Well, here's another story by me. Er…it should be interesting. This came about from another round of, "If it hasn't been written then write it your own goddamn self." I'm sure this isn't an original premise, but I promise it'll be an original er…something.

Note: Although this takes place in the canon universe, when I thought up this story, the sixth book had not graced us with its presence. If you're reading this now and the sixth book has come out, just remember this fact. Whatever happens in the sixth book will have no bearing on this story as when I'm writing this note, the sixth book hasn't even come out yet.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Swearing…

Ghosts

Chapter One

At exactly midnight, when Harry would be officially seventeen years of age, he was fast asleep.

In fact, he was having a strange dream involving the Transfiguration classroom, Hermione trying to explain why transfiguring Florida into Japan was a bad idea, and Ron with pom-poms. Maybe it was a bit disturbing. The point isn't really the dream though, it's the fact that he was asleep and it was exactly midnight when it happened.

Knocking. Someone was knocking on the front door of number four Privet Drive. Harry only rolled over in his sleep, not actually hearing the knocking as it was too quiet to quite reach the second floor. Had he been awake he would have supposed anybody knocking at that time of night were there for him. After all, the Dursleys wouldn't know anybody who came knocking at midnight.

The knocking stopped. The doorbell rang. It was one of those very annoying ringers that made a nasal ringing noise that irritated Harry. One green eye opened and then closed again. He thought the doorbell was probably just from his dream and that he hadn't actually heard it.

But it went off again. This time, the person did not simply ring it once, oh no, they sat there pressing on it impatiently, waiting for someone to come and answer the door. Harry sat up and yawned. He heard Uncle Vernon swearing all the way down the hall and while he stomped down the stairs. Something about how he bloody well didn't know anybody who would come at this bloody time of night. The thing was that for one of the few times in Vernon Dursley's whole life, he was actually right.

Harry decided to just go back to bed. The person probably had a broken down car or something and needed to use a telephone. Nice, normal explanation even though he wasn't used to nice normal explanations. He supposed it might come from yet another year of avoiding evil schemes set by Lord Voldemort, but he sometimes just wanted something to have an ordinary answer—not be part of an elaborate plan that was set into motion months ago. Maybe it was Crookshanks at the door, coming to reveal that he was actually a Death Eater. He laid his head back down on the cool, soft pillow and pulled the warm blanket up to his chin. Back to sleep it was.

"BOY!" The yell made him groan. Of course it had to do something with him. He couldn't just go back to strange dreams or perhaps one of those nice dreamless sleeps where you wake up feeling refreshed. Nope. He swore if it really was Crookshanks the Death Eater, Hermione would pay for letting him out at night.

For a moment though, it wasn't a joke. The Death Eaters and Voldemort suddenly appearing at the front door of number four Privet Drive. Technically they couldn't and the idea that they would suddenly just up and have a normal battle just to get things over with didn't sound anything like them. He half hoped it was Voldemort so that he could entertain himself as he sleepily descended the stairs with a mental image of the house being destroyed and the Dursleys looking devastated. It was the small things in life that really brought happiness.

The nosiest person in the house was, hands down, Aunt Petunia. The woman was constantly spying on the neighbors, always ready to spew the latest bit of gossip. That's just the way she was. Now, if at midnight at her house, a person started ringing the doorbell and Vernon answered it and then yelled for Harry, Aunt Petunia just had to know why. She even beat Harry down the stairs, rushing past him as though she had to find the perfect front row seat for whatever drama was about to be staged.

Harry rubbed his eyes as he approached his aunt and uncle who were standing right next to the open front door. Someone was standing in the front door but he didn't have his glasses on. He slipped them on so that he could focus on who it was. Wrong size to be Crookshanks. Damn.

When he saw who it was, his jaw dropped open. Very little could surprise Harry Potter anymore. He had seen a lot of things in his time. He was even to the point where he perfectly understood Mad-Eye Moody's deep set paranoia—schemes to kill him really were everywhere. But he hated to be melodramatic about it; after all, he had a sense of responsibility about him. Otherwise he might have ended up like Cho Chang—tears streaming down his face at the slightest prompting.

Thank god I got over that crush in the fifth year…

But this person couldn't possibly be there. The mere image of this person being framed in the front doorway of number four Privet Drive was so abstract that Harry was sure it had to be some sort of illusion spell or a joke. Where were Ron and Hermione to jump out and yell "April Fools'!" when you needed them?

"Hello Potter." The cold drawling voice greeted him. No illusion, Draco Malfoy was really standing there. Harry just stood there dumbstruck, his only defense to such a situation.

"You better have a good explanation for this." Vernon Dursley's face was getting redder and redder by the minute in anger. Harry continued to just stand there, though his jaw twitched enough to show that he was still sentient.

"Tell these Muggles to let me in." Draco's ice blue eyes narrowed humorlessly.

"Are you telling me this is another of…of…your kind!" Vernon couldn't even bring himself to say 'wizard'. Petunia's eyes were round, not with surprise, but with curiosity. She was keeping her mouth shut and waiting for the whole thing to be explained. Then she'd start up.

Harry's jaw snapped shut. Finally.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked incredulously. Draco rolled his eyes at him and stepped inside the house. Vernon stepped in front of him, looking ready to squash Draco like an insect if he made any further moves into the house.

"I was sent here." Draco held out one of his hands, offering a white envelope towards Harry, even with Vernon Dursley in front of him. "Tell this Muggle to step away from me as I have absolutely no qualms about hexing him." Vernon Dursley didn't like threats and usually liked to prove that they had no effect on him, but the way those cold eyes had looked at him and the fact that magic scared him to death made him back away.

Harry went forward and took the envelope, tearing the letter open.

"What does it say?" Petunia, feeling cheated at not being able to read it over Harry's shoulder, asked. Then she turned to her husband. "Shut the door Vernon, what if one of the neighbors is watching…?" He closed the door and Draco Malfoy moved further into number four Privet Drive.

"It's from Dumbledore." Harry blinked. The words he was reading were indeed in English and in the correct grammatical order but they didn't make any sense. His mind could not comprehend what they were saying right then. "It…well…I think it says…that Malfoy's supposed to stay here."

"Congratulations Potter, you can read." Draco looked at his surroundings with a very disdainful air. Draco didn't even know they made houses this small. "Dumbledore practically pinned it to my chest he was so worried about getting it to you."

"This doesn't make any sense." Harry was fully alert now. Who wouldn't be fully alert when their arch-rival, who had once sworn revenge for his father, suddenly showed up at his doorstep with a note saying that he was to stay there with Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"I must say that your hospitality is somewhat lacking." Draco took off his heavy black coat and held it out with one hand, an expectant look on his face. So expectant in fact, that although she couldn't quite explain why she had done it, Petunia reached out and took his coat from him. "And this place is a dump."

"No one's forcing you to stay." Harry retorted, shoving the letter back at Draco.

"Actually, they are." Draco tossed the letter to the side. "Let me fill you in a bit Potter. Because of the Ministry's brilliant way of not getting it the first time, the Death Eaters you rounded up at the end of fifth year have escaped from Azkaban."

"Well then go home and have a reunion with your dad." Harry crossed his arms. "Shouldn't you be over the moon about it?"

"Oh, I would have been." Draco agreed. "But there was that little trouble earlier tonight when I was told to become a Death Eater or die." His eyes were boring into Harry. Draco Malfoy was now a Death Eater? Was that such a strange notion to grasp? But in a way, it was. The idea that the harmless pranks (well, not completely harmless) and constant hecklings could turn into murder so fast was very surreal.

"Why couldn't you be Crookshanks?" Harry muttered into his hands. He didn't have his wand with him. It was upstairs. If Draco was going to kill—wait. Dumbledore sent that letter. Draco was to stay there. Why would Dumbledore do that if…

Oh.

"Option two didn't really work for me and so now I'm here." Draco gestured at his surroundings. "At your house—if you can call it that." Harry almost snickered at the resemblance between Draco and Lucius Malfoy.

"Wait, why didn't you…" Harry trailed off.

"I suppose it's because I wasn't a true Malfoy after all." Draco answered loftily and Harry knew that he wasn't going to say anything more than that. Dumbledore's letter hadn't been anymore clear on said subject. Draco was supposed to stay here. At his house. Something was just wrong with the universe. "They had to send me somewhere safe…which unfortunately, is with you."

"Great." Harry said in a voice that made everyone around know that he was feeling just the opposite way.

"What the hell is going on here! Does this Dumbledore think he can just send people like you to our house?" Vernon jumped back into the conversation.

"Apparently." Harry wondered what drug Dumbledore must have been on when he made this decision. Better not to know. "This is Draco Malfoy, he's the son of a Death Eater, his dad just escaped from prison, and he's being hunted by the forces of darkness."

"Hello." Draco nodded his head.

"He bloody well can't stay here!" Vernon clenched his fists. "We have enough trouble with just you."

"I'd leave but I shudder to think what alternatives Dumbledore might come up with." Draco looked apprehensive. "Maybe fob me off on the Weasleys—not that they'd notice, they have so many already. Or worse, with Mudblood Granger."

"Shut your mouth." Harry told him sternly. "Just because you have to stay here doesn't mean you can bad mouth my friends."

"Oh, I feel as though I'm owed some bad mouthing. This house is horribly small and reeks of Muggles. Also, Potter," Draco stopped to think for a moment, "Since you're the figurehead of the entire 'good' side, I feel this is all your fault. And you stink." Looking thoroughly satisfied, the blonde-haired boy went about straightening his black robes.

"Just—" Vernon Dursley began but Draco pulled out a wand, holding it towards the much larger man in a very threatening manner. "But you'll be expelled!"

"Funny thing about times of crisis, laws like that are repealed." Draco had a slow, satisfied, cruel smile creeping across his lips.

"Knock it off!" Harry grabbed the wand out of Draco's hand, the blonde boy's eyes narrowed. "Fine, you can stay, just stop being such an asshole." Draco looked at him for a moment in a considering manner.

"Alright. Just show me to my rooms and have all my meals sent up to me." Draco waved a hand lazily.

"Boy—" Vernon began again, turning towards Harry who was much easier to threaten.

"Look, I don't like this anymore than you do but Dumbledore says he's supposed to stay here and that's that." Harry felt very tired all of a sudden. "He won't use magic and he won't attract any attention, will you?" Harry glared at Draco with all the fury of a teenager who's been woken up in the middle of the night because his school rival needed a place to crash where his daddy wouldn't come and kill him. It was a lot of fury.

"Sure." Draco didn't like giving in and certainly did not like losing. This was a terrible combination of both.

"I still don't like it." Vernon glared.

"Neither do I." Petunia put in bossily. "Where is he supposed to sleep?" Harry opened his mouth to suggest his old room—the cupboard under the stairs—but decided that was a bit cruel. But then it was Malfoy…decisions…

"The guest bedroom." Harry decided.

Damn conscience.

"What if we have company?" Vernon asked, his eyes narrowing. "No, he isn't taking up that bedroom, he'll just stay in your room."

"What?" Harry and Draco asked in the same disbelieving squawk.

"He's your guest." Vernon looked happy to have finally won some battle that night. "If this Dumbledore person wants him here so badly, he won't care."

"Malfoys do not share bedrooms." Draco declared.

"Looks like they do now." Vernon certainly was smug. "You two get to bed, I have work tomorrow. If you want him here, you work it out yourself."

With that, him and a reluctant (she wanted to see how the bedroom arrangement would work out) Petunia went back upstairs, leaving Harry and Draco standing alone in the partially lit room.

"This better be the biggest damn bedroom I've ever seen." Draco told him.

"It's not. It's the smallest in the house." Harry wondered if the cupboard was such a bad place to sleep. It was small and a bit cramped. And there were spiders. But on the plus side, there was no way Malfoy could stay in there too. If it wasn't for the fact that he loathed the cupboard with all the loathing he had, he would have been whistling his way to it. As it was, it seemed like this summer had just become the worst ever.

"You've got to be kidding me." Draco scoffed.

"And there's only one bathroom." Some darker side of Harry was enjoying taunting Draco—well, hell, all of Harry was enjoying it—with what seemed to be the rich boy's worst fear.

"Granger's house is suddenly sounding pretty good…" Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh wait, no, Mudblood, never mind."

"Why are you still calling her a Mudblood if you're on the good side now?" Harry questioned him as he made his way to the stairs and Draco followed him.

"Because it upsets you and Weasley." Draco replied easily.

There was a moment of silence as they went up the stairs and Harry opened the door to his room. Hedwig hooted sleepily in her cage, Dudley snored on in his bedroom next door.

"Please tell me that you have an Invisibility Charm on the other bed." Draco's voice held a hint of pleading, as though he seriously expected Harry to take out his wand and tap it in the thin air and hey presto! A bed would appear.

"Not quite." Harry smiled as grimly as a person can. "Looks like you're on the floor."

"Why do I have to be on the floor?" Draco questioned. "After all, I'm the one who's just had a traumatic evening. In my delicate condition, shouldn't I be pampered and given all the luxuries that can be afforded?"

"No." Harry deadpanned. "I think you'll be fine. You don't even have a delicate condition to fall into—unless you're just faking to get someone fired."

"Ah yes, memories of third year." Draco smiled nostalgically.

"Yeah I really liked the part where you almost got one of my friends sacked and then almost got Buckbeak executed." Harry found that it was possible to hate Draco more than he already did. All too possible.

"Buckbeak?" Draco said the name in confusion. Then he seemed to realize who it was. "Ew, you actually remember that thing's name? You've got serious attachment issues Potter."

Harry ignored him in favor of throwing his top blanket on the floor. It was summer time anyways, he didn't really need it. Then he looked at his pillow. Then at the floor. Pillow. Floor.

Stupid conscience.

He dropped the pillow on the ground and got back under his own covers. When he didn't hear any movement, he turned over to see Draco looking down at the pillow and blanket with a strangely perplexed look on his face.

"What? You're the one who was going on about their delicate condition a moment ago." Harry looked very defensively at the blonde haired boy. "Just go to sleep, we can hate each other in the morning." He flipped back over.

"Indeed." Draco's voice was a whisper and Harry had the strangest feeling that Draco might have wanted to say something right then but didn't. From the tone, it sounded like he had wanted to say thanks.

I know, I know, predictable set up. But I promise it's a good story! Really, really! Don't take my word for it, just keep reading it!