The wind picked up in the afternoon and clouds scuttled across the sky in the telltale sign that a storm was approaching. Draco sent Harry back to his room to change into a clean uniform and told him to be in the dining room at seven for supper.
"No more bells," Harry said firmly.
"No more bells what?" Draco asked, his eyes cold. He had been reserved and distant since their walk in the orchard, more like the Draco Harry knew from school.
"No more bells please, sir," Harry gritted his teeth, balling his fists and wishing he could lash out.
"Fine, I'll send Sugar the next time I need you," Draco paused, "I mean the next time I require your services."
"Thank you," Harry turned sharply on his heel and marched down to the servant quarters. He laid in his bed for a while and listened to the rising wind outside. He could feel the rain coming, smell it on the air. He could hear other servants moving around in their own rooms, occasionally coming and going but not speaking much. There was Iris, the head housekeeper, two maids whose names he couldn't recall, the chef who seemed to only be known as Chef, his assistant Pater, and two gardeners he hadn't been introduced to yet. He wasn't sure how many house elves there were or where they slept.
He decided to take a shower and slipped down the hall without having to speak to any of his new coworkers. The communal bathroom had three private shower stalls along the far end, and he quickly undressed and ducked behind the curtain of the furthest one. He stood beneath the hot spray, grateful for the moment of relaxation as the day's sweat washed down his body. He squeezed out some liquid soap lathered it slowly between his palms. He closed his eyes and slid his hands across his arms and chest while taking deep, calming breaths. He ran his hands down his smooth abdomen and let the suds tickle across his groin.
The bathroom was deserted and there was no sound of anyone approaching. Thinking there would be no better time, he grasped his knob and stroked gently. He played his fingers up and down the length of it as it perked up and stiffened. He leaned against the clean white tile and pulled slowly, flipping through various interesting images in his mind like the channels on a muggle telly. He thought about some of his schoolmates, Dean Thomas, Oliver Wood, boys he would never breathe a word to about his attraction to them. He pictured Draco Malfoy stretched luxuriously in the back of his limo, then shook the image from his head. He thought about a rather handsome man he'd spotted across the platform as they had exited King's Cross Station. He thought about Draco exiting the shower with just a towel around his waist. Harry frowned again. He put the image of Oliver back into his mind's eye and imagined running into him on the streets of Hogsmeade, exchanging a glance, and finding a private room together. He thought about wind ruffling through white blond hair and golden sunlight dappling strong, pale shoulders.
He came suddenly, and had to hold onto the ceramic soap ledge for balance as the intensity overwhelmed him. He opened his eyes and looked down at the soapy water that encircled his feet on the way to the drain. It was okay, he told himself. It was just images. He hadn't imagined doing anything he would regret.
He let the hot water drizzle over him for a while longer before finally deciding it was time to get out. He shut off the taps and secured his towel by feel, then wrapped it around his waist. He stepped out and immediately jumped back in behind the curtain.
"Iris!" he blurted out. "I didn't hear you come in."
The lanky middle aged woman eyed him through the reflection of the mirror. "You can come out," she said in a chiding tone. "I'm not interested in children."
"I'm not a child," Harry stepped out again, this time more careful to hold his towel firmly in place.
"You are to me," she leaned forward and lightly teased the gray curls that bobbed around her head. "Besides," she added. "You're one of them."
"One of who?"
"Like the young master," Iris said vaguely. "Two of a kind."
"I'm not like him," Harry assured her. "I'm not wealthy. We weren't even friends at school."
She set her brush down and frowned pityingly at him, then went back to styling her hair.
Harry was distinctly uncomfortable. He excused himself and made haste back to his room. He dressed quickly in a clean uniform and made a passing effort to knot the cravat correctly. After three unsuccessful attempts he settled for another sloppy overhand knot. Supper wasn't for another hour and a half so he decided to sit at his barren desk and write a letter to Ron and Hermione. He wondered if he would be able to convince Draco to let him have access to an owl.
He opened the top drawer and found it stocked with paper and quills. He first wrote to Hermione, and tried his best to explain what his first two days had been like so far. As he reached the bottom of the first page he decided he was complaining too much and scrunched it up. Starting again, he tried to be more optimistic and just focus on the parts that were okay. But he ran out of things to say after two paragraphs. He scrunched it up again. By the time Sugar rapped on his door to call him to supper he had a pile of parchment on the floor and nothing worth sending to either friend. He tossed the quill back into the drawer and told himself that two days was too soon to write anyway.
He had been so absorbed in his writing that he hadn't noticed the onset of rain. He was thankful for the magic that prevented the wind from lashing him as he passed through to the main house. It was pouring buckets outside, and the distant roll of thunder told him more was on the way.
Chef wanted nothing to do with him and waved him through. He stopped once again in the butler pantry to steel his nerve before entering the dining room. Three steps in he halted in his tracks.
Lucius sat at the head of the table as he had the night before. Draco sat to his left with his back to the fireplace, but tonight the seat to his right was filled. Narcissa Malfoy was in attendance. Harry's stomach quaked as he faced the three blond purebloods. Draco looked up at his entrance and waved him over.
"Have a seat, Potter," he gestured to the seat to his left. He would be directly in Narcissa and Lucius' line of sight.
As before, all twenty four place settings were served. Harry had entered during the appetizer course and had just a brief moment to warily eyeball his serving of oysters on the half shell before they were whisked away. The soup arrived next, and the four of them lifted their spoons at the same time.
"Who is your friend, dear?" Narcissa smiled at Harry, and he noticed that she seemed unfocused, almost walleyed.
"This is Randolph Featherbottom," Lucius looked up from his soup and regarded her with some annoyance. "Surely you remember his father."
"Oh yes," Narcissa's smile faltered as she clearly was unable to recollect the name.
Lucius was more lucid than the previous night. He actually managed to eat and tracked the conversation around him. Narcissa was bright and chipper and spoke glowingly of her experiences volunteering in the children's ward at St Mungo's Hospital. She said she had only returned for the night and would be heading back to the hospital in the morning.
"They do need me, dear," she said seriously to Draco.
"It sounds like it," Draco's face was drawn. His mother's madness weighed on him in a way that his father's didn't.
Harry kept his mouth closed and contributed as little to the conversation as possible. It was surreal, sitting with Lucius and Narcissa and Draco bloody Malfoy, enjoying supper while the two elder diners prattled on delusionally. Harry felt out of sorts, looking at their faces and thinking about the all-too-recent war.
He hated the Malfoys, he reminded himself. They deserved to suffer. Then again, these weren't really the Malfoys anymore. They were hollow shells of their former selves, twisted and fallen from grace. Narcissa's false happiness couldn't hide that.
At the end of the meal Lucius stood without acknowledging anyone in the room and retreated to his quarters. Narcissa followed him hesitantly, the first sign of any emotion other than elation shadowing her face. Draco sat back in his chair and sighed miserably. Harry stared at his plate and had no idea what to say.
"Would you like me to refill your water?" he asked hesitantly. "Sir?"
"No," Draco looked up, his gray eyes searching Harry's for something. "You can go back to your room if you want." He stood and departed without another word.
Harry did as he was told, although it wasn't actually an order. He just didn't know what else to do with himself. He changed into flannel trousers and a t-shirt and sat at his desk, quill set to parchment and totally unable to express himself. He finally gave up, extinguished the light, and sat on his bed so he could watch the storm through his window as it rolled across the orchard.
He wasn't sure when he fell asleep but a rapid tapping at his door woke him up. He opened his eyes in confusion as a flash of lightning lit up the entire room. A clamorous blast of thunder immediately followed, and he wondered that he had slept through such an intense storm but had awoken to the sound of knocking. He fumbled his glasses onto his face and lurched for the doorknob.
Sugar was waiting on the other side, his expression grim and his voice barely audible above the lashing of the rain across the roof. "Master Draco would like to see you in his quarters," he said bluntly. Then, message delivered, Disapparated immediately.
Harry didn't bother changing into his uniform. A quick check of the clock told him it was two thirty in the morning. He slipped his trainers on and stumbled sleepily down the corridor, then dashed to the kitchen entrance. The storm couldn't reach through the protective shielding around the passageway, but the ferocity of the lightning drove him forward with haste. The kitchen was dark, as was the servant stairwell. Harry moved by feel and caught glimpses of his footing during the frequent flashes of lightning. He crept down the second floor hallway and made his way to Draco's suite.
"Open up, Master Draco," he smacked himself in the forehead. "Shite."
"Come in," Draco called.
Harry slid the doors open, stepped inside, and slid them shut behind him. The drapes were drawn and the candelabras were all lit, and every lamp was illuminated. The rain pounded against the glass and resonated through the room. Draco sat in the middle of his bed, his covers mounded around him, looking very young and very frightened.
"Did I wake you?" he asked bravely, putting on a transparently casual air.
"Of course you did," Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.
"Sorry," Draco flinched as another clash of thunder pealed through the room.
"Are you scared of the storm?" Harry laughed in disbelief. "The patron saint of Slytherin house, afraid of a little thunder."
"Piss off if you can't be helpful," Draco scowled. "No wait!" he called as Harry turned to leave. "Just come sit for a minute."
Harry crossed the room and flopped down across the foot of the bed. He rolled onto his side and tucked his knees up. "Can I just sleep right here? Is that good enough or do I need to talk?"
Another clap of thunder made Draco flinch. "Storms don't usually bother me," he clarified. "They never bothered me at school. It's this house, this haunted bloody house" he said miserably.
"It probably doesn't help knowing both of your parents are here," Harry added with a yawn.
"No, it doesn't," Draco nodded.
Harry cracked an eye open and saw Draco's hands were trembling. He reached out and lazily swatted at his fingers. "Master Draco fucking Malfoy doesn't tremble," he said sleepily. 'Bollocks," he added belatedly.
Draco laughed in spite of himself. He pushed one unsteady hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
"If you'll let me sleep I'll stay here tonight," Harry said, pushing himself up to a seated position.
"Okay," Draco looked embarrassed. "Look, Potter, I'm not a coward. You know that."
"I know that," Harry crawled up the length of the oversized bed and punched a pillow into submission. He flopped down and dug his legs under the covers.
Draco extinguished the nearest lamp and laid down next to Harry, his hands folded rigidly on top of the quilt. A very close lightning strike made the candles flicker and the room shake. Draco yelped and clapped his hands over his ears. Harry rolled over and tossed an arm over the top of him.
"Roll over," he said, nudging Draco to face away, so that his back nestled into Harry's abdomen. He fell asleep spooning his mortal enemy, but he was too tired to care either way.
