Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy stood outside a dingy London townhouse, discreetly tapping his fingers against his coat pocket. While it wouldn’t do to be outwardly impatient, he was already conscious of rising irritation. With an effort, he sighed gently, tried to clear his mind, and knocked sharply on the peeling painted door. A quick wandless, wordless charm took care of the dust and debris transferred to his lavender gloves, an automatic response to any dirt upon his person. Draco realized there was a very soft shuffling noise on the other side of the door, and tried again to quell his continuing annoyance. “I can hear you in there, Potter. Open the door,” he commanded, quietly but firmly. No answer came, and the shuffling became a sort of tense silence. Draco rolled his eyes, and started working his right hand out of his glove. He quickly stowed it away and pulled out a small, dainty knife. “Potter, please open the door,” he tried again, aware that the other man was waiting quietly for developments. Still silence. With a soft mutter of annoyance, Draco drew the tip of the knife carefully across a small patch of skin on the back of his forearm, where it would likely hurt least. He still hissed a little at the sting, but kept a beady eye on the thin trickle of blood that appeared. Once there was a nice amount gathered there, he quickly smeared it across the door in front of him. He watched in satisfaction as the door swung violently inwards, so suddenly that the figure standing behind it was flung back into the wall with a cry of dismay. Draco quickly inserted himself into the hallway, swung the door shut behind him, and turned to face the hulking form of Harry Potter.
Draco kept his hands up in the ‘surrender’ position, right arm turned so his assailant would see that he was still bleeding and hopefully wouldn’t immediately attack. He needn’t have worried, as for the second time in his life he found he had broken Harry Potter’s nose. Potter was sending him a red-eyed glare over a mess of blood, his hand clasped over his face, and Draco couldn’t help the little cluck that escaped him. He couldn’t have said himself if it was a noise of exasperation or amusement. “Let’s get this fixed up, shall we?” asked Draco rhetorically, as the other man was still glaring silently, his eyes roving up and down Draco’s pristine, beautifully-dressed form.
The blonde fished out his wand and cast healing spells, first upon his own bleeding arm, and then on Harry’s nose, which clicked back into place audibly. Harry paled and grunted, then shivered as Malfoy’s cleaning spell silently washed over him. Malfoy was frowning thoughtfully, apparently examining the effects of his spellwork. “Another one, I think,” he muttered, and Harry quivered indignantly as a much more thorough cleansing spell hit his whole body and clothing. He felt an enthusiastic tingle around his socks and was just drawing breath to give Malfoy a piece of his mind, when the blonde smiled pleasantly and derailed his thoughts. “Isn’t that much better?” Harry was outraged, and his hands itched with the desire to punch Malfoy in his smug, pretty face, but something about the way the pale neck disappeared so neatly into the white wool coat stopped him. Messing up Malfoy would be an absolute travesty, and even Harry wasn’t so depraved as all that. Yet. Harry started to speak and was surprised to find his voice was nearly a growl. After clearing his throat slightly, he managed to bite out, ‘How did you get in? This house is under Fidelious, and my own protections.” Malfoy’s smile became even smugger. “I used to come here as a boy, before Aunt Wally went completely batty. I’m a Black, you know. This house will never turn away my blood, and now that I’ve spilled some on the door, I can come and go as I please, no matter what enchantment you place upon it.” Harry’s mouth dropped open. “But… all through the war…” he sputtered. “Quite,” snipped Malfoy. “Mother never told Father about it, just in case she and I could find a way to escape. It’s never good to give away all one’s secrets, hmm?” With this bombshell, Malfoy turned around to examine the dreary hallway of Grimmauld Place.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, dear”, murmured Draco, and as he had predicted, Potter’s annoyance bubbled over. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? Why would you even want to come here? No one else does!” ranted Potter, and then came to an abrupt halt, as if he had realised that he had said too much. Draco arched one blonde eyebrow in a way he knew was blood-boilingly annoying – he had practiced it in the mirror until the effect was just so – and smiled sweetly. “Granger sent me,” he announced. “Said you needed a potions master? Although I rather think what she meant was, you need an interior decorator, a tailor and an exorcist. Not necessarily in that order.” Draco bent over to examine the teeth marks on a troll leg umbrella stand nearby.
“Since when do you talk to Hermione? And stop poking around my house! I do not need an exorcist!” said Harry, not realising he had just admitted to needing the others. He was finding it hard to focus on the argument at hand when Malfoy was basically presenting his heart-shaped bottom for Harry’s perusal. Harry had a momentary urge to snuffle that tempting, perky rear, but pulled himself back as if smacked on the nose with a newspaper.
Draco straightened up, and observed with pleasure that Potter was ogling his arse with mingled annoyance, confusion and lust. Excellent. He rejoined the conversation. “Granger and I speak all the time, Potter,” he drawled airily. “I know all about your furry little problem, and how the usual Wolfsbane hasn’t been helping you. She has been discreet,” he hastened to add when the windows started rattling threateningly, and watched as Potter tried to get his temper under control. “You know her best. She wouldn’t have come anywhere near me except that she knows I have the best chance of helping you. Perhaps we can discuss this in more comfortable surroundings?” Draco looked around curiously, wondering whether there was any part of this house that was more comfortable, but Potter stormed off down the hall and into a dark, oppressive room. Draco followed, already knowing that this was the famous tapestry room. He had spent many hours learning his family tree from the magical embroidery, and he couldn’t help the soft cry that left his lips when he entered the dank, dull room.
Harry was in a towering temper, and took Malfoy to the most impersonal room he could think of. He should have realised that this room would be far from impersonal to Malfoy. Literally his entire family was magically sewn into the very fabric of Harry’s home, except for the burn holes where Walburga had smote those who displeased her. Malfoy’s mewl of distress sent a pang to Harry’s own heart, and he watched the silver eyes grow very wide and sad as the blonde took in the pitiful state of the room and the tapestry. “What happened?” asked Malfoy in a hushed voice. “Walburga,” shrugged Harry. Malfoy touched the tapestry with a soft, reverent hand, and to Harry’s astonishment the whole thing fluttered as if coming to life. Malfoy looked even more sorrowful when his hand passed over the burn hole under which was written ‘Sirius Black’, and Harry couldn’t help the flinch that crossed his face. “May I?” asked Malfoy in a hushed voice.
Harry had no idea what he was asking, but nodded anyway. His confusion must have shown, for Malfoy whispered, “Watch”, and raised his hands to undo his long braid. Once all his platinum hair was lying loose, gleaming brightly in the dim room, Malfoy combed it through with his fingers. Several silvery strands came free, and he simply held them up to the tapestry. Harry gasped to see that they seemed to be absorbed by the cloth, and the dull, tarnished gold throughout the tapestry gleamed fitfully. Malfoy combed more hair out, and held it up. He looked at the wall critically and said, “It needs some black of course,” and turned to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry’s hands automatically went up to his own matted, dirty hair. It was a little better since Malfoy’s earlier cleaning spell but Harry was still embarrassed as he combed out a tangle of curls and held them out hesitantly. He gasped as the strands seemed to disappear into the tapestry, and tears came into his eyes as he watched the picture of Sirius reappear, woven out of the magical sacrifice of black and Black hair. Harry noticed that the previously deep gold thread throughout now looked lighter, a little closer to platinum.
Malfoy’s eyes darted and he murmured lowly, “You see, the Potters are arriving.” Harry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he searched the tapestry wildly. Malfoy pointed to a side of the Black tree, where a Black married a Potter. “All the pure-blood families are related,” whispered Malfoy softly, as he came close to Harry’s ear. Harry watched in wonder as past generations of his family were written down on the bare walls of his home, the dirty grey wallpaper giving away to lush magical embroidery on heavy cloth. His breath caught as the name James Potter finally appeared, a line connecting him to Lily Evans, and then Harry himself. The picture of Lily seemed a little faded, and Malfoy clicked his tongue. “You need a redhead, Potter,” he said softly, a smirk playing on his lips. Harry turned back to Malfoy to find the blonde tucked in close to him. He looked back at the picture of his mother. “I wonder where I’ll find one of those?” he said quietly, laughing under his breathe. Malfoy snickered too, and it tickled Harry’s ear. His breath smelled sweet – sugar quills, Harry’s brain supplied, Malfoy’s favourite. “Of course that means your entire adoptive clan will be etched on this tapestry also,” drawled Malfoy. “You may need to extend the room.” Harry grinned. “I’m sure you can show me how to do that too, Malfoy,” he quipped. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there for over a year now, since he was Bitten on a Auror raid gone wrong. Malfoy searched Harry’s face as Harry continued to devour his family tree with full eyes, and nodded a little. “Finally ready to listen to me then, you bloody nuisance?” he asked gently, and Harry turned to him and smiled.
‘Talk to me, Draco.”