Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this chapter, other than the writing itself.

AN: Hi! So, a month is probably an unacceptable wait for a chapter, but I'm pretty pleased because this is the first one I started from scratch after posting the previous chapter. I think it might also be my favourite so far. Also, I'm staring University in three weeks (THREE WEEKS!), so I have no idea when the next update will be, especially as I have no plan for the immediate future of the fic. Expect a wait. Thanks for reading!

Warning: A little bit of language here. Our boys do have tempers, after all.

Chapter Three – Harry Potter and the Reluctant Hippogriff

Wednesday: 2nd December, 1998

"I, Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa Black, request sanctuary at the Black family residence, having been forcibly evicted from my ancestral home and left with no other place to turn."

Potter blinked. "You… what?"

"Basically, I'm homeless." Draco said, squirming. "I could have gone to a shelter, but I figured I might as well just come here. You were always doing so many good deeds in school; I figured why would you stop now? Better the angel you know than the one you don't," he rambled.

"Devil," Potter supplied distractedly, staring vaguely into the middle distance.

"Hmm?"

"Better the devil you know. That's how the phrase goes."

Draco smirked. "Well, I didn't really think it was applicable. But if you'd rather I-"

"I'm not buying it," Potter interrupted with an air of finality, and calmly began to eat.

Draco bit back his words; he hadn't been expecting that. If he was honest, he'd expected… Well, laughter; or gloating; or a 'Why should I care?'
He swallowed, and tried again. "Look, whether you believe it or not, nothing changes. I really have been made to leave. The ancient appeal-"

"Not that," Potter cut in again, and Draco's hand twitched towards his wand. "I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for you being kicked out of the Manor. It's the coming here part I don't like. Why would you come to my house? Malfoy, you're the proudest person I know – and not in the good way; surely this has got to be…" At that point his manners seemed to kick in again, and he trailed off.

"Terribly shameful, yes," Draco finished drily. "But it's not your house, Potter, it's—"

"It is my house! Sirius left it to me, and—"

"If you'd just stop interrupting!" Draco snapped.

He could seethe struggle as Potter held back his words. One hand had clenched around his spoon, and when Draco raised a judgemental brow, he pushed the bowl away roughly. Finally, he took a calming breath, shoving one hand messily through his hair, and then nodded. "Go on."

"Yes," Draco continued, after a further moment's pause. "The house is legally yours. First and foremost, however, twelve Grimmauld Place is the Black family residence, in the same way the Manor is the home of the Malfoy's."

There was a pause, while he took this in. "And Shell Cottage?" Potter asked.

"What?"

"Bill Weasley's house," he elaborated. "He's a pureblood; is that a family residence too?"

Draco was silent for long seconds. This is Potter, he reminded himself. He defies logic. Just humour him before you're hurt or humiliated.

"Well… no, actually. There's only one family residence for each line, and the Weasley's official home is the Burrow," he explained. "But Potter, why are you asking about that?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Draco frowned, and took a small calming breath of his own. "Surely you must have other questions."

"Surely I must," Potter agreed, picking up his tea. "But you haven't answered my last, yet. Why didn't you go to your friends, or someplace you'd be guaranteed anonymity? Why come to Grimmauld Place – Black residence or not – when you know I live here?"

"Because they could still throw me out, whereas you-"

Draco paused, Potter watching him expectantly over the top of his cup. You have to let me stay. He'd been relying on this point, but now that it came down to it, he didn't want to admit it. The request had been made, an ancient appeal, and Potter had no choice now but to gift him with sanctuary, however reluctant he was. But the appeal didn't stop Draco from leaving, and suddenly he knew that if Potter didn't want him, he would go. He didn't know if it was the unwarranted kindness, or the sight of Potter moving about the room with such relaxed ease, as if it really was his home. But whatever it was, Draco knew he would never feel right intruding.

"Because I'm safer here," he concluded instead.

Potter was silent for a while, frowning as he apparently drew his own conclusions from Draco's words; Draco tried not to be worried. "Ok," he said finally. "Next question. Why did you just come out and say it like that?"

Draco blinked in surprise. "Really?" he dodged, "That's your question? Not why was I evicted, or how did I get through the Fidelius?"

Potter waved his hand dismissively. "They're the obvious ones. I want to know what possessed you to put your pride on the line like that."

Green eyes pinned him to the seat, and Draco sighed; leave it to Potter to ask the one question he didn't want to answer. "I used the wording of an ancient appeal," he explained. At Potter's blank look, Draco continued. "On a legal document, you have to word things a certain way to make sure there are no loopholes; it's the same with an appeal. Asking you that way, I get all the protection of this house as a direct descendent of the Black line. Otherwise I'd just be some random wizard begging a bed from the owner."

"Ok," Potter said slowly, nodding as the information sunk in. "So it's a family line thing, which is why you stated your connection through your mother. But what possible protection could a house offer you?"

"It's… complicated," Draco replied, avoiding the obvious answer, but at the same time careful not to lie. "No one knows entirely how or why, but it's safer to have house protection. That's why the first born are more fortunate; yes, they get most of the money, but they also get the family residence. Of course, with it comes a responsibility for the well-being of all members of that line, should they request sanctuary – noblesse oblige and all that. It's rather double-edged: they get protection and status, but the house is never truly their own. In a way they're just the guardians."

Potter frowned, finding the flaw Draco expected. "All members of the line? I thought all the purebloods were related. Are you telling me that at any moment, I could have half the Wizarding World on my doorstep?"

Draco smirked. "As entertaining as that sight would be, unfortunately the answer is no, for two reasons. The first is about blood."

"Of course it is," Potter said, with some bitterness.

Draco rolled his eyes, switching into a lecture mode much like Hermione's, though he would've been horrified if he knew. "Not like that, you great idiot; you can't train magic to be prejudiced, not when there's no such thing as actual 'tainted' blood. It depends on the closeness of your ties; yes, I'm distantly related to Weasley, but I could never realistically seek sanctuary at his home. I'd have to list all the reasons why I couldn't go to closer connections, and I sincerely doubt he'd put up with me on his doorstep for more than a few seconds. Added to that, the reasons have to be both serious enough to be considered obstacles, and completely true, or it doesn't work. Not that anyone would lie, anyway; ancient appeals are only ever used as a last resort when it comes to protecting your family line."

Potter regarded him silently for a while, perhaps realising how truly vulnerable Draco was making himself. No – how truly vulnerable he was.

"I can respect that," he finally said quietly. He cleared his throat, continuing on with more confidence. "What about the Potter home, then? I know my father was a pureblood. Why was I never offered protection there?"

Draco shrugged apologetically. "The Potter residence has been lost for generations."

Potter frowned. "Lost? What, was it destroyed or something? Did the magic fail?"

"No, nothing so dramatic as that. I mean literally lost; nobody knows where it is. Which brings me to the second reason, actually," Draco continued. "It would be rather hard for the Wizarding World to come to you for sanctuary when they don't know where you are. On one hand, there's the Fidelius. On the other, I'd wager that few people actually realise such a modest townhouse is the official Black residence."

Potter snorted. "Modest? Have you seen the size of this place? There are seven stories, including the basement!"

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "Have you seen the size of the Manor? These are the Black's we're talking about, Potter."

"… Fair enough."

Draco smirked. "I thought so."

Potter allowed him a little reprieve, and Draco set gratefully to the bowl that had been placed before him. The contents were by this time cold, and his heating charm only went so far, but it was still more of a meal than he'd had in quite a long time. He still ate with all the usual Malfoy manners, but Draco was only too aware of how desperate his actions must seem when compared to his past behaviour. Still, there was nothing to do but keep eating, and pray Potter didn't ask too many awkward questions. He didn't seem inclined to, however, staring into the flames while Draco ate. He was probably pondering the situation of responsibility he'd unknowingly been left in; Draco wouldn't be surprised if he was a little pissed off.

"You know, Malfoy," he said as Draco finished up, "I'm sure I'm related through my father somehow, but I'm not actually a Black."

"I do know my own family tree, Potter," Draco said, fighting both a yawn, and to keep disdain from his voice. He was meant to be polite, but unsurprisingly, his manners didn't take too well to humiliation. "But the house was left to you, which makes you a caretaker of sorts. That, combined with your status as Sirius Black's ward – yes, I do know some things about my cousin – makes you official head of the family. Sir," he added, in response to Potter's surprise, sketching a mocking bow from his seat.

Potter scowled. "Prat. Alright," he added, with a tired wave of his hand, "You'd better start answering me the obvious questions."

"Right; of course," Draco replied, pushing the yawn back again. He wasn't sure when staying awake became a competition, but there was no way he was giving in first, even if Potter was currently miles ahead. "Well, you don't need to worry about your house losing its status as a curiosity to Muggles. The Fidelius is still in place; the Secret Keeper let me in."

"What? But I'm the…. Oh." There was a long pause. "Snape?"

Draco shook his head.

"Dumbledore, then. Why didn't he-? Oh never mind, just tell me what happened," Potter said, as a greater weight seemed to settle on his shoulders. "I'm too tired to care."

Draco frowned, not sure why he was so concerned by Potter's reaction. He forced himself to shrug it off and answer the question, staring into the flames as he told his tale. "Mother was always the dutiful daughter. While Aunt Andromeda was rebelling against the family's rigid formality, and Aunt Bellatrix was holed up in the family library, it was my mother who made the weekly trip to Grimmauld Place to honour her aunt." He shrugged. "Once you know where a house is, it can be difficult to hide. One night, in the summer before fifth year, my father's…. business got a little out of hand. My mother was frightened, so she took me to her family home. Of course, by that time it was no longer visible to her, but she knew it was there. And so, we waited. Eventually Moody came out to question us. Mother insisted on seeing Sirius, said it was a matter of family, not business. Dumbledore seemed to like that, because he came out and let us in. As soon as Sirius met us in the hallway, she made an ancient appeal for the Black residence to protect my life. He made her stay as well."

There was a long silence, heavy with expectation. Draco kept his eyes fixed on the fire, refusing to meet Potter's smug expression. He didn't want to see this man's delight at his family's weakness, his pride in his godfather's morally superior actions. He didn't want to see what would actually be there, either.

"Why did you leave?" The question was asked softly, but still it made Draco start. He glanced up, flinching in anticipation of the pity that he was truly afraid of – but it wasn't there. Potter was watching him calmly, though there was sadness layered with so much else in his eyes. Draco realised with a wry half smile that this was probably his bedside manner – the one he used with the patients of St. Mungo's; the victims. But somehow… Draco found he didn't mind.

He contemplated saying nothing for a moment. Technically, he had given Potter all the information he needed. But the unspoken question – you weren't on our side, so why didn't you betray us? – probably deserved an answer.

"Mother decided it was safe to return," he said, matter-of-fact. "We each made an Unbreakable Vow, that we wouldn't reveal the headquarters' location to anyone. We'd stayed in our room the whole time, so we had no other information to give up. And then we went home."

Potter gaped at him, perplexed, and maybe just a little angry. "Just like that. You went home. Back to Voldemort, and danger, and a cause I know you didn't support."

"No," Draco denied. "We went home to my father."

At Malfoy's calm admission, Harry felt all the fight leave him and he slumped back in his seat. Family; it always came down to family. As much as he wanted to shout, and curse, and deny any understanding of anything the other side had done – he couldn't. He understood fear, and desperation; he understood running into danger, pointing his wand and saying the words he didn't want to say, if only it meant protecting those he loved. The only difference between him and Malfoy was that Harry's family had made the right decisions; Draco's had made the wrong ones. In a way, they'd been nothing more than pawns, fighting the war their parents and elders set before them. And how could he blame Malfoy for that?

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts as Malfoy gave a massive yawn, forgetting in his exhaustion to cover his mouth. He sat there for a full fifteen seconds doing a hippo impression, and when Harry glanced at the clock, he was no longer surprised – half twelve, and who knew what Malfoy had gone through today, or the last time he'd slept. Whatever and whenever that was, an explanation was going to have to wait – he clearly needed sleep. Harry watched a moment longer, as Malfoy blinked a few times in surprise, then scowled, apparently displeased with himself. He felt a small smile tug at his lips…

"Alright," Harry said, grabbing bowls and mug and hauling himself to his feet. "You need to rest."

Malfoy stared up at him, eyes wide, mind suddenly too exhausted to keep up. Harry rolled his eyes in anything but a fond manner, and said "Yes, you can stay here tonight. I'll have Kreacher fix a room for you."

With Malfoy watching him in silence, Harry set the dishes in the sink before knocking carefully at Kreacher's door. It was opened with a half-bow and a "Yes, Master Harry?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Kreacher. I was just wondering if you could make up a room for the night." He gestured over his shoulder. "Draco's going to be staying for… Well, I don't know how long. A while."

The elf peered around him, blinking in astonishment as his eyes met Malfoy's. Kreacher pulled himself to his full height, turning back to Harry.

"Would Mister Draco be liking his previous room, Sir?" the elf asked, deliberately keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard.

Harry frowned. "His previous…? Oh, right! I, um, forgot." He bit his lip, glancing at the blond. "No, better not. Just put him wherever you think is best, Kreacher. Thanks."

Kreacher nodded, then disappeared with a crack.

Malfoy watched Harry as he slowly wandered over, less than eager to admit both he and Kreacher were a little worried; people generally didn't like to hear that, and Malfoy was more volatile than 'people'. He actively avoided the searching gaze until the Slytherin cleared his throat pointedly. Harry sighed, resigned.

"I, um, told Kreacher to put you somewhere different from last time. Is that ok?" he asked, feeling awkward for the first time that night.

Malfoy nodded, stiff. "That'll be fine, Potter." He paused. "Thank you."

If the words sounded strangled, Harry certainly wasn't mentioning it. He shrugged; "I can't say anyone would do the same, but really, it's no trouble."

Silence fell as Harry chewed on his lip, wondering if he should make the suggestion. He stalled for a moment, observing Malfoy as he finally relaxed back into his seat, relief plain in his eyes. Relief, and a bit of uncertainty.

Harry decided to wait. "What happens now, for you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I didn't think this far ahead."

Harry laughed. "I can understand that. I'm still trying to work out what to do with myself now that Voldemort's gone. Other than Hero Stuff, of course."

Malfoy glanced at him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then he sighed, turning to study the flames as though they might hold the answers. "I suppose I'll head down to the Ministry tomorrow, try and unfreeze my accounts so I can get out of your hair."

Going by Malfoy's expression, he didn't seem to hold out much hope for that. He looked so lost… Harry felt his hero complex stir, and inwardly groaned, unable to believe that the last day and a half at St. Mungo's hadn't put it in its place.

He swallowed; Ron and Hermione were going to kill him… "You should stay."

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "What?"

"You should stay here. At least until after Christmas," he beseeched. "Give yourself time to figure stuff out properly. Anyway, it'd be nice for Kreacher to serve a Black again, at least for a little while."

Malfoy studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Are you offering me charity, Potter?"

Harry's breath caught. "I… Well… Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that you don't need it? Because that's not what you said before."

Malfoy scowled at him, and then sighed, letting his head fall back as his eyes drifted closed, defeated.

"Yeah, I do," he said quietly. "Alright, Potter, I'll stay."

Harry grinned unseen, triumphant. He was filled with a strange glow of happiness… He was probably just happy to have a permanent guest for a while, and Malfoy wasn't so bad. It might even be kind of fun.

"This is a big house," Malfoy said suddenly, sounding altogether too serious. Harry didn't like it.

"Oh really?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood. "What happened to modest?"

"It's that too," Malfoy said dismissively, unwilling to be distracted. "My point is that it shouldn't be hard for me to stay out of your way. I'll keep to my room when I'm here, and go out for meals. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you more than I already am." His eyes were still closed, but his body was tense.

"What?" Harry asked with a frown; he was confused now. "Who said anything about inconvenience?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy," Draco Malfoy pointed out. "And you're Harry Potter."

Harry Potter rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that insightful piece of information. What's your point?"

Malfoy snorted, finally meeting Harry's gaze. His eyes were swirling with repressed anger as he all but spit out the words. "Well it's certainly not convenient for a…" He flinched. "For a Death Eater to be living with the Saviour of the wizarding world."

"Says who?" Harry nearly shouted, annoyed. "The wizarding world? Well fuck that! I didn't kill Voldemort just to have everyone else tell me how to live!"

They were glaring at each other now, no longer trying to be civil. Harry tried to hold the pose, but as a realisation struck him, his lips started to twitch. Laughter bubbled up inside him as Malfoy glared fiercely, eyes narrowing further as Harry finally collapsed, giggling.

"Sorry!" he choked out. "Sorry, it's… not… you, it's just… Dear Merlin…"

Malfoy's lips were inching into a smile as he looked on. "Dear Merlin indeed. Potter, are you always this pathetic? Or am I getting a special show?" The words should have been harsh, but there was humour lacing his tone, not spite, causing Harry to laugh all the more at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"And you thought I was tired," Malfoy muttered, lips stretching into a yawn at the thought.

Harry forced himself to breathe, to push the humour away long enough to explain. "Our first argument. We managed to touch on your parents, the Weasley's, your need for charity, and even Death Eaters with no problems. But—" He was cut off by another breathless giggle.

Malfoy's eyes opened wide in horror as it dawned on him. "We're fighting over you being nice to me!"

Harry nodded, laughing again at Malfoy's reaction.

"That is just so wrong!"

Harry sobered a bit at that, determined to make his point. "Not when I'm right." He chuckled. "And stop glaring at me! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, you can't do that!"

Finally Malfoy laughed, and Harry smiled at the sight.

"I do what I want, Malfoy," he continued. "It's one of the perks of not giving a crap; you should try it sometime."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm a pureblood, Potter. My entire existence is based upon 'giving a crap', as you so eloquently put it."

"Oh yeah?" Harry challenged. "And which society rule tells you to sabotage your own life out of guilt?"

Malfoy glared, not frustrated this time, but defensive and very angry.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, Malfoy," Harry spat. "But I was under the impression that you were trying to protect your family line. How's it going to help your kids if Daddy thinks he's less than human?"

"I can't believe you!" Malfoy shouted. "You're telling me how to raise kids I don't even have? Well fuck you, Potter! Hero or not, you can't tell me how to live!"

The words echoed in the room as they stared at each other, Malfoy in shock, and Harry slowly raised an eyebrow.

"I hate you," Malfoy sighed.

Harry flashed a grin before he got back to business. "Look, I'm sorry if I crossed a line, but you're being an idiot. Life's hard enough without hating yourself."

"I don't—" Malfoy cut in, but there was no conviction in his voice. "I don't hate myself."

Harry caught his eye and held it for a long moment, hoping to convey the full depth of his words. "I know." I understand.

Malfoy studied him suspiciously, and he pressed on. "I could do with the company, and I dare say you could too. We managed not to kill each other tonight! At least let's give it a try."

Malfoy hesitated – and then nodded; Harry went back to biting his lip. If he could get Malfoy to agree to this, maybe he could—

Crack.

"The room is ready now, Sir. Mister Draco has been placed in the serpent room."

Harry frowned. The serpent room? But… that was the master bedroom. Well, Malfoy was half Black, he supposed, and used to grandeur. Perhaps he'd feel more at home there.

"Thanks, Kreacher," he said with a smile. The house elf bowed low, first to him, and then to Malfoy, and disappeared into his cupboard.

Malfoy turned to him slowly, brow raised. "He's certainly changed his tune."

Harry shrugged. "We're… kind of family, now. As totally creepy as that sounds aloud."

Now both eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "Potter," Malfoy deadpanned. "You do realise that Kreacher is a house elf."

Harry smirked. "What can I say? I'm an inspiration to all. Befriending house elves, taking in—" He paused, smile faltering as he debated diplomacy. Ah screw it; if Malfoy could say it, so could he. They'd have to deal with the topic sooner or later. "Death Eaters."

Malfoy's lips stretched into a forced smile. "Plural, Potter? Who else have you got hiding here?"

Harry's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You'll have to wait and see." He nudged Malfoy's outstretched legs with a toe. "Come on, I'll show you your room."

Malfoy followed him up the stairs, Harry pointing out the various rooms: dining on the ground floor – never really used; drawing room on the first floor, along with Ginny and Neville's usual guest room. Harry was on the second floor, in his and Ron's old bedroom; Ron and Hermione had claimed the room next door, and Luna sometimes stayed in the smaller room at the end of the corridor. Malfoy's face was a careful blank as Harry pointed out each 'guest' room, and he began to realise the wisdom in housing Malfoy out of the general bustle. After all, there wasn't much point telling his friends the Slytherin was living here, not if he'd be gone in a few weeks…. What Harry still didn't understand, however, was why Kreacher hadn't just put Malfoy in the real guest room. Surely he wasn't going back to his worship of the Blacks, and all things pureblood. He was feeding Muggles for Merlin's sake! Homeless Muggles! Surely he was past all that.

On the third floor, Harry paused, pointing up the next flight of steps. "Sirius's room is up there, along with Regulus, and then a ladder takes you to the attic."

Malfoy watched him a little too closely. "You have an awful lot of housemates for someone who could 'do with company'."

Harry ignored the statement, setting off down the corridor. "This was Fred and George's room in the Order days, though now it's just George of course, and further down here is—"

"This was where we stayed, Mother and me." Malfoy stopped beside the door to the guest room, which had once house Molly and Arthur. His hand reached out to rest on the door-handle, but he didn't go in.

Harry watched the memories play out on his face, finally realising that with a house full of ghosts, the master bedroom was really the only option. He gestured down the hall at the vast, imposing doors – the only ones in the house still fitted out with serpent door-handles. "Well you're in here now."

Malfoy pulled himself away as Harry moved to stand before them, taking a deep breath – wondering why this suddenly felt momentous – and pushing them open.

A month or so ago, Harry and his friends had decided to restore the room to some kind of liveable state. The sheer abundance and quality of furniture in the attic (that was when Harry had brought down his Roussillon, along with some other odds and ends) had inspired them to such a degree that they all got a little carried away. The overall atmosphere was of restrained opulence, something hinting that with the right occupants, the room would radiate power. The large space was dominated once more by a massive bed of dark wood, Harry didn't know what kind. It had a simple but elegant silver quilt set with dark cotton sheets, and was flanked by dainty matching tables, each with a shallow draw at the top; a single candelabrum was their only adornment. To the left of the bed were a huge wardrobe and chest of drawers, with a cast-iron standing mirror between the two. To the right was a small fireplace – it was the only bedroom to have one – and what was apparently meant to pass as a couch, though Harry thought Hermione's term of 'loveseat' more appropriate. It was of Victorian design, upholstered in rich red velvet that captured the imagination. A closed door led to an ensuite bathroom which Malfoy would probably call modest, though Harry would not. Every handle in the room, on cupboards and doors – even the fire pokers – was shaped like a serpent.
Harry noticed that Kreacher had removed the solid silver jewellery box and brush that had earlier graced the dresser, leaving a pile of thick black towels in their place. It also looked like he'd given the place a thorough dusting, and remade the bed; wood was even stacked high beside the fireplace. Harry didn't doubt that every tile in the bathroom would be glistening. He grinned; maybe Kreacher had missed the Black's. No one would have been able to guess that a Hippogriff had once lived there – even the lingering smell had finally gone. Remembering Malfoy's yawn, Harry bit back a laugh – now it would just be a hippo.

"Here you are," he said, turning finally to gauge Malfoy's reaction. "Acceptable?"

Malfoy's gaze, which had been wandering about the room appreciatively, jumped to Harry's. "Perfectly," he replied with a smile.

Harry grinned. "Right," he said, watching as Malfoy's face was split by another huge yawn. "You need sleep. Bathroom's through there, obviously, I'm just downstairs, and you can call Kreacher if you need."

"Thank you, Potter," Malfoy said, finally moving into the room. He took a small item from his pocket, placing it at the foot of the bed. Pulling out his wand – Harry was surprised to realise it was the first time he'd done so all night – he enlarged it into a sturdy wooden trunk that matched the décor surprisingly well.

Harry, knowing he was unnecessary but unwilling to leave, continued to ramble. "I'll be out most of the day tomorrow – well, today – not at St. Mungo's, just helping out with some of the construction."

Malfoy smirked over his shoulder as he directed the flight of several shirts into his wardrobe. "So Thursday's Hero Stuff is building?"

Harry simply stared for a moment, watching more clothes and other belongings fly about the room, wondering where this confident creature had come from, and what he had done with the unsure, withdrawn Malfoy of five minutes ago. It seemed the room suited him; he was in his element. In fact, he was almost glowing…

Malfoy threw a concerned glance over his shoulder. "Potter? You still with us?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked as the words filtered through his daze. "Oh, yes. Um. I'll be out of the house by the time you're up. Well, I might be, I suppose it depends on when you get up. But you seemed pretty exhausted, I thought you might sleep in, in which case—" Harry shook himself. "I'll be gone by eight thirty," he finished definitively. "Maybe. Probably nine."

"Alright, Potter. Now get some sleep, before you forget how to navigate the stairs." He turned his back, effectively dismissing Harry. Still, he lingered; it was now or never.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

The blond finally stopped moving, setting his wand on the bed before turning around with some trepidation. "Yes?"

"I think- You should call me Harry. If you want."

Malfoy didn't move, eyes becoming unfocused as he considered. He nodded calmly. "Then you should call me Draco."

Harry blinked. Really? It was as easy as that? He nodded slowly in response "Ok. I can do that."

He turned to leave; turned back. "Hey, Draco?"

The blond raised an eyebrow.

"Dragon," he smirked. "Suits you."

Draco grinned. "Get some sleep, Harry."