Chapter Text
Cramped streets are just one of the many reasons Draco’s never been a fan of Knockturn Alley. Not to mention the crazed old witches and wizards that litter the streets. They’d never think about trying anything because of his father but that doesn’t make their existence anymore comfortable.
If it wasn’t for the fact they were going to Borgin and Burkes he probably would have convinced his father to let him wait in Diagon Alley, which is a lot more welcoming and doesn’t smell like the worlds population of rats has died and been left to rot between every single wall. But then again even if they weren’t going to Borgin and Burkes asking to stay behind would only result in questions and he’s not too keen on admitting he’s scared. He can already hear his father’s voice telling him Malfoy’s aren’t cowards without even bringing it up.
They leave the crowded streets with creaking hinges, eager to get somewhere quieter Draco pushses past his father, who’s stopped in the doorway.
“What are you doing in here, boy ?” his father sneers, looking at the random, soot covered boy, who stands alone in the centre of the shop.
At first he’s not really that bothered, still thinking about the broomstick his father had promised him that morning. Except, when he actually looks, there’s something very familiar about the random boy and it only takes Draco a few seconds to realise why. Taking a step forward, he squints slightly to make sure he’s not mistaken in the dim light.
“Hey Malfoy,” Potter says, waving a blackened hand in greeting.
Draco knows it’s him, of course it is, but that doesn’t stop him from saying, “Potter?”
“I do have a first name, you know,” he replies, removing his glasses - which Draco quickly realises are broken - to make a poor effort of removing some of the soot from his face.
“As if you’ve ever used mine,” he scoffs when his father doesn’t say anything else, seemingly shocked at the revelation that this is the famous Harry Potter, “anyway, what in Merlin’s name are you doing here? And why do you look like that ?”
“If I remember you told me not to use your first name and I’ve er- never used the Floo before,” he looks around disconcertedly, “this definitely isn’t Diagon Alley is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” his father answers coldly, “Draco, why don’t you two run along, I’ll come find you when I’m done here.”
He eyes the box in his father's hand. Potter finding out what it contains is something he would like to avoid just as much as his father so he agrees obediently.
“Come on then, Potter,” he says, voice full of false confidence since he really isn’t sure about walking through Knockturn Alley without either of his parents.
Potter follows him and Draco looks back despairingly at the dimly lit shop, rather irritated he didn’t have the chance to look around, but glad to be getting out of Knockturn Alley sooner.
“What’s your father doing in a place like that?” Potter asks and Draco turns to stare at him incredulously.
“You really think I’m gonna tell you that?”
“Fair point, you do know how to get out of here, right?”
“Of course I do,” he says, despite having absolutely zero idea which way to go, used to just looking at the floor to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone.
Potter seems to be observing him, but Draco refuses to meet his eye and tries his best not to look desperate as he looks around for the right way to go. Although an issue quickly rears its head: most of the people around them are grown adults and are therefore, a lot taller than both of them.
“You don’t know where you’re going at all,” Potter accuses, which doesn’t do much to help Draco’s panic.
“Neither do you,” he snaps, breathing quickening despite his efforts to prevent it.
Cramped streets, too thin, too dark. Too many people. Too little light, too little air. Walls of bodies surrounding him. It could be to the right, it could be to the left. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember.
“Malfoy, are you alright?” Potter asks and Draco is not happy with how genuinely concerned he sounds.
“I-
“HARRY! What d’yeh think yer doin’ down there?” comes a booming voice, easily travelling over the crowd and preventing Draco from having to try and answer Potter’s question.
He almost jumps out of his skin and hears Potter let out a sigh of relief from next to him. Up until this exact moment Draco hadn’t thought it possible for him to be happy to see Hagrid, but it seems he’s been proven wrong. The oaf makes his way to them through the crowd, various witches and wizards parting in a way that makes Draco question what Hagrid gets up to when he’s not at Hogwarts.
“Can’ say I’m too surprised to see you ‘ere though, Malfoy,” he says when he reaches them but Draco’s still breathing too fast to come up with a smart response so instead does his best to look as haughty as usual; it’s not like he can physically look down at Hagrid like he does with Potter.
In fact, the previous year he hadn’t been able to look down at Potter, owing to them being practically the same height. However, much to his delight he now realises that whilst he’s grown a good few inches over the summer, Potter certainly hasn’t.
One of Hagrid’s large hands grips his shoulder and the weight of it helps to ground him. Now he thinks about it, he doesn’t know why he’d so easily agreed to walk through Knockturn Alley without his father, let alone why his father had insisted on it in the first place. He of all people knows the extent of the shady people that hang around in the dark, cramped streets.
With Hagrid forcefully pushing them forward until they can see the front of the white marble building that is Gringotts towering above the rest of the buildings in the street. He’s aware that Hagrid and Potter are now talking but he’s not really listening. That is until Potter nudges him rather more violently than necessary and he’s quickly brought back to attention.
“You don’t have to attempt to injure me every time you want my attention, you know,” he says and Potter scowls at him.
“ We’re going to find the Weasleys,” Potter says, motioning between himself and Hagrid, “are you coming or are you just gonna wonder around by yourself until daddy comes to find you.”
“Speaking of parents, where are yours, did they finally get sick of you after all these years and kick you out?” it’s an awful thing to say and he knows it, but he doesn’t particularly care, if Potter wants to make digs against his father he can deal with it.
Draco watches as anger bleeds into the scowl Potter was already directing at him but rushes to reach for his own wand as he realises Potter is gripping his tightly with white knuckles.
“Cut it out, the both of yeh,” Hagrid says, physically holding them back from each other, but Draco doesn’t fail to notice how he directs his words and his pointed glare at him instead of Potter, “Malfoy, watch yeh tongue, you got no idea what yeh talkin’ about, and Harry, I’d expect better of yeh than pullin’ yer wand on someone in the middle of the street, yeh can get in real big trouble for that.”
Neither of them say anything, just continue to glare at each other, until Hagrid lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“C’mon, knowin’ Molly she’ll be pullin’ her hair out with worry not knowin’ where yer’ve got ter,” Hagrid says to Potter and Draco resigns himself to following the two of them. The only joy he finds in the situation is that he finds it easier to keep up with Hagrid to his new height advantage.
“How come yeh never wrote back to me?” Hagrid asks Potter.
“You didn’t write back to me either,” Draco adds in a tone he hadn’t intended to sound as sulky as it does.
He’d been half expecting Potter to just straight up tell him that he hadn’t felt like talking to him. Maybe there was something wrong with his owl. It could have been anything and Draco had been over a variety of possibilities, but he’s entirely unprepared for the explanation he’s presented with.
“Dobby?”
“Yes, Dobby,” Potter confirms.
“That bloody House Elf is a nuisance, when father hears about-”
“I swear if you tell your father, Malfoy, I’ll-”
“You’ll what, Potter?” he asks, looking at him expectantly.
“Don’t ruddy start that up again,” Hagrid almost growls.
“Harry! Draco! Over here!”
All three of them look up simultaneously to see Hermione Granger standing at the top of the steps to Gringotts. She runs down to meet them, a wide smile splitting her face as her hair flows behind her.
“Oh Harry, what happened to your glasses, and,” she looks at Draco in confusion, “why are you with Draco? And hello, Hagrid, it’s wonderful to see you all, although, I know I only saw you last week Harry.”
A summer where his only communication with Granger had been through written words had allowed him to forget just how much and how fast she could talk, words tumbling out of her mouth as if she’s never quite said enough. Obviously he hadn’t intended to like Granger-Merlin, it’s not like he’d made a conscious effort to befriend Potter either, but the git hadn’t exactly given him much choice in the end. And as for Granger, the two had been exchanging letters. On Granger’s insistence letters had turned into books, at least from her side. He’d ended up offering to send her books but she’d insisted that she’d be fine with just recommendations.
The thing that came as a surprise to him but apparently left Granger unphased was that he’s actually enjoyed a fair few of them. So far he’s gotten through just a handful, when he’s finished one he sends it back with his thoughts and opinions and when she replies she sends a new book along with it. A fair few of them have been what Granger’s told him the Muggles refer to as fantasy , something he really didn’t think he’d enjoy, but there’s something very intriguing in reading about the different ways Muggles imagine magic working.
Draco listens silently as Potter repeats what happened in Knockturn Alley, thankful but surprised when he leaves out the part where he’d started almost hyperventilating.
“Well, it’s very fortunate you two ran into Hagrid,” she says, looking at the two of them disapprovingly, before her face lightens up and she asks, “are you coming into Gringotts?”
“As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys,” Potter replies.
“Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” grins Hagrid and Draco turns as the rest of them do, failing to suppress a groan at seeing the Weasleys sprinting up the street towards them. He turns away with the intention of avoiding whatever gross display is about to occur and conveniently catches sight of his father leaving Knockturn Alley. Before his father has even noticed him, he’s slipped away from the group and come up by his side.
“Oh, there you are,” he comments, only sparing Draco a glance, “you didn’t tell me Harry Potter associated himself with Blood-traitors and Mudbloods .”
Draco doesn’t respond.
“ You aren’t friends with any of the Weasleys as well, are you?” he continues.
“No,” he says it certainly, and it’s not a lie, he may tolerate Ron to an extent but he most definitely isn’t his friend.
His father gives him a calculating look but seems satisfied enough and they set off, Draco trailing slightly behind.
***
Originally, his mother was supposed to be taking him to get everything he needed for the school year, however his father had decided last minute that he’d take him as he had business to attend to in Knockturn Alley. Draco had been looking forward to coming out with his mother, who always makes sure to take him somewhere nice for lunch and would never even consider asking him to walk through Knockturn Alley alone. But no, here he is, shopping with his father.
It's not like he's been horrible to him, that's not it at all, but something's changed between him and his father, there's a tension between them he doesn't remember being there before he started at Hogwarts. His mother still seems certain things will settle down and go back to normal, back to how they used to be. He knows because she won't stop saying it, reminding him that it'll all work out.
Of course he wants to believe her, but he can't, pride and status are the most important things to his father and he knows that. Knows because it's what he's been brought up to believe, taught to value the most above everything, but despite how much it's been drilled into him he can't quite seem to agree with it himself.
Now that he thinks about it he guesses he's been a failure from the start. There's so many dinner parties, so many events he's had to attend because of his family. Before every single one his father would lecture him on why that specific one is important and what their presence there would do for their reputation and status in Pureblood society, but he can’t remember ever particularly caring about any of it. Mostly, he just remembers the rush to find Pansy as quickly as possible in order to avoid being forced to say hello to a large variety of adults whilst standing close to his mother.
He hasn’t been to any of those events or parties this summer. Not because they haven’t been happening, but because his father doesn’t want his non-Slytherin son there. His mother had said that wasn’t the reason. His father had told her to stop coddling him before informing him it very much was the reason.
He follows his father through Diagon Alley whilst he thinks these things through. However, his pitiful mood is interrupted by something more complicated when they enter Flourish and Blotts. At the sight of Potter and the Weasleys he fixes his posture and swaps his scowl to a sneer, which actually comes rather naturally when he sees all the attention Potter’s getting stood right next to Gilderoy Lockhart. To his credit, he doesn’t look too thrilled at having a camera shoved in his face, but that doesn’t do much to diminish the irritation Draco feels at the scene laid out before him.
Due to his father being on the board of governors, he’s already aware that Gilderoy Lockhart will be their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. So when Lockhart announces it to the whole store he manages to find some joy having known something seemingly everyone else hadn’t up until that moment. Eyes lingering on Lockhart, he doesn’t notice that Potter has actually managed to escape and is coming his way until they’re face to face. He’s joined by a girl who must be Weasley’s sister judging by her bright red hair.
“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” he says before he really thinks, the insult coming as second nature.
“Come off it, Malfoy,” much to his surprise Potter doesn’t even look the slightest bit irritated by his remark, if not rather tired. Draco takes a second to appreciate that his father’s off somewhere else for the time being.
The Weasley girl looks between the two of them, going a shade of red bright enough to challenge her hair colour, but he decides voicing that outloud with various Weasley’s scattered around the room would probably be a bad idea.
Just then Granger and Weasley push their way through the crowd, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.
“Are you stalking Harry or something?” Weasley asks, giving him a look of disgust.
“I’ll have you know Potter came over to me, not the other way around,” he says defensively.
“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I didn’t know you were here. I was just trying to get away from the crowd,” Potter butts in, most likely to diffuse any potential arguments that were about to occur.
“Ron!” comes a voice and much to Draco’s displeasure three more Weasleys emerge from the crowd, the sight of the twins reminds him quite abruptly that even a Weasley managed to end up in Slytherin when he hadn’t.
Mood souring to a further extent, he’s thinking things can’t get much worse and is about to make a speedy departure much like he had earlier on when the exact voice he doesn’t want to hear right now comes from behind him.
“Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley,” says his father and he feels the dragon-skin clad hand on his shoulder before he turns to see it.
His father's features are pinched and Draco can tell he’s purposely not looking at him. Of course this is the exact moment he chose to come find him again.
“Lucius,” Mr Weasley replies, voice icy cold in a way Draco wouldn’t think is possible from his appearance alone.
Conflict leaves him paralysed, as much as he puts up with the Weasley in the group, he’s begrudgingly fond of Potter and Granger, but he can’t even let out a hint to his father in regards to the latter.
So he stands and watches his father insult the Weasleys. Even though he’s refusing to look at any of them, he’s very aware of Granger, Weasley and Potter glaring at him and it makes something awful twist in his stomach.
“He just stood there!”
Harry hadn’t expected Ron to get quite this worked up about him not suddenly hating Malfoy again after the incident in Flourish and Blotts, and now he’s not quite sure how to deflate the situation.
Harry’s frustrated, he doesn’t want to be arguing, “Not saying anything doesn’t mean he agrees with what he was saying.”
“You don’t know that,” Ron’s face is bright red, but he isn’t shouting, it’s more like a very angry whisper to make sure nobody else in the house can hear them.
“Ron, please-”
“Stop defending him!” Ron interrupts, apparently not wanting to let him finish.
“I’m not defending him!” Harry snaps back, already sick of this and regretting having said anything in the first place.
They hadn’t really spoken on their way back from Diagon Alley, they’d made their usual small talk up until and over dinner, the events regarding Flourish and Blotts had not been brought up. No, Ron hadn’t said a word about it until the two of them were shut away in his room, which was when Ron had exploded like an over boiled kettle. All Harry had said was that he couldn’t exactly blame him for not wanting to upset his dad, but Ron hadn’t been very happy with that reply.
“You are defending him, you’ve had this obsession with him since our first day at school, I don’t know what you expect from him, he’s a Malfoy, they’re all awful,” Ron’s
Watching Ron pace around the small floor space of his room, Harry’s left feeling pretty helpless. It’s not like he isn’t annoyed with Malfoy, he just understands that it can’t exactly be easy for him. At the same time he knows Ron’s obviously more annoyed because it’s his family who’s constantly getting slated by the other Pureblood families.
Still, he’s not willing to throw away the progress they made with Malfoy last year just because of something his dad did. Ron may be his friend, but Malfoy’s his friend too, he’d been more than willing to help with the Philosopher’s Stone and Harry wants to hope that that means something. Because he knows that the fact Malfoy had even agreed to be friends in the first place means something, that him knowingly helping them to stop Voldemort last year has to mean something. That what Hermione had told him about the letters they’ve been sending each other means something. How can it not?
He doesn’t say any of this to Ron though, because it’ll just anger him more and he doesn’t want to have to argue, not with Ron. He doesn’t want to argue with anyone, really.
“Harry dear, Sirius is here!” comes Mrs Weasley's voice, ringing clear from multiple floors down.
Turning around abruptly, Ron meets his eye, but Harry can’t figure much out from his expression alone. Without saying anything, he grabs his already packed bag and slings it over his shoulder.
“See you,” he says before he leaves.
He hears Ron mumble something too quiet to understand in reply. Rushing down the stairs, his mind is too busy and he ends up running straight into Sirius about half way down.
“Woah kiddo, what you running for?” he says, a wide grin on his face.
Instead of responding Harry wraps his arms around his godfather, burying his face in his shirt. Sirius smells just like he always does and Harry breathes the comforting scent in; smoke, engine oil from his motorbike and the slightest hint of wet dog. It’s far from the best smell in the world but it’s home.
“You miss me that much?” Sirius laughs and Harry feels his whole body vibrate with it.
Harry nods into his shirt with no intention of pulling away, but Sirius places his hands on his shoulders and pushes so Harry obliges.
“Where’s Remus?” he asks having expected both of them to be there to pick him up.
“Back at home, I thought I’d bring the bike as a treat.”
Together, they descend the rest of the stairs, and say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley once they reach the bottom floor.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs Weasley,”
“Oh, you’re welcome here any time, dear, so lovely and polite,” she says before turning to Sirius. “I can’t imagine you had anything to do with it.”
“I didn’t, Remus is the one responsible for his manners,” he replies and Mrs Weasley sighs whilst Sirius just grins.
“Go on now, the both of you, you’re already going to get back later than I’m happy about.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sirius says, jokingly saluting her, before calling across the room, “see you around, Arthur.”
Mr Weasley's waves a hand in their direction, not looking up from the wall plug he’s dissecting at the kitchen table, much to Mrs Weasley's disapproval by the sounds of the conversation they were having before he and Sirius reached the ground floor.
Leaving the Burrow, Harry holds onto Sirius’ hand until they reach his motorbike, which is parked closer to the shed than the house. Outside, the sky's still blue, but Harry can see the slightest hint of pink just beginning to creep into it, signalling that in not too long it’ll all be inky black and filled with stars.
“You good?” Sirius asks as he takes Harry’s bag from him, stashing it away in the sidecar and casting a spell Harry doesn’t know to make sure it can’t fall out.
“Yeah,” is all he says in reply and Harry knows he doesn’t believe him from the side eye he receives as he gets onto the bike.
“Alright then, let's get you home,” says Sirius as the engine of the bike roars to life.
Harry gets into the sidecar and Sirius ruffles his hair before mumbling a few more spells under his breath. The cold chill of a Disillusionment Charm washes over him, not completely different from the feeling of a cold shower and just as unpleasant.
One of his favourite things about riding in Sirius’ motorbike used to be the feeling of flying, and he guesses it still is but this year he finds himself craving being on a broom again. It’d been great being able to visit the Burrow this summer with his Nimbus, and although they weren’t allowed to fly too high due to Muggles living around them in all directions, it was still wonderful to be on a broom somewhere other than the Hogwarts quidditch pitch.
With the sky darkening around them and the consistent and familiar rumble of the engine, Harry manages to relax, doing his best to focus on the slowly emerging stars instead of thinking about Ron or Malfoy and having to deal with either of them. Instead he thinks about getting home to Grimmauld Place, seeing Remus for the first time in a week and curling up in his chair in the library with Padfoot lying by his feet.