Title: Shelter
Rating: T at the moment for safety, but it'll most likely increase
Summary and pairing: "You didn't see him. It was easy for us – black and white. We were on the good side, and the Malfoys – well, Lucius, certainly, and to an extent Narcissa – were on the bad side. But Draco was torn between what he felt was right and what he felt was right by his family. And after everything that had happened, I couldn't leave him, go back to those old, petty school rivalries when he was clearly in desperate need of a friend. I just couldn't. It would've defeated the entire point of what we'd been fighting for." Harry/Draco
Author's note: This is part two of an as-yet unknown length fic - it's certainly the longest fic I've written in my nearly ten years of fic writing! I hope you all enjoy it!
The two Apparated with a crack outside of Number Twelve, although Draco seemed to be looking straight past it.
"Where exactly am I supposed to be looking?" asked Draco, looking first at number eleven, stereo still blaring, the bass making the windows shudder, and then number thirteen, where they could vaguely see an elderly couple pottering about through their net curtains. Harry frowned.
"What do you –" Realisation suddenly dawned. "But Dumbledore was the original Secret Keeper, so –"
"When the original Secret Keeper dies, anybody who knew the secret before their death become Secret Keepers," Draco informed him. "All you have to do is tell me the secret and then I'll be bound in the same way as you are. Honestly Potter, do you ever read?"
"Didn't have the time when I was off trying to save the world," Harry responded, smiling. "Besides, we had Hermione about so there was never any need to." Draco laughed. "Okay, um," Harry said, running his hand through his hair, brow furrowed. "How specific does it have to be? Does it have to be exactly what I was told, or is me telling you that the house is number twelve Grimmauld Place?" As Draco opened his mouth to reply, number twelve appeared, squeezing between numbers eleven and thirteen. "Well, I guess that answers that question…" Harry trailed off. "Come on, let's get in, it looks like rain."
As they stepped through the door, the dust spectre of Dumbledore once again came rushing towards them, arms outstretched. "I didn't kill you," Harry replied, blithely. "That's all you have to say when you walk in, Draco – Draco?" Harry turned to see Malfoy, cowering in fear, ready to bolt any moment.
"Oh, God, Draco, I'm sorry, I didn't think – do you have any idea how to remove protective charms? Draco?" Draco was still backed into the corner, looking even paler and hunted than before.
"Until you manage to get rid of that – thing," Draco said in a low voice, "I'm not leaving the house. Understood?" Harry nodded.
"Draco, I'm so sorry, I had completely forgotten, for me it's just like unlocking the door," Harry apologised. Draco held his hand up to stop Harry.
"Just get it sorted," he demanded, somewhat imperiously. "Please," he added, his voice breaking. Harry nodded.
"Do you want the tour now?" Draco shrugged, then changed his mind and nodded. Harry smiled. "Okay, well, this is Mrs. Black. She screams a lot when it gets noisy, so I'd be careful."
A sly smile crept along Draco's face. "OKAY!" he bellowed. The curtains covering the portrait flew open as Mrs. Black began shrieking.
"Scum of the earth, desecrating my home with traitors –" All of a sudden, Walburga Black stopped her protests and turned her attention to Draco. "Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, née Black?"
Draco turned, puzzled to Harry, who shrugged. "Er… yes?"
"This is your ancestral home and you have returned. Unfortunately you brought this blood traitor with you," she added nastily, glaring at Harry. Draco squared up to the portrait.
"Actually, he brought me here. This is his home and he is letting me stay here."
The portrait of Sirius's mother paused for a second before bellowing, "Filth! Traitor! Scum of the earth!" Harry yanked the curtains closed over the painting and took a deep breath.
"So that's my great aunt. She's a real charmer," Draco muttered darkly.
"In more ways than one," Harry added. Draco looked inquisitively at Harry. "She managed to attach a Permanent Sticking Charm to her portrait so nobody can move it." Draco laughed.
"You probably should've told me that before I insulted the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," said Draco, shrugging off his coat. "So, are you going to give me the tour or not?"
Harry smiled and willingly obliged, showing Malfoy all the sights of Grimmauld Place, including the wall of House Elf heads which even he admitted was a very, very bizarre practice "even by pureblood standards". Harry took Draco into the drawing room, where the enormous family tree was spread across the walls, various distant relations' names burned out from where they'd done something to displease Mrs. Black. Draco walked slowly around the room, touching the names as if, by maintaining some form of contact between himself and the tapestry, the power and respect the Black family had commanded would help to rebuild the Malfoy name. As he came to his part of the family tree, he withdrew his hand as if he'd been burned and, staring darkly at his father's name and picture, said through gritted teeth, "Traitor." Suddenly, the leaf of the tree where Lucius had once appeared glowed as if Draco'd just put a cigarette out on it, then the embers died down and there was what looked like a burn mark over Lucius's smug face. Draco and Narcissa were untouched, and Draco looked somewhat stunned at Harry, who returned the expression.
"I didn't know it would happen," Draco said, almost accusingly.
"I didn't either!" Harry exclaimed, his hands held up in surrender. "I'm not even a member of the Black family, Sirius is my godfather. This must be old, old magic, designed to respond to the emotions and allegiances of the descendants of the house…" Harry examined the burn mark where Lucius had once been, and gently ran his thumb over the image. "But you must really, really have to mean it for that to happen, otherwise the entire tree would be burned apart from Tonks's family and the Weasleys." Draco stood, arms crossed defensively.
"I didn't realise I thought that about my father. So strongly and vehemently, anyway." Harry and Draco stood in silence, then Draco allowed himself to be steered away from the room.
"There are six bedrooms in the house, and three floors above this one," Harry informed Draco as they stood outside the drawing room. "One's there," he said, indicating the room that had once housed Hermione and Ginny, "and two on the other three floors. If you want an entire floor all to yourself, that's fine." Harry paused. "Except for the third floor. That's where Sirius lives. Lived," he corrected himself, wishing that he wouldn't still get a lump at the back of his throat each time he had to remind himself that Sirius was gone.
"Don't read too much into this, Potter, but," Draco looked distinctly uncomfortable and took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not entirely set on the whole 'having a floor to myself' thing. Reminds me rather too much of my house, having a wing to myself, you know." Harry most certainly did not know what it was like to have an entire wing of a house – no, a manor – to himself, having lived in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life; but felt that it was probably prudent not to pick up on this particular aspect of what Draco had just said.
"So, shall one of us take this room and the other take the room upstairs, then?"
"Why can't we take the rooms on the same floor?" Harry bit his lip.
"Fred and George stayed in one of those rooms, Mr and Mrs. Weasley the other. It would feel strange." Draco nodded, strangely sympathetic.
"So, you, Weasley and Granger – "
"Ron and I shared the room upstairs, and Hermione and Ginny shared the room on this floor," Harry said, very deliberately emphasising their first names. To his credit, Malfoy blushed as he heard the stress on their names.
"Yeah, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, sorry. It's hard to break the habit of seven years – but we've managed fairly well, haven't we? We sort of fell into using each other's first names."
Harry smiled slightly. "We're doing okay so far." Before it could get too awkward, Harry led Draco on to show him the other rooms in the house.
Once the two had decided which rooms to take – Harry was secretly very grateful that Draco'd opted for the one on the same floor as the drawing room – they made their way down to the living room and sprawled over the sofas, sitting in a companionable silence as both of them took in the events of the day.
"I think I'm going to –" started Harry at the same time as Draco said, "I might take a – ". They laughed a little awkwardly and Draco gestured for Harry to speak. "I think I'm going to get some food in for us, there's a shop just around the corner. It'll be basic stuff, but it's better than nothing." Draco nodded.
"I might take a shower, but I haven't a change of clothes or anything."
"You can borrow some of my stuff if you want, it's not as fancy as your suit and it might be a bit short around the ankles and arms, but it's all I can offer you, I'm afraid. Towels are in the cupboard in the bathroom. Don't use the grey ones – they were white once."
Draco grimaced and nodded his acceptance. "Thanks." He headed upstairs and Harry waited until he heard the sound of running water before he left.
Fifteen minutes later he returned to the house, arms laden with groceries. He opened the door, reminded Dumbledore that he hadn't killed him, and called for Malfoy to come and give him a hand. Draco appeared at the top of the stairs with a towel wrapped around his hips, his blonde hair plastered to his skull.
"Do you mind if I get changed first?" He pointed to the towel which looked dangerously close to slipping. Harry shook his head.
"Don't worry, it's not that heavy, I can probably manage it." Harry seemed rooted to the floor.
"Are you going to put them away then?" Draco prompted. Harry nodded and walked downstairs in a bit of a daze.
Harry put the groceries away in the same kind of places as Mrs. Weasley had put them while they were all staying there, but it looked so meagre – two packets of pasta in a massive cupboard on their own – that he changed his mind and put it all into one cupboard. He ordered the coffee, tea and sugar to go into their respective canisters and was in the process of putting the kettle on for a cup of coffee when Draco padded into the kitchen in a pair of jeans that hovered a bit above his ankles and a long sleeved shirt that, despite finishing short of Draco's wrists, he was determined to pull down to his fingertips. With a jolt, Harry suddenly remembered why.
"Does it hurt?" he asked softly. Draco shook his head.
"Does your scar?" Harry shook his head. "They're both linked to the Dark - To Voldemort, so now he's gone the link's been broken. I'm hoping it'll fade. I'm hardly going to be employable if I've got this dirty great thing on my arm." Harry sensed the tension and quickly changed the conversation.
"Coffee? I've just put the kettle on, so I can do tea, coffee, I could maybe rustle up some hot chocolate…"
"Coffee would be wonderful, thanks." Draco took a seat at the kitchen table and looked around. "Well, Great-Aunt Black would probably have kittens if she saw one of her descendants down here," he mused. Harry smiled as he dropped two tablespoons of coffee into a cafétiere and added boiling water. He pointed at a cabinet and Draco got up, retrieving two chipped and worn mugs from the back. "So, is this place like home to you, then?"
"No," Harry answered, immediately. "Hogwarts was home to me." Malfoy scoffed.
"A massive castle full of people was home to you?"
"I lived in a cupboard under the stairs in my aunt and uncle's house for the first eleven years of my life, so anywhere was better than that," he answered, sharper than he'd meant.
"But not here," Draco continued carefully, as if stepping on eggshells. "Why not?"
Harry shrugged. "Sirius had hated it here, so he ran away. He made it the headquarters of the Order because he hated everything it reminded him of. His mother's disappointment in what he'd become, even though his brother had become a Death-" Harry stopped himself. "Well, anyway. It reminded him of a really rubbish time, and so he hated being in here on his own, with only Kreacher and his mother's disappointment to keep him company. It'd be like me never returning to the Burrow or Hogwarts and having to stay back in Privet Drive."
"Harry, I don't mean to be blunt, but you can't go back to Hogwarts and you decided to leave the Burrow. Unless you're going to make the most of it and make this house your home, you're going to have to return to your aunt and uncle's house." Harry nodded. "Luckily, you've got me," Draco continued, slipping into his trademark Malfoy drawl. "And I have quite the eye for making the best of a bad situation." Harry snorted as he pushed the cafétiere down through the hot water and called for the milk. "No sugar for me, and only a splash of milk, please. Anyway," Draco added almost as an afterthought, "Just because Sirius hated it here doesn't mean you have to. It's your opportunity to make this place whatever you want it to be." Draco pushed Harry down into a seat and poured the coffee for the two of them. "I'm going to try something and I want you to just go along with it."
"I knew there was something you used to say to make all those Slytherin girls fall over themselves to get to you but I never realised it was quite so blunt," Harry replied drily.
"Shut up. Now. When you think of this place, and I mean you, not what you thought because of your godfather – how do you think of it?"
"Busy. Always full of people, coming in and going out. Very noisy – that portrait didn't know which way was up, the door was opening and closing so often."
"Good. Okay, let's work from the bottom up. The kitchen."
"Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Massive casseroles, all of us squeezed around the table, Tonks changing her appearance for everyone, Sirius sitting at the head of the table, occasionally forgetting to look miserable and enjoying seeing everyone together again, feeling like he finally belonged here – ow!" Malfoy'd slapped Harry around the head.
"That's not you, that's him. Stop analysing Sirius and just think about what the kitchen meant to you."
Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Total chaos. Plans all over the table, everyone jostling for room but it was the closest to family I'd ever had outside of the Burrow." Malfoy nodded.
"Okay. Living room."
"Uncomfortable, we felt like we were on ceremony because of Mrs. Black's portrait. When people from outside of the Order came to talk, usually with Kingsley or occasionally Lupin, they'd be taken there because then the rest of the Order could hear what they were saying from a particular corner of the kitchen. It felt weird just sitting in there, the three of us, so usually we just sat in mine and Ron's room or the kitchen if everyone else had gone. But then, when it was Ron and Hermione and me here, we slept in the living room because it was closest to a door if we needed to get away, and it meant we were all together. Safety in numbers."
"First floor."
"I only went in that drawing room once, and only popped my head around Hermione and Ginny's door a couple of times. That drawing room gave me the chills, seeing all the major pureblood families mapped out on one wall, realising that you were all inter-related…" Draco rolled his eyes. "I think I felt a bit jealous, maybe a bit angry at Sirius in there."
"Why?" It wasn't rude, or demanding, it was just Draco encouraging Harry to talk about what this house meant to him.
"Because all I wanted was to have a massive wizarding family, where everyone from your mum to your distant cousin who you only saw at weddings understood things like Quidditch and the benefits of one charm over the other. Bearing in mind that the people I lived with were Muggles, and my aunt was terrified by magic because of what she thought it had done to her sister – my mother – the idea of having a family full of wizards seemed perfect to me. And Sirius had had that, but he threw it away and chose to be an outcast, whereas I had being an outcast thrust upon me." Silence hung in the kitchen, and self-consciously Harry took a sip of coffee.
"Your room," Draco prompted, his tone neutral.
"Mad, frantic planning. Hermione sitting here and us trying to work out what the Order were talking about."
"Third floor."
"I didn't spend much time there, but we used to hover on the landing, dangling Fred and George's Extendable Ears over the banister so we could hear their conversations."
"Fourth floor."
"Sirius's room. Made me feel closer to him, even though he'd been gone for nearly two years when I went up there. It helped me understand him – and my parents. He'd had a letter Mum had written to him, not long after I was born. His walls were covered with pictures of girls in bikinis, riding motorcycles," Harry laughed. "And done in the most obnoxiously Gryffindor colours, too. His brother's room was the opposite entirely. Silver and green, very Slytherin. But knowing what I do now about Regulus, he wasn't as bad as Sirius made him out to be."
"Potter trusting a Slytherin, I never thought I'd see the day," Malfoy drawled. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Oh yeah, and there was Buckbeak's room too…"
"Buckbeak?" Malfoy asked, sounding panicked. "He – he kept that thing here?"
"Oh yeah," Harry continued, seriously. "While Sirius was living here, he was like a pet." Draco's eyes darted from the ceiling and back. "He was left to me in his will, and I sent him back to Hagrid," Harry reassured him.
"Oh. Thank god." Harry laughed. "Not to be rude, Potter, but are we going to have dinner any time soon?"
"Do you know any household charms, like for cooking or anything?" Catching Draco's incredulous look, one eyebrow raised, Harry corrected himself. "No, of course not. Manual labour it is."
"What?" Draco sounded even more alarmed than he had at the prospect of Buckbeak still taking up residence two floors above his room.
"Well, if neither of us know how to make dinner with magic, we'll have to do it by hand. It's not difficult – it'll be good for you to try your hand at a days' hard work for once," Harry said, smiling. "It's pasta with tomato sauce and vegetables, probably the easiest thing you can do. Just start by filling the kettle and putting it to boil – on the hob, turn the ring on."
The pair spent the next half an hour happily getting their dinner prepared, Harry instructing Draco and Draco, to Harry's immense surprise, following Harry's orders. He wondered if he'd unconsciously cast an Imperius Curse on him for a brief moment.
"So, why did you learn this thing, if you were either living with your aunt and uncle, or at Hogwarts, or with the Weasleys?" Draco asked as he attempted to chop a pepper without cutting himself.
"My aunt wasn't overly fond of feeding me properly sometimes," Harry replied, gently taking the knife from Draco and turning it over so the sharp side was against the red pepper. "She gave me the choice of cooking for myself or starving, so I taught myself. Just the basics, you know, things like pasta, beans on toast, whatever I could manage from the scraps they'd left. Not that there were many with Dudley about." Harry turned to see Draco's wide-eyed stare and his knife coming dangerously close to his fingers. "Keep an eye on what you're doing!"
"You were left to fend for yourself at what, eleven?"
"Younger," Harry said, matter-of-factly, taking Draco's chopping board from him and stirring the chopped onions, peppers and garlic in a very well-used saucepan, adding the chopped tomatoes. He added some salt, a pinch of sugar and popped the saucepan lid back on and turned the heat up. Draco was still staring at him. "What?"
"I just… I can't believe you had to live like that," Draco said, quietly, and turned back to the pasta, giving it a stir to check how well it was coming along. "I'm not pretending that my childhood was difficult, not by any means, but – well, it just seems like maybe you and I have more in common than we'd like to believe." Harry looked at him sceptically. Draco raised his shoulders in defence. "I'm just saying – okay, so I never had to make my own dinner from the scraps I was left, but I was pretty much left to myself as a child. Father wouldn't have much to do with me, and Mother wouldn't have made any particular effort if my father had said to leave me be, so I was mostly raised by the house elf."
"What, Dobby?" Harry asked, reaching over Draco for the wooden spoon and lifting the saucepan lid, giving its contents a quick stir.
"Yeah. Took it out on him, too, no wonder he was never all that keen on me. Your friend Hermione, she might have some odd ideas about just how much freedom the house elves are supposed to have, but she was right about respect returning respect." Harry dropped the saucepan lid with a loud clatter on the flagstone floor.
"Sorry, did you just say that Hermione, a friend of mine, and a Muggle-born friend at that, was right about something?" Draco shrugged. "So, just to recap: friend of mine, Muggleborn, right."
"Honestly Potter, you'd think I was some sort of monster," Draco muttered darkly, elbowing him in the ribs good-naturedly. "But yes, if you treat them with some dignity they'll obviously be more inclined to do what you've asked them to do – and they'll go the extra mile, if needs be." Harry thought about Kreacher and the difference between his relationship with Sirius and with Regulus. "Is this nearly done?" Harry grabbed a teaspoon and tasted the sauce.
"Just about. Drain the pasta, would you, but keep some of the water back, then add the sauce to that pasta and then it's ready." He reached for two plates and two forks. "I bought some wine for with it – it's not brilliant, but it's something." Draco's face lit up.
"Now this is something I can do," he said, grinning. "Accio wine." The wine flew into his waiting hand. "Ducere", he commanded, and the cork came flying out, landing neatly in the plate of pasta Harry was in the process of serving out.
"You can have that one," he said levelly, and Draco burst out laughing, using magic to pour the wine into two waiting glasses. He floated one over to Harry and took the other.
"Cheers," he said, tilting his glass towards Harry.
"Cheers," Harry returned. "To fresh food and bad wine." Draco shook his head.
"To fresh starts." Harry paused and nodded his agreement. The two sipped in silence. "It smells great, Harry, really. It does."
