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: Part four. Part five's on its way - updates might be a bit slower from this point onwards, just a heads up. Hope you're still enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Thanks for your reviews so far - keep them coming! Let me know how you're finding it so I know what to include to keep you, my wonderful readers, loyal ;]

Red and green streams of light battling for control in the destroyed courtyard of the school. Harry's arms were shaking, he wasn't going to be able to hold it back any longer… Suddenly his attention was distracted by the light laugh of Draco Malfoy. He turned his head and saw Draco and Blaise lying on Regulus' bed, Blaise's dark skin flush against Draco's pale skin. Blaise dropped his head down and Malfoy rose to meet his lips, the taut skin of his neck stretching as he reached Blaise's mouth. Suddenly the green light was rushing towards Harry and Blaise was snaking down Malfoy's body, trailing light kisses and fluttering fingertips along Malfoy's chest. Harry heard himself saying, "No, you can't kill me, I won't be able to watch…"

He awoke with a jump, his forehead clammy and a curious, slightly damp patch over his crotch. He blindly fumbled for his glasses and watch and sat up, squinting to read the watch face while the rest of his body caught up with being awake. Seven o'clock. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wouldn't be able to sleep now. Reluctantly, he swung his legs out of bed and pulled a pair of pyjama bottoms and his discarded shirt from the previous day on and decided to go downstairs to make some coffee.

As he passed Draco's door, he noticed it had been left slightly ajar and he could hear little snuffling noises coming from the room. "Never took you for a snorer, Malfoy," he said quietly, and was just about to carry on downstairs when he heard a groan that sounded like Malfoy was stuck in a nightmare. Cautiously, he stepped into the room and saw Draco twitching in his sleep, calling out half-formed words, his brow furrowed.

"Draco," Harry said, quietly. "Draco, wake up, you're having a dream. Draco. Draco!" He raised his voice to no avail, and shook Draco's shoulder to wake him. "Draco, wake up!" Draco sat bolt upright with a shout, his eyes open and his wand pointed at Harry's face. Harry took a step back. "Hey, it's just me." Draco lowered his wand. "I was on my way downstairs to make some coffee and I could hear – I could hear you were having a nightmare. It sounded bad."

Draco tried to take a deep breath to steady his racing heartbeat. "It was," he said, his voice shaky. Harry hesitantly sat at the foot of the bed.

"Are you okay?" Draco shook his head and looked down, swallowing back fear.

"It was so real," he managed to force out. "And I was trying to tell them not to run, to face the decisions they'd made, to just accept whatever your side would give them for defecting right at the end, but they just ran and ran and then they Disapparated and left me behind."

"But it was just a dream," Harry said, trying to use the same soothing tone he'd often heard Aunt Petunia using on Dudley when he'd had a nightmare as a child. "It wasn't real, it was just a dream."

Draco stared coldly at him. "No, it wasn't." Harry looked away. "I just shouldn't sleep anymore, I keep reliving the same thing, over and over again." He sighed, but it was a shaky one. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Five past seven," Harry replied. Draco tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"Great. I need to sleep more but I'm frightened to sleep." He laughed bitterly. "How pathetic is that? An eighteen year old, scared of going to sleep because of his dreams."

"I could stay here, if you wanted. Not here here, not on your bed, but I could sit in this chair here," Harry pointed at the chair where Draco had draped his suit, "and if you started to, you know, relive it, I could wake you up."

Draco, with his blonde hair dishevelled, his eyes sunken and pillow creases on his cheeks, had never looked so vulnerable, so broken. "Gosh Potter, that is an exceedingly heterosexual offer," he manged to quip, vulnerability be damned. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, making to leave. Draco grabbed his arm to stop him. "Please." His voice was tired and desperate. Hesitatingl, Harry nodded and moved towards the chair, moving Draco's suit aside. Draco smiled weakly at him and wriggled under the covers. "Don't wake me up for another two hours at least," he said sleepily, his eyes closing.

"Accio book," Harry whispered, and Flying with the Cannons came rushing towards him. He tucked his legs up into the chair and began to read, looking up every so often to check on Draco and then the time. Draco slept soundly, oblivious to everything, even Harry dropping the book onto the wooden floor when he began to nod off himself.

Harry awoke with a start and looked at his watch. Half past ten. Malfoy's bed was empty, the covers thrown back. Harry yawned and stretched, feeling his bones crack as he moved around. He wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, where Draco was sat at the table, drinking a mug of coffee which was, as promised, the size of his head.

"Morning," he said, pushing a much more manageable sized mug of coffee towards Harry. "So, how did you sleep? Some guardian you are," he scoffed, drinking his coffee.

"I'm clearly a fantastic guardian if my ward managed to sleep so soundly that I was able to sleep too," Harry pointed out, and moved towards where he'd put the bread. "D'you want some toast?"

"Good point. Yes please. Do you have any jam?" Harry nodded. "I'll take chocolate spread then."

"You're being deliberately obstreperous."

"When am I not?" Harry paused and then conceded.

"Good point."

"Jam's fine for me, anyway. Did you want sugar in your coffee?" Harry held up one finger and Draco nodded, stirring it into Harry's mug.

"So, what are we doing today? Vanquishing evil – oh no, you took care of that last month. Damn. Looks like we'll have to settle for something much less grandiose, something like bringing down a Muggle dictator." Harry handed him a plate with two slices of toast on it – crusts cut off. "How did you know?" Draco said, feigning an air of blissful domesticity.

"Lucky guess. I've got a couple of jobs I need to do, actually – I need to Owl Hermione and find out if she, or anyone else, knows how to remove some of these protective spells."

"Are you going to mention your lodger?" Draco asked through a mouthful of toast. Harry peered over the top of his glasses.

"You've got jam on your nose." Draco wiped it off and looked at his jammy hand as if it had offended him. "Not unless you particularly want me to," Harry said in response to Draco's question. "Why, do you want me to?"

"Not particularly," Draco said. "Meant to be in hiding, remember?" Harry nodded wisely. "Do you get the Daily Prophet here?"

"Not since they started saying I was a liar, no," Harry said mildly, settling down to the table with his own plate of toast. "Besides, I don't think it's even up and running yet, is it?" Draco shrugged. "And I can't persuade you to venture out of these doors?"

"Not until you get rid of that spell, no."

"What are you going to do with yourself while you're here, then?"

"I'll find something," Draco said, vaguely. "Might just sit in the living room and read for a bit, maybe raid the silver vaults, you know, whatever." Harry smiled.

"Slim pickings there, I'm afraid," he informed Draco. "But there's quite the collection of books. I would say, mind the one that looks the least harmless. It's got a nasty temper on it." Draco looked disbelieving. "No, really. It tried to set fire to Ron's eyebrows." Draco snorted. "Right, so I'm going to get dressed and get this letter for Hermione written and sent. You sure you'll be okay in here? I'll try not to be too long."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Go, go. I'm a grown up, I'll probably cope." Harry nodded and sprinted upstairs and into the shower.

Once he'd stepped out of the shower he changed and sat down to write a note to Hermione, his wet fringe dripping onto the parchment.

Hermione –

I'm at Grimmauld Place, just thought I'd let you know everything's okay. It feels weird being here without you and Ron for company, but I think it'll start feeling normal soon. I don't suppose you have any idea how to remove some of the protective spells Moody placed on the house, do you? Particularly the one with Dumbledore, that one's especially grim when you're not expecting it. I hope everyone's doing well at the Burrow – send my love to the Weasleys (although I'm sure Ron isn't in need of any at the moment ;]) Let me know if there's anything I can do for anybody my end. Look after yourselves.

Harry

Harry folded the note and stood up, then made his way out of the house and Apparated to Diagon Alley. Once there, he headed straight for what was serving as the Post Office. A long queue had already formed and was snaking out the doors and along the pavement.

"Ludicrous, isn't it," an old wizard in a curious-smelling courdroy jacket muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing in this bloody country ever works when you need it to. What am I supposed to do with this?" he complained, his voice rising. "I need to tell my wife I'm alright – sent her and the kiddies off to France for a bit, kept them out of the country, like – but now, it's been almost a month since everything died down and you still can't get a bloody letter posted for love nor money!"

"I'm sure they're doing everything they can," Harry said, uneasily. "It'll take a while for these sorts of infrastructures to get back on their feet…"

"Pah!" the old wizard laughed. "After the First Wizarding War, the post offices were up and running a week after He was defeated an' all! These bloody amateurs don't know how to do their jobs properly…" Turning to Harry, he suddenly recognised him. "Well blow me down. It's Harry Potter!"

The other witches and wizards in the queue started mumbling. Brilliant. All Harry wanted to do was post a letter.

"Thank you, son," some tiny witch said, patting his hand and looking up into his face with shining eyes.

"You shouldn't have to wait, Mr. Potter, take my place in the queue," someone from near the front offered, beaming.

"No, no, I couldn't, you were here well before me…"

"I insist!"

"Um," Harry looked around wildly, longing for Hedwig back, "no, I – I couldn't. It can wait."

"HEY!" The wizard who'd spoken to Harry before had jumped out of the line and was banging on the window, alarming the witches who were working inside. "HARRY POTTER'S HERE AND HE WANTS TO SEND A LETTER."

"No, please," Harry pleaded, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere but here. "It's really not that important…"

"She says there's an owl that should be coming back any minute now," the man said, returning to the line. "She'll make sure you get it." Harry looked around at everyone in the queue, most of whom had returned to their place in the line, chatting idly to those around them.

"Give me your letter," Harry said. The wizard handed Harry his letter, puzzled. "I promise you, this one will get sent in, oh, about a minute," he said seriously as a screech owl flew overhead.

"But, your letter-"

"Doesn't matter. It can wait. Just – please. Let me do this for you. Yours is much more important than mine." The wizard thanked him profusely, and Harry made his way to the front of the queue, past a volley of murmurs of approval and loud whispers. Flushing scarlet, he handed the letter to the witch behind the desk in the little hut and said quietly, "I don't suppose you have any Floo powder, do you?" She shook her head. "Okay, never mind. The network's probably still down, anyway. How much to post the letter?"

"Free of charge, Mr. Potter," she replied, smiling. Harry accepted this a lot more willingly than if it had been his own letter he was posting, thanked the witch and walked out of the post office.

His one plan for the day scuppered, Harry decided he might as well just head back to Grimmauld Place. He Disapparated and reappeared outside of the house with a crack, walked through the door (gently reminding Dumbledore it hadn't been him), and was surprised to see Draco curled up in one of the armchairs in the living room.

"You're back early," Draco commented, not looking up from whatever it was he was holding.

"The queue in the post office was mental, it might be faster to wait for Eyelopes to re-open than to try and get anything posted," Harry replied, taking off his jumper. "Coffee?"

"I'm okay, thanks." Harry walked in and saw that Draco wasn't reading at all, but was examining a photo.

"That.. .That's a photo of my parents." He crouched by Draco's side. "I've never seen this one before. Where did you get it?"

"It was tucked into this book," Draco explained, indicating the book that lay open on the coffee table. Harry frowned and took the photo from Draco and turned it over.

"1979. The year after they left Hogwarts." Harry turned it back over to Lily and James, who were kissing, clearly unaware of the photograph being taken.

"They look happy," Draco commented innocuosly. "Really happy."

"Your parents must have been happy – they married each other."

Draco laughed. "They married for convenience, not for love. You were lucky, though, to have had parents who loved each other – and loved you."

"In case you'd forgotten, my parents died," Harry said, his voice rising slightly.

"For you." Harry opened his mouth to protest and shut it sharply. "My parents would have killed me if they thought it might get them back in Voldemort's good books."

"Your parents? Or your father?" Draco glared at Harry. "It was only your father's name that got ruined on the family tree, not your mother's. And what did you mean when you called him a traitor, anyway? A traitor to who? Voldemort?"

"Me!" Draco shouted, spots of pink appearing high on his cheeks. "He was a traitor to me! I was given this, this impossible task because he'd failed so miserably, and it was obvious throughout that I was struggling, he was persona non grata all throughout last year, and he knew I couldn't do it, I couldn't become what he'd become, but the only time he turned and ran from Voldemort and the choices he'd made was when it they'd lost and he realised that he'd be punished for being linked to them."

"And your mother?"

"My mother follows my father's lead."

"You're sorely mistaken if you think your mother is that weak."

"Don't pretend to know my mother, Potter," Draco spat out.

"I don't pretend to know her at all. I just know that she risked her life in the Forbidden Forest by telling Voldemort I was dead, all because I could tell her that you were still alive. Just like you saved my life when I was caught by the Snatchers and you pretended you didn't know who I was."

The two of them stood, facing each other, instinctively reaching for their wands. Harry moved his hand away and sank into a seat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"We need to learn how to settle disputes without resorting to this if we're going to live together," he said slowly. Draco nodded.

"Coffee?"