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Draco flung the door open so quickly that it bounced off the wall and hit him in the side, but Harry politely pretended not to notice.
“Potter,” Draco said as he stepped aside to let him in. He turned to walk through the house, not bothering to look behind him to check if Harry was following.
Harry followed Draco into the hallway, then the living room, taking in the small space. It was by no means tiny, but Harry knew that it was smaller than what Draco was used to.
He was intimately familiar with what Draco was used to.
“You’ve got a ghost problem, then?”
“Ob-vious-ly,” Draco drawled slowly, a bad impression of Snape that Harry was unsure if he was meant to take seriously. He raised an eyebrow, and Draco cleared his throat.
“Well, if anything, I am glad that it’s you that came.”
Harry softened a little, like butter left in the sun. “Of course, when I heard it was you -”
“This ghost is obsessed with you, and because of our, uh, shared history, won’t leave me alone. So I was hoping that you would be able to convince it to leave me alone and move on.”
“Ah,” Harry corrected himself, and slipped into a more professional headspace, reminding himself that this wasn’t Draco. This was Mr Malfoy, one of his clients. “Well, I’ll see what I can do. Does the ghost prefer one area of the house, or do they only come out at a certain time?”
“I’ve yet to figure out the pattern; it seems to be completely random. Sometimes I’ll go a couple of days without seeing her, and then she won’t stop pestering me about you. It’s incredibly irritating, you know I… find surprises annoying.”
Harry chuckled awkwardly. “I do, yes.”
Draco smoothed a hand through his corn-silk hair. “Tea, then? I’ve no idea when she’ll appear. I was hoping that when she saw I had HARRY POTTER in the house she would appear.” Draco and Harry waited for a minute in silence, listening for the creak of a floorboard or a flutter of footsteps, but Draco’s house was eerily silent.
Draco sighed. “I really thought that would work. Do you still take it with too much sugar?”
“I take it with too much and then some,” Harry said as he watched Draco disappear down the hallway, presumably into the kitchen.
While he waited for Draco, he set his wand down on the small oak table covered with an embroidered maroon coloured table cloth. Harry remembered Draco bringing it home one evening after a shopping trip with Pansy. He traced his fingers along the golden thread weaved through the cloth and thought that it suited the side table in the parlour of Grimmauld Place much better.
Harry thought the room looked far too modern for Draco’s tastes, and without the table cloth, there was nothing in the living room to identify it as Draco’s. It had been three months since Draco had left, and Harry wondered where all his things had gone.
Grimmauld had been full of Draco’s things. Little porcelain figurines of witches, wizards, black cats, and toads. Designer scarves that he hardly wore. Cashmere throws in every shade of cream. Empty potion vials just in case he had a project, and hundreds of jars of ingredients.
But this room looked empty, like a show home. There was only a single white cushion on the sofa, and there wasn’t a crease in it. Opposite there was a bookshelf that was curiously empty. Harry was especially surprised that Draco didn’t have his potion textbooks on display. It had always been his favourite subject and given the chance he used to talk Harry’s ear off about it.
Draco came into the living room with two steaming mugs. He eyed Harry’s wand, but said nothing as he silently handed a mug to Harry.
Harry took a thankful sip. Somehow, despite the fact that he had almost never made it himself in childhood, Draco’s tea always tasted best to him.
Harry glanced around the impersonal room again.
“My things are still in storage.” Draco explained, catching his look. “I thought it best, you know, with a ghost floating about. Wouldn’t want things to get broken.”
“Mm,” Harry agreed.
The silence was interrupted only by rhythmic tap tap tap of the rain on the windows.
Harry wondered if there was anything he could say. He had made a plan weeks ago of what to say when they saw each other again, but try as he might, Harry couldn’t remember a word of it.
There was a sudden thump from above, the sound of someone throwing a heavy object onto the floor with deliberate force, and Draco jumped so hard his remaining tea sloshed over his wrist.
“It’s her! She knows you’re here!” Draco hissed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. He grabbed Harry’s sleeve, gripped it so hard Harry could feel the stitches strain, and pulled him towards the door.
“Go! Please, ” Draco begged.
Harry followed the noise, Draco on his heels, and found himself in a bedroom, similarly sparsely furnished. He waved his wand over the room, searching for any traces of the spirit, but it had already left, leaving a smell like burning leaves behind.
“I think it’s gone. It was probably just curious about a new person in the house,” Harry explained. He turned, but stopped when he saw the stricken expression on Draco’s face. He was chewing his bottom lip in the way that Harry knew he did when he was nervous and trying not to let it show.
Harry placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, we’ll find her again.”
Draco nodded and swallowed. “You might have to stay the night, then. She’s more active at night. Some nights, at least.”
Harry frowned at the empty room again. “Yeah, alright. While we wait I’ll look over the house for any hotspots. Mind if I kip on the sofa when all’s quiet?”
For a moment Draco frowned, before he smoothed out the expression. Harry wasn’t surprised; having a sleepover with your ex while you were ghost hunting wasn’t normal break up behaviour.
~
Harry was restless throughout the night, unused to Draco’s uncomfortable couch. In the darkness he listened to the quiet rumble of thunder above and pondered how strange it was to be sleeping in Draco’s new house. He could not wrap his head around how barren each room was.
As Harry had settled in for the night, Draco had silently handed him a soft throw, one of the ones that they had used together in their bed at Grimmauld. It still smelled like them: treacle tart and broom polish and expensive aftershave.
Harry’s watch told him that it was just past one when the shouting started.
Already awake, Harry jumped off the couch and grabbed his wand. He raced up the stairs to Draco’s bedroom and flung open the door.
Draco’s bed was empty, and the window was flung wide open with the curtains fluttering in the wind.
Harry shivered as he ran his wand over the room. He could smell the burn, but knew that there would be no ghost.
“Draco?” He whispered. “It’s gone, it’s just us.”
He listened. Silence.
“Draco?”
He crept from the room and tiptoed down the hall, light from his wand illuminating his path. There was the quiet creak of a hinge, and a slight rush of air before cold fingers wrapped around his arm, and he was dragged into a small cupboard. The door slammed shut behind him. Harry instinctively shoved his attacker, but abruptly stopped when he heard a familiar hiss and saw Draco land with a thump against the wall.
“Oh, fuck, Draco, I didn’t realise that it was you.”
Draco was rubbing his shoulder. “Do you always assault your clients, Harry?”
He didn’t sound scared, and Harry found some relief in both his tone and the way his name sounded coming from his mouth.
He scoffed. “That was hardly an assault, and besides, most of my clients don’t shove me into cupboards.”
Draco glanced around at the small space, like he was only just realising where they were, despite the fact that their faces were so close Harry could smell the mint in his breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t think. I know you hate cupboards.”
“It’s fine. I’m better than I was.”
“Good. That’s good.”
The silence was so awkward that Harry almost forgot what led to them being in a cupboard together.
“Why’d you come in here, anyway? I checked the bedroom, and the ghost was gone before I got there. Does that happen often?”
“Uh, I was in the bathroom. I heard it in my bedroom and hid in here instead. You know I can’t do ghosts.”
Harry thought back to sleepless nights they spent holding each other under the soft throw, listening to Draco’s nightmares about the Manor.
“I know,” Harry reached for the doorknob, and just as his hand closed on the cold metal the door shook violently, and Draco pulled him back.
Pressed flat against the wall by Draco’s hand on his chest, Harry watched as the door shuddered and the doorknob twisted back and forth. A sound like nails ran up and down the length of the wood, and Draco grabbed his hand, squeezing it so tight it hurt. Harry squeezed back.
A high, shrill voice rose from beneath the bottom of the door, as if someone had their mouth pressed to the gap.
“Oh, Harrrryyyyyy! It’s Harry Potter! Open the door, I want to see Harry Potter!”
Harry glanced at Draco, who looked a mixture between scared and incredulous.
“Noooo, let me in! Pleeaaaasseee!”
Harry pushed off the wall and grasped the doorknob, and when he did the violence came to a sudden stop, and the only noise was the panting coming from both of their throats. He flung the door open, and tried to ignore the noise from Draco.
“I think you should come back to Grimmauld,” Harry burst out, eyes fixed ahead on the empty hallway. He couldn’t look at Draco when he said it, it was an offer of something more and they both knew it. Draco nodded and let out a breath.
“Yeah… I… I’ll come back. I hate this fucking house.”
“It’s a funny coincidence though, how the ghost is haunting you but seems to be focused on the idea of me.”
“Mm. You’re quite a celebrity.”
Draco brushed past him and walked cautiously back to his bedroom. Harry followed him. Strangely he could not smell burning anymore, and gripped his wand a little tighter, as it could mean that the spirit was still close by.
Draco conjured a suitcase and began neatly placing folded clothes into it; they looked like the only thing he had unpacked.
Harry stayed by the door and watched the hall, even though he knew from experience that ghosts felt no need to follow a logical floor plan.
“Has anything like that ever happened before?” He asked.
“Mm, no. Nothing that blatant. I just heard her whispering about you sometimes, about the mighty Harry Potter and all that.”
“Well, maybe my presence triggered her appearance tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow, or later, and deal with the spirit properly. Wouldn’t want her to scare any Muggles.”
“Oh, yeah. Maybe she won’t be a problem once I’m gone.”
The throw from downstairs whizzed past Harry’s head. Draco packed it into his suitcase and zipped it.
Unseen by Harry, Draco turned to the mirror, and caught sight of two figures, one familiar, and one translucent.
Hesitantly, he winked at the flickering figure. The ghost winked back.
Draco slipped his hand back into Harry’s. Harry smiled, content, and apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.