair.”
“But he didn’t know who you are,” Harry pointed out.
“He didn’t know who I was. Sometimes knowing who someone was gets in the way of knowing who they are. Don’t you think, Mr Jameson?”
“Maybe,” Harry conceded.
But the way someone knows you wouldn’t be fully rooted, he thought, if they knew nothing about your past. So why hadn’t that bothered him in his life as Evan? Had he come to accept superficial relationships, and given up on becoming close to anyone who he hadn’t known from Hogwarts?
He had arrived in Iceland truly wanting to know Derek Black. Maybe Evan and Derek, at least, could still have a conversation. He could take a cue from Charlie.
“So,” Harry said. “Tell me about sea slugs.” And the floodgates opened.
Malfoy had photos stored in his wand projector. Stepping into an empty room, he pointed it at a white wall and showed Harry the blue dragon first. It was a striking-looking creature with dark blue and silver racing stripes down its slim body and long tail, and several sets of spiky winglike projections.
“That’s beautiful,” Harry had to admit.
“Well, if you see one, don’t touch it.”
“I wouldn’t hurt it.”
“Maybe not, but it would hurt you,” Draco said.
“It’s what, an inch or two long? Doesn’t seem like much of a threat. And I don’t have any venom for it to suck, if that’s what it does.”
“It doesn’t need you for that. It feeds on the Portuguese man o’war, those stinging things that look a bit like jellyfish. Then it concentrates and stores their venom to protect itself from predators. Or from clueless big lunks like you.”
“No one has ever called me a big lunk before.”
“You haven’t talked to many sea slugs.”
Harry laughed. “Well, they don’t sound like very pleasant companions.”
“Oh, but there are all sorts. The emerald green sea slug, for example, Elysia chlorotica – it eats algae and stores the chloroplasts and then uses them to photosynthesize its own food – as if it’s transformed itself into a plant. How is that not magic? Here, look.”
Harry glanced at the picture. “That’s a leaf, surely.”
“It looks like one, but see the rhinophores on its head? The tentacles that look like little horns? Here’s another one called a leaf sheep, it’s quite fetching.”
The leaf sheep was, in fact, adorable. It looked like it had been invented for a children’s cartoon.
“And one of the nudis is solar-powered too,” Draco said.
“One of the what?”
“Nudibranchs. They’re a particularly splendid looking group of sea slugs. Here, look at these.”
There followed a photo parade of the most vibrantly coloured, fantastically shaped little creatures that Harry could ever have dreamed of. Many were gorgeous and some made him laugh just to see. And Draco Malfoy, describing them with his voice animated and eyes alight with enthusiasm, had an unexpected charm too.
“All right,” Harry said. “I see the attraction. I’m sorry I missed your talk.”
“And now I’ve made you miss the next set of presentations. Sorry,” Draco said.
“That’s all right. I mostly came here to talk with Derek Black anyway. Was there a session you wanted to hear?”
“No, I think the afternoon is mostly about potions and chemistry, and I burned out on that long ago. Let’s go find something to eat and you can tell me how you got interested in magigeology.”
They found a place with outdoor seating, since it was a mild summer day, and Harry described his experience at the mysterious island of apple trees.
Draco stared open-mouthed. “Well, that was a hero’s welcome.”
“I hate when people call me that.”
“When you need a place to rest up and the wind takes you to the Isle of Avalon for the King Arthur treatment, I’d say you’ve officially been declared a hero. So then what happened?”
“I was swept off on this whirlwind tour of magical places, and I wanted to understand more about how magic lives in the land. At Hogwarts the emphasis was so much on spells, it was so verbal. But what about the Forbidden Forest, for example? Was it magical because magical things lived there, or did they live there because that piece of land was steeped in magic? Did magic seep out of Hogwarts into the forest, or did the forest make the magic of Hogwarts possible? Or was the country once covered with magical forests, and the Forbidden Forest is just a remnant?”
“Hmm. I wonder about the Great Lake at Hogwarts,” Draco said. “It behaved more like a small sea. Lakes do not generally have Merpeople or squid in them. Or have boats from Durmstrang rise suddenly from their depths.”
“It’s hard to know. The stories about how Britain’s landscape formed are so old, and they’re mostly about giants. Or sometimes the devil. In Iceland the landscape is still so dynamic. I hear that trolls may be responsible for some of the volcanoes, so that’s something I want to look into. And to find out more about the guardians of the land.”
“I take it you don’t mean Aurors.”
Harry shook his head. “From what I’ve read, there are the landvættir, the land wights, protectors of Iceland, like the ones on the flag: a dragon, an eagle, a bull and a giant. When a Danish king, Harald Bluetooth, wanted to invade, he sent a wizard disguised as a giant whale to scope the place out, and the landvættir guarded every corner of the island and chased him away.”
“Can you imagine disguising yourself as a giant spy whale?” Draco said. “That must have been one powerful Animagus.”
“Not powerful enough to get by the land wights. There are also landdísir, female protective spirits who live in large rocks. They are maybe connected to the Huldufólk, the hidden people. So you have to treat those rocks with respect, if you’re planning to put a road in, for example,” Harry said.
“I’m trying to think if there’s anything like that in Britain,” Draco said. “There are a lot of white chalk horses carved into the land in Wiltshire. I don’t know how old they are.”
“It’s the one at Uffington that’s ancient. We do have at least one version of a landvættir. Old Crockern. He guards Dartmoor, in Devon.”
“What’s he like?”
“One story calls him ‘the gurt old sperit of the moors… grey as granite, and his eyebrows hanging down over his glimmering eyes like sedge, and his eyes as deep as peat water pools.’ I can’t vouch for that, though – it was dark and I got out of there before I was close enough to look into his eyes. Luckily.”
“You saw him? What on earth happened?”
“I went to look at his home in Crockern Tor. But somehow I got lost and ended up wandering around Wistman’s Wood, which is as spooky a place as you’re likely to find in England, and it started to get dark and a storm was coming up. Then I heard a pack of dogs howling – they’re called Wisht Hounds, it turns out. I got out of the woods but then a skeletal horse came galloping towards me, looked like a thestral, but no wings – and the rider called out and the dogs, huge black ghostly ones, came running, and –”
“Are you telling me you got caught up in a Wild Hunt?” Draco demanded.
“Almost. I did have my broom with me, and I was out of the woods by then, and like I said the horse didn’t have wings, so I got away.”
Draco stared at him and then let out a long shuddering sigh. “And did you know this was a possibility before you went there?”
“Well, I didn’t expect to be out after dark.”
“I forget, I’m talking to the one who rode a dragon out of Gringotts.”
“All’s well that ends well,” Harry said.
Draco shook his head at him in a way reminiscent of Hermione.
Harry changed the subject. “So do you think you’ll stay on in Iceland for a bit?”
“Absolutely. The nudibranchs here aren’t well researched yet. Also, in Eyjafjordur Fjord there are hydrothermal vents in shallow enough water that you can dive to them. Have you ever been scuba diving?”
Harry shook his head. “That second task in the Triwizard Tournament took away my appetite for anything like that.”
“But there are such fascinating things undersea. And some of the clearest water in the world is here in Iceland. In Thingvallavatn Lake, you can dive into a fissure made by the continents pulling apart, two tectonic plates separating. I hear that if you reach out your arms you can touch them both at once! If you want to study the magic of the earth, how could you resist?”
“Hmm. Maybe,” Harry said. “I’m going to start with the volcanoes though.”
“So you’re also planning to stay for a while?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, and I’d love to see some glaciers and geysers and waterfalls while I’m here. This land sounds magnificently wild. These hydrothermal vents, they’re connected to volcanoes too?”
“Yes, undersea volcanoes,” Draco said. “Some scientists think the first life on earth may have started around hydrothermal vents like the ones here. Microbes are outside my field, but I think it’s fascinating the places they can survive. In rocks miles below earth’s surface, in places hotter than boiling water...”
“Like salamanders that live in fire?”
“Yes, but again, it’s Muggles that are finding microbes, in the name of science, not magic. It’s impressive what they’ve learned.”
“You really are not who I would ever have expected you to become,” Harry said.
Draco looked at him. “Well,” he said, “No one ever knew what to expect of you.”
Harry grinned. “Here’s to unexpected survival. And – thrival? Maybe we should each go do our research and then meet up to finally have our talk about magical magma.”
Draco smiled. “I’d like that. I have a couple of weeks before I have to get back to the university for fall term. Where do you want to meet?”
“Well, there’s a little volcanic island called Surtsey that I’m curious about, formed only about 50 years ago. It was named for Surtr, the greatest of the fire jötunn. I think that a jötunn is like a troll? We could meet near there. It’s in the Vestmannaeyjar archipelago, off the southern coast.”
“That sounds interesting,” Draco said.
“Good,” Harry said. “We could meet at Heimaey, then, in about ten days? I think it’s the only island there that’s inhabited.”
“Inhabited by people, you mean. I imagine the other islands have their share of seals and seagulls and starfish and things.”
They chose a date to meet at the ferry to Heimaey, and went their separate ways.
o0o
“Puffins!” Draco said as their ferry passed by rocks and islets, nearing Heimaey. “Look, there must be thousands of them! How did you not mention that this place is Puffinopolis?”
Indeed, the cliffs were crowded with the birds.
“This is a good thing, I take it?” Harry said.
“It’s brilliant,” Draco said. “When I was diving up north last week there were puffins diving with me! They’re amazing swimmers, they sort of fly through the water with their wings and can go really deep.”
Harry smiled. It felt like the trip to Heimaey was a success before they even docked.
They found a guesthouse near the harbour. The owner, Eydís, was friendly. “If it’s volcanoes you care about, you’re in the right place,” she told them.
“Have you seen an eruption? Harry asked.
“Oh yes. You see Eldfell over there? When I was a girl that was just a flat field. Then the earth split open in sheets of fire – a lava fountain, in the middle of a winter night – and we all had to leave the island fast as we could.”
“But you got away safely?” Draco asked. He looked a little pale.
“Yes, people here prepare for that kind of thing. And luckily a storm the day before had kept the fishing fleet in the harbour, so there were enough boats to carry everyone. But it kept spitting ash and pouring lava for months, great high walls of it starting to bury the houses, and we were afraid the harbour would fill in. That’s the country’s best harbour there. We couldn’t lose that and our homes. So people got the idea to spray the lava with cold sea-water, to slow it down.”
“Wow. And that worked?” Harry said.
“As you see – we’re still here!” said Eydís. “People and puffins both.”
“Puffins!” Draco said with an air of relief. “Where’s a good place to see them?”
“You could take a boat tour. Or if the wind doesn’t bother you, you could walk out to Stórhöfði. A lot of them nest there. But you can see them lots of places. It’s a nice clear day today, so if you want a great view, climb up Heimaklettur.”
“We might as well take advantage of the weather and get a view,” Harry said, and Draco nodded. Eydís pointed them towards where the hiking trail began.
Draco seemed preoccupied as they walked. “Everything all right?” Harry asked.
“It was the bit about volcanic sheets of fire. We’ve both had our nightmares, I’m sure. Fiendfyre’s one of mine.”
And Harry remembered Draco clinging to him as they flew out of that inferno, Draco choking out the name of the friend who’d caused and died in it.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For saving my life?”
“That you lost a friend.”
“You’d have no reason to grieve Vincent; he was trying to kill you. But he wasn’t always that way.” Draco’s face was bleak. “Death Eaters don’t make the best fathers.” He sighed. “Let’s talk about something else. Like… puffins!”
They were climbing steadily upwards, sometimes having to use a wooden ladder or grasp a chain to help them over the rocks. The air was loud with seabirds and they were buffeted by wind.
“I’m puffin’,” Harry said. “Also huffin’.”
Draco snorted.
“I made you laugh,” Harry said.
“That was more of a scoff. Oh, this is glorious!”
They had reached the top, with spectacular views in all directions – Heimaey, the smaller islands in the archipelago, and even the main island of Iceland were visible.
Crowds of puffins stood stoutly atop the cliffs, pointing their huge orange-striped beaks out to sea. With their dramatic black and white colouring, sleek stocky bodies and flamboyant bills, the puffins were certainly worth looking at, but Harry found his gaze turning to his bright-eyed companion instead.
“That’s brought the roses to your cheeks,” he murmured, but luckily the wind carried his words away before Draco could hear.
Harry pointed to the sea stacks. “Some of those big rocks were trolls caught out in daylight,” he said.
“Do you suppose there’s residual troll magic there?”
“Possibly. It doesn’t seem to bother the birds though.”
Eventually they wound their way back down to the town and returned to the guesthouse. They’d hoped to visit Surtsey the next day, but Eydís informed them that only a few scientists were allowed to set foot on the island. Researchers wanted to see how the ecosystem of a brand-new island developed without human interference.
“You can take a boat trip nearby,” she told them, “Or you might be able to arrange a sightseeing flight.”
A little girl appeared, yawning. Eydís spoke to her in Icelandic and then turned to them. “This is my daughter, Sóllilja Eydísardóttir.”
Harry and Draco said hello.
“Góðan daginn,” the girl said sleepily.
“She’s been napping. The puffling patrol keeps her up at night at this time of year.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked.
“When the baby puffins are ready for their first flight out to sea, the lights of town can confuse them. They fly into town thinking it’s moonlight, and then they are stuck on the streets and can’t get out on their own. The children go out looking for them, keep them safe in a box til morning, and then take them up on the cliff where they can send them out to sea.”
“Oh!” said Draco. “Can I help?”
Eydís translated for her daughter, who looked at Draco solemnly and then nodded.
They didn’t go out on puffling patrol until almost midnight, as the daylight lasted a long time in summer in the far north. Harry came along too, smiling at Draco’s obvious excitement. Carrying boxes lined with soft grass they walked along the quiet streets, shining lights into corners and under cars.
Finally Sóllilja exclaimed. She’d spotted a puffling under a car. With a grey face and beak, more sober looking than its elders, it blended into the shadows. Gently they herded it out and Sóllilja picked it up and set it carefully into a box that her mother was holding.
“Do you think we’ll find more?” Draco asked.
“There aren’t as many these days as when I was a girl, but we might see others,” Eydís said. “And I know Sóllilja will want to keep looking.”
So they kept walking, seeing other groups of children and adults out doing the same.
“Is that one?” Draco said, peering into an alleyway. “It is!”
This puffling led them on a chase but they finally cornered it and Draco was able to lift it into a box.
By then it was turning light again. They went back to the guesthouse with their pufflings. “Let’s have some skyr for breakfast and then take them up to the cliffs to let them go,” said Eydís.
Up on the cliff they watched as other rescuers gently lobbed the baby birds up and over. Sóllilja took the one she had found carefully in both hands. She swung it down and then up, launching it into the air, and it took flight. Harry and Draco cheered.
“She says you can release the other one, since you found it,” Eydís said.
“Really?” Draco’s eyes were wide. “We can’t send you out into the wide world without a name, can we?” he said to the little bird.
“How about Hufflepuffling?” Harry suggested.
Draco gave him a stern look before turning back to the bird, who was looking at him with quiet interest. “Don’t listen to him, my precious Puffaletta. You will be a fearless flyer and a spectacular swimmer, and someday I hope we will meet again in a delightful dive in the waters of your homeland. Your home sea, that is.”
He picked up the puffling, which began flapping its wings and waving its webbed feet. “Ready to go, aren’t you?” he said. “Fly free, little one. Live long and prosper.” He tossed it upwards and outwards, and its fall turned into a swooping glide and then it was flying out to sea.
“That was completely charming,” Draco said, looking after the puffling.
“It was,” Harry said, looking at Draco.
They went back to the guesthouse and rested, since they’d missed sleep to go on puffling patrol. After lunch they conferred quietly. Both had packed shrunken brooms, so they decided to use Disillusionment Charms to fly over Surtsey. Harry studied a map and then they set off.
The island was small and barren looking, but a few low plants coloured the grey and black cones. Along the coast was a long spit and then walls of lava rubble. They circled it a few times, flying low.
“It’s too hard to talk on broomsticks,” Harry called. “Let’s land on that other island there.”
They flew to a low island covered in heather and landed.
“I saw a film of the eruption that created Surtsey,” Harry said. “Towering clouds of black steam rising out of the ocean. It must have been astonishing for the first people to come across it. The land here seems so dynamic compared to England.”
“How do you think that affects the magic?” Draco asked. “Does something like this tear a fissure in the earth’s magic, or does it replenish it?”
“Both, I would think, but it needs more studying,” Harry said. “And the way all the elements combine, earth and water and fire and air, must be very powerful. I’d like to land there, but I want to respect the other researchers, so I’ll need to ask permission to come back.”
“This is a nice place,” Draco remarked, idly picking a sprig of heather. “It smells like Scotland. You could land a boat here, not like those sea stacks and islets with cliffs rising straight out of the sea. You’d think someone would be living here, but I don’t see any houses. What’s this island called?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I don’t think it was on the map.”
“Not on the map?” Draco frowned, looking around. “Quick, let’s get out of here.” He grabbed his broom, got on and kicked off.
“What’s the hurry?” Harry asked.
Just then the island trembled, rose and tilted abruptly. Draco swooped down on his broom and reached out for Harry, who jumped on behind him. They flew up just as the island of heather plunged into the sea and something smacked the water with a splash that drenched them.
Draco flew to the grassy top of one of the sea stack islands and landed. “Thanks,” Harry said as Draco sent a strong warming and drying spell his way. “What just happened?”
“That was not an island, that was a lyngbakr,” Draco said with some agitation. “A heather-back. It’s a giant whale that likes to trick people into landing on it so it can dive into the ocean with them and swallow them. Lurking a little south of its usual haunts in the Greenland Sea. You study magigeology and you don’t know this?”
“Well, to be fair, if it’s actually a whale and not an island, that would come more under magizoology,” Harry said.
“Choosing to land on a nameless unmapped heather-covered island in the sea off Iceland. You’ll be the death of me,” Draco muttered.
Harry went suddenly still and silent.
“Harry? Are you cold?” Draco said, noticing Harry had begun to tremble. He renewed the Warming Charm but Harry still shook.
“Harry? What’s wrong? Is it the wind? Here.” Draco sat behind him on the ground, his bent legs on either side of Harry’s body, blocking the wind at his back. Harry leaned back against him, and Draco wrapped his arms loosely across Harry’s chest.
“Is that better? Are you warmer now?”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said in a small voice.
“It’s all right. We had a scare and got a little wet, that’s all. Though it may take a very strong Accio to get your broom back.”
“No, it’s true what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“I could be the death of you. I’m sorry.” Harry was shaking harder now.
“What? No, Harry, that’s just an expression. It means you worry me when you do rash things. Like when you were wandering around where the Wild Hunt could catch you.”
“But I have. I have been the death of people.”
“If you mean Voldemort, he killed himself with the curse he meant for you.”
“But my godfather, Sirius...”
“—Was killed by Bellatrix, I heard her brag about it.”
“But it was because of my mistake, and Cedric died because he was with me...”
“You cannot blame yourself for that, Harry. You cannot.”
“No one but me could stop Voldemort. And I took so long to do it. So many people died.”
“Harry… We inherited a war that started before we were born. You ended it, you did more than should be asked of anyone. I’m the one with cause for remorse. I’ve had to make restitution how I can, learn from my regrets and do better going forward. You, you just have to lay that burden down.”
They sat quietly for a while, looking out over the water where seabirds wheeled and cried. Finally, Harry’s tremors eased. “Thank you,” he said. “That doesn’t happen much anymore, but sometimes…” He turned his head towards Draco.
“Your eyes are green again,” Draco said wonderingly. “Your glamour’s slipped.”
“It does that at times,” said Harry. When I feel completely safe, he thought. He looked back out over the sea. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“All right.” Draco stood up and stretched. “If we can’t get your broom back, what kind would you get to replace it?”
They had an idle discussion of broom models, while briny sea breezes played around them. Harry lay back on the grass and Draco sat beside him.
“Do you ever wonder what makes the sea smell the way it does?” Harry said.
“Plankton,” Draco answered. “And seaweed sex pheromones.”
“Wait, seaweed has sex?”
Draco laughed. He began to sing:
“Birds do it, bees do it,
Even the seaweeds in the seas do it,
Let’s —”
He broke off abruptly.
“Let’s what?” Harry asked.
“Nothing.”
“It just doesn’t seem right that some slimy piece of seaweed should have a more active sex life than I do.”
“Are you jealous of a sexy strand of kelp, Harry?”
“What does kelp have that I don’t have?”
“Lubrication?” suggested Draco.
“I can come up with some lube when the occasion demands it.”
“Good to know,” Draco said laughing.
Harry swatted him and their eyes caught.
“Can I ask you something?” Harry said more quietly.
Draco nodded.
“When we first saw each other at the inn, you said that you could tell who I was despite the glamour, because I had some kind of unmistakable me-ness.”
Slowly Draco nodded again.
“Then... you knew who I was, when the Snatchers brought us to Malfoy Manor? You knew you were lying to Bellatrix. That was dangerous for you.”
Draco sighed and shrugged. “Everything was dangerous. And by then even I could see that it would stay that way as long as the Dark Lord had any power.”
“So you saved my life.”
“Well, it turns out I didn’t actually want you to die horribly. I wanted to… I don’t know, beat you at Quidditch consistently and spectacularly, in some more innocent world than the one we got.”
“Hmm.” Harry considered. “You didn’t always recognize me though. Not when Ron and I were in the Slytherin Common Room.”
Draco looked startled. “When was that?”
“Second year. We were spying on you.”
“What for? And how?”
“We thought you might be the Heir of Slytherin.”
“Me?”
“So we kidnapped Crabbe and Goyle and Polyjuiced ourselves to look like them.”
“Don’t try to tell me either of you were capable of brewing a Polyjuice potion in second year,” Draco said.
“No, that was Hermione.”
“That’s more believable. You were hopeless at Potions. Until sixth year, when you were somehow suddenly a genius. How did that happen, anyway?”
“Turns out the textbook I used was Snape’s, once, so it had all his annotations,” Harry said.
“Lucky you!”
Harry sighed. “It was a double-edged sword I didn’t know how to handle. That’s where I found the hex I used on you – I swear I didn’t mean to slice you up that way.”
Draco winced. “Did anything good happen in that accursed year?”
Harry gave it a moment’s thought. “Well, I had my most successful fling with heterosexuality. It was nice while it lasted.”
Draco snorted. “I wouldn’t know.”
“And now all of that is half a lifetime ago, and we’ve met up in Iceland not knowing it would be us,” Harry mused. “Isn’t it strange? How did you recognize me here, anyway? What does this mysterious me-ness consist of, that only you can sense?”
Draco shifted. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like… petrichor.”
“Petrichor?”
“You know when there’s been a long spell of warm, dry weather, and then it starts to rain just gently, and this scent rises up from the ground?”
“I know what petrichor is. But – it’s nice,” Harry said.
“Well. Yes.”
“Huh. So why couldn’t you sense it in second year?”
“Maybe it came on with adolescence," Draco said. "Like a pheromone.”
“Like the seaweed?”
Draco laughed. “Come on, all this soul-baring is making me hungry. Let’s see if we can find your broom and then go back and get some dinner."
“Hold on to me,” Draco called as they skimmed over the choppy waves. Harry didn’t need to be told twice. The wind was gusty. Besides, holding Draco felt as good as being held by him.
Luckily, wood floats, and they were able to find and retrieve his broom. Switching in mid-air seemed unnecessarily complicated, so Harry clutched his broom in one hand and wrapped his other arm more firmly around Draco as they flew.
That evening after dinner Draco announced regretfully that he would have to leave the next day to get back to his university, as fall term would start soon.
“Oh,” Harry said. “But we haven’t figured out the magma-magical relationship yet.”
“We can continue to research.”
“And collaborate? Let’s keep in touch.”
Draco smiled. “I’d like that.”
o0o
Back in London, Harry visited Ron and Hermione. At one point he asked Hermione, “Do you know this song? It starts Birds do it, Bees do it…”
“Even educated fleas do it,” Hermione chimed in. “Let’s do it, Let’s fall in love.” She was smiling. “My grandparents used to sing that. What made you think of it, Harry?”
“Oh, nothing,” Harry said cheerfully.
o0o
Dear Draco,
I hope your term is going well. Do you have a break at Christmas and New Years? I hear that’s an especially magically active time in Iceland. Elves moving house, a river that runs with wine, etc. Might be worth investigating.
Harry
Dear Harry,
I do indeed have a break at Christmas. It could be a good time to catch a display of the Northern Lights also. I’ve heard that magical energy soars during the Aurora Borealis.
Draco
Dear Draco,
Should I book our room at the Slug and Puffin again? Meet you there on Christmas Eve?
Harry
Dear Harry,
Brilliant! I will be very ready for a break from lesson planning and grading. See you at the Snigl og Lundi.
Draco
o0o
Arriving in Reykjavik early on the morning of December 24th, Draco realized that he’d been so preoccupied with finishing out the term that he’d forgotten about Christmas shopping. It would be nice to have a small present for Harry.
In the shops everyone seemed to be buying books. “It’s the Jólabókaflóðið,” someone told him. “The Christmas book flood. We give each other books on Christmas Eve, and spend the evening reading them with a cup of cocoa.”
That sounded relaxing. Draco was pleased to find an English-language book that might interest Harry. And then, as a little treat for himself, he bought a pair of socks knit from Icelandic wool, with a pattern of puffins.
All the shops seemed to be closing early, so he went to the inn. Harry was there speaking to the innkeeper and broke into a wide smile seeing Draco.
They had an early meal so the inn staff could take the night off. The innkeeper gave Draco a thermos of cocoa and a plate of biscuits to take up to their room. And then they were alone together.
Despite looking forward to this night for months, Draco found himself shy.
“Happy Christmas!” Harry said. “I have a little present for you.”
Draco unwrapped it to find a mug decorated with beautiful sea slugs in all shapes and colours. “Nudis Rock!” it proclaimed.
Draco laughed. “Aren’t they lovely. There’s a Flabellina, and a Chromodoris…”
“You could drink the cocoa from it,” Harry said.
“Oh, the cocoa is for you to drink tonight as you read. It’s a tradition. Here.” He handed Harry his present.
“There’s plenty of cocoa to share.” Harry unwrapped the book about Icelandic Christmas magic. “Ooh, perfect.”
They sipped cocoa as Harry skimmed through the book. “Hmm. Well, there’s a troll named Gryla and her children, the Yule Lads, who go around stealing food… Oh, there’s a cat, that should be nicer. The Jólakötturinn. It‘s... ”
“Yes?” Draco prompted.
Harry looked up, a bit pale. “Huge and vicious and eats people who haven’t received new clothes for Christmas.”
“That’s cheery.”
“It’s lucky I didn’t grow up in Iceland,” Harry said. “I’d never have lived to the age of three.”
“Your family went in more for toys?” Draco said, before remembering Harry’s parents had died young.
“The Dursleys? They gave my cousin everything. I did get a clothes hanger once, for my birthday.”
“That’s all?” Draco asked, appalled.
“Well, one year they gave me a toothpick.”
“I forgot, I have another present for you,” Draco said abruptly, pulling out the bag with his new socks in it. “Sorry it isn’t better wrapped.”
“Puffin socks!” Harry exclaimed, delighted.
“You’d better put them on, we don’t want you getting eaten by a giant cat.”
Harry laughed as he pulled them on. “They’re warm too.”
Just then there was a tapping at the window. Draco opened it and an owl flew in and dropped a lumpy bundle in Harry’s lap.
“International Owl Post?” Harry said. “She truly is dedicated.”
“Who?” Draco said with a frown, giving the owl a Christmas biscuit before it flew off. He closed the window again.
“Molly Weasley. She’s been knitting me a jumper every Christmas since I was eleven.”
“Oh.” Draco tried not to sound disappointed. “You didn’t really need the socks, then, to protect you from the Yule Cat.”
“Oh, but they’re puffin socks. And from you,” Harry said. “I’ll treasure them.”
A noise from outside sent chills up Draco’s spine.
“Did you hear something?” he asked.
The sound came again. It sounded like a growling cat, only louder. Draco pulled the curtain aside and saw a huge yellow eye looking in. He yanked the curtain closed as Harry flexed his foot and called out, “I have puffin socks, Yule Cat! You can’t scare me!”
The enormous cat gave a bloodcurdling yowl.
“Draco! Are you wearing anything new?” Harry demanded, turning to him.
Draco shook his head.
Harry tore the wrapping off Mrs Weasley’s jumper. “Quick, put this on.”
“But it’s yours –”
“I have loads of them,” Harry said. “Raise your arms. Hurry!”
There was a thump at the window and a loud sound of claws scraping against glass.
“Come on.” Harry tugged the jumper on over Draco’s head and down to his waist, then pulled open the curtain. The giant cat was crouched, baring its teeth.
“Go away, you can’t have him, you bad cat!” Harry shouted. “He’s mine!”
The Jólakötturinn glared at them balefully, lashed its tail, and left to look for others to terrorize.
Dazed, Draco looked at Harry. “I’m yours?”
“Well. Um.” Harry dropped his eyes. Then he laughed and gestured at the emerald green jumper Draco was wearing. It had a design of a Swedish Short-Snout breathing a brilliant blue flame, and in silver lettering the words ‘Harry’s Dragon.’
Draco felt his face get hot.
“You’re looking very pink,” Harry said with an irrepressible smile. He drew the curtain closed and gazed at Draco, who got hotter still. Harry said softly, “Can I kiss you, my dragon?”
Draco let out a long shaky breath and held out his arms. Harry stepped into his embrace and they kissed with such aching tenderness that Draco grew weak at the knees. He pulled Harry down onto one of the beds with him.
Stroking and caressing, they explored each other’s bodies. “Petrichor,” Draco breathed, the scent of Harry all around him.
“Too many clothes,” Harry murmured, nibbling Draco’s earlobe. Draco peeled off Harry’s shirt and sucked his nipple into a bud.
Harry drew the jumper over Draco’s head. In the distance, they heard a threatening meow.
“What a voyeur that cat is,” Draco muttered, kicking his shoes off.
Harry tugged off Draco’s socks, took off one of his own puffin socks, and put it on Draco’s foot. The meowing stopped. “A little puffin power should keep us safe.”
He pulled off Draco’s trousers and pants. “Oh, look at you,” he breathed.
Draco gazed at him, his eyes glazed. “You, uh, said once you could come up with lube? When the occasion demands?”
Harry conjured some up and bent to kiss his new lover.
Because really, why should kelp have all the fun?
The End