CHAPTER ONE: Home for the Holidays
It was an unusually cold dawn for Privet Drive on one late June morning when Harry Potter woke up to a mighty rumbling coming from the guest bedroom. Getting out of his bed, he started his morning as he had spent the previous four since returning from Hogwarts early for summer vacation. He scanned the street, looking for any sign of the members of the Order of the Phoenix he assumed were watching him. At least he hoped they were.
Over previous summers, it had annoyed Harry to learn of Dumbledore's secret plans for his protection, but this summer it was a rare comfort. Lately he felt out of control of his own life. This summer was filtered with the good and bad. A tremendous amount of anticipation was swelling in his heart. The certain knowledge that when the protection spell expired on his birthday at the end of July he would be leaving and never have to return to stay with his overbearing Uncle Vernon, his snooty Aunt Petunia and his odious slug of a cousin, Dudley, ever again. But that eventual freedom came at a high price. Ordered by Dumbledore to stay there until his birthday, he would have little contact with his friends or his girlfriend. Sent home early due to the attack on Hogwarts by the Death Eaters, there was a chance the school would not reopen in the fall unless Professor Dumbledore could charm the Ministry of Magic and the board of school governors into allowing it.
His early arrival home had most definitely not gone over well. There was nobody waiting for him at the train station because the letter explaining the early dismissal was sent by owl and Vernon Dursley would never do anything as abnormal as read a letter delivered by an owl. Unable to use magic legally due to his age, Harry was still able to catch a ride home on the Knight Bus. He noted that the conductor was not Stan Shunpike, who was unjustly locked away in the wizard prison of Azkaban, but instead a very quiet portly wizard named Pemberly, who had a tendency to tremble. Thinking of the shaking wizard, Harry kicked the wall of his bedroom, stubbing his toe quite badly. He muffled a scream as the great rumbling in the house was briefly replaced with a grunt before resuming.
Harry released a slight sigh of relief that the rumbling was not halted entirely as he returned to his thoughts. Vernon would not want her disturbed at all.
Too many wizards were afraid nowadays. Voldemort was on the loose recruiting and raising an army. They were killing and torturing at will, while he was stuck in the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive under his headmaster's orders. The attack on the school had driven a fearful wizarding population to near madness according to The Daily Prophet he picked up the day after the attack. The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeor, was on the cover, his picture talking animatedly at a podium under a headline that read "Minister Calls For Closing Hogwarts."
All this was happening while he, "The Chosen One", the Boy-Who-Lived, the one destined from before birth to battle Voldemort to the death, was stuck without his wand and alone in the home of his overbearing muggle relatives.
Vernon Dursley was so outraged at not only seeing his wife's nephew again, and nearly a week early at that, he grabbed Harry's wand before he had set two feet in the front door.
"No bloody magic!" he had bellowed. Despite Harry's constant protesting over the rest of the day Vernon would neither explain his actions nor return or even tell Harry where the wand was kept. Harry had tried explaining calmly that he might need it for protection. When that did not work, he screamed that it was his property and it had better be returned to him. Yet every last ounce of fear that the Dursleys had built up over the last six years in regards to magic was replaced by a fear of something far more deadly: Mrs. Katharine Francine Claremont Dursley.
If every trait that Harry failed to respect in the other Dursleys (anger, pride, narrow-mindedness, overbearing opinions, a complete and utter lack of tact or civility, gluttony, bigotry against the strange, i.e. Harry, his late-parents and other magical people, and a few other things Harry considered himself too much of a gentleman to list) were to be combined inside a single human being, it would be his Great-Aunt Katharine.
The first morning back Harry's trunk was missing. Vernon had hidden it away with his wand and threatened Harry that if his dearest Mummy were to have the slightest indication of Harry's "abnormality," then the wand would be broken and the trunk burned. As terrifying as the destruction of his wand would be (no wand works as well for a wizard as the first one that chooses him or her does), the trunk was utterly irreplaceable. Besides his Firebolt broom, which was expensive but available elsewhere, the trunk held everything Harry had left of his parents. His father's Invisibility Cloak was in there, as well as the scrapbook Hagrid had made for him, full of magical moving pictures of his parents, including the one from their wedding, which was the only remaining picture of his beloved godfather Sirius Black. Losing them would be unbearable. So Harry bit his tongue for the rest of the day.
When Katharine arrived that night, he carried her luggage up to the guest bedroom as she swooned over her "precious grandbaby Dudley" and commented none too quietly that it was a shame "the whelp" was still living with them. Katharine was nearly as large as the three younger Dursleys combined and was even crueler in her comments than her daughter, Marge. The following few days had been nearly unbearable for Harry. The closest he came to upsetting Uncle Vernon was excusing himself from the dinner table when Katharine referred to Harry's mother as "that strumpet whore, who couldn't find a fine husband as Petunia had." It was most fortunate Harry tuned out to mealtime conversations after that or he might have become the first wizard to attempt a wandless Killing Curse. Unfortunately, Harry still glanced at her now and then. He believed this woman wore more make-up than anyone he had ever met before and had a tendency to always have a bit of food dangling from her lower lip.
Katharine Claremont had been born in the 1930s to a well-off paper merchant in London. When he died in the Second Great muggle war of the century, Katharine's mother began running the business and taught her daughters their Golden Rule, "God helps those that help themselves." She used the phrase diligently to this very day. Should he ever be asked, Harry would swear to seeing his great-aunt come back from the poor box at church with more change than she arrived with. She married Samuel Dursley, a jolly and promising barrister, and within a decade had driven him to drink himself to death, while her own business flourished, opening regional distribution centers throughout the United Kingdom.
That morning, Harry once again did his very best to sit and not be seen or heard again.
"Well Vernon, dear," Katharine forced out in between bites. "If they're money's green take it, but Lord knows how cautious I was before getting into business with those types. I mean, for heavens sake, the Irish! Just a load of violent insurrectionists. And they're drunkards the lot of them. Didn't your sister marry some slug Irishman, Petunia dear?"
"He was a strange one, but I never took to learning his nationality," Petunia answered while enjoying a cup of tea. Of everyone in the family, next to Harry, Petunia looked the least at ease with Katharine's comments, but not enough to object.
"Probably Irish, not a good seed amongst them Vernon," Katharine continued. "But they need paper and, I'm sure, drill bits so we must endure them. After all, God helps those that help themselves."
Harry bit his tongue until he drew blood. He decided to avoid any possible punishment involved in telling them that both Harry and his father were actually Welsh and that he knew more than a few Irish students that were far more tolerable than the people he was surrounded by today.
After breakfast this particular morning, Uncle Vernon took his mother out shopping at the large plaza downtown. Harry took the rare opportunity to sneak about looking for his wand, but his aunt soon discovered him and sent him up to his room, promising that Vernon would hear about this if he tried it again. So it was this Saturday morning that Harry sat alone up in his room with only Hedwig for company. Harry removed the muzzle that Uncle Vernon insisted the bird wear whenever his mother was at the house under strict penalty of trunk burning. Hedwig pecked at his hand something fierce and floated over to the window and began tapping.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. He found he truly meant it as he wiped away tears. "I know it's horrid. This is no way for you to spend the holiday."
Harry took out a piece of paper and a pen. He found he truly missed the elegance of a quill. His writing was even more atrocious than usual with the unfamiliar device. He quickly wrote down a pair of letters to his best friend, Ron Weasley, and his sister, Ginny, and tossed Hedwig his last few owl treats in a bid to appease the proud bird.
Dear Ron,
I am sorry for not writing yet, but a problem came up and I am unable to keep Hedwig here. Just the Dursleys being the Dursleys. I will most definitely be at the Burrow on July 31st, and look forward to the wedding later that week. I really hope your offer to spend the rest of the summer together is still good. Please take care of Hedwig and pass my regards onto Hermione and your family. Stay safe.
Your friend,
Harry
Dear Ginny,
I am sorry for not writing you sooner and I miss you a lot. Please don't feel bad about not being able to talk much this summer. Just more problems with the Dursleys, but I'll be all right. I will see you on my birthday and very much hope you save more than one or two dances at the wedding for me. Congratulations on being a bridesmaid. I'm sure you'll be beautiful. Until then I am,
Yours,
Harry
Considering he had never attempted to write a letter to a girlfriend before, Harry was quite proud of his effort. He knew Ginny would like it; she didn't need anything more special than Harry being himself. Harry attached these two letters to Hedwig's leg and opened the window with instructions to take them to the Burrow and stay there for the rest of the month. As the bird nodded and flew off a bit quicker than usual, Harry stuck his head out the window and took a deep breath of free air. He had spent almost no time outside this summer, sequestering himself alone in his room. But it was most fortunate that he stuck his head out the window at this moment. For this just happened to be the one where a soft, yet noticeable pop could be heard near the front door.
Fearing the worst, Harry looked back and forth, expecting Order members to be charging at the intruder and protecting the unarmed Harry. Instead, Harry heard a familiar voice and the doorbell rang. Harry bolted out the door of his room and took the steps four at a time to beat Dudley to it. He recognized the voice and no Death Eater would be considerate enough to ring the bell before killing him. Whipping the door open Harry beheld the smiling face of Professor Albus Dumbledore. Quickly giving him a hug, Harry noticed the warped wooden cane he was using to support himself on his good left hand. He looked tired, but was smiling widely and returned Harry's embrace with a pat on the back from his bad hand.
"Well I must say, I am most pleased to see you so soon as well Harry," Dumbledore said. He then looked past Harry and continued, "Please forgive me for not calling ahead, but a most urgent matter came up I needed to discuss with you. May my companion and I enter, Petunia?"
"Of course," Harry answered before his aunt could voice her objection. She simply turned around and puttered into the kitchen, no doubt terrified of Vernon's reaction to the old wizard being there when he and his mother returned within the hour. As Dumbledore headed towards the sitting room, Harry took his first notice of the companion that the headmaster had mentioned. It was a young man just about six feet tall like Harry himself and dressed in a brown cloak with the hood up. His brown eyes were partially obscured by his messy hair. It had some red to it, but not nearly as much as Ron or any of the Weasleys. It was more of an auburn-brown. The stranger's complexion was slightly pale, but not overly so. Harry began to think how this person looked somewhat like—.
His evaluation was interrupted as the boy pulled his hood higher and followed Dumbledore into the sitting room. Albus gingerly planted himself on the sofa. The boy set down the large white book he had been clutching desperately to his side on the table and sat down when the headmaster looked to him and said, "Why don't you join Dudley and his mother in the kitchen while I speak to Harry? Though they don't look too similar, Petunia was Lily Potter's sister in case you were wondering."
The mysterious stranger took a couple nervous steps towards the door, before quickly turning on his heel and retrieving his book. Clutching it to his chest, he nodded and mumbled something at Dumbledore before leaving. Looking after him, Harry heard his aunt gasp in the other room before walking quickly past the sitting room doorway (pushing her son ahead of her) and out the front door where he heard her tell Dudley to sit down on the front stoop. Harry then sat down in the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited for him to speak. Dumbledore conjured himself some tea and offered Harry a cup. The older man seemed to want to put off what he was about to say as long as he could.
"Harry," he eventually began, "I know in the past I have made mistakes in hiding truths about your past from you. Concealing the truth, while sometimes necessary, is also what made me responsible for Sirius' death—"
Harry started to raise his head to object, but silenced as the professor raised his wounded right hand to halt him. He simply continued speaking, "Regardless of that I have come here today to reveal another truth to you. One that was hidden from me until just last night and one that I suspect… rather I hope, will give you another great ally in defeating Voldemort. It is my desire that this individual will become as loyal a compatriot as Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. And someone who will, like them, accompany you on quests that I am no longer able to, due to my injuries."
"Sir," Harry set down his tea and looked his favorite professor in his eyes. He noted the near constant sparkle in them was greatly lessened since the night they failed to recover a Horcrux. "Are—Are you---"
"Just not my former strength, though I still know a thing or two," he smiled and sipped his tea. "I unfortunately will be little help in a direct battle with Voldemort, but I am helping in other ways."
"How sir?"
Harry immediately regretted saying it. It came out sounding like an attack that he didn't think Dumbledore was doing his part, which was anything but the truth; certainly not how he felt.
"Well, I suppose if I am here talking about the truth, you deserve specifics. Firstly, I wanted to let you know in regards to the locket we found, I recognized the handwriting of the note as Regulus Black, Sirius' brother. He found himself in trouble more often than Sirius himself during his school days, he was of course the preferred son of that family. Apparently there was a bit of his brother to him since he betrayed his master to his own death, but not before taking one of the Horcruxes, a seventh of Tom Riddle's soul. It turns out all these last 20 years it resided safely in—"
"The House of Black. My house."
"Very good Harry," Dumbledore corrected with a smile. "Unfortunately, I learned from your house elf Kreacher it was removed from its home by our good friend Mundungus as he was stealing valuables that Sirius had left to you."
"But then he must know where it is. We have to talk to him. We have to go to Azkaban."
"Most definitely Harry, however that is not easily done, even more-so since the Dementors abandoned it. The Minister is not very receptive for my requests to visit, but I believe I will convince him of it. We are meeting in just another week about it and other matters."
Harry took another drink of tea. He could hear Dumbledore's companion pacing on the tiles of the kitchen floor, but turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
"Are you meeting about Hogwarts, Professor?"
"Yes, I fear as much as we are in a battle against Voldemort for our very lives that we must battle those who should be aiding us for other things we hold just as dear. I will not let Hogwarts fail. Don't worry Harry. My greatest desire, just as much as victory is that we pass through to this victory with something to pass on to those that come after us. Even if I myself do not survive this war, it is my wish that Hogwarts lives on. So it may pass its' magic onto more young witches and wizards like yourself, even unto future generations."
"I do too, sir. I think it will, that is, Hogwarts will stay open."
"Of course Harry. Some things in this world are temporary and fleeting. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is most certainly not. Hogwarts is meant to continue on and last beyond my days and even yours. Some things are meant to last."
Dumbledore refilled his cup with a tap from his wand and took another long drink. Harry noted that he seemed paler, more tired than he usually was. But still it was a great improvement over the night they returned from the cave. Eventually, he decided Dumbledore would continue putting off explaining things to him, so he took the initiative and spoke up himself, saying, "Professor, sir, is that Malfoy in the kitchen?"
"What makes you think that Harry?" Dumbledore asked as his smile widened, seemingly indicating the guess was correct.
"Well, I only caught a glimpse, but it was basically him. His eyes and hair are different and he isn't quite as pale. My guess would be that a concealment charm was involved."
"You would be correct in that assumption Harry. Though not as you think."
"And I suppose he was the ally you were talking about, that's why you had us cover up the fact that he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts or that he was trying to murder you. That he nearly killed—"
"I know that was hard for you Harry, but—"
"But if he's in Azkaban for committing Unforgivable Curses and nearly murdering my best friend and Katie Bell and you, the rest of the wizarding world, even the rest of the Order, wouldn't exactly welcome him with open arms. Would they, Professor?"
Harry found he was now standing and the house was eerily silent. There were no more tapping steps in the kitchen. There were no more whispers on the porch. He found he was breathing too fast and attempted to calm himself and sit down.
"I would remind you that Draco is on our side now and so we must be willing to accept that he has changed. He must come to live with all the choices of his life, including those that led him to our side in this war. We must have faith in him like—"
"Like Snape," Harry completed the sentence without looking up.
"Yes, Harry, like Professor Snape, who betrayed Voldemort because of his part in the harm done to Lily Potter, a girl he found against his own beliefs he cared about. Oh yes, Harry, Snape did care for your mother in his own way, even if the feelings were never admitted even to himself and not returned. In all my many years as his teacher, colleague and friend, Professor Snape would never forgive himself for being so easily led to the service of Riddle. That he had betrayed a young woman who had never done less than stand up for him, even to the love of her life is a mark far more painful than Voldemort's. I wish you could have been his ally as I was, Harry. The only way to trust is completely, or it is something different entirely. As much as he wanted to protect the bits of your mother he saw in you, he never could forgive the pieces of your father. And just as his care for others stopped him from his dark path... just as Lily saved you with her love, I believe it will be her everlasting love and James' that saves Draco."
Harry now stared at Dumbledore with his mouth hanging open. How would his mother's love help Malfoy? Had Snape loved Lily? Did she know? Did James? Chuckling briefly at Harry's appearance, Dumbledore raised his voice and called out for Draco to come join them. As he stepped into the sitting room, Draco had already pulled back the hood. He walked over and sat in a chair to Harry's right and held his book on his lap.
"Perhaps the direct approach is the best. The night of the attack I sent Draco home to collect his possessions and his mother, who I had believed loved her son enough to leave the service of Voldemort with him. I regret that I was incorrect. Draco managed to overhear her plotting with her sister, Bellatrix, and only just managed to escape."
Harry found more than a year later, he still winced at the name of the woman he had watched murder Sirius. Draco noticed that and catalogued the reaction. It seemed he was noticing things more readily and with clearer eyes these last few days. He supposed it had something to do with his eyes being opened, literally.
"When Hagrid, Remus and Tonks arrived that morning to collect them, they were attacked and the Black sisters escaped to continue in service to their Lord Voldemort. Draco managed to find his way alone to Hogwarts a few days later without being noticed or discovered by our enemies with a book that explained much about Mrs. Malfoy's unexpected actions."
Harry's eyes flashed back to the large white book, and then back to Dumbledore, who lifted from his own cloak two pieces of cloth with writing in them. As Harry examined the names on them, he looked up at Dumbledore and wondered if this was supposed to answer his questions. Noticing this, Dumbledore continued, "These people took something important to a person and bound it in these ribbons, signed in blood, to perform an ancient piece of Dark Magic known as the Capito Charm. A distant modification of the Fidelius Charm, it binds with it all knowledge, memories and evidence of a person's existence and replaces it with those of another. Given how hard it is for the spell to reach out and cover both memories and evidence of a person's existence it is especially difficult to cast effectively. By changing his appearance as little as possible to have the traits of a Malfoy, making him nearly the same age and even keeping his first name, they made the spell all the more stronger. The less of the truth they had to destroy the more certain its success would be. The blood oath prevents the casters, of which there must be seven, from explaining the truth of a person's identity to anyone. Show him, Draco."
"I don't—fine."
Draco looked at Dumbledore and then to Harry before he opened the book. Harry couldn't see much of it, as Malfoy was leaning over it and looking for a certain page. The book seemed to be in actuality a thick photo album. He seemed to find what he was looking for and set it on the table, turning it towards Harry, who leaned forward since Draco would not let go of the book entirely. There were moving wizard pictures and the page he was looking at was of a couple. His parents; and they were each smiling widely and holding a small bundle, a pair of babies. In elegant scripting on a piece of parchment beneath the photograph read: James, Lily, Harry and Draco: the Potters.
Harry's eyes went white for a second he stood, staggering back away from the table. He stared disbelievingly at the book, then Professor Dumbledore, then finally to Malfoy… Draco, who would not raise his eyes. His hair wasn't slicked back and white-blond anymore. It was a familiar shade of reddish-brown. It was hung loosely, falling over his eyes and his skin tone was a bit darker and healthier. He reminded Harry of Lily. Except the eyes, which were not emerald green, like Harry and his mother or light grey as they had once been. They were brown. They were James Potter's eyes.
"I don't believe it," Harry said, closing and opening his eyes. "It's like I said before. He's using a concealment charm and that—that book cast a spell on us, to trick us."
"That's what I said," Draco finally spoke as he picked up the book and began looking at the picture. "But things I heard Bellatrix and my moth—that I heard them talking about. The fact that the face in the mirror the last four days hasn't been my own and Dumbledore remembering when he saw the book all seems to add up. I don't want it to be true either. I mean I'm a Malfoy. I'm not a bloody Potter! Not some half-blood."
Raising his voice slightly, Dumbledore spoke to them both, "Desire has little to do with it. This is the truth. You are Harry James and Draco Patrick Potter and you are twin brothers. Your parents loved you both and feared that you both would be targets to Voldemort after he learned of a prophesy given to me by Professor Trelawney from his spy Severus Snape. You were, all of you, betrayed by Peter Pettigrew and discovered by Voldemort. The only questions left are how that night Harry ended marked and destined to battle his parents' murderer to the death and Draco came to be captured by that murderer's followers and hidden to be raised as an enemy to his brother. That truth only the two of you together can discover for certain. You can finally and definitively see what happened to the Potters on that dark night."
Both Harry and Draco turned and looked at Dumbledore after his declaration. Apparently, this was a new revelation for both of them. Harry was the one who spoke up and asked, "How?"
Nodding towards Draco, Dumbledore explained, "The book was taken for the spell because it is not only the location of a majority of the evidence of Draco's existence as a Potter, but it is a very powerful magic item. Even now, I can feel the magic radiating off of it. Your parents left it so the two of you could experience the past in a way no other can. Together you can journey back into the memories associated with these pictures as if preserved in a pensieve. Memories that survive the person who experienced them is no easy feat of magic. Even the memories of a pensieve will float away when its creator dies and takes the binding magic of the cauldron with them. And the flash before your eyes Harry was the veil being lifted. Anyone who looks at or spends a bit of time around the book will have his or her memories restored. Although in your case, Harry, you were so young there are none to reclaim, at least outside of your dreams. I leave it to both of you when others learn the truth, although those closest to your family will begin to regain their memories on their own in the coming weeks. The truth has been released and cannot be locked again. The only ones who have as of yet learned Draco's true identity are in this room. But your Aunt Petunia will most likely experience the return of her proper memories within a few hours even being in the same house as the book, or in her case just outside the house."
"A few hours?" Harry asked. "How long are you staying? If Uncle Vernon sees you here with his mother… Professor, he threatened to break my wand."
"Not to worry about that Harry. I sadly have to return to Hogwarts shortly and continue my search for information concerning the remaining Horcruxes," Dumbledore said. "But Draco will be here to help keep your Uncle's actions respectable."
"What!" Harry yelled.
"Once again not my idea Potter," Draco added.
"Well, you will need him and the book to discover what truly happened to your family," Dumbledore said, rising. "The only people who know he is here are myself, Hagrid and Professor McGonagall. We feel you will both be safest in each other's company until the start of the school year."
"But—But I'm leaving for the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding on my birthday," Harry explained. "You can't expect him to come along?"
"Thanks a bunch, Potter. Like I'd want to go slumming with you at Weasel's poor excuse for a hovel."
Tapping his cane against the coffee table, Dumbledore spoke in a voice that left no room for interpretation to his intents or orders. "That is quite enough of that talk, Draco. You will, of course, go to the wedding and conduct yourself with all the manners expected of any Hogwarts student. Most of the Order is attending the ceremony and we could not guarantee your safety anywhere else at that time. And rest assured that the servants of Voldemort hold you as a target second only to members of the Order for betraying them at Hogwarts. And soon more than any save Harry when Voldemort recovers his memories of your true identity. More importantly, you BOTH," he stressed nodding towards Harry, "Are the only family the other has in the wizarding world. The great rift between the two of you may seem defined and insurmountable, but it was only a lie that caused the rift in the first place. Despite what you both think, your natural place is by the other's side. I believe you will both remember and come to depend on that before the end."
Removing a note from his cloak and placing it on the table, Dumbledore collected the two ribbons and said, "I will see you both in a few weeks time at the Burrow. This note will explain everything to your aunt once she decides to join you inside. Harry, I have already explained everything we know about Voldemort's plans to Draco. He is as well-informed as Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, so perhaps you two can discuss the situation together. And let me ask you both to make an effort this holiday to accept each other as allies if nothing else. I look forward to seeing you both shortly."
With a nearly silent pop, Professor Dumbledore disappeared and a large trunk and cage with an eagle owl appeared in the hallway. Neither boy spoke for several minutes. Eventually Harry decided to sit down in the chair opposite Draco and began staring at him. Harry studied the features that seemed so familiar from the picture of his mother and so unusual in the person of Draco Malfoy. It was still basically Draco's face. Not much had changed besides his eyes and hair, but the lowered head and quiet attitude seemed to reflect a different side to Draco. Harry had seen it in the mirror of the bathroom at Hogwarts before they nearly killed one another.
He couldn't trust him. This was the man who nearly killed his best friend, who tried to kill Dumbledore and who had used Unforgivable Curses. Then Harry remembered himself in the Ministry casting the Cruciatus Curse at Bellatrix after she murdered Sirius. And of course, by destiny and desire, he would at least attempt to cast one Killing Curse in his final battle with Voldemort.
Then Harry thought about his godfather. He was probably Draco's as well. He would have loved them both the same and wanted to take care of them both. But he died never getting to remember Draco.
For about fifteen minutes, he started thinking about the 'what ifs' of their lives. If Dumbledore was telling them the truth, what would have happened if his… if their parents had lived. They would have grown up together. Or if they still died, but Hagrid brought them both to Privet Drive. He wouldn't have been alone. But there were still only questions. Would Draco still hate muggleborns, even if his mother was one? Would he be in Slytherin or Gryffindor? Would they have the same friends? Maybe they would be end up like Sirius and his own brother, on opposite sides of a war. Of course, now there was the immediate concern of what to do with him.
As if on cue, Harry heard Uncle Vernon walking up the front yard asking Petunia and Dudley what they were doing on the lawn. The front door slammed open as he bellowed, "What have you done now?"
Turning into the sitting room, Vernon's face had apparently skipped turning red and proceeded directly to a very deep purple, resembling a puffy, hairy grape. "Whatever you did, BOY, you had better undo before my mummy dearest gets up the walk. Dudley is helping her out of the car now and I won't have you embarrassing me in fron—"
It was now Vernon noticed the young man sitting across from Harry, wearing of all things, a cloak. Then he turned his head towards the hallway and saw his luggage.
"What is this thing doing here?" he asked pointing a stubby finger at Draco. "What is it doing here with a trunk and AN OWL!"
Wondering why he was being forced put up with all this abuse for none other than his most hated rival, Harry answered curtly, "This is Draco. He's staying with us."
"Absolutely not, you are both leaving here right this instant," Vernon replied. "I swear I will never forgive the freakishness you have brought into my house. I am going to smash that wand into a million little pieces and—"
"Silencio."
Vernon continued screaming at them, but Draco's spell drowned out the volume.
"Wait, if we're twins, than you're still 16. What if the Ministry finds out you were performing magic?" Harry asked, though silently grateful.
Shrugging, Draco replied, "Well I'm a Malfoy and now 17 as far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned and can do whatever he wants as long as it doesn't expose the wizarding world any more than it already is."
Vernon continued moving his mouth and shaking his hand very animatedly, but thankfully all that was heard was Petunia talking to Katharine on the front path. Harry nodded at Draco and said, "Thanks, but this will only make it worse. Let's get your trunk upstairs. You'll have to share a room with me or Dudley."
"Bad enough I have to stay in one of the rooms in this muggle-infested puny house, but I don't even have my own room?!"
Walking past a purple-faced Vernon, Draco levitated his trunk and picked up his owl cage. He turned and asked Harry, "Is Dudley anything like him?" Harry nodded. "Then, and never tell anyone I said this or I'll hex you into oblivion, but I'll stay in your room."
Harry led the way up the stairs and Draco asked him, "How do you put up with these insufferable muggles every summer?"
"They're my penance for not having to see you. Now let Vernon free or we'll never hear the end of it, Malfoy."
Draco stopped at the name, as Harry and his trunk continued moving upward. Glancing in a mirror to his right, he remembered that this face didn't adopt his usual expressionless mask as easily as it had a week ago. Without a word, Draco started walking upstairs again and countered the spell on Vernon, who let out a monstrous scream just as his mother walked through the front door.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: Thank you for reading. I look forward to all positive and constructive criticism on my first Harry Potter FF.