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Walburga is gone.
It takes Harry a moment to notice.
She had haunted the entrance way for as long as Harry can remember. She was the first greeting this place gave him, is irrevocably tied to Grimmauld and yet it always takes longer to notice the absence of something, than the addition.
He has his hands full, his trunk in one, his wand clutched in the other, a rucksack on his back.
Instead of being greeted by the trap once intended for Snape or screamed profanities coming from the portrait of Sirius’ mother, he blinks at his own reflection.
Messy hair in a bun, scruff that’s in need of a shave and tired eyes. It’s an old ornate mirror, the frame made of dozens of serpents, that make Harry’s hackles rise and have him raising his wand. His mirror self obviously follows suit and Harry startles, dropping his trunk with a thunk, that reverberates through the empty house.
Scared of his own reflection.
He forces himself to take a deep breath and casts a detection spell.
Nothing happens.
The mirror is just a mirror.
He follows it with a homenum revelio.
Again nothing.
The house is empty.
Harry lingers in front of Sirius’ room, but ultimately chooses another bedroom. He dumps his things at the foot of the bed and lets himself sink into the old mattress.
That’s it.
He’s an adult now.
With his N.E.W.T.s and everything.
His eyes follow the dust particles in the air.
His next agenda is food.
It has to be, with him being responsible for his own well-being and all that.
He expects dry crackers, maybe biscuits if he’s lucky and hopefully tea.
The contents of the kitchen exceed that by a lot. He’d mostly meant to check, if the cooling charms were working, or if he should invest in a fridge, but he’s met with a stocked pantry and cooling cabinet. There are oranges, bananas, green apples and already fully prepared dishes. Mashed potato, roast beef, cottage cheese, an opened jar of jam.
In hindsight he had known about the food law. Food always came from somewhere, it couldn’t be made of magic.
But then he was used to the Great Hall, where food just appears, so he doesn’t question it.
The gravy saucer actually looks identical to the ones at Hogwarts and so Harry just accepts it after a detection spell comes back negative.
The third clue after miraculous food and the blessing of Walburga’s absence is the cat. He catches it on top of the stairs, before it runs off. He casts another homenum revelio to eliminate the possibility of it being an animagus. Again it shows nothing.
So that means he apparently owns a cat now?
He supposes, if Grimmauld Place can feed him, it can feed a stray cat, that somehow breached the wards.
All of this occurs in the first three hours of him being back in the old house.
Again, in hindsight that should have been suspicious. But it’s an old wizarding house and in the grand scheme of things that have happened in the last eight years it’s really not even in the top twenty of abnormal instances. So instead of investigating Harry leaves to go to the nearest electronics store to buy a TV, because the most haunting thing to him is the quiet and a TV is the easiest way to fill it.
He does fill his days with other things, he isn’t a complete waste of space, but he does quickly learn, that there are very many hours in a day. He visits Teddy and Andromeda, goes to the pub with Seamus, Dean and Neville and visits the Burrow for the weekly Sunday roast.
But he also sits around a lot, aimlessly reorganizing the ever growing stacks of unopened post from grateful strangers.
Harry’s never really made a plan is the thing. He’d always been busy surviving and chasing the next lead. And they somehow made it out the other end. He did the impossible and now they have peace and he has piles of unappealing job-offers, one more boring sounding than the next. He’d almost become an auror last year, but multiple people talked him out of it, including Andromeda and McGonagall. Although what actually got through to him was a conversation with Hagrid. No one could tell him what he should do instead though.
Maybe him feeling sorry for himself is party of why it takes almost two weeks for him to find Malfoy.
He’d started the day with a leisurely breakfast of porridge, eggs and toast from the magical pantry and spent most of it reading a four page letter from Hermione.
Her and Ron were in Italy looking at old wizarding archives. Or they’d “found a compromise of beaches and museums, siesta and archives”, as Ron had called it. This probably means that they get food, once a security guard kicks them out of the museum and go to the beach, when everything is closed on a Monday.
Harry can’t really pinpoint when it happened, he had probably been to close to see it, but they somehow went from Ron fumbling his way through the terrible choices of a hormone-driven teenage boy to dedicated boyfriend. Maybe the war changed them. It changed everyone people always said. And when they’d returned for eighth year Ron was making Hermione’s tea every morning and holding doors open.
Hermione being Hermione had always had a plan for all eventualities. She is going to Oxford in the fall to study magical theory and charms development. Ron seemed satisfied having a career-driven girlfriend with academic aspirations, while he supported her and his family. Loosing a brother put petty goals of competitiveness and glory into perspective.
The letter describes, that they’re clearly having an amazing time in a hidden library in Venice and she can barely contain her excitement about Italian magical preservation of Dark Artifacts, when he hears a thunk upstairs. - Maybe the cat?
He’d seen it a couple more times and started leaving food out, but it never let him approach. He shakes himself out of it, takes a sip of his already lukewarm tea, and continues reading.
The corners of his mouth lift into a wry grin at her description of Ron’s attempts at ordering in Italian. Her fondness is oozing of the page.
He’ll write back to them tonight, when he’s coming back from Dromeda’s, so he can give them an update on Teddy. He’ll also have to ask Hermione about the magic of the house and the food. She’ll know what’s going on.
When he starts putting his dishes in the sink, clearing his late breakfast away, there is another thunk, this time louder. Harry draws his wand and slowly follows the origin of the noise upstairs.
He checks the rooms one by one, as he has done before, all three stories of the house.
Nothing.
His search leaves Sirius’ room for last, because it’s the hardest room to enter. It’s too easy to picture a young Sirius in here, an alive Sirius.
Harry sometimes wonders if he’s grieving correctly.
No one ever taught him, so how should he know?
Ron halts in conversation, when something references Fred; something he might have laughed at or agreed with. A decision Madame Hooch made in a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game would have enraged him. The pumpkin pie he once used in a prank.
Hermione finds her parents in the things they taught her or in a sweater she picked out with her mom. A habit of hot chocolate before bed, that her dad despised of will make her teary eyed.
Ron would have this knowing look in his eyes and pull her into his embrace, while Harry often left the room, because the moment seemed too intimate.
They just seem to know how to grieve and it’s not really something you can ask someone to explain. He’d tried that. He’d attempted with Molly once, but all he’d gotten was a look of pity, that had made his throat close up.
It’s like he’s grieving the concept of family, all the things that could have been, more than the actual person.
He doesn’t have many memories, if any of most of his lost loved ones. All he has is stories from people, who knew them better than him.
Standing in front of Sirius’ room is a stark reminder of the fact that he didn’t really know the man. That they barely had any time together.
He doesn’t know anything about Sirius’ childhood past the fact, that he couldn’t get away from this house fast enough.
What would Sirius say about Harry ending up here again?
Harry should have asked. He should have asked so many more questions.
He should have asked about Regulus.
The two brothers had died for the same cause, consumed with hate for one another. How had that happened? It seems cruel beyond measure. Harry could still see Sirius’ contorted face, when he spoke about his “idiot brother”.
Harry draws in a breath and turns away., having almost forgotten, what brought him here in the first place.
That’s when he finally sees it. The faint outline of a Notice-Me-Not.
Regulus’ room had always been on this floor. It used to be right there. How had he missed its absence?
He casts a disillusionment charm and then everything happens really fast, as he barges through the door.
Malfoy is sitting on the bed.
Draco Malfoy.
A wand clutched in his left hand, but it’s not raised. Clutched, but not raised.
His hair is long, his body gaunt.
His eyes wide, the entire face contorted by fear.
And yet the wand remains on the bed, not raised.
They just stare at each other, unmoving.
Harry is truly out of his depth.
Of all the things he might have expected this wasn’t it.
Malfoy finds his bearings and voice first.
“I’ll leave. Just let me go.” He moves to stand up, which jolts Harry into action. “Expelliarmus.” The spell doesn’t fail him. And why would it, it’s almost his at this point.
Malfoy freezes.
“What are you doing here? What are you up to?”
Malfoy raises his hands in a placating gesture.
“Have you been here the entire time?”,
“I- I’ll go. Just let me go.” Draco jumps off the bed, even though Harry’s wand is still trained on him. He’s grabbing things, seemingly at random, and throwing them into a duffel bad, without letting Harry out of his eyes.
“I’ll just leave, you’ll never have to see me again.”
Harry takes a menacing step into the room. “Not so fast. You won’t get out that easy. What are you doing here, what’s your plan?”
Draco ignores him.
Harry send a stinging hex his way.
Draco jelps. “Merlin’s balls, what is wrong with you Potter?”,
“I asked you a question. How did you even get in here? The house was empty. Who sent you?”
Draco’s expression shifts into one of disbelief. “Who sent me? You think someone sent ME?”,
“What else am I supposed to think? So what do you want? Spit it out, before I get the aurors.”
“NO!”, Malfoy cries out. “No, please. I’ll just leave. I’ll swear an unbreakable vow, you can use veritaserum. I - Anything, just please.” His voice goes quiet. It’s shaking as it fizzles out.
He’s pleading, Harry realizes.
Malfoy.
Malfoy is pleading.
“Please Potter, whatever you want. Just don’t -”, he tries again.
Harry’s first instinct is to taunt him, but it’s been a long time, since he’s done that. Petty school rivalry is behind them at this point and something about this is wrong.
Malfoy looks wrong.
Unkempt, bordering on filthy, his clothes don’t fit him and he’s lost all haughty pureblood grace.
The last Harry had seen of him had been a photo in the prophet, after his conviction.
He’d looked bad then, but now he was much worse. It wasn’t just his appearance, but the utter lack of poise. He seemed stripped of all the things that made him Malfoy.
“Why should I listen to you? You broke into my house. Merlin knows, what else you did.”,
“Please-”, Malfoy’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Harry is honestly shocked, that Malfoy’s mouth knows how to form the word.
“You know I can’t just let you go. You have a criminal record. I have to inform the authorities, otherwise I incriminate myself.” the statement lacks conviction. Harry can pretty much do whatever he pleases, being the Chosen one and they both knew it.
“Don’t make me go back.”, he’s begging now.
“You broke into my house Malfoy.”,
“They’ll kill me. Just let me go. I won’t bother you ever again. I’ll swear an unbreakable vow to never harm anyone, just let me go. Please!”
Harry barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. The dramatic fucker, something of Malfoy was still left then. “Oh, come off it! They’ll hardly sentence you to death for breaking and entering. They -”, and then it dawns on him. “Are you even supposed to be out of Azkaban? You were sentenced to two years. Did you escape?” Harry’s eyes fall to the want he took off Malfoy. “And where did you get this? Did you steal it?” Malfoy vigorously shakes his head. “I found it in the house. It must have belonged to a Black. I didn’t steal it. I swear to Merlin!”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You found it? That’s what you’re going with? Really?”
And that’s when the Floo goes off.
Fuck.
He’s forgotten about Teddy.
He is supposed to babysit Teddy this afternoon.
Harry casts a quick incarcerus magicae and magic binding ropes wind their way around Malfoy’s wrist, tying them together and preventing him from doing any magic.
“I’ll be back.”, he mutters and Malfoy’s eyes somehow get even wider. “No, Potter, please. Potter! Listen to me.” He takes a step towards Harry, but Harry has already cast a ward over the room and closes the door behind him. He will have to deal with Malfoy later.
It takes him about ten minutes to profusely apologize to Dromeda and ask Molly to cover for him. The Weasley matriarch is expectedly more than happy to do so.
Andromeda gives him a concerned look, but luckily doesn’t have the time to pry, as she is already running late and Molly is busy with an excited Teddy, who has just started walking.
Harry tells himself, that the reason he doesn’t tell Andromeda, why he has to cancel last minute, is to shield her from the trials and tribulations of her estranged nephew, as he walks back up the stairs. He wants to figure out what’s going on first. No need to unnecessarily alarm her.
And then his eyes widen in shock, as he rounds the corner. The door he closed and most definitely locked is standing wide open.
Malfoy is gone.
Now he should really call the aurors. Malfoy somehow escaped an incarcerus, a ward and two locking spells without a wand. He’s dangerous.
Harry should probably make use of the direct Floo connection he has to Kingsely’s office, but he can’t bring himself to do that.
The clear memory of genuine horror on Malfoy’s face halts him.
He needs to do something.
But -
Malfoy had been crying. And the tears hadn’t been for show. He’d rather failed to hold them back.
Harry will never forget the last time he’s seen Malfoy cry. He’d like to handle this instance better.
Involving the aurors would likely escalate the situation. They wouldn’t kill Malfoy, that had been a tad dramatic, but they would definitely lock him up.
Which is where Malfoy was probably supposed to be in the first place, Harry reminds himself. He’d been sentenced to two years for war crimes and use of unforgivables, but he’d been underage for most of it. Harry had provided exonerating memories for his trial. Mainly the night of Dumbledore’s death on the astronomy tower and him refusing to identify Harry at the Manor.
It hasn’t even been a year since his sentencing.
Has he really escaped Azkaban?
That should have been all over the news.
Something is off.
He decides to call Neville.
It’s his best bet really.
“Harry! Mate, how are you?”
No need to beat around the bush. “I need to speak with Pansy.”
Neville’s blue face in the flames makes a bad attempt at being confused. “Pansy? Why would Pansy be here?”
Harry channels Ginny’s most judgemental look. “I don’t have time for this. Can I please speak with her? It’s urgent.”
Neville lets out a sigh and then his face is replaced by a sceptical, yet haughty Pansy Parkinson.
“What do you want Potter?”
And despite the stress of it all, Harry can’t help but smile at her appearance. Her face is bare, her hair pulled back into a bun and he can see the collar of a men’s shirt at the bottom of his fireplace. She’s distinctly casual. Distinctly casual and in Neville’s living room.
Good for them.
“What do you know about Malfoy?”,
“Draco?”, her expression goes cagey. “What do you care?”
It takes a lot of convincing, but she eventually tells him, that Draco has stopped responding to her letters about three months ago. Her requests for visits have all been denied.
A dead end.
Has Malfoy really followed in Sirius’ footsteps and escaped Azkaban? How?
And why would he risk the escape, only to haul himself up at Grimmauld Place?
He must have been here for a while. Harry had missed it initially, too shocked by Draco’s presence, but the room is lived in. There are plates and mugs strewn around. A stack of books next to the bed. The desk has been used and there are dirty clothes in the hamper. Clothes, that look like they used to belong to Regulus.
None of it makes sense.
Now he wants to involve the aurors even less. What has happened to leave Malfoy as scared, as he clearly is?
He thought the days of a corrupt ministry and auror force were finally behind them.
In the end Harry goes to Percy, who had worked on the reform of Azkaban.
He just barges into Percy’s office without much finesse. People rarely dare to get in the way of the Chosen One.
He usually tries to avoid abusing his hero status in this manner, but needs must.
Percy’s secretary just gapes at him, as he strides past her.
“So are we worried, because Malfoy is loose in London and poses a danger to people, or because he is in danger?” Percy scrutinizes him over the rim of his glasses.
“Uhhhh....both?”, Harry pushes a nervous hand through his hair, in an attempt to pull himself together.
“I just want to know how he got into Grimmauld in the first place. It’s still under the Fidellius. It should be impossible. And he should also – you know – be in Azkaban.”
Percy rights a notebook on his already immaculate desk.
“You’re absolutely sure it was Malfoy?”,
“I went to school with him for six years. I’m sure. It was him.”
Percy is clearly questioning Harry’s mental state.
“I- Percy, something is wrong here. He was – something is wrong. I don’t want to involve Kingsley and alert the aurors, before I know what’s going on.”,
“Then what do you want from me? I’m the head of the unity task force. I don’t have access to his records.”
Percy had worked on the reform of Azkaban and advocates against muggle prejudice and tries to dismantle the systemic discrimination. Harry had been the face of a fundraiser before Christmas.
Hermione also keeps a close eye on the task force and is constantly exchanging letters with Percy. The two hadn’t even dropped the topic over Christmas dinner to Molly’s chagrin.
They face a lot of bureaucratic hurdles, but Hermione is hopeful.
Percy is clearly trying to redeem his past mistakes and Harry isn’t above using Percy’s bad conscience over the war to his own advantage.
“But I’m sure you know someone, who has access. Please Percy. People trust you. I trust you. This is important.”
Percy lets out a weary sigh. “I can try.”,
“Thank you!”, Harry exclaims in relief. He can feel the palpable tension leaving his body.
“But Harry.”, Percy continues. “Are you okay? I don’t...” He massages his tempels, before pinning Harry with a look. “You’re all alone in that stuffy house. Are you sure you don’t want to come stay at the Burrow? Mum would love to have you.”
Harry just gives him an exasperated look. They’ve had this conversation many times before. Molly tried to convince him to stay last Sunday as well.
“Or you could come stay with me. I know mum can be a little overbearing. I’d leave you alone and I’m gone all day anyway.”
That offer takes Harry aback.
“You want... You iron your socks.”
Pery scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one irons their socks. I simply fold them. And you wouldn’t get access to my sock drawer. I have a guest room.” There isn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Harry is honestly touched by the offer, even though it is utterly ridiculous. “My clothes live on a chair and I haven’t done the dishes in two days. You would murder me in under 24 hours.”, “This is supposed to convince me, that it’s a good call, that you’re living on your own?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you about to track down that file?” He crosses his legs, getting as comfortable, as is possible, in a stiff visitor chair in the ministry. He doesn’t intend to leave without the file. Percy huffs out a breath, but complies and gets up.
He still halts in the door. “I mean it Harry, think about it, If you ever feel like company or Grimmauld just gets too big. Literally anytime.”
He only leaves, after Harry acknowledges this with a nod.
Released on good behaviour.
Almost three months ago.
Harry mulls it over in his head, as he stands in Regulus’ (now technically Malfoy’s) room, looking around for any clue. He must have been here for weeks, maybe even since his release from Azkaban.
Had he really found the wand? That still didn’t explain, why the Hominum Revelio hadn’t registerd him. Harry had cast it multiple time. And why Grimmauld? What about his friends? Pansy had clearly been worried about him. Why not go to her? Harry had thought about asking her for help, but Malfoy must’ve had a reason not to contact her.
Percy had offered to help to find Malfoy, but Harry declined. More people will just stress Malfoy out and sent him running. Especially an unfamiliar Weasley. Harry has to do this alone.
He couldn’t have gotten far without a wand. There is no way he is able to use muggle transportation.
But then again he shouldn’t have been able to escape the room, so there is no way of really knowing, where Malfoy is or what he is or isn’t capable of.
All he knew for certain is that Malfoy is scared. More than scared, he is terrified.
Hoping, that he is still in the area Harry pulls on a coat and casts a magic tracking spell, as he lets the door of Grimmauls place fall shut behind him.
It luckily doesn’t take very long. Malfoy still has the magical restraint from the incarcerus magicae stuck on his arm. It lights up like a beacon, when Harry is still three blocks away.
He’s sitting on a park bench and to Harry’s surprise he isn’t alone. There are two muggle men next to him. One is middle aged, the other closer to their age, holding a can of beer in his hand.
Malfoy stiffens, when Harry gets into view. He protectively draws his arm around his body. His clothes are outdated and don’t fit. The sleeves of is sweater and the trousers are too short. Most definitely Regulus’ then. He’s sitting on a coat, a duffel bag from Grimmauld at his feet.
The two men next to him size Harry up.
Malfoy glances at them and minutely shakes his head, as Harry takes his last steps, stopping a couple feet in front of them.
“You could never leave me alone Potter.” It’s clipped, monotone, not giving anything away.
“I didn’t call the auro-”, Harry starts, but Malfoy interrupts him with a cough. Harry’s gaze flits to their two spectators. “I didn’t call the police. I- I know you got out on good behaviour.” Draco scans his face. “What do you want then? Do you want your stuff back?” He gulps, before kicking the duffel bag towards Harry. His gaze drops, as if to gather himself, before he slowly gets up.
It takes Harry an embarrassing amount of time to realize, that Malfoy is picking up the coat he’d layed over the length of the bench he and the two men were sitting on. The two men make it a point to stay seated. “It’s his, I have to give it back.”, Malfoy’s voice is so quiet, it barely carries to Harry, who finally catches on.
“No! Malfoy no, that’s not why I’m here. Keep it. I don’t need it back. It’s not even mine. The clothes belonged to Regulus’, didn’t they?” Harry hadn’t even registered, that he technically owned Regulus’ things now. Sure, the house is his, Sirius had given him the entire inheritance, but Regulus’ belongings are still separate in his mind.
Malfoy turns back around. There is anger bubbling under his calm demeanour and blank face. “What do you want then?”, his voice is more of a hiss than a whisper.
“I-” Malfoy clearly isn’t a danger to anyone, if he is amicably drinking beer with two muggles. He also isn’t in any imminent danger.
So what does Harry want? He can see the magical restraint he put in Malfoy shoved under the cuff of his too short sweater.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted.” Malfoy utters a cold laugh.
“Why? I’m a criminal. I broke into your house. I really didn’t expect anything else from you.”
Asshole.
Some things never change. It’s almost comforting.
“I said I was sorry. Look, how would you react, if I’d been hiding in your house for weeks?”
Malfoy gives him a haughty look, that is probably meant to communicate, that he would never be so stupid, as to not notice someone sleeping, not only in his house, but on the same floor as him.
Only Malfoy would be able to convey arrogant disdain sitting on a muggle bench, stripped of all belongings, titles and even his wand.
Bugger those muggles. Harry really wants to ask how Malfoy subverted the hominum revelio and notice me nots.
For some reason it took until now for Harry to fully grasp, that Malfoy is homeless. He’d been squatting in Grimmauld, because he has nowhere else to go. How he managed to get in is another matter, but with that realization all of Harry’s anger evaporates.
They hadn’t survived a war to end up like this.
“Come on!” Harry grabbs Malfoy’s duffel bag.
Malfoy’s expression instantly gets guarded and he doesn’t move a millimetre.
“I’m not letting you sleep on the street. You can keep the room. And no offence, but you need a shower.” Harry can’t stop himself from wrinkling his nose in an exaggerated gesture. Malfoy’s hair is so oily it has gotten stringy and his skin is outright grimey. Why hadn’t he showered? Grimmauld has at least five bathrooms. What a weirdo. Harry really hopes he doesn’t plan on following in Snape’s footsteps.
“You’ve tried to kill me, why would I go with you?”, Malfoy spits back.
The audacity.
“Oh of course. I tried to kill you and you’ve never put me in harms way. Ever.” Harry can’t help but rub the tip of his nose in a mocking manner, while giving Malfoy a very poignant ‘you-were-about-to-torture-me’- glare.
“I’m not the one, who started it.”
Harry doesn’t deign to respond to that level of delusion. He changes the duffel bag from his right hand to to his left. “We can get takeaway from that little Indian place on the corner on our way back. I’ll put it under a warming ch-” He stops himself almost too late. “We’ll just eat it, when we get home. I’ll ow- I’ll call Pansy first thing in the morning. She misses you.” Malfoy’s eyes go wide at the mention of her name. “You spoke to Pans? Potter, she can’t know about this. She’ll do something stupid. She’s already in enough trouble, without associating with a Death Eater. If she spoke to me and people found out – you can’t tell her that you saw me. She needs to start over.”
So that’s Malfoy’s reason for isolating himself from his friends. He wants to protect them. Although Harry is pretty sure that shouldn’t just be Malfoy’s choice to make. Harry will have to change his world view to one, where Malfoy is apparently capable of selflessness later. Now he needs to get him back home first.
“She’s worried about you. She’s tried to visit you in Azkaban multiple times. Don’t you think she should have a say in whether or not you two stay friends? I’m all for self flagellation, but try to leave her out of it.”
That is the first thing to make Malfoy briefly speechless. “I- What do you care? Why are you two even talking?”, “How about I’ll tell you over dinner. You’ve missed a lot.”
They stare at each other for a long while. Harry is trying to come up with another argument, when he sees Malfoy minutely deflate. He takes a deep breath and then a step towards Harry, when the middle-aged man grips his arm.
Harry had completely forgotten about their audience. Apparently so had Malfoy, because he twitches at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away. They seem to have a wordless conversation, before Malfoy gives him a nod and walks over to Harry, who lets out a sigh of relief and offers him his duffel bag back.
“Oh no, you’re carrying that. You gotta commit to the hero-act. If you want to rescue people of the streets you have to go all the way.”, and with that Malfoy strides past him.
“Ey, posh boy.”, the younger man says. “Your coat!” Malfoy glances over his shoulder, signalling, that he heard him, but keeps walking.
Harry scrambles to follow him, just to stop and turn around to run back to the two men. He fumbles his wallet out of his back pocket and hands both of them several notes. “I- Thank you. For looking out for him. He-”, “Stop being a sappy Gryfindor, you promised me Indian food. I want extra Naan.”
The flippant, almost boisterous overcompensation stops the second they are alone. Malfoy has gone fully mute, clearly incapable of navigating this. They’ve never been civil with one another. Never even attempted it. They walked home in silence and Harry ordered too much food, which was eaten in the same staunch, uncomfortable silence. They don’t have the conversation about Pansy or any conversation for that matter.
Harry wakes to sounds coming from the kitchen. It takes him a second to get his bearings, but then he remembers and is instantly wide awake.
Malfoy. Homeless living in his house. Released early on good behaviour. In desperate need of a shower. He clearly took that much needed shower.
The clothes are still Regulus’ and don’t fit, but his hair is fluffy and clean.
“The food! That was you!”, Harry exclaims in lieu of an actual greeting. Malfoy gives him an unimpressed look over his shoulder.
“What did you think where it came from?”
Harry shrugs sheepishly. “The house?”
“The house?”, Malfoy echos in disbelief, while returning his attention to whatever is on the hob. “The Chosen One.”, he mutters under his breath, before distributing scrambled eggs onto two plates, that already have bacon and sausages on them.
“You can cook?”, Harry asks a little dumbfounded. There is a pot of coffee, a bowl of cut fruit and toast already waiting on the small kitchen table. His mouth starts watering.
Malfoy pours two cups of coffee and fixes him with a stare. “I’m a potions prodigy. Of course I can cook.”
Huh, Harry had never thought about it like that. He lets himself fall into the chair opposite Malfoy and tucks in. He can barely suppress a groan. “This is great.”
Malfoy’s expression couldn’t possibly be more judgemental over Harry speaking with his mouth full, but he restrains from saying anything.
Instead he looks down and flexes both hands on the table, taking a deep breath.
“You are kind beyond measure and have my eternal gratitude. You don’t have to do this and I will always be in your debt. After all the things I’ve done to you-” He takes another steadying breath. He’d clearly thought about this. It sounds rehearsed.
He is trying.
Malfoy is really fucking trying.
“I don’t deserve-” Harry lays his hand over Malfoy’s tight fist. His fingernails must be cutting into his palms.
Malfoy’s gaze jumps to their hands and then to Harry’s face.
“Just say thank you. That’s enough.”, Harry’s voice is gentle.
“But- Potter, the things I’ve done cannot be forgiven and yet you-” Harry has clearly ruined Malfoy’s script with his interruption and now he is struggling to continue.
“This house literally belonged to your family. And it’s got plenty of rooms. I don’t need you to grovel at my feet. Just say thank you.”
They are still making eye-contact.
Malfoy swallows. “Thank you.” It sounds rough.
Harry grabs a strawberry from the middle of the table to break the moment. “You still have to tell me how you managed to get in in the first place though. I don’t want to have a security leak.” Harry raises his eyebrows in question, hoping that Malfoy will go along with the change of topic. He gets a look of even higher raised eyebrows in response. It very effectively conveys, that Harry is an idiot.
“I am the heir to the house of Black.”, Malfoy says it like he’s stating the obvious to a toddler.
“But it’s my house. Sirius named me as his sole heir. And there is a Fidelius on it.”,
“House magic doesn’t care about a flimsy Fidelius. And the house doesn’t have a clue, who you are.”
Harry’s expression just keeps getting progressively more confused. “The house..?”
Malfoy clearly despairs over his idiocy and mumbles something that sounds like ‘idiot Gryfindors’. “Sirius was literally burned of the tapestry. It doesn’t get much clearer than that. You might legally have the rights, but the house never changed allegiance. I mean do you think it normally looks like this?”,
“Like what?”,
“Like a dumb.”, Draco answers with zero sensitivity, making no effort to spare Harry’s feelings. He makes a gesture encompassing their, admittedly slightly decrepit, surroundings. “This was the main residence of one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain. It was regal, elegant, not a spec of dust anywhere.” His fingers glide over a chip at the edge of the table. “Don’t you remember? It must have resisted Sirius at every opportunity.
"The house sees you as a stranger, but Sirius was a traitor. I can’t imagine how he lived here. I reckon the house probably actively fought him every step of the way. Things breaking without reason, furniture refusing to move, rooms locking you out and who knows what else.”
Harry feels a peng of sadness at that. Sirius had escaped Azkaban just to spend his last years in a different kind of prison. And then something else dawns on him. “How did you remove Walburga?”,
“Walburga?”,
“The painting in the entry way. We tried everything we could think of. Spells, brute force, acid, I think the twins even threw a small bomb at it once. It wouldn’t move no matter, what we did.”,
“That explains the curtains. I wondered about that.” Malfoy takes a nonchalant sip of his coffee. “I just took her off the wall. She’s in the attic now.”
Harry lets out a disbelieving laugh.
Malfoy grins into his coffee.
They continue eating in an amicable silence for a while.
The food is really fucking good. The posh git, who would have thought.
Malfoy finishes his last bite and uses a napkin to clean the corners of his mouth.
“What did you tell the aurors yesterday? I feel like I should probably know, in case it comes back to me.”,
“The aurors?”
“When they flooed you yesterday.”
“I didn’t floo with the aurors. That was Andromeda.”,
“Andromeda.” Malfoy’s expression contorts. “Why would you tell her?”,
“I didn’t... I was supposed to babysit Teddy yesterday. She called, because I didn’t show up.”,
“Oh. I just heard that you were in a call and assumed... Who’s Teddy?”
Harry lights up. “My godson. Edward Lupin.”,
“Lupin? As in Professor Lupin? So Nymphodora’s child? My cousin?”
Harry nods, unsure how to proceed from here.
Malfoy turns almost reverent. “How...? How is he?”,
“He’s good. 15 months now, just started talking. His first word was ‘nana’.” In hindsight it’s really none of his business, but apparently Malfoy has disarmed him via delicious breakfast.
“Dromeda is worried about the Lycanthropy. There is a slight chance he inherited it, so we’re monitoring that, but so far everything is good.”
Harry leaves shortly after. Ginny has a Quidditch match. It’s just a friendly match, but Harry promised he’d come watch. It’s her first official match with the Harpies.
Apart from Ron all the Weasleys, plus Lee, Luna and Neville show up. Harry has the fleeting thought, that he should have brought Malfoy, but dismisses it quickly.
He spends pretty much the entire game avoiding Percy’s questioning gaze and is the first to leave. He’ll put off that conversation as long as he can.
When he gets back home Malfoy has taken over the drawing room. There are books strewn around everywhere.
“Eh.....Malfoy?” He looks up, as Harry enters the room. “What is this?” Harry has only been gone for three hours.
“I’ve been doing some research about Lycanthropy.” And that has Harry’s alarm bells ringing. “Statistically speaking he won’t develop it, but see Professor Lupin had been a werewolf for decades and that might influence things.” Malfoy’s attention returns to the book in his hands, but Harry starts seething.
“What does it matter to you?” Malfoy jolts at Harry’s tone of voice.
“He’s my cousin, of course it matters to me.”
The bastard.
Harry generally has quite a lot of patience, but it ends, when it comes to Teddy. “You really didn’t learn anything, did you? Still the same bigot as ever.”, he spits out. “Merlin forbid you’re related to a werewolf. You literally have nothing left. No money. No influence. No friends. And still you cling to your pride and purity bullshit, even if it brings you to an early grave.”
They give each other the silent treatment for a whole day.
Harry is furious.
With Malfoy.
With the world.
But mostly with himself, for falling for it.
Of course Malfoy didn’t actually change.
He is Malfoy.
Just because Pans and some of the other Slytherins have shown remorse and an effort to change, that doesn’t mean Malfoy will follow suit.
Some people are beyond help.
And yet his thoughts keep coming back to the muggle men. The image of Malfoy sharing a beer with two homeless men, leaving them his coat.
Harry replays the interaction over and over in his head.
He thinks back to Malfoy refusing to identify him at the Manor.
To a terrified Malfoy lowering his wand on top of the astronomy tower.
To Malfoy helping a terrified first year, who’d gotten lost. He hadn’t merely told her where to go, but accompanied her to the library, pointing out things she could use to orientate herself in the future. “Look out the windows. It’s often the easiest way to tell what side of the castle you’re in and on what floor. See and now we turn left at the centaur-tapestry.” He’d only left after making sure, that she’d found her friends and not before slipping a chocolate frog into her bag with a wink.
That first year had been Lorelai Higgins.
Lorelai is a Ravenclaw.
Lorelai is muggleborn.
Harry has spent many quiet hours since that afternoon at the beginning of fifth year wondering if Malfoy had known. If he’d been kind to a young muggleborn by choice or by chance.
The reason Harry goes into the kitchen in the first place are the persistent meows. He only hears Malfoy, when he’s already entered the room.
“Yes, yes, give me a second, it’s almost done.”, the fondness in his voice sickening. He sets a bowl filled with cat food down. “There you go. Good girl.”
Malfoy is crouching beside the cat, who is devouring the wet food with munching sounds.
“You’ll have to be on your best behaviour. I don’t think I’m welcome here much longer. But we’ve talked about this. He has a friend named Granger. The one with the bushy hair, who has the lanky ginger trailing behind her. She might take you in, so you have to be nice to her. I mean you can also stay here, it’s you choice really. He’s taking in stray Death Eaters, he will look after you too. Potter is a good man.”
Harry can only see his back, but Malfoy seems to be petting the cat with a flailing hand, which seems allowed, rather than welcomed by the animal.
Harry makes it a point to loudly barge in and start the kettle. He doesn’t really want a cup of tea, but he’s here now and it is his house, his kitchen, so he will stay here.
Malfoy gets back up in a stumbling movement. “Potter.”
Harry stoically continues making his tea, which doesn’t seem to deter Malfoy.
“Potter this is Snitch. Snitch, this is Potter, The Chosen One, Saviour of the wizarding world, who failed to die twice.” He is slurring a little.
He says Sssnitch, iszz and Ssavior. Twice sounds more like sizzzzze. Now that Malfoy has turned to him it is very obvious, that Malfoy is drunk. On the small brink between tipsy and hammered. Teetering on the edge without a care in the world.
“I don’t sssink you’ve met.”
Malfoy stares at him expectantly, as if Harry should start making small talk with the cat now.
After a brief moment Malfoy seems to feel an obligation to fill the awkward moment once more and continues: “I’m Malfoy. The bigot without friends or means, who‘s pride and purity bullshit will bring him to an early grave.” It hangs there in the newly opened pocket of silence between them.
The cat eyes them warily.
“Good talk.”, Malfoy concludes and makes to squeeze past Harry.
And Harry suddenly feels his anger returning, It never really left and just has to bubble back up to the surface. A rather quick process, that takes seconds.
He is past indignation and has arrived at full on rage.
“How can you care this much about a cat and then your own cousin doesn’t get a shred of human decency.”
Malfoy halts.
There is no point to this. It’s moot, especially with a drunk Malfoy, but Harry has started now, so he might as well keep going.
“Teddy is a baby. How can you be cruel to a baby? Look at you. You can’t possibly still think you and your pure blood are better than anyone else.”
They are uncomfortably close like this, facing each other, Harry can smell the whiskey on Malfoy’s breath.
He just blinks at him, his brain clearly needing extra time to catch up with what Harry just hauled at him.
“I do- I don’t think I’m better than him? Why would I -?”,
“Oh please don’t get shy now. You -” And Harry has to take a second to remember what Malfoy actually said.
“You blamed Remus.”, he shouts at him.
“I wanted to help!”, Malfoy replies. It’s said in a brittle voice and is followed by a tiny hiccup. “It’s best to be prepared in case he actually inherited it.”
That stops Harry in his tracks.
“Help?”, he echos faintly.
“He’s my cousin, of course I want to help.”
Something like acid curdles in Harry’s stomach.
And then he finds himself in a bathroom, aiming his wand at a crying Malfoy, an unknown spell on his lips. It’s almost visceral, the way the memory attacks him.
That sectum sempra curse remains the most violent act of his life.
He’d gone on to fight a war and yet he’d not once taken such drastic action again.
It had taken absolutely nothing to make him jump to conclusions about Malfoy’s intentions once more.
He barely manages to find his voice again. “How?” He clears his throat. “How do you... What do you mean prepared?”
Malfoy frowns and looks out the window. “Prepared for the case he does turn. He should have resources available, other wolves to talk to, to transform and run with. "Lone wolves often attack themselves.
"He should have access to wolfsbane, although I don’t know if it’s safe to use for a toddler.”, it’s still a little slurred, but the subject change seems to have sobered him up a little. He starts picking at his cuticles. “Maybe it could be altered to fit the needs of a child. I have some ideas.” Malfoy returns his gaze to Harry. “And you should have a healer on call, in case he hurts himself after all.” His eyes flit to the side. “And... I don’t... This isn’t my call to make, but he wouldn’t automatically be registered, because there is no attack and bite on file, so you would have to think about that.”
Harry gapes at him. This. All of these are concerns he’s discussed at length with Andromeda. Well, not the altered wolfsbane, neither of them has a knack for potions, so that idea is knew. And they definitely wouldn’t register Teddy if they could help it. No need to debate that. But -
He childishly feels like someone should give him detention, ban him from all quidditch games of the year and revoke his Hogsmeade privileges for fucking up this bad.
But they are adults now, no one checks their behaviour and plays the mediator. He has to fix this himself.
He starts by shoving a glass of water into Malfoy’s hand.
“I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”, Harry says it to his kitchen tiles, but he says it. He’ll have to say it again to a sober Malfoy. Actually to his face and with more words, but that’s a task for tomorrow.
For now all he can come up with, for whatever merlinforsaken reason, is: “Do you want to watch some TV?”
Malfoy is clearly and rightfully bewildered, but still too drunk to protest and follows him into the living room.
That’s where Harry is now. On a gaudy antique Black family heirloom of a sofa, watching an episode of Buffy.
Just the sight of the TV is grotesque.
Such a muggle object proudly displayed in the midst of pureblood prunk. A tiny act of rebellion, a visible marker of change.
Harry doesn’t really catch any of the episode though. He’s too busy trying to get his bearings, replaying yesterday’s disastrous conversation over and over in his head, trying to figure out where he went so wrong.
And then there is the tangible matter of Malfoy beside him.
He doesn’t think they’ve ever been this close to each other without screaming insults at one another.
This is uncharted territory, sitting next to each other on the couch.
And Malfoy -
Malfoy’s wearing nothing but a white undershirt.
His arms are just there, the expanse of white skin resting a couple inches next to Harry’s own hand.
The contrast is compelling.
An undershirt is still a shirt and far from indecent. Hell Ron hangs out shirtless all the time in the summer. Scars and freckles on display. So Harry doesn’t really know why this feels so different, but there is an undeniable vulnerability to it.
Ten minutes in he gets them a blanket, but that doesn’t really help things, because now he has created a rather flattering dark green backdrop for his white marble skin.
The idea of Malfoy under a blanket is somehow even more... forbidden.
That might be part of the reason it takes Harry so long to notice. He’s a little flustered and studiously averts his gaze from Malfoy and his skin, looking at the TV, without taking any of the story in.
He’s so fully consumed by his efforts not to look at Malfoy, that he only realizes Malfoy’s state, once he starts twitching.
Malfoy is glued to the TV, eyes wide with fear, his hands gripping the blanket and shaking. He’s so strung with terror, he doesn’t appear to be breathing.
Harry hastily turns of the TV. They’ve almost made it through the episode and are in the middle of the last big fight scene, were Buffy and her friends defeat the monster of the week. This week it’s three hellhounds trying to kill the unsuspecting high school students of Sunnydale.
“Malfoy?” Harry starts hesitantly and Malfoy jerks around. There is sweat clinging to his forehead. He’s gasping for shallow breaths, that clearly aren’t getting any oxygen into his lungs. His thighs move in tiny jerks.
“Hey...”
No response.
Fuck, how did Harry manage to fuck this all up even more? Malfoy had lived with Voldemort and all his most gruesome lackey’s for months and he’s most likely never seen a TV before. Of course a show about fighting demons and vampires would send him straight into a panic attack.
Who’d allowed him to be an adult?
Harry takes a deep breath. He can do this. A lot of his friends get panic attacks, after the things they lived through in the war.
He makes it a point to move slowly, as to not scare Malfoy even more and takes his hand.
He forces himself to not think about the fact, that this is Malfoy, when he gently tries to remove his cramped fingers from the blanket.
He intends to put Malfoy’s hand on his chest, so they can breathe together.
“Okay, so we’ll try and-” Malfoy just saggs into him.
His entire body is shaking. He seems to have lost all control of his limbs. His short, shallow breaths run into each other, chasing each other, none of them actually doing their job.
“It was just a TV show and I turned it off. They aren’t real.” He hesitantly puts his other hand on Draco’s back.
Harry is still holding Malfoy’s hand. Well kind of, he’s holding his ring and middle finger.
“You have to breathe Malfoy.”
Harry haltingly starts drawing small circles on Malfoy’s back.
“They aren’t real. You have to breathe.”
He drags the two fingers to his own chest.
“Come on, we’ll breathe together.” Harry forces himself to slow down his own breathing.
“They aren’t real. You’re safe Draco. Focus on your breathing.”
It takes a while.
A long while.
Harry considers the options of sending a patronus to St. Mungos vs. just hauling Malfoy through the Floo to get him there.
But eventually Malfoy calms. His breathing gradually slows down and Harry can feel the tension fall off him, when Malfoy takes his first deep breath.
He is still shaking. His hand has grasped onto the fabric of Harry’s shirt in a tight fist.
Harry resumes his murmuring.
“You’re safe – They aren’t real – just focus on my breathing.”
He expects the shaking and shivering to subside shortly after, but Malfoy’s limbs keep jerking.
“Do you need me to take you to Mungo’s?”, Harry offers. Malfoy immediately jolts upwards.
“No!”, it’s panicked. “No, I don’t need Mungo’s. It goes away in a bit.”, his voice comes out croaky. And it really shouldn’t be a surprise, but it breaks Harry a bit, that Malfoy has gone through this before. Has he done this alone? How often does this happen?
“It’s normal side effects.”, he explains, when Harry fails to respond. His voice breaks on the last word and he goes to fully pull away, but Harry keeps his hand on Malfoy’s back.
“It’s okay.” they make brief eye contact and Harry thinks he’ll fight it, but then Malfoy follows the slight pressure Harry put on the hand between his shoulders and folds back into Harry.
Snitch, who must have entered the room at some point watches them from underneath a shelf.
‘Normal side effects.’ Malfoy is talking about the dementors, Harry realizes. Luna had confided in him, one sleepless night spent in the common room.
“He just... starts shaking. Sometimes there is a trigger, but other times it just happens. He’ll have a cup of tea on the couch and the next moment he’s spilled it everywhere and is cramping up. What if it happens at the wrong time and he hurts himself? I feel so guilty for leaving him home alone. He’s my dad, I should be looking after him, but he wouldn’t let me stay.” A sniff. “He’s all I have.”
And then her eyes had filled with even more tears at the realization, that Harry doesn’t have any family. He never really had one, as far as he can remember.
Sirius must have also dealt with this, although he never told Harry.
Healers call it ‘dementor residue.’ There isn’t really much to be done about it. A lot of patients suffer their entire lives.
Malfoy is only 19.
This doesn’t seem fair.
At the time of the sentencing Harry had thought that the three year sentence was probably deserved. It wasn’t that much time in the grand scheme of things and he got to keep his magic. But this doesn’t seem just.
It takes over half an hour for the shaking to stop, for Malfoy’s breathing to fully even out and become regular.
They don’t move.
Harry takes a deep breath. He hasn’t been this close with anyone since – since Ginny.
But this is MALFOY, Harry reminds himself.
He should pull away, extract himself.
He doesn’t.
It feels nice, Malfoy’s weight on him.
And if his hand moves up to play with the white-blond hair no one has to know.
They doze off, Malfoy still in his arms.
Harry jolts awake a couple hours later, his neck stiff and aching from the unnatural sleeping position he’d fallen into with his head on the arm of the couch. Malfoy also blinks awake.
They hurriedly move to opposite sides of the couch. It’s almost 1am. Malfoy mumbles something about getting a glass of water from the kitchen and they quietly make their way to their respective bedrooms.