The Self-Made Man

Summary: It's 1895, and in the Victorian society Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde existed in, you never know who to trust. Harry/Draco slash, AU.

Chapter Thirteen: The Final Conversation

Ron had made it quite clear that he didn't want Harry to contact Draco in any way. He became so overprotective that he offered to send Harry's mail for him. He undoubtedly thought he was being clever and sneaky, but Harry knew that his best friend was reading the addresses on the letters to make sure that nothing was being sent to France.

Ron was proud of himself for what he considered to be slyness; unfortunately, he only considered the possibility of mail going out to France – not coming in. Harry had received such a letter on a calm evening that had been spent practicing the piano for the ears of Hermione, Ginny, and Ron. (Harry had actually become rather good at playing the piano over the past months.) Needless to say, the letter was a surprise – especially since he'd recently begun to accept the likelihood that he would never see nor hear from Draco Malfoy again.

In fact, it had been months since he'd last found himself in a once all-too-familiar foul and hopeless mood because of the man's absence. Harry concentrated on his work and friendships and alliances and took on new hobbies (such as playing the piano), only remembering that he ought to be stressed about Draco every once and a while. It wasn't that he didn't care for Draco anymore, but he'd finally begun to realize that obsessing over the man was unhealthily making him emotionally exhausted. Better to just slowly forget about him rather than think about what could've been. It was rather easy to forget about him too, partly because he was hearing less and less about Draco Malfoy at dinner parties and balls. People had eventually moved on to other scandals and, though he wasn't any less unpopular, news of the man had quieted down significantly. If anything, people would comment, "No one has seen him anywhere for months now: not Europe, not the Americas. It's as if he's simply disappeared."

Perhaps Draco Malfoy had, in fact, been patiently waiting for the hype to settle down. Maybe he'd been cautiously waiting for a safer moment before he sent an unexpected letter to Surrey. Even then, he didn't write that it was from Draco Malfoy; he merely wrote that it was from 'Monsieur.'

"He wants me to visit him," Harry announced to the room after he read the letter: Hermione and Ginny listening intently, Ron moping that Draco had managed to contact Harry despite his greatest efforts.

"Hewants you to visit him? Shouldn't it be the other way around, after such a long time? It's the least he could do!" Ginny said, clearly wanting a reason to be indignant with the man. The others could sympathize.

"Well, it's as he explained in this letter, isn't it?" Harry frowned as he eyed it again. "It would be dangerous for him to set foot anywhere in the United Kingdom. He's only safe where he is now. He's given me detailed directions – said his manor is near a small town that's quite easy to find if anyone happens to be looking for it."

"Too bad you won't be looking for it, then," Ron muttered. "I mean, he must be mad if he honestly expects that – after all of these months – you'll just stop your life here in England to go on a wild hunt for him in an entirely different country."

When Harry didn't respond, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all looked at him in amazement. "You can't honestly be considering – " Hermione began before Harry interrupted her.

"I don't know why Draco wants to see me again after such a long time, but I know that I need to see him for closure. Besides," he smiled, "I heard much about France from Sirius and Remus. I wouldn't mind being there."

In the end, Hermione and Ginny reluctantly supported Harry, though Ron only continued to remind Harry how easily his reputation could be destroyed if he was caught with Draco Malfoy. Within a day, he planned and packed, Ginny promising to water his flowers and Hermione suggesting she would tell anyone who asked that Harry had left on a spontaneous vacation – which, actually, wasn't very far from the truth.

The journey took him over rough seas, through bustling cities of tourists where he would practice his poor French, into small colorful towns where the culture was rich, and into crowded carriages with his trunk pressed tightly against him through the foggy countryside, into the hills, and up sloping, abandoned roads. At one point, according to the directions, he had to leave the carriage and walk through wild meadows, dragging his trunk with him, as he followed a rocky stream, until he came across the small town. It was much drearier than any of the other places he'd visited, and the people didn't seem nearly as friendly. He'd planned to spend a night in an inn until he had enough strength to greet Draco, but the people seemed so unwelcoming that he decided to travel straight to the manor that overlooked the small parish.

Once he arrived he stared up at the mansion, surprised at its grandness and historical feel. The gothic architecture was intimidating yet beautiful at the same time. After such a long journey, one would think that he would merely gratefully rush up to the manor steps, knock on the large doors, and demand that Draco Malfoy – if he was even truly there – take him to a guestroom for a long sleep. Instead, he slowly made his way up the passage and to the dark, lonely, chilly stone steps. The brass handle was frozen to the touch as he knocked on the door, shivering from the icy wind wasn't the same, subtle breeze he was so used to.

It took a few moments, but the door eventually slowly groaned open, revealing the man Harry had come looking for.

"Harry Potter," Draco didn't bother to hide his shock. "This is – most unexpected."

"Well, you did invite me, didn't you?" Harry smirked. "You know, I traveled a long way to be entertained by you. I hope you don't plan on being as rude a host as I am."

Draco laughed – it was a carefree laugh and sounded pleasant, though it was foreign to Harry's ears. Harry didn't remember ever hearing Draco laugh like that. The blonde man stepped to the side, a smile still lingering, letting Harry into what he called his "humble home" – though, from the stone passageways and golden antiques lining the halls, Harry could tell that this was a very sarcastic statement. Taking Harry's trunk, Draco led Harry to a sitting room that had riches Harry imagined could only be found in a royal castle: displayed jewels, East Asian antiques, and gold frames around large portraits. One was of an older blonde man with strands of silver in his hair and a mean glint in his eyes; the other was of an older, regal woman with longer blonde hair and subtly arrogant smile.

They sat down together – at first with a sense of familiar ease, but eventually with growing tension and uncertainty. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in months, and after such a long time of being isolated from each other's lives, couldn't think of anything to say. Whereas months ago they would've easily slipped into a discussion – literature, culture, people, their sexuality, anything – they were wrapped with uncomfortable silence for long moments. Finally, Draco broke it as he told Harry to rest for the remainder of the day; he would have dinner made and ready within hours. He took both Harry and his trunk to a guestroom and stored both away as though to hide from him.

By the time Harry woke, the sun had long time past set. Harry wandered out of the room, got lost a few times as he walked aimlessly down the stone halls (though he did enjoy the stroll through what felt like a museum of ancient aesthetics), but was finally able to find the dining room. Draco was patiently waiting with a French version of Salome by Oscar Wilde. He put it down with a smile as Harry sat down beside him. Neither felt as tense as they did earlier.

"You seem much happier," Harry murmured with a small smile of his own.

"Yes, well," Draco's smile didn't falter, though his skin seemed to turn slightly pink. "You know, I can't help but be surprised that you decided to come at all," he reached onto the table and offered a plate of brown meat – it looked very much like quail. "I'm happy you came, of course; but, well, I thought you would be too..."

"Upset?" Harry suggested as he took some of the quail with a fork and knife and slid it onto his own plate. "Believe me, Draco, I was."

Draco's eyes turned downcast. "You understand why, though – why I couldn't stay in contact with you."

"Perhaps you thought it too dangerous," Harry said, obviously trying to mask his bitterness.

"And rightfully so," Draco said defensively. "Had I contacted you people would've begun to believe we had a relationship!" He offered a bowl of pasta.

"Which we did have," Harry answered rather coldly as he shook his head to the bowl. "Besides, I don't think you should've assumed that I didn't want people to come to that realization."

"You mean to say that you wanted people to find out about us, then?" Draco smirked incredulously.

"Well – no," Harry shrugged. "But it may've been for the best, rather than running away and abandoning me in Surrey."

"I didn't run away," Draco insisted, almost crossly. "Don't you see? I thought that, of all people, you at least would understand why I did all of this."

"Self-respect?" Harry smirked. "Is it worth it?"

"Certainly," Draco nodded. "Gets rather boring, at times – and lonely, when no one is around," he admitted. "But – well… yes, it's definitely worth it. I'm constantly visited by other men, you know, now that I've announced my sexuality. You ought to have come last month. Six different men were staying with me. Can't say their names, of course," he smirked. "But the point is, I didn't have to worry about keeping my life a secret. So people think I ran away, do they?"

"Exiled yourself, is what some prefer to say."

He took another sip of wine. "This isn't exile. Living in society – that, perhaps, is exile. You may not have been physically banished, but you find that you must banish yourself from your own desires. I've thought a lot, thanks to you," he said, looking up at Harry.

"Yet I hadn't expected – this," Harry murmured heavily.

Stiffly, "It's a bit odd that you're so disappointed in my decision."

"I am not," Harry hastily insisted. "Oh, don't be mistaken, Mr. Malfoy. I'm actually very proud. If anything, I'm disappointed that you left me out of your adventure."

"If I remember correctly, you decided not to come to France with me."

"I decided that with the understanding that we would, at least, be visiting each other once in a while."

"True," Draco frowned into his glass of wine. "I suppose I became rather selfish, then, as I became more of an individualist. Or perhaps I was too hurt and disappointed to confront you. Maybe a bit of both, even."

Harry couldn't help but laugh as he shook his head. "You've become much more aware of yourself, at least."

"I've had a lot of time to myself in France," he murmured. "And how're you coping, Mr. Potter?"

Harry flushed slightly. "I have to admit, Surrey just isn't quite the same anymore."

"I suppose you haven't found any other homosexuals. Do you need me to introduce you to a few men I know in the area?"

At this, Harry looked up incredulously. "A few – no, Mr. Malfoy, that's quite all right."

Draco peered across the table. "Why not? I'm sure they would be willing to kindly allow you to – er – explore your nature with them."

"No, that's quite all right," Harry insisted. "It's just that I…"

"You're afraid," Draco sneered. "Pathetic."

"I'm not afraid. It's just that – well – I'm not really interested in other men. I probably won't be able to have the same conversations with them as I have with you."

Draco seemed stunned, and as he spoke a wide grin spread across his face. "Is that really it, then? You've privately decided to stay faithful to our relationship, even with me in France and you in England?"

"It's not something to mock," Harry mumbled, taking the opportune moment to pretend to take a sip of wine so that he wouldn't have to say anything else.

"No, of course not," Draco said, though as he said this it seemed that his grin turned into a sneer.

"I suppose this means you haven't stayed faithful, then?"

"Physically? No, of course not. If it's any consolation, however – " and here, he actually faltered a bit – "I suppose I stayed faithful... emotionally."

Harry held back a laugh. "France truly has changed you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, I suppose it has," he murmured. "I wonder if France has any change in mind for you as well?"

Harry felt all the more settled and comfortable as his days with Malfoy drew on. He found that the idea of leaving France so early seemed like a sin. He partly didn't want to return to England because he most certainly didn't look forward to the long journey, but he also knew he didn't want to leave because of the new environment and the many places to explore. He often left the manor and its dreary town to discover the cities and witness grandiosities like the Eiffel Tower.

The new sights and sensations made him feel more profound, and made him realize that the world was, indeed, a vast place with infinite opportunities and tales that did not narrow on his own life. He relaxed as he blended in with the French people, glad for once that he wasn't treated like a celebrity. Sometimes, he even managed to convince Draco to join him – which was never a mistake, as Draco's fluency in French always turned out to be essential.

"I could live here," Harry said one afternoon on a carriage ride back to the hills. He only said this because he'd realized what a mistake it had been to not accept Draco's original invitation to France. He was, indeed, hoping that the man would extend his invitation again. "I could live here in peace rather than grow to become an old, withered celebrity in England."

As the days passed, however, Harry sensed uneasiness whenever he was near Draco. The man seemed lost in thought more than ever, seemed to lose his pleasant smile, and whereas they'd opened up to each other more in the conversations and miniature adventures they shared, now he seemed to rarely talk at all. Harry feared that it was because Draco was tiring of his presence; thought that maybe he'd triggered this sullenness after implying that he wanted to live with Draco. It was quite possible that the tenseness was simply imagined – something that really only Harry felt.

One day, the tenseness had come to such a weighty heaviness in the silent sitting room that it pressured Harry into asking, "Are you upset?"

Draco looked away from Salome, which he seemed to be rereading for at least the fifth time. "Upset?"

"Yes – upset. You always have a frown of sorts – as though you're constantly brooding over something that's bothering you."

He hesitated and returned his gaze to Harry's, putting his book down. "I suppose I have been, yes, as I've been thinking about our future."

"Thinking about our future has upset you?" Harry winced a bit.

"I've found happiness here – happiness that I want to share with you for as long as you'll stay. Still, I can't help but be a little… troubled.

"I've done what you suggested, and yes – I feel satisfied that I've publicly accepted myself. However, I can't help but wonder if the public will ever accept us. After all, there was a time when you and I would be admired as honorable men performing our duty of sexuality for civilization; now, however, we're punished for it. Their hatred is growing. Perhaps their hatred will eventually grow to the point where they'll have us crucified."

"Don't be so ridiculous," Harry couldn't help but laugh. Was this really what had Draco so worried? "Only your pessimistic nature has brought you to such thoughts."

"I suppose you imagine a different world, then," Draco gazed at him.

"Yes: a world where homosexuality is as common and accepted as heterosexuality – and a world where it wouldn't be considered insult, or a sinful crime."

Draco shook his head. "Your optimism has made you naïve."

Harry suddenly found himself carefree as he shrugged, thinking about Draco's words: for as long as you'll stay. He smiled and said, "It is a much nicer future to imagine, though, isn't it?"

At this, Draco couldn't help but smile a bit; he looked away, seemingly lost in thought once again. "Yes. I suppose it is."

Author's Final Notes

I really want to thank everyone for their support and their patience – particularly with this last chapter. I've been terribly busy with work and getting ready for my first year of college, so it took longer than it should have for me to finish this. I definitely enjoyed writing this fanfiction, though. The Victorian era is one of my favorite eras to both read and write about. And, as you can probably tell just from the number of times I had a character mention him, Oscar Wilde is one of my favorite icons in history!

If you enjoyed this fanfiction, then I suggest other stories of the Victorian era with (arguably) gay themes, such as The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Secret Sharer.

The research for this fanfiction came from various trusted websites and novels from the Victorian era that I've read.

And... Well, I can't think of anything else to mention at this point – except that I hope you all enjoyed!

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