A/N I do not own Harry Potter
Draco's morning did not start out well.
He awoke to the eerie feeling of being watched. Carefully, he cracked one eye open, only to find a set of large, ancient, bloodshot eyes staring back at him. He let out a strangled yelp in surprise, shooting up and reeling backward until his back rested against the headboard.
He felt a bit foolish a moment later when he realized that it was only a house elf – albeit, probably the oldest and most decrepit house elf Draco had ever seen.
"Figures" The platinum-haired boy sneered, "Potter would have house elves rude enough to startle a person awake."
"You insult Master?!" The creature moved closer, pointing his finger at the young man's chest and eyeing him suspiciously, "Answer. Is you a friend or foe of Master Harry?"
Draco stared wide-eyed at the house elf, unsure of how to answer. He and Potter weren't friends, not by a long shot, but he wasn't sure if he still considered them foes either. At least, he didn't think they were mortal enemies anymore.
Impatient, the house elf edged even closer, his long pointy finger only a few inches from Draco's nose. "A friend or foe? Answer!"
"Get away from me you stupid –"
Draco cut off, though, when he realized that the elf was staring at his left forearm, where the sleeve had bunched up around his elbow in his rapid scramble backward a moment before. There, peeking out from under the edge of the sleeve, was the clear outline of the Dark Mark.
"You is foe!" the house elf roared, snapping his fingers. In an instant, Draco found himself levitating upside down over the bed, his wand lying just out of his reach on the bedside table. In a instant rage, the boy let loose a string of every obscenity he could think of, all the while flailing, trying to strike the house elf before him. The creature just watched him with a self-satisfied grin plastered under its rather large nose.
"Potter! - Potter!" Only when the golden boy didn't appear did the young Malfoy realize that the house elf must have placed a silencing charm on the room.
Draco was beginning to wonder what would happen if the elf decided to leave him hanging there indefinitely, when there was a faint *Pop* and another house elf appeared. This one was smaller, and female, and she was currently staring at the other elf with a shocked expression.
Great, Draco thought, another tormentor.
"Kreacher, no! Kreacher should not treat Mister Draco that way. Mister Draco is a guest of Master Harry."
The older elf eyed Draco with suspicion. "Kreacher thinks this one is foul. Kreacher is punishing him."
"Master will not like it, Kreacher."
The house elf named Kreacher grumbled something unintelligible, and then, snapped his fingers again, cancelling the spell. Draco found himself tumbling headlong into the mattress, and by the time he had righted himself, the creature had vanished.
The other one regarded him with big brown eyes.
"My name is Spindle, sir. Master Harry hired Spindle to help take care of you, sir."
After his experience being floated upside down, though, Draco was in no mood to make conversation with a house elf.
"Where is Potter?" He growled.
Spindle's eyes narrowed slightly, and when she spoke next, she chose her words slowly, carefully.
"Spindle is supposed to be saying that Spindle is a free elf, sir. Master Harry said that Spindle is not to have orders barked at her, sir."
Of course, a free elf demanding rights. Figures. No doubt Granger's bloody handiwork. Draco gritted his teeth and tried again, his voice adopting a false charming note that he only used for situations where he was compelled against his will to be polite.
"Spindle, could you please tell me where Mr. Potter is?"
The elf brightened at his words. "Of course, sir. Master Harry is in the kitchen, sir."
"That will be all, Spindle." Draco said as he slid off the bed, grabbed his wand off the nightstand, and glided out of the room.
Harry's morning had started out rather nicely.
He had awoken at around 7:30 with Ginny safely tucked under one arm and light filtering in through the window. At 7:45, he had peeled himself out of bed, much to the chagrin of his halfway-sleeping fiancée, who begged him to come back to bed. By 8:20, he had showered and dressed, so he was ready to open the front door when he heard a small tapping at 8:23. The tapping had been a ministry owl with a note and a parcel, which contained Draco's trunk under a shrinking charm. He had read the note and accepted the parcel, paying the owl before closing the door. Having carried the parcel into the front room and dispelled the charm, Harry had asked Spindle to transport the contents into the Slytherin's room without waking him. That task dispatched, he had made himself coffee and proceeded to read the paper until 8:45, when Ginny had wandered in and offered to make breakfast.
Ginny always moved slowly in the mornings, so breakfast took her twice as long to make as it normally took Harry, but he didn't mind. He liked watching her move about the kitchen. He supposed they could have the house-elves make breakfast, but truthfully the thought didn't cross his mind until later. He didn't like to over-burden Kreacher, and Spindle was new.
At 9:04 there was another tapping at the door – this time a note from Ron. When Harry opened the door, Pigwidgeon darted through and flew into the kitchen, circling it three times before finally settling next to Harry's coffee cup, holding out his leg proudly. Harry untied the message from his leg, and then fed the tiny bird a few owl treats as he perused the letter.
"What's my idiot brother got to say?" Ginny set a plate of eggs and sausages down in front of Harry, and then laid one down across the table for herself.
Harry stifled a laugh as Ginny took her seat. "Why's Ron an idiot now?"
"Oh, he's always an idiot. But he's making a fuss over this deal with Malfoy, and giving Hermione grief about it."
"What's he making a fuss about? He agreed to testify!"
Ginny nodded, swallowing a bite of eggs. "Yeah, but he didn't agree for Hermione to be one of people keeping tabs on Malfoy." She said, pointing her fork at Harry for a moment before stabbing it into her eggs again. "I think he's uncomfortable with the idea of her being alone with him. Keeps blathering on about hexes and such."
Harry frowned. "You'd think after everything we went through this past year, he'd trust her to take care of herself. Plus, I think Malfoy's been a bit afraid of her ever since she punched him in third year."
"Yeah, well, you don't have to tell me my brother's an overprotective moron. So, what's he say?" She pointed to the letter.
Harry scanned the message once more before speaking. "He's been busy with his and Hermione's flat. Apparently, Hermione owns too many books and he's been trying to find space for them all."
"Hm, and here I thought he'd be complaining about Crookshanks."
"Oh, he's devoted several lines to the – let me find it – 'mangy psychopathic furball"
Ginny nodded her head, taking another bite of eggs.
"Does the letter say anything about our place?" She asked after a moment.
"Um, nothing important."
"Harry James Potter, don't you dare lie to me! What does it say?"
"It's really nothing," Harry relented, "only, your mother has taken it upon herself to choose a new color-scheme for the kitchen and dining room."
"What!" Ginny leapt up and began moving toward the front hall, fully intent on heading straight out the front door and finding the nearest floo to the Burrow. "I swear, I can't leave that woman alone for a single day –"Her rant was cut short as she rounded the table and was promptly caught round the middle by Harry, who eased her into his lap.
"Leave her be." He said, laughing. "It makes her feel useful and we can always change it later."
His red-headed fiancée went to retort, but promptly fell silent as a yell carried down the stairs.
"Potter!"
"Oh good," Harry said, grimacing and rolling his eyes, "Malfoy's up"
Draco entered the kitchen a few moments later, a sneer immediately overtaking his face at the sight of the Weaselette wrapped in Potter's arms. That was a sight he could have done without before breakfast.
The Malfoy heir was immediately distracted from such a stomach-turning display, though, by a small feathered creature zipping around his head in excitement.
"What the bloody hell is that?"
"That," Potter smirked as Ginny retreated to her own seat "would be Ron's owl"
At the sound of Potter's voice, the feathered menace ceased his flurry and flew over to land on the raven-haired boy's shoulder. The little bird then proceeded to stare at Draco, fluffing his feathers up proudly to make himself appear bigger than he really was.
"You call that an owl?"
Potter ignored the question. "You seem to be in a lovely mood this morning, Malfoy. I trust you slept well?"
"Oh, I slept bloody fine. That is, until I had a run-in with your homicidal house-elf."
"Pig, no, the last thing you need is coffee," Potter said to the tiny avian imp on his shoulder, who kept trying to dip his head into the coffee cup each time the boy raised it to his lips. "What did Kreacher do?"
Draco scowled down at the other boy. "He kept asking me questions, and then, when he saw my Mark, he decided it would be fun to levitate me upside down over the bed. Is this the sort of abuse I have to look forward to living under your roof, Potter?"
The Malfoy heir distinctly heard the Weaselette suppress a snort of laughter, but Potter did not look phased in the slightest.
"Well, you're down here now, so I take it he found entertainment elsewhere?" He took another sip of his coffee.
Draco glared. "I was rescued," the word came out in a snarl, "by the other one."
"Hm." Potter mused, "Kreacher!"
The ancient house-elf appeared with a small *pop* which frightened the tiny owl on Potter's shoulder and sent him spiraling to hide on top of the female Weasley's head. Upon spotting Draco, the elf gave the Malfoy heir a scowl before turning to Potter.
"Master summoned Kreacher?"
"Yes, I did. I understand that there was a – "Potter paused, as if trying to locate the right word, "dispute between you and Mister Malfoy this morning." It was a statement, but it was clear that Potter expected the house-elf to elaborate.
"He" The elf pointed a long, accusing finger at Draco, who instinctively took a step back (much to the delight of the Weaselette, who attempted to stifle another snicker), "is no friend of Master! He bears the Dark Mark!"
Potter placed his coffee cup on the table and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He contemplated the house-elf before him for a long moment before he spoke.
"Regulus Black also bore the Mark, so I think you know from experience that not everyone who bears the Mark is an enemy. Or have you forgotten your old master so easily?"
Draco watched as the house-elf's eyes widened. The answer to Potter's question was hurried and desperate.
"Oh no, Master. I could not forget Master Regulus"
"Good. Then know that I expect you to treat Mister Malfoy with respect while he is here."
Draco looked down at the elf triumphantly. That's right, you little demon, you owe me respect. I'm a wizard and you're just a house-elf.
That triumphant look was wiped off his face, though, when Potter added a caveat: "at least, you should treat him with as much respect as he shows you"
The elf nodded in solemn agreement, and then disappeared with another *pop* as he was dismissed. About five seconds later, Draco erupted.
"You expect me to treat a common house-elf with respect? Why do you even keep him on? If a servant had dared to show that level of disrespect to a guest at Malfoy Manor, it would have been dismissed immediately. Do you enjoy seeing your guests treated so rudely?"
For the first time since arriving at Grimmauld place, Draco saw Harry's ire flare up. "Well, you're not exactly the typical house guest are you, Malfoy? I'm not firing him. Period. All he has is this place, and me. And yes, I expect you to treat him – and Spindle – with at least common curtesy. They aren't dredges on the bottom of your boot."
Draco's response came through gritted teeth. "Fine. I'll play nice with the house-elves. And what are you looking at, Weaselette?"
"Nothing" said the highly-amused girl, "just wondering why you're still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, is all."
A few minutes later, having been informed about the arrival of his clothes that morning, Draco exited the kitchen to make his way back upstairs. He wanted a shower and a bite to eat – to be delivered by Spindle to his room – before returning downstairs to go over the rules of his house arrest with Potter and Granger, a discussion that Potter said they were required to have. As the Malfoy heir made his way up the front staircase, he passed Granger, who was toweling her hair dry on the way down to the kitchen. Her hair was flat and sleek when wet, and Draco paused, taken aback by how different she looked without her normal out-of-control curls and waves. Their absence forced him to look at her – really observe her – for the first time. And he was surprised to find that she presented a rather pleasing image.
For a mudblood. He added in his head as he pushed past her and continued up the stairs. It would take him many months to realize that he really didn't mean it.
About an hour and a half later, Draco was back downstairs, seated at the table with Granger and Potter. Granger's hair, he noted, was back to its normal levels of cataclysmic poofiness. Various documents were strewn on the table in front of them. They each had a cup of tea, which Granger had insisted upon to help "ease the tension." Draco wasn't sure where the Weaselette or the little feathered imp had flown off to.
"Alright, we might as well get started." Potter began. "What do you know about the rules of your – um - situation, Malfoy?"
"You mean there are rules other than 'Don't step foot outside this building for three years'?"
"Well, yeah, it's a bit more complicated than that."
"Please, enlighten me." The false charming tone from this morning had returned to Draco's voice.
Potter exchanged a glance with Granger as he picked up a document off the table. He took a deep breath.
"Okay, well, to begin, there are basic Ministry rules that apply to all convicted criminals. These usually apply to Azkaban prisoners, but the Ministry adapted them for your case."
Draco grimaced. "How thoughtful of them."
Potter, who was busy scanning the document in his hand, ignored Draco's commentary. "Alright, one, while you are allowed to have your wand, you are forbidden from casting any curses, hexes, or jinxes for the duration of your sentence."
"But you are allowed to use defensive spells!" Granger spoke up.
Draco sighed as he picked up the teacup in front of him. "I guess it's a good thing that I decided not to hex your house-elf this morning, Potter."
Potter raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose so." He said, before moving on, "Two, all visitors must be pre-approved by the Ministry, and visitors are only allowed with supervision."
"So, wait," The Malfoy heir said, holding up a hand, "my mother can visit me? If the Ministry approves?"
Granger and Potter exchanged another glance before the girl spoke. "Potentially, although the Ministry's been fairly particular about who you're allowed to see. Harry had to submit three different drafts of a list of visitors before it was approved, and those were really only people associated with the Order."
Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed before speaking to the ceiling. "I get it. I'm basically an orphan for three years. Great."
"Yeah, well, my parents have been dead practically my entire life," Potter said with a bit of annoyance, "and Hermione's don't even remember her nowadays, so join the club."
Draco's ears perked up at this last bit of information, and he brought his gaze forward to focus on the pair of Gryffindors in front of him again. Granger's parents don't remember her? What's Potter on about?
Granger took a nervous sip from her teacup, and she avoided his eyes when she spoke. "It won't be so bad, Malfoy. You can still write to her, and she's allowed to write back."
"Which brings us to the next rule on the list," Potter continued, staring back down at the parchment in front of him, "All of your correspondences will be closely monitored for the duration of your sentence"
"Ah, so no letters home about schemes to resurrect the Dark Lord. I'll just have to think of another way to put those plans into action."
"Malfoy!"
"Joking, Granger. Lighten up. I don't want that maniac resurrected any more than you do."
"Finally, and this should go without saying, you should resist committing any other crimes during your sentence. Theft, assault, forgery, dabbling in the Dark arts, you get the idea."
"And there went my plans for the summer. You're such a killjoy, Potter."
Draco thought he saw the raven-haired boy's lips twitch in the shadow of a smile, but the girl next to him looked downright affronted.
"Really, Malfoy, this isn't a joking matter."
"And like I said a moment ago, Granger, lighten up." He gave her the most innocent expression he could muster, "But if it makes you feel any better, I promise, while I'm stuck here, that I'll be a good little boy and follow all the rules."
Potter snorted. Granger just looked like she wanted to punch both of them.
After a moment, the golden boy spoke up. "Alright, let's keep going. We have loads more to cover and I would like to eat lunch at some point."
And so, they continued. They discussed the wards on the house that kept Draco from leaving; allowed items and forbidden ones; what to do in case of an emergency (send Spindle for help); provisions for health care, wellness and other basic needs; specific rules for Grimmauld place – "Don't try to enter the bedroom at the end of your hall. We can't get the door open and we're pretty sure there's something particularly nasty in there," Potter had warned. "Oh, and stay out of our rooms." Forty-five minutes later, only one document remained on the table. Potter picked it up, but turned it face-down in front of him.
"The last thing we need to talk about," he said with a bit of hesitation "are your keepers."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "My what?" His mind immediately went to the goal defenders in quidditch, but he doubted that those were the types of keepers that Potter was talking about.
"Keepers." Granger spoke up. "According to the rules, every person sentenced to house arrest is assigned three keepers, whose job is to check up on the arrestee and make sure they're okay throughout the sentence. Keepers supervise visitations, monitor health, provide supplies and additional support, among other obligations. The Ministry is supposed to assign two aurors and a general Ministry official as keepers, but because of the confidential nature of this location, they had to make some exceptions in your case."
Draco did not like where this was headed. "Let me guess. You, Potter, and the Weasel are my keepers."
"Well, not entirely."
He gave her a questioning glare.
"You're right about me and Harry, but while Ron agreed to testify, he really didn't want to go any further. We had to find someone else."
"Andromeda" Potter supplied, before Draco could ask.
The Malfoy heir knit his brow in confusion. "She has a grandson to raise. Why would she agree to look after me?"
"She volunteered." Granger supplied. "The Ministry wouldn't go for the plan if we hadn't already decided on three keepers, and I really don't think she wanted to see you end up in Azkaban."
Draco nodded, but didn't say anything as he tried to absorb this information. It was one thing to live in Potter's house; it was quite another to have to rely on the two Gryffindors to meet his needs. He felt like a veritable snake in a lion's den.
Andromeda arrived just as the three of them were finishing lunch. She entered the kitchen in a hurry - her emerald robes swirling - and stood before them, her cheeks flushed and her breathing heavy.
"I have just come from the Ministry." She said, casting her eyes on her nephew. "I have news about your father."
Draco's eyes met his aunt's, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. In the lengthy discussion with Potter and Granger earlier, his father's trial had slipped his mind – and he now wondered if the two Gryffindors had planned it that way. At his look of trepidation, Andromeda gave him a small smile.
"Calm yourself, Draco. Your father's sentence is not unlike your own."
Not unlike your own. The words ran through Draco's head like a spark of fire, and it took only a moment for their meaning to take full effect.
"House arrest?" He didn't trust himself to speak further.
His aunt nodded once, and he let out a sharp exhale in relief.
"How long?" He asked, when he had mustered the courage.
"25 years."
Draco grimaced, but he knew that the sentence was just. His father had committed terrible acts, far more than the Ministry was even aware of. It was a blessing that he would be allowed to serve out his sentence away from Azkaban, at – wait, where exactly would his father be serving his sentence? When the young Malfoy voiced this question, his noticed his aunt's hesitation before she responded. Her answer contained only two words, but they unsettled any notions of justice the platinum-haired boy may have formed about his own sentence so far:
"Malfoy Manor"
Draco gazed up at Andromeda in astonishment. Then, a flash of indignation crossed his face and he leaned back, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.
"So, let me get this straight, my father gets to serve his time in the comforts of the Manor, while I have to stay here?" He sneered, gesturing with one hand at the room around them in a manner that made it quite clear what other words he would have liked to use to describe "here."
No one spoke for a moment. Granger was looking down at her plate, a sad expression on her face. Potter's own expression was guarded, as if he was unsure whether to be understanding or irritated by Draco's blatant disregard of Grimmauld Place as a suitable location to serve out his sentence. Stealing a glance at his aunt, the platinum-haired boy almost blanched. Andromeda was standing in the same place, but she had crossed her arms over her chest and was now regarding him with shrewd eyes, her face taking on an expression reminiscent of McGonagall in one of her sterner moods. After holding his gaze for a moment, she spoke.
"Draco, please go upstairs. I would like to speak with Harry and Hermione alone."
"Are you actually sending me to my room?"
She cocked an eyebrow at him, but otherwise her visage remained firm. "Yes, I suppose I am"
With a low growl, he pushed back his chair and stormed from the room, only pausing once in the front hallway to call back over his shoulder. "I'm not a bloody child!"
His aunt's snarky response made his ears go red. "Then do stop acting like it, or I may resort to disciplining you like one."
Once safely back inside the gates of the Malfoy estate, Lucius resisted the urge to kiss the ground beneath his feet. He had never actually expected to see the Manor again, and while he wasn't exactly pleased with having to spend the next 25 years confined to its grounds, that option proved much, much better than the alternative.
Narcissa had said little to him in the wake of the trial, but he wasn't worried. He would have many years, Merlin willing, to win back her favor. And he could tell that, despite her show of indifference, she really was pleased. Back at the Ministry, she had even gone so far as to praise Molly Weasley's cooking when Arthur had come to escort them back to the Manor - and Narcissa had to be in an extremely good mood to compliment a Weasley.
The three of them – Lucius, Narcissa, and Arthur Weasley – trudged up the hill to the Manor and, once they were comfortably settled in one of the sitting rooms, Arthur proceeded to go over the various rules and restrictions of Lucius' house arrest. That business settled, the Weasley patriarch took his leave, and Lucius found himself alone with his wife. He had no idea what to say to her.
Draco. Their son was a risky subject nowadays, but he had to start somewhere. He figured that the terms of Draco's sentence were much like his own, and he opened his mouth to speak –
Only to shut it again as the flames in the sitting room grate roared to life, casting a green glow over the floor. He watched as his wife moved to the fireplace and spoke quietly into it, and then a figure came through, sweeping into the room in emerald robes.
A moment later he found himself staring up at the rather imposing figure of Andromeda Tonks.
The woman spared an angry glance at Narcissa and then scowled down at him.
"Your son is impossible!"
[A short while earlier]
Andromeda found her nephew pacing in his room, his face a vision of anger. As soon as she entered, he rounded on her, scowling.
"Are you done with your little pow-wow with Granger and Potter, because I don't appreciate being dismissed like a common house-elf. I may have complied quietly in this case, but I guarantee you I won't do so every time!"
"Quietly?" Andromeda raised her eyebrows in mock surprise, "I suppose you can say that, if you believe that stomping up the stairs and slamming your door constitutes being quiet"
"You had no right to send me up here!"
"Draco, there will be times that I will need to speak with Harry and Hermione alone. You are just going to have to accept that." At her words, her nephew stopped pacing, and leaned back on the edge of the desk with a huff. She resisted the urge to shake her head at the petulant display, and continued. "Now, would you like to tell me what your little act of indignation downstairs was all about? I presume it had something to do with where your father will be spending his house arrest?"
"Why does he get to stay at the Manor?! It's not fair!"
Andromeda took a deep breath. "I believe the Wizengamot had already decided your father's sentence before your trial even took place. In light of the vast differences in the time you would be serving, they felt it only prudent to allow your father to serve his at the Manor, and for you to be placed elsewhere - here." She finished by gesturing around the room in mock imitation of Draco's earlier indignation.
Her nephew responded with a sneer. "It's still not fair," he said, folding his arms in front of his chest again and looking away from her.
"Would you rather your father spent the next 25 years separated from his home, from your mother, just so you could be allowed to serve three years at the Manor?"
His silence gave her all the answers she needed.
"You would, wouldn't you?" She asked, her eyes growing wide.
She turning away from him, clenching her fists by her sides. "Of all the – Petulant! Ungrateful! Spoiled! Child!" She said to no one in particular.
She heard a huff of irritation behind her.
"I'm not a –!"
Andromeda rounded on her nephew, fury etched across her face. She noted with satisfaction that he took a step away from her. "I have never seen such selfish, ungrateful behavior," Her words came out slowly, deliberately, her voice rising with each passing sentence. "Just yesterday, you walked away with the lightest sentence that the Wizengamot has handed out in weeks, and yet you have the audacity to complain now? To whine like a spoiled brat who didn't get everything he wanted?"
Draco started to speak – he was sporting his own affronted look now– but Andromeda was not finished.
"You should be grateful to be only serving three years, instead of 25 like your father, to be sitting in this room instead of in a cell in Azkaban, to be alive after facing almost certain death just weeks ago. Do you not appreciate the sacrifices that your mother has made to help put you in this particular position? Do you really not realize how lucky you are to be alive and healthy right now? Well? Do you?"
Her nephew had taken to staring at the ceiling during her speech, but now his eyes flickered back to hers. When he spoke, his voice was like ice.
"So what, your daughter went and got herself killed, so now you think you have the right to lecture people about being grateful to be alive? Get over yourself, you blood traitor bitch. You have no right to lecture me about anything. And I have every right to be upset."
Andromeda closed her eyes, willing herself not to strangle the platinum-haired boy in front of her. She breathed in deeply for several moments, and when she opened her eyes again, her face was entirely composed. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, but it carried the undertones of cold fury.
"Funny how you throw slurs in my face that could now be readily applied to your parents or even yourself. I guess old prejudices die hard. And for your information, I lose no sleep over being a "blood traitor" - as you so term me - but since you meant it as an insult, I'll be happy to take it as one."
She turned on her heel and headed toward the door. "Do not worry. You will not see me again soon. I will not waste my breath arguing with a petulant, spoiled child."
As she made her way down the hall, the door slammed shut behind her. Gritting her teeth, she stormed downstairs and out the front door, her anger apparent in the way her emerald robes billowed around her. She apparated home from the front step, and immediately picked up the floo powder off her mantle. It was time to pay her dear sister and brother-in-law a visit.
Later that evening, Draco sat at his desk, staring down at the letter in front of him. His mother's tidy scrawl leapt up at him, and by the tone, he had been surprised she hadn't sent a howler. That bitch must have gone straight to his parents and informed them about the argument. He sighed, and pushing back from the desk, went and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. But he couldn't escape the letter, as phrases from it kept echoing through his mind.
"I expected you to be a bit more gracious under the circumstances"
Code for "stop being such a spoiled brat." Draco cringed when he thought back on his behavior earlier. Andromeda had been right – although he would never admit it to her – he had been acting like an ungrateful child. He wondered exactly how much she had told his parents, exactly how much his behavior had hurt them.
"Your current behavior is unbecoming of a Malfoy"
Code for "Malfoys do not stomp upstairs, slam doors, or whine about their circumstances." Draco knew that particular line had come straight out of his father's mouth. Hm. Maybe if nothing else, his parent's shared anger at him might help heal the rift between them.
"Now is a time to build connections; we have already burned too many bridges."
Code for "Swallow your pride and apologize to your aunt." Draco huffed. No. He would not apologize to Andromeda Tonks. Who did she think she was, lecturing him like that? Or acting like she was better than him? His family might now be considered blood traitors, but at least they didn't stoop to marrying muggle-borns. He didn't need her. At least, he didn't think he needed her.
He was wrenched out of his musings by a knock on the bedroom door. Crawling off the bed, he shuffled over, opening the door a crack to find Granger there. She was carrying a tray of food.
"Brought you some dinner." She said somewhat sheepishly, as Draco opened the door a bit more. "Harry was going to have Spindle bring it up, but I offered."
"Why?" He took the tray from her, but leaned against the door jamb, obstructing her entrance into the room.
She shrugged. "I thought you might be hungry. Plus, I wanted to make sure you knew that we're leaving tomorrow"
He gave her a single nod. "Consider me informed, Granger"
"Alrighty then." She began to turn away, but stopped quickly, as another thought struck her. "Oh, I know Harry told you to stay out of our bedrooms –" her voice trailed off as she studied his face.
Draco quirked an eyebrow at the girl. Where in the world was she going with this?
"Well, I just thought, since you've really only gotten your clothes so far, if you wanted something to read, I have loads of books on my shelves."
"Why does that not surprise me?"
"I just thought I would offer."
Draco balanced the tray on one hand while he took hold of the door with the other. "Thanks" he said, shutting the door in the Gryffindor's face. At least I didn't slam it. He inwardly praised himself, but he found himself staring at the shut door, wondering. Why is she being so nice to me?
Friend or Foe? The house-elf's demand from that morning once again sprung to his mind, and, once again, Draco could not settle on a convincing answer.
The lines had certainly become blurred.
Narcissa found her husband in the Heritage room, walking carefully among the shards of obsidian glass that still littered the floor (the Malfoy matriarch had expressly forbidden the house-elves from cleaning it up). He had, she noticed, repaired the decanter, and was currently grasping a glass of red wine. She paused just inside the doorway, unsure. She was not afraid of his reaction – however volatile she expected it to be – but she was not in the mood to begin a lengthy argument.
Lucius looked up, and to her surprise, graced her with a small smile. He approached the decanter and poured a second glass. She made her way toward him, careful of her steps. As she took the proffered drink, he spoke.
"I see that you've decided to redecorate." He downed the last of his wine and refilled his glass.
"Yes, I thought the room was a bit too dark for my tastes"
"Hm." He said, heading toward the door, his drink still in hand. "Maybe it's an improvement."
And with that, he strode out of the room.
Yes, Narcissa thought, staring after him, maybe it is.
Next Time: Moments from Draco's first few days alone.
A/N: I know that house-elves do no use personal pronouns to refer to themselves, and that I have Spindle refer to herself as "her" at one point. I did this because I believe Spindle is basically repeating what Harry has told her to say if Draco is rude to her.
Reviews welcome!
