The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) by G. Norman Lippert Read Free Book Online Page A

glancing past Ginny.
    Harry stepped next to his wife and looked the pale man up and down.
    "It's good to see you, Draco."
    Draco nodded slowly, not quite making eye contact with Harry. "Yes, it has been quite a long time. When we heard about Mr. Weasley's passing, I thought it would be… appropriate… for us to offer our condolences."
    James recognized the pale man now, even though he'd never seen him in person. He compared this grown man to the few pictures he'd seen of the young Draco Malfoy. The eyes were the same, and so was the white-blonde hair combed back from the temples. There was still the trace of a sneer there too, just like in the old school photos, but as James looked, he thought the sneer was no longer particularly mean, or even conscious. Draco had simply been doing it for so long that it was now just part of the topography of his face.
    Harry studied Draco for a long moment, and then smiled. James recognized it as his dad's polite smile.
    "Thank you, Draco. Ginny and I appreciate it. We really do. This must be your wife?"
    Draco put an arm around the thin woman's waist. "Of course, I apologize. This is Astoria."
    Harry bowed and Ginny shook the woman's hand lightly.
    Ginny brightened and said, "Would you like to come up to the house for some refreshments?"
    Astoria half turned to Draco, raising her eyebrows.
    "I'll have some of whatever he's having," Draco said, glancing toward James and smiling a small, crooked smile. "Thank you, darling."
    Ginny led the way between the tables and Astoria followed, glancing back once toward Harry and Draco.
    "So how are things at Gringotts, Draco?" Harry asked, making no effort to lead the pale man into the throng gathered near the house. "I understand humans are almost unheard of in the bank offices, and yet here you are, vice chairman of something or other, or so I've heard. We'd have had a good laugh back in our school days if someone had told us you'd end up a big wheel at the wizarding bank of England."
    "Back in our school days," Draco said quietly, still not looking directly at Harry, "we'd have had a good laugh if someone had told us we'd someday stand in the same yard without pointing wands at each other."
    Harry's smile faded. "Yes," he admitted in a lower voice. "There is that."
    There was a long pause. James could hear the babble of subdued voices closer to the house and the twittering of birds in the orchard. He glanced over toward Rose, who was also watching the scene with rapt interest. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head minutely.
    "You know," Draco said in a different tone of voice, laughing a little humorlessly, "to tell you the truth, there isn't a single thing about the way life looks today that I would have predicted during our last years at Hogwarts."
    Harry's smile had gone entirely. He stood and watched the pale man, his eyes unreadable.
    "We are all taught things, growing up," Draco went on. "And rarely do we have the sheer audacity to question them. We grow to take the shape of whatever our families define for us. The weight of generations of belief presses down, and makes us in their image. And most of the time that is a good thing." Draco finally looked Harry in the eye, and for the first time since his arrival, the sneer was gone from his face. "Most of the time, it really is a good thing, Harry. But sometimes we grow up, time passes, and long, long after any hope of rejecting those defining beliefs, we look back. And we wonder."
    James looked from Draco to his dad. His dad's face was still unreadable. After a long moment, Harry glanced back toward the house and sighed.
    "Look, Draco, whatever you have to say, whatever you think needs to happen here…"
    Draco shook his head. "Nothing needs to happen here. I didn't come here to ask your forgiveness, Harry. I just came to tell you and your family that I am sorry for your loss. Despite what you might expect, I know Arthur Weasley was a strong man. He was an honorable man. My father wouldn't