Sold harry/draco 2
Over the next few weeks, Draco learned a great deal about the poor excuse for a house he would be holed up in the for the rest of the summer. For instance, he learned that it was called 12 Grimmauld Place. He decided that the name fit it perfectly because after all, it was a very grim very old place.
He'd also learned that the house was used as the head quarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Although no one ever told him directly, he wasn't stupid and managed to figure it out on his own by watching the comings and goings of the place's rather unusual guests. Aurors, Ministry officials, Snape and the Weasley parents, even Dumbledore stopped by every now and then.
Grimmauld's many guests paid little attention to him, although that was probably because he did his best to not be around whenever they were. Dumbledore was the only exception. Dumbledore always managed to find him, even when he didn't want to be found, although he never seemed to want anything except to see how he was doing.
His room was against the house's chimney, or at least where a chimney at one time had been because in one corner, a large, irregular shape of wall jutted out making for a very annoying angle at first sight but later, as he learned, a very nice, private nook where he could put his bed. He could sleep that way without feeling that the room's eyes were watching him when he was trying to relax.
Draco didn't unpack, leaving his trunk against the wall with the lid propped up so he could access his things easier. As soon as he'd been given a place to put his things, he'd immediately dug out his wand and now, even though he was restricted from using it, he kept it with him at all times.
In his opinion, the most fascinating thing about number twelve was the odd, shrieking moth-eaten curtains. It was even more interesting than the collection of mounted house elf heads! Everyone seemed to be afraid of the curtains, at least to the point that they bent over backwards to avoid waking them up
Draco was curious though, and not just because of that. What was more arousing, in his opinion, was the way the curtains screamed. Those kinds of screams, he knew, were never intended to come from human lips. Just what was behind those curtains? He had to see just what was so terrifying about it all.
Stopping in front of his destination, the blonde squinted his eyes and looked over his shoulder and the banister that led to the ground floor. He didn't see anyone in the immediate vicinity so maybe, he thought, he could just get a peak in without raising too many eyebrows. Carefully he reached out, his fingers slipping through a few holes in the cloth before he peeled it back just an inch to peek through.
Behind it, Draco was surprised to find an old woman sleeping against the wall. He was so shocked to find her there he almost closed the curtain up again until he realized it wasn't a real lady at all, just a portrait. The most life like portrait he'd ever seen. She looked very old with paper-thin yellow skin. She was wearing a black hat. She dozed now, leaning against her frame with a bit of drool dribbling from her liver colored lips onto her chin.
"Disgusting." Draco's nose wrinkled at the sight of it. The most life like and most wretched painting in the history of all paintings! He pulled back the curtain a bit more to let in more light so he could get a better view when the woman in the portrait snorted awake, wiping her hands over her mouth.
"What, no son of–" And then her eyes lit on him and Draco leaned back as she shrieked at him, so shrill and loud he felt as if his skin was going to crawl right off his body and run away. "You rotten, contemptuous waste of flesh, how dare you tread though the halls of my most noble fathers! How dare you corrupt this house with your filthy blood! By product of scum and slu–"
"Excuse me," Draco exclaimed in that proud, holier-than-thou tone that only a Malfoy could muster. "I'll have you know my blood is entirely pure and from the looks of it there's nothing that would look good in these halls except an uncontrollable fire!"
"What? What!" The woman in the portrait looked stunned as she opened and closed her mouth. "How dare you, besotted little beggar!"
"A Malfoy always dares to do exactly what he wants, I'll have you know, and I'll have not another word from you unless you want me to take care of you for good." And to prove himself, he drew out his wand, waving it threateningly at her.
"What! Well I never!" The portrait folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head, glaring down her nose at him with narrowed eyes. As she stared at him though, he saw recognition bloom slowly on her face and she leaned forward towards him. "Malfoy, you say. You're not–boy, who is your sire?"
"My father," He said steadily, continuing his regime of shrewd glares and disapproving frowns, "is Lucius Malfoy. My mother Narcissa."
"Narcissa! Narcissa! What a darling woman. The perfect vision of a pureblood woman!" Draco rolled his eyes as the portrait ranted about his mother. "That would make me your grand mother!"
"Not exactly." Draco blinked at her and resisted the urge to pull the curtains closed. She was boring, he decided, and he liked her better when she screamed. "More like an aunt...or...a cousin or something..." He tried to think about it, to follow back the lineage, but it hurt his head so he quit and snapped the curtains closed. "It doesn't matter, I won't admit to anyone that I'm related to the likes of you anyway!"
"What?" The portrait shrieked in that painful tone she usually reserved for screaming. "You come back here young man! Don't walk away when I'm speaking to you! What would your father say you rude little boy!"
Draco grunted as the sound of her voice followed him down the stairs. By the time he hit the ground floor he couldn't take it anymore and he covered his ears, bolting for the front door.
At first, Draco was glad to see the front door, for whatever reason, opening by itself. That way he wouldn't have to uncover his ears for a second to escape the screams that drove him out.
Any pleasure he derived from the opening door, however, died instantly once it was completely opened.
The blonde lowered both his hands, one grabbing onto a post that marked the entrance hall from the ground floor to stop himself. He was staring back at possibly one of the most unwelcome people he could ever imagine.
"What are you doing here, ferret-face?" Ron Weasley exclaimed and was promptly given a sharp pinch and an even sharper glare by the plain, brown haired girl behind him.
Not Granger too!
Draco opened his mouth to answer but before he could, the portrait began to scream again. "Oh dear." Arthur and Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin pushed past the trio of children and into the house, wands drawn. The other portraits had begun to scream again also.
"Ron you woke them up!" Hermione sounded, in Draco's opinion, as shrill as the screaming paintings.
"What? I did not!" He replied, turning to give her an incredulous look. "The old bat was wailing before we even got here, you could hear her all the way outside!"
"Oh, right, Ron. I didn't hear anything and neither did anyone else. No one noticed, not even Lupin. You think if anything Lupin would notice something like that before you could!"
"Cor, Hermione–" Ron's ears began to burn.
Draco, however, was in no mood to listen to anyone bicker, especially two of the three most annoying Gryffindors in all the years of Hogwarts. While they were busy with each other he discreetly turned around and started back into the house and the stairs.
"Hey! Malfoy! Where do you think you're going–"
Naturally, he didn't stop as Ron tried so eloquently to persuade him. Draco wove around the two wizards, stunning portrait after portrait with expert speed and ease, and disappeared into his room. He knew, beyond all reasonable doubt, that his two schoolmates (even though he didn't like admitting they were his anything, even in private) would not spend any time looking for him.
Flopping down onto his bed, Draco curled his arms up, tucking his fingers behind his head and lacing them together. Just when he thought he had everything figured out, everything had to change. He rolled onto his side, glaring at the wall his bed was set against. Up until ten minutes ago he was sure that there was no way his summer could be going any worse. He was sure there wasn't anything more terrible than being separated from his family and his cushy existence and forced instead to exist in a run down, about to fall over, rotted through house.
And then Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had to show up.
Of course this meant, he was sure, that sooner or later 12 Grimmauld Place would be graced by the benevolent presence of the Golden Boy himself, Harry "save the world" Potter.
Draco narrowed his gray eyes on the thick specks of dust that drifted lazily up and down in front of him through a beam of sunlight thrown crookedly across his bed from an adjacent window. The three of them, especially Harry Potter, had always been a problem for him.
****
"And what's worse, Father, is that even though he's a first year he gets to be on the Quidditch team! Just because the professors favor him, everyone favors him! The school even bought him a broom! A Nimbus Two Thousand! It's not fair!" Draco stomped his foot, positively fuming as he ranted. Behind his desk, Lucius had folded his hands and listened to everything with a rather impatient look on his face.
"Draco–"
"They keep rewarding him! They reward him for breaking the rules! They gave him like, a million house points at the end of the year just because he ran off and–"
"Draco!" There was no mistaking the sharp crack in Lucius voice this time and even in mid sentence Draco snapped his mouth closed with a little jump and straightened his posture, shoulders stiffening.
"I can't listen to this rabble another moment, it's disgusting!"
Lowering his head, Draco sighed out awkwardly. He knew he should have calmed down before he came to complain to his father. He should have at least waited until tomorrow, let himself settle for at least a day before coming off the Express. "I'm sorry, father." He replied. Now he'd have to sit through an entire lecture he already knew all the words to.
"I've said this more times than I'd like to have," the lecture began. In truth, Lucius didn't like to have to say things twice but this particular speech Draco had heard at least five times before. "But apparently you don't seem to understand this yet. You are a Malfoy, Draco. Do you know what that means?"
"Yes, father, it mea–" Draco tried to answer but Lucius wouldn't allow it
"No. You don't know what it means." He held up a finger in front of his son's face and Draco instantly swallowed his voice. "If you did, I wouldn't have to keep telling you this over and over and over. You are a Malfoy, Draco, and that means there is a certain standard of decorum you must conduct yourself with at all times. There isn't anyone in that school that isn't watching you. This boy, this group of children are baiting you and you're falling into their traps. They want to embarrass and enrage you but you need to be more careful. You have to show them you're smarter and better than they are. If other children witness them pushing you around, it will be difficult for you to maintain their respect."
"Yes, father." Draco nodded, bowing his head slightly. He knew there was more.
"These boys and girls you're going to school with now are your peers, they're going to be your co workers and connections in the future, even the less than savory types. If you are lessened in their eyes by Potter and his group now, they will always remember it and you will suffer from it the rest of your life."
"Yes father." Draco nodded again, looking up into his Lucius' eyes as the speech drew to a close. It was shorter than usual but still no new information. "I'm trying to do and be like that, father, but it's difficult. Everything he does is perfect! If I were to do as he does I would be punished but they praise him for it! Like idiots they fall all over themselves to worship him!"
"They are idiots, Draco." Lucius rose from behind his desk and took his son by the shoulder, squeezing it lightly before guiding him towards a large window. "They're blind fools, scrambling and crawling in the darkness, searching for someone to lead them."
Draco glanced up at the taller blonde, his brows lifting. This wasn't the beginnings of anything he'd heard his father say before. It had taken eleven years but finally, he got the feeling that he was saying something important to him, something that a man would say to another man and not at all like a father to his son. "Who will?" he asked finally when Lucius didn't continue.
"We will, of course. To an extent. We are powerful and famous. We make a good figure for the public eye, Draco, that's something you have to remember."
"What...should I remember?"
"The importance of appearing to be good. Always give them something to look up to but at the same time, while you survey the sea of heads bowed to you, keep your eyes open for the tallest head. Not only are they not showing you proper respect, but they'll prove to be a better stepping stone than the others. While they lift you upward you can, at the same time, push their faces into the dirt."
"O-Okay." Draco wasn't exactly sure what that meant but he agreed anyway, mulling over his father's words in his head.
Lucius was quiet by his side for a moment before patting his son's shoulder and moving away from him. "Next year you'll get them, Dragon. Next year, you'll be on the Quidditch team. I'm your father and you're still very young. It is my duty to cement your place in the future. Next year, all of this will be done."
Draco remained by the window as his father returned to his desk and to his work. He folded his hands behind his back, looking out over the back lawn of Malfoy Manor and his mother as she sipped tea on the veranda with Mrs. Parkinson. He wished, that even with all of its problems, that every day could be like this one.
****
"Hey Fer–er, Malfoy!"
Draco groaned into his arm at the loud, irregular knock on his bedroom door. Weasley wasn't a very good shock back into reality.
"Dinner's ready!" Persisted the voice on the other side of the door.
When Draco didn't answer right away, Ron continued banging. "Hey! Malfoy! Do you hear me in there? Really I wouldn't mind if you weren't...or if you were like, dead or something, but I'm sure the rest of us would appreciate the opportunity to haul you out before you really began to stink! Ow! Hermione!"
"You're such a prat!" Hermione hissed next. "I hope you never have to call me to dinner, by now you'd be digging Hogwarts: A History out of your face!"
"But I wouldn't call you like this, Hermione–I'm fully aware that you have many a heavy book in your arsenal–"
Before he could continue anymore Draco gave his bedroom door a swift kick. He could hear Weasley gasp and Hermione shriek at the sudden noise and movement. He hoped they had had their ears pressed against the door, and that it had really hurt when he'd kicked it. "Sod off. I have better things to do than listen to your flirt." He snarled through the wood.
"Oh!" Hermione sounded outraged and the next moment his door rattled again as she kicked it. "Who cares if you starve anyway, Malfoy!"
He heard her stomping down the stairs, followed by Weasley sounding like an elephant as he tromped after her. "Bravo, Hermione. Bravo!" He was clapping.
When Draco finally went downstairs he was greeted by five sets of eyes. The entire table stopped to look up at him. Lupin smiled, Mr and Mrs. Weasley the same although theirs was one of sympathy and pity. Ron was scowling at him and Hermione was trying not to watch although he could see her, every now and then, glance at him from the corners of his eyes.
He was sure he frowned at them, at the very least, and claimed the empty seat next to Mrs. Weasley. If there had been any conversation among the group before he came there wasn't any now, after he'd arrived. As he helped himself to what was set out (although he was determined to eat as little as possible), Mrs. Weasley lifted pitcher of juice to fill his cup. "There you go, dear."
"Mom!" Ron instantly complained. "You don't have to serve him, he can take care of himself."
"Ronald Weasley," Molly began and gave the boy a shrewd glance. "You can at least try to be civil for once in your life. Your hair's a mess and you look like you dragged your clothes out of the hamper! You should take a lesson from–"
"Please," Draco interjected, stressing the word with a growl. "Shut up!" He was proud of himself for managing the tone he did, so much like Lucius whenever his father caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to do. "Your family is already a disgrace to all wizarding kind, there's hardly any room to lecture an already lost cause!"
"Why, you!" Mrs. Weasley stared at Draco in slack-jawed surprise. He could see the gears in her head turning. He had insulted her! Her family! And she had been defending him at the time! "I see your father certainly never taught you any manners!"
Draco smirked, tilting his chin proudly. So she was finally starting to realize he wasn't someone's lost lamb, was she? "What's the point in saying please and thank you to a dog? You just throw it scraps from the table and let it–"
Ron couldn't seem to take it anymore. "Why you!" He snarled and launched himself over the table, putting his knee right in the pudding as he grabbed for Draco's throat.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.
Although, it wasn't as if Draco wasn't expecting to be attacked. It was why he was able to slide back effortlessly from the table and get to his feet just out of reach and just in time. He watched with a smug smirk as Hermione laced her arms around Ron's waist, tugging him back into his seat. Mr. Weasley had his hand on his wife's shoulder and although he didn't look very calm himself, his wife was obviously repressing the urge to give him a talking to like he'd never had before.
He didn't give either of them a chance as he left the dinner table. It wasn't like he'd be able to enjoy a meal in their presence anyway, he told himself as he went back upstairs. They'd interfere with his digestion.
****
That evening, however, Draco was so hungry he didn't think even swallowing rocks would interfere with his digestion. His stomach growled and gurgled and he kept rolling from one side to the other in his bed to keep it from making noise.
Feeling another series of hunger pangs rise up in his stomach, Draco pressed his fingers against his abdomen to try and push it away. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't go downstairs and find someone to make him something to eat. He didn't need them!
Around his fingers, his stomach moaned anyway and with a groan towards the ceiling, Draco pulled a pillow over his head, holding it over his face with his fingers. He couldn't go down there, he just couldn't. The last thing he needed to do was get used to having them around. To be comfortable in the presence of a Weasley was something he hoped he never felt!
Maybe, his mind began to wander, he could go down and find something to eat without having to ask anyone for help. He could make it himself! He could do that couldn't he? Maybe just throw some cheese between two slices of bread, or grab an apple! Ooh, an apple. Nothing ever seemed so tantalizing in his entire life than an apple did at that very second.
Pushing the pillow off of his face he turned his head to glance at the far wall where a clock was set against it. Ten minutes to midnight. If it was that late already, chances are no one would be awake anyway! He wouldn't have anything to worry about.
Smug with his own intentions, Draco got to his feet, smoothing out his hair with his fingers. That's right. Maybe he'd never have to ever eat anything in front of them again and in return, they'd all worry and wonder over how he managed to persist with being so stubborn, even against dinner.
Smirking, he pulled open his bedroom door, the hinges smooth and quiet. Peering down the hall, he didn't see any light, not even coming from the cracks beneath the doors. He walked briskly but stealthily down the hallway and the stairs, his feet quiet in his slippers.
He was just opening up the cupboards in the kitchen when he heard a set of voices coming towards him. Though still distant, he could still pick them out, sound carried well in the house's large, round hallways.
"He's scum, I don't care what anyone says. As far as I'm concerned they could send him to Azkaban with the rest of his rotten family, do all of us a lot of good not having to deal with him in school." There was no mistaking the oh so dulcet tones of Ronald Weasley. "I don't know why my mum's so insistent on us being nice the weasel-faced prat, anyway!"
Draco rolled his eyes, closing the cabinet slowly and settling for a large green apple he found sitting in a bowl on the counter. Leaning against the counter and buffing the apple on his chest he waited for the two to round the corner and spot him. Nothing would be funnier than the looks on their faces when they did.
"Because, Ron, it isn't as simple as that." Hermione, the voice of reason. If only she knew the answer to why she was so ugly, Draco thought. "Your mum's worried, is all. She thinks he's a victim, raised into all of those beliefs by his father, even if he is, even if he isn't–he's still lost both of his parents. He's like an orphan now, kind of like–"
"Don't you dare compare Draco Malfoy to Harry, Hermione, I'll throw up on your shoes."
"Oh grow up." She sounded disdainful. Draco could see the reflection of a light from what he assumed was a candle, bobbing along the wall, defiantly weaving towards the kitchen. "She's right, I think, at least when she says we should at least try to be decent with him. At least not pick fights."
"I didn't pick a fight with him, he started it! You heard what he called my family–he said we were like dogs!"
"I know, Ron, I was there. But it's not like we didn't know he wouldn't be a total prat. We can't expect him to make the first move, we are enemies to him. Harry was partially responsible for putting his parents in Azkaban, ruining his life, you know."
"Hermione you sound like your on his side! Like you want to be friends with him!"
You wish, Granger.
"Oh please!" Hermione finally gave in just as the pair of them rounded the corner and into the kitchen. "I'd rather make friends with a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"
They both laughed out loud until they stepped into the kitchen and noticed he was there. "Malfoy! What are you doing here?" Ron asked, already instantly angry. Hermione had put a hand to her mouth.
"Bow wow, Weasley." Draco smirked and took a bite out of the apple he held before lobbing it at them. The two shifted in opposite directions and the fruit sailed between them and into the hall, running into the wall with a dull thunk and rolling along the floor. "Fetch! Go on, fetch boy!"
Even in the half darkness, Draco could see Ron's face burst red with flame, his hands forming fists at his sides. "Shut up, Malfoy." He moved threateningly closer. "We'll see how far you can throw food at us when all of your fingers are broken!"
With a cool arch of his brow, Draco turned away form him slightly, folding his arms over his chest. "Temper temper, Weasley. Let's try and be decent with me, shall we?"
Hermione blushed.
"Trust me," Ron snarled. "I'm already being more than decent with you already!"
"I'm sure you're doing the best that your simple little mind can muster." Draco said cheerily and turned away from them to open another cupboard. He lost his apple, he needed something to snack on.
"You're really slime, Malfoy, you know that?" Hermione asked but Draco didn't even give her a glance over his shoulder.
"Now now, Granger. Let's all of us just be friends, okay?" He closed the cupboard again and turned around with full intention to cast another scathing insult at them. However, all he met was Ron Weasley's fist, right in the jaw.
"Ron!" Hermione was pulling him back again, pushing herself between the two boys as Draco pushed off the counter top. "Malfoy! Boys! Stop it!" Although the poor girl was slowly getting crushed between the two boys and their flaring tempers. "I said STOP IT!" She finally hollered.
It wasn't Hermione's yelling that stopped the bickering, though, as the screams of a far more tortured variety began, followed by the keening wails of many of its fellows.
"Oops." Hermione said sheepishly, lowering her hands from the boys' chest as their attack on each other ceased in favor of holding their hands over their ears. "Sorry!"
"Brilliant, Granger!" Draco drawled. "Although I don't think you managed to wake up all the portraits yet, maybe you should squawk a bit more!"
At the rude, if not down right terrifying awakening, up the stairs, commotion exploded. Lights were shot on, someone fell out of bed and soon three sets of feet were jogging down the hallway, wands drawn. "Just what are you children up to!" Mrs. Weasley shouted above the din.
Both Ron and Draco sent Hermione withering glances, but the biggest brain in Gryffindor just smiled back.
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12 (final)