Say Good-bye to Yesterday(2/4)
Title: Say Good-bye To Yesterday (2/4)
Author: faynia
Giftee: sesheta_66
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, implied Harry/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,471
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has put forth a new program to retrain Death Eaters once the war is done, and Draco Malfoy is one of the many candidates. But how well can Harry cope with the task of keeping an eye on him?
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried to get in everything sesheta_66 asked for, especially plot! Lots and lots of plot. Hope you like it!
Beta'd by rakina, windout, and xos2ed
Part 1
Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Two days ago, he had taken Draco Malfoy from the ministry and since then he had become nothing more than a sofa decoration. It was absolutely maddening. Harry wanted to punch the blond in the face for all the good it would do.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy, do something.”
“That won’t work, Harry.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, taking the beer bottle from her without looking. He popped the cap off and took a deep sip, before placing it on the floor next to him. He bounced on his haunches, staring into blank grey eyes trying to determine what to do now.
A hand ran through his hair, and he slanted a smile at Hermione whose smile softened. “You need to get some rest, Harry.”
“It’s just so frustrating,” he snarled, picking up the cold bottle once again. He hesitated as he brought it to his lips, and then after a pause lowered it again without drinking any. He stared at the non-descript brown bottle, his brow furrowing in thought. “Kingsley dropped by today. I’m just lucky I strengthened my wards enough to prevent him from Apparating in.”
“What did he want?” Hermione asked, sitting on the floor beside him. She leaned against the sofa and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently.
Harry scowled at his drink and cast it aside. With a soft thump, he dropped to his bum and pulled his knees to his chest. “To tell me Malfoy went missing.”
“He knows already?”
“Damn right he knows already! And I can’t just leave Malfoy alone. You know that, Ron knows that, I know that, hell, the twins know that and even they are worried about him. They’re four, Hermione. They’ve met him once, and already they’re worried about him. I can’t disappoint them, Hermione, I just can’t.”
She hummed thoughtfully as she turned her gaze direction on Malfoy. “He hasn’t moved at all.”
“He doesn't. Not without a serious amount of coaxing anyway.”
“That’s not necessarily true, Harry.”
Harry groaned. “If you’re talking about that one time, forget it, Hermione. I can’t even remember what I was saying; let alone which part of it triggered something within the prat.”
He watched as Hermione’s eyes suddenly lit up, and Harry could just about see the plan forming in her mind.
“A Pensieve.”
“What?”
She grinned and Harry got worried. “You need a Pensieve, Harry. Pull the memory out and examine it that way.”
Harry leaned forward onto his knees and kissed her forehead. “You’re absolutely brilliant,” he told her, “wait here.”
Hermione gave him a confused smile, but Harry didn’t explain as he jumped to his stockinged feet and hurriedly left his sitting room.
Five minutes later he returned, Pensieve in hand and with a goofy grin on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and that only served to make Harry laugh.
“I just happened to have one in storage,” he explained, placing it on the glass table in front of the sofa.
“Only you would have a Pensieve in storage, Harry.” Her eyes shimmered with laughter. “Honestly, you’re just as bad as Ron and his father.”
“I happen to like Mr. Weasley,” Harry cried, laughing at her.
“Of course you do,” she patronized, casting a weary glance at Malfoy. Harry followed her gaze, frowning at the cracked lips. He glanced at the wall clock and his frown deepened. How had he lost track of time like that? “What’s wrong, Harry?”
“Malfoy needs to be fed,” he murmured, brushing aside the thought that saying that made Malfoy sound like some sort of pet.
Hermione laid a hand on his arm and stood. “Let me do it. I have more experience in these things.” Harry grabbed and squeezed her hand in thanks as she disappeared through the archway to the kitchen. His gaze reluctantly went back to the waif of a man on his sofa. The familiar feeling of sympathy twanged within his gut.
This wasn’t his fault though, he told himself sternly, focusing back on the empty Pensieve before him. At one time it had held another, greater, man’s memories for him to sift through, but once he had finished going through them all they had needed to be destroyed. Albus Dumbledore’s memories forever remained in Harry’s mind, the old headmaster’s last gift to him.
“All right, I can do this,” he said to himself, plucking his wand up off the coffee table. He bent low over the basin and touched the wand to his temple and focused on recalling the memory of his afternoon with Malfoy. It slowly swam to the surface and Harry hooked onto it like a fisherman harpooning a fish. He tugged it out, trying valiantly not to be disturbed by the silvery thread he removed from his head. Settling it in the magical basin he tapped at it with tip of his wand, watching as the scene cleared before him. There was no audio, but Malfoy’s impassive face, twisting into its once familiar sneer told him he had taken out the correct part.
Harry looked up when Hermione entered the room once more with an exasperated expression. A few seconds later it became clear why. Ron walked across the hardwood floor with a sheepish smile, behind him trailed Amanda and Brigit, talking quietly with their heads bent together.
It was eerily reminiscent of their Uncles when they were about to pull a prank. Hermione must have noticed this too because she quickly went and lifted Brigit off the ground and flipped her upside down. The girl squealed in delight, her long flowered top flying up to reveal her pudgy belly. Ron bent over and grabbed the girl’s hands and stepped backwards so they were holding her like a hammock.
Amanda made a beeline for Harry and he caught her around the middle and pulled her onto his lap, tugging one of her pigtail braids before planting a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek.
“Have a good day at school, love?”
“It was great, Uncle Harry. We did lotsa neat stuff with Miss Bell. And Jason wouldn’t leave Brigit alone and dared her to eat a crayon so she did and she got sick and Mummy had to come and get her. She was put in time out and made lotsa funny faces.”
Harry laughed. “It’s not nice to talk about your sister like that.”
“S’okay Uncle Harry, cause then I ates a crayon too and Mummy put us both in time out togever.”
Hermione was laughing and he looked up just in time to see Brigit flying towards him. She flung her arms around Harry’s neck, kneeing her twin sister in the back, and then nuzzling Harry’s shoulder. Harry stroked her free-flowing, curly red hair and looked up to see Ron tickling Hermione as she tried to fend him off.
“Harry, help!” she cried, between peals of laughter.
Harry smirked and shook his head. “I have a lap full of Weasley brats, can’t help you.”
“Uncle Harry?”
“Yes, Bridie?”
“Who’s that?” Sharp blue eyes were looking past his shoulder at the sofa behind him. Hermione’s laughter had died off and Ron seemed momentarily frozen in place. Amanda craned her neck all the way back to take in the strange man on the sofa as well. Her sweet smile turned confused, and then into a worried frown.
“Is he okay, Uncle Harry?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s very sick, darling,” Harry said gently, running a hand up and down Amanda’s back. He looked up at Hermione for help. She was the healer, not him.
“Does he gots the wizard flu?”
“I bet he’s got chicken pops,” Brigit said speculatively, her nose wrinkling.
Amanda scowled. “He’s got the flu.”
“The pops!”
“The flu!”
“Girls, please,” Hermione hushed, picking up Brigit and situating her on her hip. The little girl’s peasant skirt rode up, showing cowboy boots, but Harry found his focus and concern not on her odd yet endearing apparel, but on her expression. It was downright scared.
“Mummy, is he gonna die, like Tiffy?”
Amanda curled on Harry’s lap, and he found himself murmuring soft sounds to calm her down. He could already feel her tiny body trembling.
“No, baby,” Ron told Brigit in a rough voice. Harry didn’t blame him, Ron hated Malfoy as much he used to, but even they couldn’t say anything bad about him around the twins. They wouldn’t understand. “He won’t die like Tiffy.”
“But, Tiffy doggie was sick just like him is,” Amanda sniffled, rubbing her nose on her sweater sleeve. “And you said Tiffy wouldn’ die neither!”
“Baby, Tiffy was an old dog,” Hermione explained, kissing the crown of Brigit’s head. “Draco isn’t old. He’s just not feeling well.”
“But-”
“You’ll see,” Harry said, with more optimism than he had the right to feel. “In a few weeks he’ll be as right as rain.”
“Will he?” Amanda asked wide-eyed.
Harry tapped her nose. “Of course he will because I said so.”
Amanda giggled and the tension in the room broke. Hermione sagged forward in relief and masked it by setting the four-year-old in her arms back on the floor again.
“Come on, I bet Misty misses us,” Brigit said happily, already forgetting what had made her so upset in the first place. She held out her hand to her older sister by three minutes, which Amanda readily took and then they were off like a shot, down the hall and into the bedrooms.
“I’ll make sure they don’t break something,” muttered Ron as he pecked his wife serenely on the cheek.
“I love you,” Hermione cooed, exaggerating the motion of batting her eyelashes.
Ron kissed her more thoroughly, uncaring that Harry was in the room to see it. “You'd better.”
Hermione stared after him in a daze and then shook her head. “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly.
“At least you’re getting some on a regular basis,” Harry smirked.
“Harry!” Hermione slapped his arm lightly, her cheeks suffusing with a lovely shade of red.
“What?”
“You’re horrible.”
Harry grinned. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes you are, you great oaf, now budge over so I can get at Malfoy.”
Harry obeyed her request, by sliding up onto the couch beside the blond. “I think I got the right memory.”
Hermione nodded as she leaned forward, her forehead wrinkling in concern. She ran the cup of broth over Malfoy’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth. Careful to not spill any of the tepid fluid down the blond’s chin, she tipped the plastic cup and dribbled the contents slowly Malfoy’s mouth.
Harry watched as she coaxed him to swallow the broth and had to turn away, when some slipped down his chin.
“Has he thrown up anything yet?” Hermione asked, summoning a napkin from the kitchen and dabbing gently at the mess.
He shook his head. “No, he’s been fine. It’s odd. Healer Leavenworth made it sound like he was doing it almost every meal.”
“Well you would too if you were trapped in that place,” Hermione snapped. She sighed and bowed her head. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right, Hermione.”
“This is the second time you’ve admitted this in the past two days, are you sure you aren’t sick as well?” she teased, reaching over and feeling his forehead in mock concern. “The Harry Potter from a few days ago wouldn’t have cared if they had thrown Draco Malfoy in a skip, let alone got proper medical attention.”
“The Harry Potter from a few days ago didn’t know his cat would take such a liking to said blond prick either.”
Hermione arched a brow disbelievingly. “So, you’re telling me you feel bad for Malfoy because Misty likes him?” She shook her head. “No offense, Harry, but not even the twins are likely to believe that.”
“Fine, I just- I feel bad for him, okay!”
His friend’s expression softened and she ran her hand down his cheek. “That’s more than fine. That’s normal.”
“But I liked hating him,” Harry whined. “It was a constant.”
Hermione remained calm. “You have other constants now, Harry.”
Harry was inclined to believe she was right.
*****
“Hermione, I don’t know what to do!”
“Listen, Harry, you need to calm down. I don’t even know what’s wrong yet.”
She set a bowl of dried macaroni in front of the twins and crossed her kitchen to the stove. She stood on tiptoes, balancing the handset between her shoulder and ear as she reached for the glue sticks and finger paints. It had taken forever for Ron to get used to living a Muggle lifestyle, but she was glad he had conceded to her on this.
There were some things about living like a Muggle she just refused to give up. Heating and electricity were only two of them. It was the same for Harry. When they had gone hunting for a flat for him, they had decided that they would keep to Muggle London, away from the press, and pressure of being in the public’s eye.
“What’s the matter?” Ron asked, reaching effortlessly over Hermione to grab the glue stick she had knocked back further into the cabinet and out of reach. He handed it to his wife and pressed a kiss to her temple, his arms encircling her waist. He could hear Harry’s panicked voice through the speaker of the phone as clearly as if he was the one holding it.
“Hermione, Kingsley is coming to talk to me tonight about why I haven’t started a search for Malfoy yet. Well, I know why I haven’t because he’s been taking up space on my sofa for the last four days, but how am I supposed to explain that to my boss?”
“Harry, mate, it’s me,” Ron said, taking the phone from Hermione. The frizzy-haired brunette ducked under his arm and went to give their two little girls the paste and paint. “When’s Kingsley showing up then?”
“In thirty minutes. Ron, I don’t know what to do here, and if I don’t think of a plan soon, preferably an untraceable one, I’m getting sacked.”
“Fu-” Ron’s eyes went wide as the giggling at the table stopped and the twins turned to their father with identical expressions of intrigue. “-udge ,” he finished lamely. “Then why are you still at home?”
“Give me that,” Hermione said in exasperation. She grabbed the receiver and sighed. “Now go,” she mouthed. Ron nodded, giving his two paint-splattered daughters a quick kiss each, before heading out into the night.
“Hermione?”
“I’m still here, Harry.”
“What am I going to do?”
Hermione leaned against the countertop and hung her head, making sure to keep an eye on the twins as they smeared glue all over their pieces of paper.
“You’re going to calm down and wait for Ron to show up.”
“What good will that do?”
She gazed around her crowded kitchen, before spotting the picture on the refrigerator. The one piece of artwork done by the twins she hadn’t let Ron give to Harry at work. She took it off the refrigerator and gazed at the two figures moving in it. To say she had been shocked when Amanda had handed their newest drawing to her would be an understatement. But she was beginning to see what they did.
“Harry?”
“What?”
“You’re going to have to talk to Malfoy.”
*****
Harry paced in front of his sofa, shooting anxious glances at the front door to his flat, and then back to the blond sitting as impassive as ever on his couch. There was no way in hell Ron was going to be able to come up with a plan by the time he got over here. Hermione had made no sense when she had said talk to Malfoy. He could shout himself hoarse, but it wouldn’t do any good. There was no way he’d risk Apparating without Malfoy being aware, at least on some level, of what was going on. Aside from being unethical, he’d run the risk of splinching them both and Harry had done quite enough of that for one week.
“Come on, come on,” he urged, staring a hole through the door. Only twenty minutes until Kingsley showed up and things went pear-shaped. Not that they weren’t already, he thought ruefully, flinging himself on the couch next to Malfoy. “You would be the one to ruin my career.”
Malfoy didn’t move, not that Harry had expected him to. “Hermione says talk to you, so I’m going to. Did you know that the house I’m leaving you at technically belongs to me? When Kingsley had told me to find an empty house, I never expected him to want to move you in there. You never know, you might even have liked it. Doubt it though, there aren’t any house elves and there certainly aren’t any silk sheets.” Harry snorted. Why was he even bothering? If Ron were to walk in now he’d have every right to take the piss out of him, talking to himself like he was the insane one.
“Did you know the twins actually like you?” Harry said, leaning back against the arm of his couch. He gasped when a ball of fluff jumped on his stomach and from there to the back of the sofa. Harry spared a second to glare at Misty, before stroking her gray and white fur. She purred in pleasure and Harry rolled his eyes, scratching under her chin and behind her ears. “They do,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been rudely interrupted, “you’re all they talk about. They want daily reports on your health to make sure you are getting better. You’re making me lie to my nieces, and my boss.”
Misty bit his finger and he yelped, withdrawing his hand. The cat just blinked at him, still purring. “For that I am not giving you any treats tonight.”
“Harry, you in there?”
“The door's unlocked, Ron!”
The front door swung open and Ron walked into the sitting room with a peevish expression. His blue eyes settled on Harry’s face and his expression softened. “You all right?”
“I just got a love nip from this old wench here, but otherwise I’m completely losing my mind.”
Ron snorted and leaned against the backside of the sofa, running his hand over Misty’s back much to the old girl’s happiness.
“So, had you worked anything out yet? Mione made if fairly clear that if I didn’t help you with this I wouldn’t be seeing my blankets any time tonight.”
“Harsh mistress,” Harry snickered, stretching on the couch, his foot bumping into Malfoy’s hip. He gazed down the length of the piece of furniture, taking in the sunken expression of the man beside him. “Why can’t you just be normal like all the other Death Eaters?”
“Because he’s Malfoy, and he would have to be special.”
“Oh, yes of course.” His eyes flickered to the wall clock and his stomach clenched again. “Fifteen minutes.”
“There has to be something you can do.”
“You tell me what, and I’ll do it in a second.” Harry groaned, rubbing his face vigorously. “I’m screwed, no matter what happens.”
Ron moved around the couch, tripping over something as he went. He bent over and pulled something out from beneath the side table, something Harry couldn’t see from his angle. “What is it?”
“A Pensieve,” Ron murmured bemused. “Do you often keep them under side tables?”
“Shut it and bring it here,” Harry snapped, his eyes lighting with interest. He was ashamed to admit he had forgotten, he had stuffed it there the last time Ron and Hermione had been over. He hadn’t even gone into it yet. Had that been what Hermione had meant? She would be the one to remember this even when he didn’t.
He sat up crossing his legs, accepting the basin when it was handed to him. “You coming with me, it’ll only take a few minutes, not even that long.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I’ll stand watch.”
“Ron?” His fingers curled around the lip of the Pensieve.
“Yeah, Harry?”
Harry looked up offering his friend a crooked grin. “Thanks for showing up.”
“Not a problem.”
He nodded and taking a deep breath, stuck his head into the swirling mist. He fell the short distance down into the white room, shivering uncontrollably. Stepping around so he was crouching beside Malfoy, he rested a hand on the bench, waiting for the exact moment when there was a shift in his expression.
“Where’s your daddy to run to now, huh, Malfoy? He can’t save you, not when you need him most, the Malfoy name is mud, it's worse than mud, it’s the little crawlies that live in the mud and you’ve got no one to hide behind any more.”
Harry winced as he listened to himself hurl slur after slur at the blond beside him, surprised and disgusted by his own behavior. He was suddenly glad Hermione hadn’t been around to accompany him for this. She would have been horrified. Steeling himself, he looked back into Malfoy’s face.
"I'm so glad I didn't accept your hand that day on the train or I could have fallen in with the 'wrong sort'."
There it was. A blink, and then a more rapid one, and suddenly the very familiar sneer appeared.
“Potter.”
What had he just mentioned that tipped him off? The meeting on the train. That was it? That was all he had to say? He mentally cheered as the memory began to dissolve around him and he pulled his head from the Pensieve.
“Any luck?”
Harry grinned, crawling across the short space, ignoring Ron for the moment.
“Malfoy, I hope you’re listening to me,” he said, trying to sound malicious, but failing at it. It shouldn’t matter, he told himself, it wasn’t the intent of the words. It was just that phrase. “I’m glad I didn’t fall in with the wrong sort.”
Harry nearly crowed when Malfoy’s head swiveled in his direction. Ron’s sharp gasp went unnoticed, as he was currently being glared at.
“We are leaving, Malfoy.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Malfoy rasped, blinking and clutching his throat awkwardly. Harry touched his arm and the blond flinched.
“Yes, we are,” Harry stated slowly as if talking to a very small child. “I’m going to Apparate us both.”
“You’re going to what?”
Harry pulled out his wand, his grin dimming with the shine of consciousness in Malfoy’s eyes. “Oh, no you don’t, you are not leaving me again.” He shook his childhood rival, hoping for some glimmer of anything, but he didn’t even get the violent reaction he had received in the Ministry holding cell.
“Harry, you need to get going, mate.”
“Time?”
Ron stared at him dumbfounded. “Come again.”
“Time, you know the thing that clocks and watches tell us. How much time until Kingsley arrives?”
“About two minutes.”
“Shit!” Harry cursed, bowing his head. He examined Malfoy’s face again, praying that somewhere the other man had some idea of what he was going to do. “Please, Malfoy.”
“One minute.”
“Not helping, Ron,” Harry growled, gripping Malfoy’s arm tightly.
“Sorry.”
“Me too.”
He gazed at the redhead with a wistful sigh, before withdrawing his wand. Closing his eyes, allowing himself to only see the interior of his abandoned house, he Apparated with a loud crack.
Ron winced and rubbed at his ears. For all the power that Harry held, he made an awful lot of racket when coming or going. With a rueful look at the empty sofa, Ron withdrew his own wand and Apparated home.
*****
Harry barely was able to prevent Malfoy from cracking his head on the floor by twisting them as they fell so Harry hit the ground instead. Gasping, he saw lights dancing before his eyes, unable to move. His eyes fell shut, and his hand rested lightly on Malfoy’s lower back.
“Prat,” he exhaled after a long moment. He pushed the lifeless body off him, lowering the blond’s body to the floor. Malfoy’s eyes were shut, which worried Harry until he saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and his eyes darting behind his lids. Dreaming, or more likely unconscious from Apparating; either was welcome. Seeing Malfoy stare out vacantly was enough to give anyone gooseflesh.
Harry gazed around the room, inhaling musty air. Dust hung in the air illuminated by the gap in the curtains covering the window. It felt like ages since he had been here. Rubbing his stiff neck and sore tailbone, he levitated Malfoy onto the couch, before standing.
Crossing the room unimpeded he threw open the window looking out into the vast backyard. Harry reached up, undid the lock on the window and hefted it open. Fresh air raced into the room and Harry couldn’t help but close his eyes while inhaling. Ages had passed since he had been in the country and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. Missed this house. His fingers traced trails of dust over the piano, and he carefully lifted the cover off the keys. His fingers found the C key and he plunked it, glancing at Malfoy. The blond was still asleep, but he didn’t look to be in any pain.
Harry pulled off the sheet that had been draped over the stool and seated himself upon it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to play as one hand ran up and down the scales slowly. He wondered idly if Malfoy had ever played a duet before as his fingers finally caught onto a tune. Brahms' Lullaby. He snorted at his own predictability as he played through the song. He was rusty, he admitted as his fingers ran astray and he played some awfully harsh-sounding chords, but considering he hadn’t touched a piano since the war had ended he was amazed at how easily it all came back to him.
“Harry.”
His fingers slipped off the keys and he bowed his head. A lone tear curled down his cheek and silently he closed the lid over the keys shielding them from sight. Ghostly arms wrapped over his neck and he was suddenly flooded with memories. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as sobs threatened to overtake him.
“Harry, come and eat, you’ve been playing that thing for hours now.”
“Coming, Ginny.”
She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling warmly as he entered the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist.
He nuzzled her neck, inhaling lavender and vanilla. “Love you so much,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her, too afraid to let go. The bulge of her stomach, his child, pressed against him and his hand went to rest on it. “Love you too.”
Ginny kissed the side of his mouth and his eyes locked with hers. He ran his fingers through her wine-colored hair, before framing her face and kissing her gently.
The ghost arms squeezed him tightly, before disappearing with the memory. With watery eyes, he turned his head to look at where Malfoy was still sleeping peacefully.
“Merlin, Ginny, this is so messed up.”
He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm and went towards the front door. He exited the house and leaned against the front door, inhaling sharply. Malfoy wouldn’t be going anywhere, and if something bad happened to him the bracelet would heat and he would go back immediately. But first, he needed to make a few visits.
Harry shoved his hands in his jean pockets, his trainers squelching in the muddy road as he made his way down the unpaved road. He stopped in front of a small house with an overgrown lawn, frowning. He could hear the faint strains of a wireless from the open window and hoped that was a good sign. Going up the stone path, he lifted the knocker and let it go three times, before stepping backwards.
Warm May air surrounded him, easing the chill from his bones, and the memories from his mind.
“Who is it?”
A huge grin split Harry’s face at the familiar voice. “Harry, ma’am.”
“Harry?” The door opened a crack and Harry tried his best to look apologetic. “Harry!” The door swung all the way open, revealing the elderly woman he had hoped to see.
“Mrs. Hollingberry.”
Harry was suddenly enveloped in a large, bone-crushing hug. His arms went around the frail woman as he returned the gesture. He wasn’t expecting the smack on the shins with her cane. Harry doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain as he gripped his throbbing leg.
“Just where have you been, young man?” she scolded, and Harry raised his hands to his ears in protective manner. He didn’t think they’d survive the abuse after what Hermione had done at the beginning of the week.
His voice was an octave higher as he answered, “Working, ma’am.”
She eyed him up and down, and he knew she could tell he had been crying a few minutes ago. “Working, my weathered arse.” Harry sighed, still massaging his bruised leg. “What happened to you, child?”
“I-"
Ester clicked her tongue reprovingly and ushered him into her house before shutting the door behind them. Her home always smelled of fresh linen, and that never failed to surprise him.
Whiskers blinked lethargically at him, before leaping off his chair and going over to rub between his legs multiple times.
“Hullo, Whiskers.”
The cat meowed plaintively, and Harry bent over lifting the Siamese cat into his arms.
“Sit,” the elderly woman instructed, pushing him towards Whiskers' recliner. Harry went without much fuss and sat in the warm chair. “Now just what is going on?”
“I-I’m here with a friend.”
An arched brow told him more than her next words that she expected more, and perhaps thought there was something deeper to his words. “A friend?”
“He’s ill, and his family was unable to take care of him anymore,” Harry explained, pulling a cover story out of thin air. He really had to think of a better one for Malfoy’s sudden appearance in his life, but this one worked for now, and maybe if he built on it, he’d be able to convince all his other neighbors of it.
“Oh, the poor dear, what’s the matter with him?”
“No one is sure.” He felt safe at least saying that much.
She scanned his face, her dark eyes sweeping over his form searchingly. “And you left him alone?”
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, before a blush coloured his cheeks. “Yes.”
“Harry James!”
Harry turned away to hide his smile. He did have the oddest choice in company, he reflected. They all liked to scold him. “I need to ask you a favor, I hoped I wouldn’t be leaving him alone for too long.”
“You really must invest in a phone, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harry knew she was right, but at the time he had bought the house he and Ginny had just wanted
to be alone. “I’ll look into that.”
“Good. Now what is this favor you’re wanting?”
Harry worried his lower lip as he stroked the soft fur of the cat on his lap. “I need you to ‘babysit’ my friend when I’m at work.”
“Is that all?”
“What?”
She patted his cheek and mussed his hair, before stamping her cane once. “Dear, I would love to watch your friend…what is his name by the way?”
“Draco, Draco Malfoy.”
“Odd name.”
Harry shrugged. “He grew up in an odd family.”
“Harry, that is an incredibly rude thing to say.” Her eyes twinkled and Harry scowled. “Now, when do you need me to come over?”
“Tomorrow morning at seven, if that is all right with you,” he hastened to add. He didn’t want to pressure her into making this decision. The mere fact that she would need to be taught how to feed the blond, and the idea that Malfoy could wake up at any time sat heavily in his mind. Also, after his two year absence, he really did not deserve her help at all. Certainly, he had penned her the odd letter here and there, but they hadn’t been as close as they'd been after Ginny- no, he wouldn’t think about her.
Ester hummed thoughtfully, her cane hitting out a steady rhythm on the old threadbare carpeting.
“Will Misty-love be there?”
Harry grinned. He’d go and fetch his cat that night; the ball of fur would be extremely angry at him for leaving her in the first place. His grin faded as he realized that he was seriously considering staying the night in his house. He wasn’t sure he could do it. “Yes.”
“Lovely, I’ll bring Whiskers with me as well.”
Silence stretched between them at that proclamation, and Harry stood slowly, waiting for Whiskers to jump off his lap first. “I need to get back.”
The gray-haired woman followed him to the door. “Don’t be a stranger, Harry.”
A pang of guilt hit him so strongly he almost needed to grab the doorframe, almost, but he didn’t let it show how badly he felt. “I won’t,” Harry replied. “Thank you for doing this for me. You really didn’t have to.”
“Pish-tosh, of course I did, now get home to your friend.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pecked her cheek fondly as she squeezed his arms. “See you tomorrow.”
The walk back to his tiny cottage of a home felt longer than it was. His hand rested on the rusty doorknob that he couldn’t bring himself to turn. A part of him was telling him to run, now, while he still had the chance. It was only Malfoy in there, not someone he actually cared about.
He turned the knob and opened the door.
*****
Draco knew at once that his surroundings were different. For one thing, Azkaban had never been this quiet - the screams and cries of prisoners were non-stop day and night - and for another it never smelled like his favorite brand of tea. With great trepidation, he opened his eyes, momentarily blinded by sunlight filtering through the Venetian blinds.
Draco sat up, uncertain of his situation. If he had died, this was an awful funny sort of afterlife. The room was airy and open, the only furniture being the bed he was lying on and the bureau with mirror directly across from him. On the bureau there was a glass vase holding a bunch of lilacs, their sweet scent mingling with the smell of mint tea. Straining, he could hear the faint sounds of a piano being played.
“Oh my.”
Draco turned his head towards the startled voice and saw an elderly lady standing in the doorframe, holding a cup of tea. His favorite tea. He narrowed his eyes, taking in her appearance shrewdly. Muggle, he determined after a moment. There wasn’t even a hint of magic around her.
“You’re awake.”
“So it would seem,” he drawled, frowning at the rasping quality of his voice. He clutched his throat in concern.
While underused, it shouldn’t have sounded like that. The cup and saucer were pushed into his hands gently, and he realized, much to his embarrassment, that he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.
“Here,” the old woman took first the saucer and then the cup away from him, setting them on the bedside table.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she brought the cup up to his cracked lips with steady hands, and he took a deep sip. He sighed as the heavenly drink slid down his throat, soothing the raw feeling and warming him from head to toe.
“If you are wondering where Harry is, I’m afraid you just missed him,” she told him.
“Harry?” he questioned wearily. If this was a dream, it was a rather mean one, and odd. But he hadn’t dreamt in ages so he brushed aside that idea right away. No, either he really was dead, or something had happened, something he couldn’t remember. After all, there had to be a damn good explanation as to why a Muggle woman was taking care of him, and why he was in these atrocious pajamas.
“Harry Potter,” she answered, setting the empty teacup on the saucer.
“Potter?” Draco blurted out before he could stop himself.
“So, you are awake then.”
Both Draco and the strange woman turned towards the door to see Harry standing there in what appeared to be a Auror uniform, a high level one at that. The other man stood differently as well, more world-weary but confident in himself, a vast change from the scrawny, pathetic nineteen-year-old he had once been.
“He just woke up.”
Potter nodded, a small frown marring his features. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Why do you care, Potter?”
Potter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ma’am, if you’d excuse us-”
“I’ll leave now. Don’t let him get you down, dear,” she whispered, as if Draco couldn’t hear her less than five feet away.
“I won’t.” The soft smile on Potter’s face didn’t surprise him at all. It would be like him to befriend every Muggle in sight.
“There’s a good lad,” she murmured, kissing his forehead before leaving the two of them alone in the room.
Draco watched as Potter made his way to stand next to the window, leaning against its edge. The other man seemed no more inclined to speak to him than he did to Potter.
“Well?” he bit out in irritation.
Potter turned, expressionless. “I’m supposed to take care of you; it’s my duty to wonder if you feel better. I can leave if you are.”
“Is that why you showed up so soon?”
“No. I showed up because you were frightened and this bloody thing wanted to burn the flesh from my arm.”
He pushed back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a metal bracelet. One that bore a strange resemblance to the ones mothers put on their younger children.
“It should have.”
Potter scowled, but the malice Draco had been expecting wasn’t there. No, Potter was angry, but he also appeared resigned, maybe even relieved. Not the emotions he had intended on evoking.
“I’m sure you wished it would,” Harry muttered, before peering between the blinds.
Draco watched him uncertain of what had just happened. Potter wasn’t acting like he should and the unfamiliarity of the situation nettled him. He frowned, bringing his trembling arms to his chest, crossing them.
“Where am I?”
“Ester didn’t tell you?”
Draco shook his head. “No, the daft old woman said nothing except that you would explain.”
“She’s not daft.”
“What?” Potter turned to look at him again, his eyes glazed with a sheen of tears. “For Merlin’s sake Potter, you aren’t crying are you?”
The dark-haired man seemed confused by his question, before raising a hand to his eyes. Draco itched to throw a hex at Potter for being such a child. It wasn’t like there was anything worth crying over in the room, aside from the ugly clothing he was wearing and he supposed his hair was mussed beyond saving.
“Damn it!” Potter swore, turning his attention back to the window.
“Potter, will you just tell me where the fuck I am!” Draco spat, trying not to slide back down under the covers. He was so tired, so very tired, but he’d be damned if he let Potter know it.
“Swaledale.”
“Come again?” Surely he hadn’t just heard that they were in sheep country, there was no way Potter would kidnap him and bring him here. Especially if he was still going to work - the journey would be hell. Potter rounded on him, his eyes red-rimmed, and Draco sneered. “Still crying, Potter? One would think you enjoyed kidnapping me, not hated it. What kind of Auror are you?
“You know what, Malfoy, shut up,” Potter hissed, his eyes flashing. The other man crossed the room to the door, anger in each step. Finally a normal response, Draco thought victoriously. That was, until Potter had to add. “You know nothing, nothing at all.”
It really wasn’t fair, he rationalized when Potter slammed the door behind him. The black-haired man had never been that melodramatic before. If he wanted any answers at all, Draco supposed he’d have to cozy up to Potter. He shivered and sank down beneath the blankets.
*****
Harry slumped onto the couch and closed his eyes. His Auror robes had been shrugged off and laid in a pile on the floor along with his shoes. He had known for some time that Malfoy was going to start questioning things. He had known it for weeks now. More and more often the blond had woken up confused and disoriented, but never this alert. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t temporary any longer, that Malfoy would in fact be in his right mind once again. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful because he was. He was grateful that he would be able to leave this house.
Malfoy had no right to ask after him, none whatsoever. He had been in no position to question him. The prat was weaponless for Merlin’s sake! Harry gripped his hair and pulled it tightly.
“What’s the matter, love?”
“Nothing.” She stared at him, folding her arms across her chest in disbelief. Wind through the window swept around the base of her dress, flaring it with each gust. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Ginny smiled, clasping his hand gently with her own. Harry grinned. Did she know how much he loved her? He spun her in a circle, just to hear her laugh, before leading her down the hallway towards their room.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
She laughed, her eyes slipping shut. “What is going on?”
“You’ll see.”
“Even with my eyes shut?” Ginny teased.
Harry pinched her and she laughed again. He prodded her gently into their bedroom, unable to resist grabbing her bottom. Ginny yelped, and Harry had to cover her eyes with his hand as she made to open them.
“No peeking.”
“But, Harry-” Harry guided her over to the window and turned her around to face their bureau. “This had better be good.”
“You’ll love it,” he whispered, pulling his hand from her eyes. “Open them.”
He watched as she blinked, staring around their room searching for the difference. Finally she spotted it, he could tell immediately. Her freckled face lit up like the sun and she spun around, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him down for a kiss.
“I love them, Harry. They’re gorgeous.”
“I’m glad,” he breathed, resting his head on her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of the fresh lilacs on their dresser. Her warm, brown eyes met his, sparkling. He could hardly breathe as he asked, “Marry me?”
“Yes.”
Harry’s eyes were forced open when something heavy landed on him. Misty stared at him disdainfully as if she could tell what he was thinking. He ran a hand across his cat’s back, sighing heavily. He needed to get out of there and soon. Before Malfoy could work out what had him so bothered.
*****
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” Ester greeted cheerfully as she entered his bedroom. It had been two days since Draco had last seen Potter. There was nothing he could do about it, confined to this room as he was. It shouldn’t have upset him that Potter had finally buggered off after a week of constant attention.
“What’s so good about it?” he grumbled, swinging his feet off the bed. He could finally walk again. Not for great distances, but he managed to get around the house easily enough. At least, when Potter wasn’t there forcing him to lie down and not move as he crammed soup down his throat. When asked why, he never got the same answer. If he had wanted mothering, he could have asked his mother to do it.
Ester scolded him half-heartedly as she went around the bed to throw open the curtains. “Where’s Mr. Potter this morning?”
“Out,” Draco bit out. If the crazy old woman had no idea where her precious Potter was it wasn’t his problem.
“For two days now?”
Draco scowled. “If you knew he was gone, why even bother asking?”
“Draco.” There was a harshness to her tone he wasn’t anticipating. She had never snapped at him before, and had been extremely patient in everything. Maybe Potter’s presence was a buffer, and now he was going to find out what this Muggle had to say to him.
“You have not been given permission to use my first name.”
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “If you think you can get away with sulking all day long you are entirely mistaken. Just because Mr. Potter has left you alone does not give you the right to behave in such an appalling manner. I, for one, find it a disgrace to have you waste away pining in this bedroom.”
“I am not pining!”
Ester snorted inelegantly and Draco’s eyes bulged. She was serious, she really thought he was wasting away over Potter’s absence. He was not some love struck female! He was Draco Lucien Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy Estate, and he would be damned if he let some old bint talk to him in that manner. He’d show her that he wasn’t ‘pining’.
His feet hit the cold, hardwood floor and he brushed past her without a word.
*****
Harry groaned deeply as he sank further into his seat at the restaurant. Amanda was poking him with the end of a spoon and Brigit was just staring at him like she didn’t even know who he was anymore. Two months… it had been two months since he had taken Draco Malfoy from his flat to his old home and it had been more than a week since he had been able to bring himself to check up on the bastard.
Although, if the twins were going to continue doing this, he didn’t think he’d have another choice. The waitress, a pretty, blonde thing with legs that went on for miles, shot him a sympathetic smile as she waltzed past.
Clearly, it was time to leave.
“Uncle Harry, why aren’t you talkin’ to us?” Amanda whined, putting the spoon down on the table with a dramatic huff. “Cause you haven’t been, you know. Are you sick?”
“Maybe he’s gots the flu like Draco did,” Brigit said seriously, bringing her small, ketchup-covered hand to his cheek. Harry resigned himself to the little girl’s ministrations as she felt his head in imitation of what her mother would do.
Amanda shook her head, dismissing the idea out of hand. “Nah, can’t be that, he’d be all still.”
“Well, he isn’t talkin', like Draco weren’t,” Brigit pointed out, staring down at her red hands in confusion. Harry sighed, picked up his napkin, grabbed her hands and wiped off the ketchup. He should have known better than to let her eat chips instead of a normal meal. Ketchup always ended up everywhere, usually on her trousers when she would drop a chip on them. He’d been lucky that night, she had been fairly careful while eating.
Amanda on the other hand, had a smear of jam down her shirt from her sandwich.
If he had known that all they wanted were chips and sandwiches, he could have stayed at Ron and Hermione’s and made the food there. Brigit snatched the napkin from Harry’s fingers and proceeded to clean off his cheek haphazardly.
She pulled back, beaming. “There.”
“Am I better now?” he asked.
Amanda shook her head. “No, you sound sad.”
“Mandy’s right, Uncle Harry, why are you so sad today?”
Harry shrugged, attempting to smile, positive it came out more as a grimace. “Let’s go and clean you girls up; does that sound good?”
“Will you stop bein’ sad and stuff if we say yes?” Amanda asked, clearly thinking he’d say no. As if he could - it was getting late and they needed baths.
“I promise that I’ll be really happy, and stop being sad and stuff,” he said with mock-seriousness. The twins looked at each other skeptically. Harry crossed his fingers beneath the table that they believed him because if that flighty waitress came over just to ooze sympathy at him one more time, he’d hex her, Muggle restaurant or not.
Brigit finally broke the long stare with her twin sister and nodded her head, curly red hair flying everywhere. “Okay, Uncle Harry, but only 'cause you promised.”
Harry pulled out his wallet and chucked a few notes on the table before sliding out, shoving Amanda out of the way playfully. The four-year-old giggled, and tugged on his hand when he pretended to get stuck.
“I’m afraid I can’t move,” he lamented, bowing his head just so that he could observe Amanda and Brigit without them noticing. Brigit came over with her hands on her hips and a flustered expression that was so like her grandmother’s that Harry almost laughed. Molly would be proud.
He finally let them “pull” him out from behind the table and made a show of staggering about once he was out. Before they could stop him, he hefted each of them up into his arms by their waists.
“Ready to go?” he asked. He felt better. Maybe ketchup to the face was all he had needed. Ron would certainly be harassing him a lot less at work. How many times did he need to say he didn’t miss the ferret? He chose to ignore the fact that he was going to take his nieces there right then.
With one little girl in each arm, he wound his way through the tables to the exit. He’d go to his flat first, and from there he would take the Floo home.
*****
“Damn it, Potter,” Draco snarled as he went through the fifth cabinet in the kitchen only to find nothing at all. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. No one was supposed to be in this house but him and that blasted cat of Potter’s that didn’t know when to leave him the hell alone. So, unless the cat suddenly grew and developed very human fingers then--
“Language, Malfoy,” came Potter’s chiding tone. He turned around so fast he almost fell over. Giggling from the doorway had him craning his neck to see over Potter’s taller frame. “There are children in the room.”
Draco sneered and ducked under Potter’s arm as the other man made to grab something off the top shelf. It turned out to be a can of chicken noodle soup. Delightful! He swore if he never saw another bowl of soup it would be too soon.
“I am not eating that.”
He eyed the soup warily as he sat down on a chair at the kitchen table. Potter blew some dust off the top of the can, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I don’t blame you.”
The two girls gawked at him as they made to sit on the same chair across from him, their bright blue eyes watching him expectantly. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what they could want from him. Potter seemed unconcerned by this, and just petted them both on the head distractedly as he went over to the bin and chucked the unopened can inside.
“You’re awake.”
“You sound like Ester,” Draco shot back, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He wasn’t used to having children stare at him in concern. He wasn’t used to children at all.
The one on the right side of the chair cocked her head to the side, her pigtails falling across her face. Draco watched as Potter moved forward and tied the yellow ribbon that had come undone, before dropping a kiss to her head.
“Who’s Ester?” The other girl asked, drawing his attention.
Draco grunted, barely resisting drumming his fingers on the table. Potter was still puttering around the kitchen opening and closing the same cupboards Draco had just rummaged through moments ago. If Potter didn’t believe him when he had implied there was a lack of food, it wasn’t his problem. He gazed at the other man’s back as it tensed, his shoulder blades drawing together, and then sagging forward in defeat.
Without moving, he said, “We’ll go to the market tomorrow.”
“Market?” Draco scowled.
Potter turned around with a resigned expression. “Yes, that place where you buy food? The market.”
Draco’s scowl took on a hint of loathing. “I am not doing something as plebian as going to the market.”
“Oh, yes you are. You’re really not in any position to argue this either. I can very easily make you go on your own.” Draco’s jaw dropped in shock, a rebuttal hanging on the tip of his tongue, but Potter wouldn’t let him say it. “And before you even think it, I will tell Ester some sob story about how your self-esteem is so low you’re afraid of what will happen when you go. Then you’ll get the pleasure of having her take you to the market instead. I’m sure you’re terribly excited to hear about the time Whiskers caught a mouse that had been building a nest in her walls.”
“Bastard.”
The girls giggled, and bowed their heads together as if to hide them. Potter smirked, and told the girls to follow him to the bathroom so he could wash them. Draco got the feeling this would be a very long night.
*****
“Uncle Harry?”
“Yes, darling?” Harry worked the baby shampoo into Brigit’s hair as Amanda played with a dragon figurine at the other end of the bathtub. He tipped his head and looked into her face curiously. She giggled, pushing at his nose with a soapy hand.
She gasped when he took the opportunity to upturn a cup of warm water over her head. Brigit spluttered making Amanda giggle. She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at the other girl, and Harry took the opportunity to flick some water at the older of the twins. Maybe if he distracted them, they’d forget any questions they had. Chief among them about Draco’s continued presence in his home when he was better.
“So, Draco’s all better then?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, love.”
“He looks better,” Amanda commented as if she had good authority on the matter. “He was talking and everything.”
“He even said a bad word.”
“Yup, he did; Mummy wouldn’t be happy to know that.”
“What does bast-”
Amanda looked up at Harry in confusion when he covered her mouth to prevent her from finishing her question. He could just about hear Hermione shrieking in his ear about how her babies learned such language. He sighed, letting his hand fall into the water.
“Why’d you put your hand on my mouth, Uncle Harry?”
“Because you were about to say a bad word.” He glanced around, before leaning in. He mentally grinned when the girls followed suit, clearly excited to be sharing a secret with him. Harry spared a thought as to what Malfoy could be doing. The house was standing and the bracelet on his wrist was cool, so it was nothing dangerous, but that still didn’t prevent him from being curious. “Do you want to know why I don’t want you repeating that word?”
They shook their heads, sending droplets of water flying through the air. “Why?”
“Because your Mum scares the pants off me when she’s angry, that’s why.” He lowered his voice dramatically before adding, “Do you think you could help me by not ever saying that word ever again?”
Brigit’s eyes went wide and she was already nodding before he could finish the request. Amanda, however, did not look persuaded.
“I’ll take you out for ice cream later.”
“'Kay!”
Harry suspected that one day ice cream would no longer sway them, but for now he was more than happy to indulge them. As long as Hermione or Ron never heard them say that word he was safe, he just wished he knew for how long.
Part 3
Author: faynia
Giftee: sesheta_66
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, implied Harry/Oliver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,471
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has put forth a new program to retrain Death Eaters once the war is done, and Draco Malfoy is one of the many candidates. But how well can Harry cope with the task of keeping an eye on him?
Author/Artist's Notes: I tried to get in everything sesheta_66 asked for, especially plot! Lots and lots of plot. Hope you like it!
Beta'd by rakina, windout, and xos2ed
Part 1
Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Two days ago, he had taken Draco Malfoy from the ministry and since then he had become nothing more than a sofa decoration. It was absolutely maddening. Harry wanted to punch the blond in the face for all the good it would do.
“Bloody hell, Malfoy, do something.”
“That won’t work, Harry.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, taking the beer bottle from her without looking. He popped the cap off and took a deep sip, before placing it on the floor next to him. He bounced on his haunches, staring into blank grey eyes trying to determine what to do now.
A hand ran through his hair, and he slanted a smile at Hermione whose smile softened. “You need to get some rest, Harry.”
“It’s just so frustrating,” he snarled, picking up the cold bottle once again. He hesitated as he brought it to his lips, and then after a pause lowered it again without drinking any. He stared at the non-descript brown bottle, his brow furrowing in thought. “Kingsley dropped by today. I’m just lucky I strengthened my wards enough to prevent him from Apparating in.”
“What did he want?” Hermione asked, sitting on the floor beside him. She leaned against the sofa and grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently.
Harry scowled at his drink and cast it aside. With a soft thump, he dropped to his bum and pulled his knees to his chest. “To tell me Malfoy went missing.”
“He knows already?”
“Damn right he knows already! And I can’t just leave Malfoy alone. You know that, Ron knows that, I know that, hell, the twins know that and even they are worried about him. They’re four, Hermione. They’ve met him once, and already they’re worried about him. I can’t disappoint them, Hermione, I just can’t.”
She hummed thoughtfully as she turned her gaze direction on Malfoy. “He hasn’t moved at all.”
“He doesn't. Not without a serious amount of coaxing anyway.”
“That’s not necessarily true, Harry.”
Harry groaned. “If you’re talking about that one time, forget it, Hermione. I can’t even remember what I was saying; let alone which part of it triggered something within the prat.”
He watched as Hermione’s eyes suddenly lit up, and Harry could just about see the plan forming in her mind.
“A Pensieve.”
“What?”
She grinned and Harry got worried. “You need a Pensieve, Harry. Pull the memory out and examine it that way.”
Harry leaned forward onto his knees and kissed her forehead. “You’re absolutely brilliant,” he told her, “wait here.”
Hermione gave him a confused smile, but Harry didn’t explain as he jumped to his stockinged feet and hurriedly left his sitting room.
Five minutes later he returned, Pensieve in hand and with a goofy grin on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and that only served to make Harry laugh.
“I just happened to have one in storage,” he explained, placing it on the glass table in front of the sofa.
“Only you would have a Pensieve in storage, Harry.” Her eyes shimmered with laughter. “Honestly, you’re just as bad as Ron and his father.”
“I happen to like Mr. Weasley,” Harry cried, laughing at her.
“Of course you do,” she patronized, casting a weary glance at Malfoy. Harry followed her gaze, frowning at the cracked lips. He glanced at the wall clock and his frown deepened. How had he lost track of time like that? “What’s wrong, Harry?”
“Malfoy needs to be fed,” he murmured, brushing aside the thought that saying that made Malfoy sound like some sort of pet.
Hermione laid a hand on his arm and stood. “Let me do it. I have more experience in these things.” Harry grabbed and squeezed her hand in thanks as she disappeared through the archway to the kitchen. His gaze reluctantly went back to the waif of a man on his sofa. The familiar feeling of sympathy twanged within his gut.
This wasn’t his fault though, he told himself sternly, focusing back on the empty Pensieve before him. At one time it had held another, greater, man’s memories for him to sift through, but once he had finished going through them all they had needed to be destroyed. Albus Dumbledore’s memories forever remained in Harry’s mind, the old headmaster’s last gift to him.
“All right, I can do this,” he said to himself, plucking his wand up off the coffee table. He bent low over the basin and touched the wand to his temple and focused on recalling the memory of his afternoon with Malfoy. It slowly swam to the surface and Harry hooked onto it like a fisherman harpooning a fish. He tugged it out, trying valiantly not to be disturbed by the silvery thread he removed from his head. Settling it in the magical basin he tapped at it with tip of his wand, watching as the scene cleared before him. There was no audio, but Malfoy’s impassive face, twisting into its once familiar sneer told him he had taken out the correct part.
Harry looked up when Hermione entered the room once more with an exasperated expression. A few seconds later it became clear why. Ron walked across the hardwood floor with a sheepish smile, behind him trailed Amanda and Brigit, talking quietly with their heads bent together.
It was eerily reminiscent of their Uncles when they were about to pull a prank. Hermione must have noticed this too because she quickly went and lifted Brigit off the ground and flipped her upside down. The girl squealed in delight, her long flowered top flying up to reveal her pudgy belly. Ron bent over and grabbed the girl’s hands and stepped backwards so they were holding her like a hammock.
Amanda made a beeline for Harry and he caught her around the middle and pulled her onto his lap, tugging one of her pigtail braids before planting a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek.
“Have a good day at school, love?”
“It was great, Uncle Harry. We did lotsa neat stuff with Miss Bell. And Jason wouldn’t leave Brigit alone and dared her to eat a crayon so she did and she got sick and Mummy had to come and get her. She was put in time out and made lotsa funny faces.”
Harry laughed. “It’s not nice to talk about your sister like that.”
“S’okay Uncle Harry, cause then I ates a crayon too and Mummy put us both in time out togever.”
Hermione was laughing and he looked up just in time to see Brigit flying towards him. She flung her arms around Harry’s neck, kneeing her twin sister in the back, and then nuzzling Harry’s shoulder. Harry stroked her free-flowing, curly red hair and looked up to see Ron tickling Hermione as she tried to fend him off.
“Harry, help!” she cried, between peals of laughter.
Harry smirked and shook his head. “I have a lap full of Weasley brats, can’t help you.”
“Uncle Harry?”
“Yes, Bridie?”
“Who’s that?” Sharp blue eyes were looking past his shoulder at the sofa behind him. Hermione’s laughter had died off and Ron seemed momentarily frozen in place. Amanda craned her neck all the way back to take in the strange man on the sofa as well. Her sweet smile turned confused, and then into a worried frown.
“Is he okay, Uncle Harry?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s very sick, darling,” Harry said gently, running a hand up and down Amanda’s back. He looked up at Hermione for help. She was the healer, not him.
“Does he gots the wizard flu?”
“I bet he’s got chicken pops,” Brigit said speculatively, her nose wrinkling.
Amanda scowled. “He’s got the flu.”
“The pops!”
“The flu!”
“Girls, please,” Hermione hushed, picking up Brigit and situating her on her hip. The little girl’s peasant skirt rode up, showing cowboy boots, but Harry found his focus and concern not on her odd yet endearing apparel, but on her expression. It was downright scared.
“Mummy, is he gonna die, like Tiffy?”
Amanda curled on Harry’s lap, and he found himself murmuring soft sounds to calm her down. He could already feel her tiny body trembling.
“No, baby,” Ron told Brigit in a rough voice. Harry didn’t blame him, Ron hated Malfoy as much he used to, but even they couldn’t say anything bad about him around the twins. They wouldn’t understand. “He won’t die like Tiffy.”
“But, Tiffy doggie was sick just like him is,” Amanda sniffled, rubbing her nose on her sweater sleeve. “And you said Tiffy wouldn’ die neither!”
“Baby, Tiffy was an old dog,” Hermione explained, kissing the crown of Brigit’s head. “Draco isn’t old. He’s just not feeling well.”
“But-”
“You’ll see,” Harry said, with more optimism than he had the right to feel. “In a few weeks he’ll be as right as rain.”
“Will he?” Amanda asked wide-eyed.
Harry tapped her nose. “Of course he will because I said so.”
Amanda giggled and the tension in the room broke. Hermione sagged forward in relief and masked it by setting the four-year-old in her arms back on the floor again.
“Come on, I bet Misty misses us,” Brigit said happily, already forgetting what had made her so upset in the first place. She held out her hand to her older sister by three minutes, which Amanda readily took and then they were off like a shot, down the hall and into the bedrooms.
“I’ll make sure they don’t break something,” muttered Ron as he pecked his wife serenely on the cheek.
“I love you,” Hermione cooed, exaggerating the motion of batting her eyelashes.
Ron kissed her more thoroughly, uncaring that Harry was in the room to see it. “You'd better.”
Hermione stared after him in a daze and then shook her head. “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly.
“At least you’re getting some on a regular basis,” Harry smirked.
“Harry!” Hermione slapped his arm lightly, her cheeks suffusing with a lovely shade of red.
“What?”
“You’re horrible.”
Harry grinned. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes you are, you great oaf, now budge over so I can get at Malfoy.”
Harry obeyed her request, by sliding up onto the couch beside the blond. “I think I got the right memory.”
Hermione nodded as she leaned forward, her forehead wrinkling in concern. She ran the cup of broth over Malfoy’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth. Careful to not spill any of the tepid fluid down the blond’s chin, she tipped the plastic cup and dribbled the contents slowly Malfoy’s mouth.
Harry watched as she coaxed him to swallow the broth and had to turn away, when some slipped down his chin.
“Has he thrown up anything yet?” Hermione asked, summoning a napkin from the kitchen and dabbing gently at the mess.
He shook his head. “No, he’s been fine. It’s odd. Healer Leavenworth made it sound like he was doing it almost every meal.”
“Well you would too if you were trapped in that place,” Hermione snapped. She sighed and bowed her head. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right, Hermione.”
“This is the second time you’ve admitted this in the past two days, are you sure you aren’t sick as well?” she teased, reaching over and feeling his forehead in mock concern. “The Harry Potter from a few days ago wouldn’t have cared if they had thrown Draco Malfoy in a skip, let alone got proper medical attention.”
“The Harry Potter from a few days ago didn’t know his cat would take such a liking to said blond prick either.”
Hermione arched a brow disbelievingly. “So, you’re telling me you feel bad for Malfoy because Misty likes him?” She shook her head. “No offense, Harry, but not even the twins are likely to believe that.”
“Fine, I just- I feel bad for him, okay!”
His friend’s expression softened and she ran her hand down his cheek. “That’s more than fine. That’s normal.”
“But I liked hating him,” Harry whined. “It was a constant.”
Hermione remained calm. “You have other constants now, Harry.”
Harry was inclined to believe she was right.
*****
“Hermione, I don’t know what to do!”
“Listen, Harry, you need to calm down. I don’t even know what’s wrong yet.”
She set a bowl of dried macaroni in front of the twins and crossed her kitchen to the stove. She stood on tiptoes, balancing the handset between her shoulder and ear as she reached for the glue sticks and finger paints. It had taken forever for Ron to get used to living a Muggle lifestyle, but she was glad he had conceded to her on this.
There were some things about living like a Muggle she just refused to give up. Heating and electricity were only two of them. It was the same for Harry. When they had gone hunting for a flat for him, they had decided that they would keep to Muggle London, away from the press, and pressure of being in the public’s eye.
“What’s the matter?” Ron asked, reaching effortlessly over Hermione to grab the glue stick she had knocked back further into the cabinet and out of reach. He handed it to his wife and pressed a kiss to her temple, his arms encircling her waist. He could hear Harry’s panicked voice through the speaker of the phone as clearly as if he was the one holding it.
“Hermione, Kingsley is coming to talk to me tonight about why I haven’t started a search for Malfoy yet. Well, I know why I haven’t because he’s been taking up space on my sofa for the last four days, but how am I supposed to explain that to my boss?”
“Harry, mate, it’s me,” Ron said, taking the phone from Hermione. The frizzy-haired brunette ducked under his arm and went to give their two little girls the paste and paint. “When’s Kingsley showing up then?”
“In thirty minutes. Ron, I don’t know what to do here, and if I don’t think of a plan soon, preferably an untraceable one, I’m getting sacked.”
“Fu-” Ron’s eyes went wide as the giggling at the table stopped and the twins turned to their father with identical expressions of intrigue. “-udge ,” he finished lamely. “Then why are you still at home?”
“Give me that,” Hermione said in exasperation. She grabbed the receiver and sighed. “Now go,” she mouthed. Ron nodded, giving his two paint-splattered daughters a quick kiss each, before heading out into the night.
“Hermione?”
“I’m still here, Harry.”
“What am I going to do?”
Hermione leaned against the countertop and hung her head, making sure to keep an eye on the twins as they smeared glue all over their pieces of paper.
“You’re going to calm down and wait for Ron to show up.”
“What good will that do?”
She gazed around her crowded kitchen, before spotting the picture on the refrigerator. The one piece of artwork done by the twins she hadn’t let Ron give to Harry at work. She took it off the refrigerator and gazed at the two figures moving in it. To say she had been shocked when Amanda had handed their newest drawing to her would be an understatement. But she was beginning to see what they did.
“Harry?”
“What?”
“You’re going to have to talk to Malfoy.”
*****
Harry paced in front of his sofa, shooting anxious glances at the front door to his flat, and then back to the blond sitting as impassive as ever on his couch. There was no way in hell Ron was going to be able to come up with a plan by the time he got over here. Hermione had made no sense when she had said talk to Malfoy. He could shout himself hoarse, but it wouldn’t do any good. There was no way he’d risk Apparating without Malfoy being aware, at least on some level, of what was going on. Aside from being unethical, he’d run the risk of splinching them both and Harry had done quite enough of that for one week.
“Come on, come on,” he urged, staring a hole through the door. Only twenty minutes until Kingsley showed up and things went pear-shaped. Not that they weren’t already, he thought ruefully, flinging himself on the couch next to Malfoy. “You would be the one to ruin my career.”
Malfoy didn’t move, not that Harry had expected him to. “Hermione says talk to you, so I’m going to. Did you know that the house I’m leaving you at technically belongs to me? When Kingsley had told me to find an empty house, I never expected him to want to move you in there. You never know, you might even have liked it. Doubt it though, there aren’t any house elves and there certainly aren’t any silk sheets.” Harry snorted. Why was he even bothering? If Ron were to walk in now he’d have every right to take the piss out of him, talking to himself like he was the insane one.
“Did you know the twins actually like you?” Harry said, leaning back against the arm of his couch. He gasped when a ball of fluff jumped on his stomach and from there to the back of the sofa. Harry spared a second to glare at Misty, before stroking her gray and white fur. She purred in pleasure and Harry rolled his eyes, scratching under her chin and behind her ears. “They do,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been rudely interrupted, “you’re all they talk about. They want daily reports on your health to make sure you are getting better. You’re making me lie to my nieces, and my boss.”
Misty bit his finger and he yelped, withdrawing his hand. The cat just blinked at him, still purring. “For that I am not giving you any treats tonight.”
“Harry, you in there?”
“The door's unlocked, Ron!”
The front door swung open and Ron walked into the sitting room with a peevish expression. His blue eyes settled on Harry’s face and his expression softened. “You all right?”
“I just got a love nip from this old wench here, but otherwise I’m completely losing my mind.”
Ron snorted and leaned against the backside of the sofa, running his hand over Misty’s back much to the old girl’s happiness.
“So, had you worked anything out yet? Mione made if fairly clear that if I didn’t help you with this I wouldn’t be seeing my blankets any time tonight.”
“Harsh mistress,” Harry snickered, stretching on the couch, his foot bumping into Malfoy’s hip. He gazed down the length of the piece of furniture, taking in the sunken expression of the man beside him. “Why can’t you just be normal like all the other Death Eaters?”
“Because he’s Malfoy, and he would have to be special.”
“Oh, yes of course.” His eyes flickered to the wall clock and his stomach clenched again. “Fifteen minutes.”
“There has to be something you can do.”
“You tell me what, and I’ll do it in a second.” Harry groaned, rubbing his face vigorously. “I’m screwed, no matter what happens.”
Ron moved around the couch, tripping over something as he went. He bent over and pulled something out from beneath the side table, something Harry couldn’t see from his angle. “What is it?”
“A Pensieve,” Ron murmured bemused. “Do you often keep them under side tables?”
“Shut it and bring it here,” Harry snapped, his eyes lighting with interest. He was ashamed to admit he had forgotten, he had stuffed it there the last time Ron and Hermione had been over. He hadn’t even gone into it yet. Had that been what Hermione had meant? She would be the one to remember this even when he didn’t.
He sat up crossing his legs, accepting the basin when it was handed to him. “You coming with me, it’ll only take a few minutes, not even that long.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I’ll stand watch.”
“Ron?” His fingers curled around the lip of the Pensieve.
“Yeah, Harry?”
Harry looked up offering his friend a crooked grin. “Thanks for showing up.”
“Not a problem.”
He nodded and taking a deep breath, stuck his head into the swirling mist. He fell the short distance down into the white room, shivering uncontrollably. Stepping around so he was crouching beside Malfoy, he rested a hand on the bench, waiting for the exact moment when there was a shift in his expression.
“Where’s your daddy to run to now, huh, Malfoy? He can’t save you, not when you need him most, the Malfoy name is mud, it's worse than mud, it’s the little crawlies that live in the mud and you’ve got no one to hide behind any more.”
Harry winced as he listened to himself hurl slur after slur at the blond beside him, surprised and disgusted by his own behavior. He was suddenly glad Hermione hadn’t been around to accompany him for this. She would have been horrified. Steeling himself, he looked back into Malfoy’s face.
"I'm so glad I didn't accept your hand that day on the train or I could have fallen in with the 'wrong sort'."
There it was. A blink, and then a more rapid one, and suddenly the very familiar sneer appeared.
“Potter.”
What had he just mentioned that tipped him off? The meeting on the train. That was it? That was all he had to say? He mentally cheered as the memory began to dissolve around him and he pulled his head from the Pensieve.
“Any luck?”
Harry grinned, crawling across the short space, ignoring Ron for the moment.
“Malfoy, I hope you’re listening to me,” he said, trying to sound malicious, but failing at it. It shouldn’t matter, he told himself, it wasn’t the intent of the words. It was just that phrase. “I’m glad I didn’t fall in with the wrong sort.”
Harry nearly crowed when Malfoy’s head swiveled in his direction. Ron’s sharp gasp went unnoticed, as he was currently being glared at.
“We are leaving, Malfoy.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Malfoy rasped, blinking and clutching his throat awkwardly. Harry touched his arm and the blond flinched.
“Yes, we are,” Harry stated slowly as if talking to a very small child. “I’m going to Apparate us both.”
“You’re going to what?”
Harry pulled out his wand, his grin dimming with the shine of consciousness in Malfoy’s eyes. “Oh, no you don’t, you are not leaving me again.” He shook his childhood rival, hoping for some glimmer of anything, but he didn’t even get the violent reaction he had received in the Ministry holding cell.
“Harry, you need to get going, mate.”
“Time?”
Ron stared at him dumbfounded. “Come again.”
“Time, you know the thing that clocks and watches tell us. How much time until Kingsley arrives?”
“About two minutes.”
“Shit!” Harry cursed, bowing his head. He examined Malfoy’s face again, praying that somewhere the other man had some idea of what he was going to do. “Please, Malfoy.”
“One minute.”
“Not helping, Ron,” Harry growled, gripping Malfoy’s arm tightly.
“Sorry.”
“Me too.”
He gazed at the redhead with a wistful sigh, before withdrawing his wand. Closing his eyes, allowing himself to only see the interior of his abandoned house, he Apparated with a loud crack.
Ron winced and rubbed at his ears. For all the power that Harry held, he made an awful lot of racket when coming or going. With a rueful look at the empty sofa, Ron withdrew his own wand and Apparated home.
*****
Harry barely was able to prevent Malfoy from cracking his head on the floor by twisting them as they fell so Harry hit the ground instead. Gasping, he saw lights dancing before his eyes, unable to move. His eyes fell shut, and his hand rested lightly on Malfoy’s lower back.
“Prat,” he exhaled after a long moment. He pushed the lifeless body off him, lowering the blond’s body to the floor. Malfoy’s eyes were shut, which worried Harry until he saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and his eyes darting behind his lids. Dreaming, or more likely unconscious from Apparating; either was welcome. Seeing Malfoy stare out vacantly was enough to give anyone gooseflesh.
Harry gazed around the room, inhaling musty air. Dust hung in the air illuminated by the gap in the curtains covering the window. It felt like ages since he had been here. Rubbing his stiff neck and sore tailbone, he levitated Malfoy onto the couch, before standing.
Crossing the room unimpeded he threw open the window looking out into the vast backyard. Harry reached up, undid the lock on the window and hefted it open. Fresh air raced into the room and Harry couldn’t help but close his eyes while inhaling. Ages had passed since he had been in the country and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. Missed this house. His fingers traced trails of dust over the piano, and he carefully lifted the cover off the keys. His fingers found the C key and he plunked it, glancing at Malfoy. The blond was still asleep, but he didn’t look to be in any pain.
Harry pulled off the sheet that had been draped over the stool and seated himself upon it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to play as one hand ran up and down the scales slowly. He wondered idly if Malfoy had ever played a duet before as his fingers finally caught onto a tune. Brahms' Lullaby. He snorted at his own predictability as he played through the song. He was rusty, he admitted as his fingers ran astray and he played some awfully harsh-sounding chords, but considering he hadn’t touched a piano since the war had ended he was amazed at how easily it all came back to him.
“Harry.”
His fingers slipped off the keys and he bowed his head. A lone tear curled down his cheek and silently he closed the lid over the keys shielding them from sight. Ghostly arms wrapped over his neck and he was suddenly flooded with memories. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered as sobs threatened to overtake him.
“Harry, come and eat, you’ve been playing that thing for hours now.”
“Coming, Ginny.”
She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling warmly as he entered the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist.
He nuzzled her neck, inhaling lavender and vanilla. “Love you so much,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her, too afraid to let go. The bulge of her stomach, his child, pressed against him and his hand went to rest on it. “Love you too.”
Ginny kissed the side of his mouth and his eyes locked with hers. He ran his fingers through her wine-colored hair, before framing her face and kissing her gently.
The ghost arms squeezed him tightly, before disappearing with the memory. With watery eyes, he turned his head to look at where Malfoy was still sleeping peacefully.
“Merlin, Ginny, this is so messed up.”
He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm and went towards the front door. He exited the house and leaned against the front door, inhaling sharply. Malfoy wouldn’t be going anywhere, and if something bad happened to him the bracelet would heat and he would go back immediately. But first, he needed to make a few visits.
Harry shoved his hands in his jean pockets, his trainers squelching in the muddy road as he made his way down the unpaved road. He stopped in front of a small house with an overgrown lawn, frowning. He could hear the faint strains of a wireless from the open window and hoped that was a good sign. Going up the stone path, he lifted the knocker and let it go three times, before stepping backwards.
Warm May air surrounded him, easing the chill from his bones, and the memories from his mind.
“Who is it?”
A huge grin split Harry’s face at the familiar voice. “Harry, ma’am.”
“Harry?” The door opened a crack and Harry tried his best to look apologetic. “Harry!” The door swung all the way open, revealing the elderly woman he had hoped to see.
“Mrs. Hollingberry.”
Harry was suddenly enveloped in a large, bone-crushing hug. His arms went around the frail woman as he returned the gesture. He wasn’t expecting the smack on the shins with her cane. Harry doubled over, his mouth open in a silent scream of pain as he gripped his throbbing leg.
“Just where have you been, young man?” she scolded, and Harry raised his hands to his ears in protective manner. He didn’t think they’d survive the abuse after what Hermione had done at the beginning of the week.
His voice was an octave higher as he answered, “Working, ma’am.”
She eyed him up and down, and he knew she could tell he had been crying a few minutes ago. “Working, my weathered arse.” Harry sighed, still massaging his bruised leg. “What happened to you, child?”
“I-"
Ester clicked her tongue reprovingly and ushered him into her house before shutting the door behind them. Her home always smelled of fresh linen, and that never failed to surprise him.
Whiskers blinked lethargically at him, before leaping off his chair and going over to rub between his legs multiple times.
“Hullo, Whiskers.”
The cat meowed plaintively, and Harry bent over lifting the Siamese cat into his arms.
“Sit,” the elderly woman instructed, pushing him towards Whiskers' recliner. Harry went without much fuss and sat in the warm chair. “Now just what is going on?”
“I-I’m here with a friend.”
An arched brow told him more than her next words that she expected more, and perhaps thought there was something deeper to his words. “A friend?”
“He’s ill, and his family was unable to take care of him anymore,” Harry explained, pulling a cover story out of thin air. He really had to think of a better one for Malfoy’s sudden appearance in his life, but this one worked for now, and maybe if he built on it, he’d be able to convince all his other neighbors of it.
“Oh, the poor dear, what’s the matter with him?”
“No one is sure.” He felt safe at least saying that much.
She scanned his face, her dark eyes sweeping over his form searchingly. “And you left him alone?”
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, before a blush coloured his cheeks. “Yes.”
“Harry James!”
Harry turned away to hide his smile. He did have the oddest choice in company, he reflected. They all liked to scold him. “I need to ask you a favor, I hoped I wouldn’t be leaving him alone for too long.”
“You really must invest in a phone, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harry knew she was right, but at the time he had bought the house he and Ginny had just wanted
to be alone. “I’ll look into that.”
“Good. Now what is this favor you’re wanting?”
Harry worried his lower lip as he stroked the soft fur of the cat on his lap. “I need you to ‘babysit’ my friend when I’m at work.”
“Is that all?”
“What?”
She patted his cheek and mussed his hair, before stamping her cane once. “Dear, I would love to watch your friend…what is his name by the way?”
“Draco, Draco Malfoy.”
“Odd name.”
Harry shrugged. “He grew up in an odd family.”
“Harry, that is an incredibly rude thing to say.” Her eyes twinkled and Harry scowled. “Now, when do you need me to come over?”
“Tomorrow morning at seven, if that is all right with you,” he hastened to add. He didn’t want to pressure her into making this decision. The mere fact that she would need to be taught how to feed the blond, and the idea that Malfoy could wake up at any time sat heavily in his mind. Also, after his two year absence, he really did not deserve her help at all. Certainly, he had penned her the odd letter here and there, but they hadn’t been as close as they'd been after Ginny- no, he wouldn’t think about her.
Ester hummed thoughtfully, her cane hitting out a steady rhythm on the old threadbare carpeting.
“Will Misty-love be there?”
Harry grinned. He’d go and fetch his cat that night; the ball of fur would be extremely angry at him for leaving her in the first place. His grin faded as he realized that he was seriously considering staying the night in his house. He wasn’t sure he could do it. “Yes.”
“Lovely, I’ll bring Whiskers with me as well.”
Silence stretched between them at that proclamation, and Harry stood slowly, waiting for Whiskers to jump off his lap first. “I need to get back.”
The gray-haired woman followed him to the door. “Don’t be a stranger, Harry.”
A pang of guilt hit him so strongly he almost needed to grab the doorframe, almost, but he didn’t let it show how badly he felt. “I won’t,” Harry replied. “Thank you for doing this for me. You really didn’t have to.”
“Pish-tosh, of course I did, now get home to your friend.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pecked her cheek fondly as she squeezed his arms. “See you tomorrow.”
The walk back to his tiny cottage of a home felt longer than it was. His hand rested on the rusty doorknob that he couldn’t bring himself to turn. A part of him was telling him to run, now, while he still had the chance. It was only Malfoy in there, not someone he actually cared about.
He turned the knob and opened the door.
*****
Draco knew at once that his surroundings were different. For one thing, Azkaban had never been this quiet - the screams and cries of prisoners were non-stop day and night - and for another it never smelled like his favorite brand of tea. With great trepidation, he opened his eyes, momentarily blinded by sunlight filtering through the Venetian blinds.
Draco sat up, uncertain of his situation. If he had died, this was an awful funny sort of afterlife. The room was airy and open, the only furniture being the bed he was lying on and the bureau with mirror directly across from him. On the bureau there was a glass vase holding a bunch of lilacs, their sweet scent mingling with the smell of mint tea. Straining, he could hear the faint sounds of a piano being played.
“Oh my.”
Draco turned his head towards the startled voice and saw an elderly lady standing in the doorframe, holding a cup of tea. His favorite tea. He narrowed his eyes, taking in her appearance shrewdly. Muggle, he determined after a moment. There wasn’t even a hint of magic around her.
“You’re awake.”
“So it would seem,” he drawled, frowning at the rasping quality of his voice. He clutched his throat in concern.
While underused, it shouldn’t have sounded like that. The cup and saucer were pushed into his hands gently, and he realized, much to his embarrassment, that he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling.
“Here,” the old woman took first the saucer and then the cup away from him, setting them on the bedside table.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she brought the cup up to his cracked lips with steady hands, and he took a deep sip. He sighed as the heavenly drink slid down his throat, soothing the raw feeling and warming him from head to toe.
“If you are wondering where Harry is, I’m afraid you just missed him,” she told him.
“Harry?” he questioned wearily. If this was a dream, it was a rather mean one, and odd. But he hadn’t dreamt in ages so he brushed aside that idea right away. No, either he really was dead, or something had happened, something he couldn’t remember. After all, there had to be a damn good explanation as to why a Muggle woman was taking care of him, and why he was in these atrocious pajamas.
“Harry Potter,” she answered, setting the empty teacup on the saucer.
“Potter?” Draco blurted out before he could stop himself.
“So, you are awake then.”
Both Draco and the strange woman turned towards the door to see Harry standing there in what appeared to be a Auror uniform, a high level one at that. The other man stood differently as well, more world-weary but confident in himself, a vast change from the scrawny, pathetic nineteen-year-old he had once been.
“He just woke up.”
Potter nodded, a small frown marring his features. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Why do you care, Potter?”
Potter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ma’am, if you’d excuse us-”
“I’ll leave now. Don’t let him get you down, dear,” she whispered, as if Draco couldn’t hear her less than five feet away.
“I won’t.” The soft smile on Potter’s face didn’t surprise him at all. It would be like him to befriend every Muggle in sight.
“There’s a good lad,” she murmured, kissing his forehead before leaving the two of them alone in the room.
Draco watched as Potter made his way to stand next to the window, leaning against its edge. The other man seemed no more inclined to speak to him than he did to Potter.
“Well?” he bit out in irritation.
Potter turned, expressionless. “I’m supposed to take care of you; it’s my duty to wonder if you feel better. I can leave if you are.”
“Is that why you showed up so soon?”
“No. I showed up because you were frightened and this bloody thing wanted to burn the flesh from my arm.”
He pushed back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a metal bracelet. One that bore a strange resemblance to the ones mothers put on their younger children.
“It should have.”
Potter scowled, but the malice Draco had been expecting wasn’t there. No, Potter was angry, but he also appeared resigned, maybe even relieved. Not the emotions he had intended on evoking.
“I’m sure you wished it would,” Harry muttered, before peering between the blinds.
Draco watched him uncertain of what had just happened. Potter wasn’t acting like he should and the unfamiliarity of the situation nettled him. He frowned, bringing his trembling arms to his chest, crossing them.
“Where am I?”
“Ester didn’t tell you?”
Draco shook his head. “No, the daft old woman said nothing except that you would explain.”
“She’s not daft.”
“What?” Potter turned to look at him again, his eyes glazed with a sheen of tears. “For Merlin’s sake Potter, you aren’t crying are you?”
The dark-haired man seemed confused by his question, before raising a hand to his eyes. Draco itched to throw a hex at Potter for being such a child. It wasn’t like there was anything worth crying over in the room, aside from the ugly clothing he was wearing and he supposed his hair was mussed beyond saving.
“Damn it!” Potter swore, turning his attention back to the window.
“Potter, will you just tell me where the fuck I am!” Draco spat, trying not to slide back down under the covers. He was so tired, so very tired, but he’d be damned if he let Potter know it.
“Swaledale.”
“Come again?” Surely he hadn’t just heard that they were in sheep country, there was no way Potter would kidnap him and bring him here. Especially if he was still going to work - the journey would be hell. Potter rounded on him, his eyes red-rimmed, and Draco sneered. “Still crying, Potter? One would think you enjoyed kidnapping me, not hated it. What kind of Auror are you?
“You know what, Malfoy, shut up,” Potter hissed, his eyes flashing. The other man crossed the room to the door, anger in each step. Finally a normal response, Draco thought victoriously. That was, until Potter had to add. “You know nothing, nothing at all.”
It really wasn’t fair, he rationalized when Potter slammed the door behind him. The black-haired man had never been that melodramatic before. If he wanted any answers at all, Draco supposed he’d have to cozy up to Potter. He shivered and sank down beneath the blankets.
*****
Harry slumped onto the couch and closed his eyes. His Auror robes had been shrugged off and laid in a pile on the floor along with his shoes. He had known for some time that Malfoy was going to start questioning things. He had known it for weeks now. More and more often the blond had woken up confused and disoriented, but never this alert. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t temporary any longer, that Malfoy would in fact be in his right mind once again. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful because he was. He was grateful that he would be able to leave this house.
Malfoy had no right to ask after him, none whatsoever. He had been in no position to question him. The prat was weaponless for Merlin’s sake! Harry gripped his hair and pulled it tightly.
“What’s the matter, love?”
“Nothing.” She stared at him, folding her arms across her chest in disbelief. Wind through the window swept around the base of her dress, flaring it with each gust. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Ginny smiled, clasping his hand gently with her own. Harry grinned. Did she know how much he loved her? He spun her in a circle, just to hear her laugh, before leading her down the hallway towards their room.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
She laughed, her eyes slipping shut. “What is going on?”
“You’ll see.”
“Even with my eyes shut?” Ginny teased.
Harry pinched her and she laughed again. He prodded her gently into their bedroom, unable to resist grabbing her bottom. Ginny yelped, and Harry had to cover her eyes with his hand as she made to open them.
“No peeking.”
“But, Harry-” Harry guided her over to the window and turned her around to face their bureau. “This had better be good.”
“You’ll love it,” he whispered, pulling his hand from her eyes. “Open them.”
He watched as she blinked, staring around their room searching for the difference. Finally she spotted it, he could tell immediately. Her freckled face lit up like the sun and she spun around, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him down for a kiss.
“I love them, Harry. They’re gorgeous.”
“I’m glad,” he breathed, resting his head on her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of the fresh lilacs on their dresser. Her warm, brown eyes met his, sparkling. He could hardly breathe as he asked, “Marry me?”
“Yes.”
Harry’s eyes were forced open when something heavy landed on him. Misty stared at him disdainfully as if she could tell what he was thinking. He ran a hand across his cat’s back, sighing heavily. He needed to get out of there and soon. Before Malfoy could work out what had him so bothered.
*****
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” Ester greeted cheerfully as she entered his bedroom. It had been two days since Draco had last seen Potter. There was nothing he could do about it, confined to this room as he was. It shouldn’t have upset him that Potter had finally buggered off after a week of constant attention.
“What’s so good about it?” he grumbled, swinging his feet off the bed. He could finally walk again. Not for great distances, but he managed to get around the house easily enough. At least, when Potter wasn’t there forcing him to lie down and not move as he crammed soup down his throat. When asked why, he never got the same answer. If he had wanted mothering, he could have asked his mother to do it.
Ester scolded him half-heartedly as she went around the bed to throw open the curtains. “Where’s Mr. Potter this morning?”
“Out,” Draco bit out. If the crazy old woman had no idea where her precious Potter was it wasn’t his problem.
“For two days now?”
Draco scowled. “If you knew he was gone, why even bother asking?”
“Draco.” There was a harshness to her tone he wasn’t anticipating. She had never snapped at him before, and had been extremely patient in everything. Maybe Potter’s presence was a buffer, and now he was going to find out what this Muggle had to say to him.
“You have not been given permission to use my first name.”
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “If you think you can get away with sulking all day long you are entirely mistaken. Just because Mr. Potter has left you alone does not give you the right to behave in such an appalling manner. I, for one, find it a disgrace to have you waste away pining in this bedroom.”
“I am not pining!”
Ester snorted inelegantly and Draco’s eyes bulged. She was serious, she really thought he was wasting away over Potter’s absence. He was not some love struck female! He was Draco Lucien Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy Estate, and he would be damned if he let some old bint talk to him in that manner. He’d show her that he wasn’t ‘pining’.
His feet hit the cold, hardwood floor and he brushed past her without a word.
*****
Harry groaned deeply as he sank further into his seat at the restaurant. Amanda was poking him with the end of a spoon and Brigit was just staring at him like she didn’t even know who he was anymore. Two months… it had been two months since he had taken Draco Malfoy from his flat to his old home and it had been more than a week since he had been able to bring himself to check up on the bastard.
Although, if the twins were going to continue doing this, he didn’t think he’d have another choice. The waitress, a pretty, blonde thing with legs that went on for miles, shot him a sympathetic smile as she waltzed past.
Clearly, it was time to leave.
“Uncle Harry, why aren’t you talkin’ to us?” Amanda whined, putting the spoon down on the table with a dramatic huff. “Cause you haven’t been, you know. Are you sick?”
“Maybe he’s gots the flu like Draco did,” Brigit said seriously, bringing her small, ketchup-covered hand to his cheek. Harry resigned himself to the little girl’s ministrations as she felt his head in imitation of what her mother would do.
Amanda shook her head, dismissing the idea out of hand. “Nah, can’t be that, he’d be all still.”
“Well, he isn’t talkin', like Draco weren’t,” Brigit pointed out, staring down at her red hands in confusion. Harry sighed, picked up his napkin, grabbed her hands and wiped off the ketchup. He should have known better than to let her eat chips instead of a normal meal. Ketchup always ended up everywhere, usually on her trousers when she would drop a chip on them. He’d been lucky that night, she had been fairly careful while eating.
Amanda on the other hand, had a smear of jam down her shirt from her sandwich.
If he had known that all they wanted were chips and sandwiches, he could have stayed at Ron and Hermione’s and made the food there. Brigit snatched the napkin from Harry’s fingers and proceeded to clean off his cheek haphazardly.
She pulled back, beaming. “There.”
“Am I better now?” he asked.
Amanda shook her head. “No, you sound sad.”
“Mandy’s right, Uncle Harry, why are you so sad today?”
Harry shrugged, attempting to smile, positive it came out more as a grimace. “Let’s go and clean you girls up; does that sound good?”
“Will you stop bein’ sad and stuff if we say yes?” Amanda asked, clearly thinking he’d say no. As if he could - it was getting late and they needed baths.
“I promise that I’ll be really happy, and stop being sad and stuff,” he said with mock-seriousness. The twins looked at each other skeptically. Harry crossed his fingers beneath the table that they believed him because if that flighty waitress came over just to ooze sympathy at him one more time, he’d hex her, Muggle restaurant or not.
Brigit finally broke the long stare with her twin sister and nodded her head, curly red hair flying everywhere. “Okay, Uncle Harry, but only 'cause you promised.”
Harry pulled out his wallet and chucked a few notes on the table before sliding out, shoving Amanda out of the way playfully. The four-year-old giggled, and tugged on his hand when he pretended to get stuck.
“I’m afraid I can’t move,” he lamented, bowing his head just so that he could observe Amanda and Brigit without them noticing. Brigit came over with her hands on her hips and a flustered expression that was so like her grandmother’s that Harry almost laughed. Molly would be proud.
He finally let them “pull” him out from behind the table and made a show of staggering about once he was out. Before they could stop him, he hefted each of them up into his arms by their waists.
“Ready to go?” he asked. He felt better. Maybe ketchup to the face was all he had needed. Ron would certainly be harassing him a lot less at work. How many times did he need to say he didn’t miss the ferret? He chose to ignore the fact that he was going to take his nieces there right then.
With one little girl in each arm, he wound his way through the tables to the exit. He’d go to his flat first, and from there he would take the Floo home.
*****
“Damn it, Potter,” Draco snarled as he went through the fifth cabinet in the kitchen only to find nothing at all. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. No one was supposed to be in this house but him and that blasted cat of Potter’s that didn’t know when to leave him the hell alone. So, unless the cat suddenly grew and developed very human fingers then--
“Language, Malfoy,” came Potter’s chiding tone. He turned around so fast he almost fell over. Giggling from the doorway had him craning his neck to see over Potter’s taller frame. “There are children in the room.”
Draco sneered and ducked under Potter’s arm as the other man made to grab something off the top shelf. It turned out to be a can of chicken noodle soup. Delightful! He swore if he never saw another bowl of soup it would be too soon.
“I am not eating that.”
He eyed the soup warily as he sat down on a chair at the kitchen table. Potter blew some dust off the top of the can, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I don’t blame you.”
The two girls gawked at him as they made to sit on the same chair across from him, their bright blue eyes watching him expectantly. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what they could want from him. Potter seemed unconcerned by this, and just petted them both on the head distractedly as he went over to the bin and chucked the unopened can inside.
“You’re awake.”
“You sound like Ester,” Draco shot back, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He wasn’t used to having children stare at him in concern. He wasn’t used to children at all.
The one on the right side of the chair cocked her head to the side, her pigtails falling across her face. Draco watched as Potter moved forward and tied the yellow ribbon that had come undone, before dropping a kiss to her head.
“Who’s Ester?” The other girl asked, drawing his attention.
Draco grunted, barely resisting drumming his fingers on the table. Potter was still puttering around the kitchen opening and closing the same cupboards Draco had just rummaged through moments ago. If Potter didn’t believe him when he had implied there was a lack of food, it wasn’t his problem. He gazed at the other man’s back as it tensed, his shoulder blades drawing together, and then sagging forward in defeat.
Without moving, he said, “We’ll go to the market tomorrow.”
“Market?” Draco scowled.
Potter turned around with a resigned expression. “Yes, that place where you buy food? The market.”
Draco’s scowl took on a hint of loathing. “I am not doing something as plebian as going to the market.”
“Oh, yes you are. You’re really not in any position to argue this either. I can very easily make you go on your own.” Draco’s jaw dropped in shock, a rebuttal hanging on the tip of his tongue, but Potter wouldn’t let him say it. “And before you even think it, I will tell Ester some sob story about how your self-esteem is so low you’re afraid of what will happen when you go. Then you’ll get the pleasure of having her take you to the market instead. I’m sure you’re terribly excited to hear about the time Whiskers caught a mouse that had been building a nest in her walls.”
“Bastard.”
The girls giggled, and bowed their heads together as if to hide them. Potter smirked, and told the girls to follow him to the bathroom so he could wash them. Draco got the feeling this would be a very long night.
*****
“Uncle Harry?”
“Yes, darling?” Harry worked the baby shampoo into Brigit’s hair as Amanda played with a dragon figurine at the other end of the bathtub. He tipped his head and looked into her face curiously. She giggled, pushing at his nose with a soapy hand.
She gasped when he took the opportunity to upturn a cup of warm water over her head. Brigit spluttered making Amanda giggle. She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at the other girl, and Harry took the opportunity to flick some water at the older of the twins. Maybe if he distracted them, they’d forget any questions they had. Chief among them about Draco’s continued presence in his home when he was better.
“So, Draco’s all better then?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, love.”
“He looks better,” Amanda commented as if she had good authority on the matter. “He was talking and everything.”
“He even said a bad word.”
“Yup, he did; Mummy wouldn’t be happy to know that.”
“What does bast-”
Amanda looked up at Harry in confusion when he covered her mouth to prevent her from finishing her question. He could just about hear Hermione shrieking in his ear about how her babies learned such language. He sighed, letting his hand fall into the water.
“Why’d you put your hand on my mouth, Uncle Harry?”
“Because you were about to say a bad word.” He glanced around, before leaning in. He mentally grinned when the girls followed suit, clearly excited to be sharing a secret with him. Harry spared a thought as to what Malfoy could be doing. The house was standing and the bracelet on his wrist was cool, so it was nothing dangerous, but that still didn’t prevent him from being curious. “Do you want to know why I don’t want you repeating that word?”
They shook their heads, sending droplets of water flying through the air. “Why?”
“Because your Mum scares the pants off me when she’s angry, that’s why.” He lowered his voice dramatically before adding, “Do you think you could help me by not ever saying that word ever again?”
Brigit’s eyes went wide and she was already nodding before he could finish the request. Amanda, however, did not look persuaded.
“I’ll take you out for ice cream later.”
“'Kay!”
Harry suspected that one day ice cream would no longer sway them, but for now he was more than happy to indulge them. As long as Hermione or Ron never heard them say that word he was safe, he just wished he knew for how long.
Part 3