Title: "Cui Prodest"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: post-HBP
Summary: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + But when Malfoy insists he should move in with Harry, it gets even worse.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.
Disclaimer: 'Harry Potter' belongs to JKR. And I have nothing else to do but play with her characters. Yeah, right!
Special thanks: to my beta Lady Domino.
A/N: The song that Draco hears is 'Vindicated' by Dashboard Confessional. Apparently he could never have heard ot because it was written much later, but this is fiction, okay?)))
A/N2: Some readers expressed concerns about the Harry/Ginny pairing in the first chapter. I thought I'd clear the situation a bit: the main pairing here is HARRY/DRACO so you might stop worrying: there won't be any more H/G here. Almost. Those other pairings like H/G, R/Hr or whatever else might pop up into my head only appear for a few minutes in different parts of the story. They create the atmosphere and show that the story tries to follow the canon. That's all. No worries here, I dislike Ginny myself. :-D Thank you to those who reviewed! I love you, guys!
Chapter 2
Live And Let Die
I am colorblind.
Coffee black and egg white.
Pull me out from inside.
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready,
I am fine.
Counting Crows. 'Colorblind'
The sun cloaked the blurry silhouettes of the pyramids in a sheer haze the color of lemon drops. Dust smoked in the air over the sandy orange hillocks. A solitary sound drifted through the desert, monotonous and beautiful; the eerie singing which trickled from the high minarets of the nearest mosque.
The people who dwelt here were mostly simple folks with their roots deep in the soil; so deep, in fact, that, even if they should have had the inclination, it seemed impossible that they could ever rise from the fertile Nile mud which birthed them. In this century of pretense and open hostility they were genuine: kind, hard-working, illiterate and unaffected. They repaid good with some naïve devotion. For violence, likewise, retribution came swiftly.
Egypt. Once the richest nest of cunning spellweavers, masters of the rarest incantations; now just another dried up land that thrived exclusively on tourism.
Draco yearned to go there. Egypt haunted his dreams, boiled in his blood. He received no magical books or newspapers from his merciless supervisor but the magnificent deserts, rich oasis and imposing pyramids took his breath away even on the still pages of ordinary books. He knew that one day he'd relinquish everything that kept him in Britain and visit this country.
It was raining heavily outside. Draco lay under the blanket, a small flashlight in his hand, and looked through another tourists' magazine. Overjoyed travelers beamed at him, their glossy faces bearing the mark of some supernatural freedom that Draco had always envied.
Malfoy objected heavily to staying in this hotel after what had happened next door. According to Potter, it was too dangerous to move now, with the streets swarming with Voldemort's agents. Besides, two of them had already come here to make sure Draco was gone. They'd never look in the same place twice. Oddly enough, the 'speccy git' had a point. The refugee agreed to stay.
Almost a week had passed since Potter's last visit. Supplies were running out. Draco didn't dare tempt fate by going outside alone. Throughout this week he had had enough time to ponder the situation. He was alone, at the mercy of his enemies; he had no money, no family, he didn't trust anyone, and he was hunted. It reminded him of misfortunes that had befallen people trapped in cities under siege during the war. His situation wasn't that grave so far. Luckily, he could deal without thriving on rats and potato peel.
To his own great astonishment, he realized that he missed Potter. Of course, the bastard always provoked him into meaningless fighting and bickering but at least he was another human face beside Draco's own mirror image.
Lupin had offered him a deal, of a sort. The Order requested some names of him. Draco refused to talk. Not that he didn't want to receive proper magical shelter (preferably under Fidelius) or at least settle down in Grimmauld Place itself, but the thought of betraying even more people (most of them friends of his family, distant relatives, or parents of his former classmates) sickened him inexplicably.
So he was left waiting in the same hotel, gradually going mad due to the infuriating solitude. When it appeared he could take no more, Potter would come, make his life a little less miserable and vanish again. Draco had quickly noticed how seriously his visits affected Potter himself. It was another source amusement for the lonesome Malfoy.
But a week had passed, and no word came from Potter. Engrossed in studying those tourists' prospects, Draco barely noticed the flow of time, but it hung heavy on his mind, and finally he began to worry: what if something happened to him? What if Voldemort had already shattered this one link Draco had to the outside world?
By the end of the week, Malfoy was ready to wail in frustration. Boredom and loneliness nagged at him mercilessly, and lent him a boldness he did not have before. Under the shroud of night, he slipped away from the hotel and walked a few blocks, enjoying the chill and fresh air on his face. Every once in a while pale flashes of car lights washed over him and he would wince and seek shelter in the shadows of the alleys. His walk ended by a park gateway where a huge spotted owl dozed, its head enfolded in a collar of fluffy feathers.
Draco whistled quietly. The bird stared at him with its perfectly round yellowish saucers of eyes. The youth handed it an envelope.
"Go now, quickly," he said in a low voice. To his dismay, the ugly pit in his stomach did not leave with the bird.
The door creaked. Draco jumped and rushed to the hallway, forgetting all precautions. Accusations were ready flow off his tongue when he noticed the visitor wasn't exactly the Boy Who Forgot To Bring Him Food. A plump girl of about fourteen glared at him with wide-open eyes.
"Draco," the girl spoke and her shape began to change. She grew taller, her hair turned fair and fell in soft waves upon her declivous shoulders. Her slim figure was garbed in the finest Parisian silk.
"Mother!" Draco breathed. Not a second had passed before she flung herself into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder.
He pulled away and eyed her inquiringly. "What's wrong? Why aren't you in France?"
"I couldn't stay there; it's too dangerous now," Narcissa replied rapidly. "His spies are everywhere. I'm leaving for Prague one of these days. Come with me."
His heart went under. He always considered running as the very last option. His mother's eyes drilled him impatiently. Draco didn't dare look away.
"I can't," he said breaking the silence. "I have some unfinished business here."
"But he will kill you! He will not be at peace until he exterminates every last one of his enemies. We are already on the list!"
Her desolation frightened him. What began as an errand of great honour turned out to be the greatest of curses. Malfoy compressed his mother's warm fingers in his hands and softly brushed her knuckles with his lips.
"I know. I wish you well, Mother."
Tears glistened in her eyes. But Narcissa braced herself and touched the boy's cheek lovingly, then turned back into the insignificant teenager.
"There is something else you need to know," she said before departing. "Your father is gone."
Draco's head shot upwards. Narcissa gripped his hand firmly, placed a heavy ring on his right forefinger and whispered ardently:
"You are now officially the patriarch of the family. Remember that, Draco."
She disappeared, leaving him brimming with hurt and dizzying rage. The ring belonged to his father, an ancient black-on-green gemstone in silver framing, the family motto engraved on its inner side.
It passed to him now. His sole inheritance. As well as pride, dignity and lust for vengeance.
Terror bottled up inside him and burst out in the end, flooding every cell of his body.
"Bloody coward!" he roared in a passion of self loathing, smashing the remnants of his late supper into a mess. Pieces of cardboard, plastic, chunks of bread, tissues fell on the floor.
Shaking violently, Malfoy paced about the room. He had to get away from here. Alone, powerless, stuck in an unimaginable state of poverty and desperation, he felt useless and lost. A gun fired in the next room. Draco flinched. No, just a hallucination. He could do nothing about it. He tore the ring off his finger and hurled it at the wall. With a hushed jingle, it dropped underneath the table. He was unworthy of the title, of the surname, of his appearance that betrayed a Malfoy to the bone in him.
Draco tossed his petty possessions into his bag and cogitated feverishly where to go. Sickness submerged him. He overthrew the table and dug his fingers into the dust. Swallowing back tears, he fished the ring out of dirt and shoved it into his pocket.
Summer wind remained warm and sweet in his memory. It was nothing but chill now, that pitiless chill of late night that struck killing blows to the homeless and the sick. Pulling his bag after him, Draco plodded indifferently without direction. Over and over again, his mind refused to believe his mother's words. It was a cruel joke, nothing more. Over and over again, the wind sobered him and he knew his father was well and truly dead. And there was nothing, Nothing he could change about it.
Oblivious to the world around him, Draco tripped and fell, and remained still on the ground. The asphalt under him begain to soak. Draco groaned quietly. He was sure he hadn't hurt himself, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. Rolling his head he ran his eyes over the indifferent heavens. No stars. He wondered where all the stars had gone. Back in Malfoy Manor he had always had the pleasure of contemplating the clear night sky strewn with stars like diamonds.
He clambered back to his feet and strode forward, quivering.
Potter. Potter! Saint bloody Potter was responsible for everything! According to Draco's sources, his flat was located somewhere around here. Draco gritted his teeth and walked faster, still feeling a bit dizzy from his fall. He would demand every single answer with Potter and if the precious Golden Boy refused to speak… well, so much the worse for him.
There it was.
Draco examined the place with disgust. What a plebian hole! He banged on the door, allowing his fear and rampaging fury to cloud his mind, then stood stock-still, waiting for any reaction. Peace reigned in the hall, perturbed by his outburst for but a second. The neighbours seemed to have missed the noise.
Potter opened the door after a few minutes. His sleepy eyes gleamed with something next to shock as Draco burst in and crashed on the couch, got up instantly, walked about the room in broad circles, sat down again and repeated the whole procedure at least five times all in all.
"What is it?" Harry blurted out at last. "You were not supposed to–."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Malfoy snarled. "Who the hell gave you the right to keep me in the dark? Answer me, dammit!"
"Didn't tell you what!?" Harry asked icily.
"About my father!" Draco was on the verge of tears. He looked away, trying to calm down. His hands balled into fists. He took a deep breath and uttered in a more controlled tone, "You should have told me. Is that why you were avoiding me for a week?"
"I'm so sorry, Draco."
The blond grimaced sourly at the sound of his first name coming from those lips. The fall made itself known once again, in a dim ache which spread through the points of him that had hit the ground. Sickened, he shut his eyes, struggling to stand erect, and shouted:
"One bloody week!"
Potter mumbled something to clear himself but in his current situation Malfoy could hardly grasp the meaning of his words. When he opened his eyes, the room swayed before him and he ended up on the floor, a lump in his throat and throat and Potter's concerned face preventing him from seeing anything else. Those green eyes consumed everything. For the first time in all these years he'd known Potter, Draco gave full attention to the colour of his eyes.
'They're green,' he thought distantly. 'And quite striking for that matter. Even though they're hidden behind his awful ridiculous glasses.'
And then he passed out and was, in fact, quite happy about it because for once reality was so ruthlessly painful that he couldn't stand it anymore.
Draco's mind was playing foul tricks on him. The sense of smell returned first. Darkness expired into breaths of mint, spirits and fruit. Hearing restored itself a few seconds later. Quiet music was playing.
…let me slip away, so let me slip away,
let me slip away, let me slip away
Against the current,
Let me slip away…
And over the radio static a persistent voice was calling his name. Draco heard it as if he had fallen through the ice.
Vision came back last. He opened his steel-grey eyes and surveyed Potter with a touch of hostility.
"What the deuce has happened?"
"You tell me," Potter asserted. "You had blood all over your head. I treated the wound the best I could not being a medical attendant. It was a nasty one, indeed. Funny that you haven't noticed."
"Well," Draco muttered. "I have not. I fell, must have concussed myself or something. Leave it be."
He sat up carefully and was glad not to have a headrush. Everything seemed perfectly normal. He spotted his bag by the couch and announced expressionlessly, "Guess what? I'm staying here."
Potter was gulping tea at the moment and choked on it. "Beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. I'm not going back to that wretched place, no! So it's either here, or Grimmauld Place."
"You know you're not allowed there."
Draco shrugged. "Exactly."
Potter's small flat could be included in the Pureblood wizards' guide to the most apallingly poor and distasteful Muggle places ever, had such existed. Stuffed with boxes, trash and other evidence of moving in not so long ago, it had hardly enough space for one person to live in, not to mention two. Draco's lip curled unpleasantly when he realized what exactly he'd gotten himself into. But all in all, anything was better than the hotel.
Draco's bedroom was quickly transformed into a bedroom from something Potter had been using as a warehouse. The bed was relatively small, the window faced a dull brick wall. The view from Potter's room was no better, with only a bare yard and a highway to be seen.
Living with Potter was no good either. The idiot never washed his dishes, leaving piles of dirty plates in the sink for Draco to bear with and for cockroaches to feast on. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Still, dust swathed every surface, particles of it floating in the air around and tickling Draco's nose. Had Draco not been so lazy or predetermined to hire servants for doing dirty work, he would have attempted to clean the place himself, since it was painfully obvious that Potter was not even going to try.
However, there were some pleasant additions to this dreary picture – such as a huge square box with a flashy window that Potter referred to as 'telly'. Once Draco learnt how to use it, he became positively glued to the screen and watched anything so long as it was moving, and talking, and changing colors ten times better than photographs in wizarding magazines. Soon he came across a 'National Geographic' programme that captured his heart by taking him finally to Egypt. He piled blankets on the floor and rested within a few inches from the screen as if hoping that somehow Saqqara's burning winds would dive out of it and whirl him away. It was only when Potter mentioned that eye-sight could suffer greatly because of that ('Be careful unless you want to wear glasses like I do.') that Draco moved back to the couch.
Several days passed in that fashion. Potter was absent most of the time. He came home late at night, stuffed Draco with Muggle junk food because he had no time to cook properly and fell asleep within a few minutes after having crashed on the bed. Insomniac and incredibly tired, Draco envied him greatly.
The night came when finally his eye-lids felt heavy enough and dropped closed as soon as his head hit the pillow. Drifting off to dream, Draco half-smiled. But it wasn't meant to be. He woke up to quiet moaning that echoed through the entire room. At first, he could not detect the source of those muffled sounds. Outside? The window was half-open. Someone in the next appartment? 'Merlin! These damn walls are so thin.' Then it hit him: Potter's bedroom! Malfoy tucked his head under the pillow and grumbled, "Do I get some sleep tonight, or what?"
Clearly Potter was enjoying himself. Draco chuckled, amused, pulled himself out of the bed and tiptoed to the hall. He pressed his ear to the door – right. It would be both wise and polite to leave immediately and not pursue the matter. Much to Draco's dismay, the sounds became even louder. The blond allowed himself another wry grimace.
"I should probably let him finish," he said quietly to himself. "On the other hand, should I, really?"
He made a sleepy face to enhance the effect and knocked on the door. A loud thud followed (Potter must have fell off the bed!), then swearing and the rustling of paper and, finally, Harry's irritated voice, "Yes!"
Fighting back laughter, Malfoy banged the door open imposingly.
"At least cast the Silencing Charm next time, will you?" he remarked and disappeared back into the corridor.
A few minutes later (beside himself with anger, Potter was reacting incredibly slowly) footsteps were heard. The youth stormed into the kitchen where Malfoy was casually sipping juice and barked:
"Never do that again! What I do in my own bedroom is none of your concern!"
"Not if it has such a heavy soundtrack that it reverberates through the entire flat," Malfoy replied dryly.
The walls around him shook and swapped places for a moment as Potter slapped him in the face with all his might. Draco simply stared at him. The brat looked undeniably beautiful this way: breathless in fury, with nothing but his underwear on. His nostrils flared. His forever-untidy black hair, dishevelled, never to be tamed by a comb, for once did not look ridiculous.
Potter stirred uncomfortably.
"What!?"
Malfoy looked away and smiled. "No one told you it'd be easy for us to live together, Potter. It's us."
"The hell it is. It is me and you, an unimaginable nuisance that I have to look after for no apparent reason!"
"Why are you so angry? Because I interrupted something important? Well, go back to your bloody jerking off, I'm very sorry!"
Harry gasped in indignation and uttered in a constrained voice, "I was not–." Ignoring him Draco stormed out and dived into his own room.
The door slammed shut behind Draco. His mind went blissfully numb with exhaustion and soon he was fast asleep.