-oOo-

Chapter Ten

-oOo-

Another couple weeks passed without much of anything, going on—except the usual, of course, which was people coming and going at regular intervals (some just passing through, others staying), Harry's friends visiting, nightly meals in the dining room, drinks and dessert in the drawing room (most nights as well), the boys playing pool in the billiards room, the girls taking tea in the parlour...etc, etc, etc...

And then it was getting close to Christmas and most everyone found themselves in the mood to be festive, each contributing something to decorating the house for the holidays.

Petunia and Beth had set up a Muggle craft area on the table in the kitchen, helping the three little ones create their own homemade decorations—and were joined by some of the others. Remembering fun times of their pasts, Dennis and Nigel joined the group, smiling and laughing as they made baubles and ornaments and threw glitter around the kitchen, much to the older women's amusement.

Luna was there too, adding a little magical sparkle to the mix. Beth was completely receptive to the young woman's charming enchantments to their creations, but Petunia was still just a little bit nervous about it all, her brow pinching any time she heard a spell begin or saw magic being performed. As a distraction, Beth put on some Muggle Christmas music, which seemed to lull the other woman into a more relaxed state as they worked—and even had her chuckling every now and again. Petunia Dursley had come a long way!

The laughter in the kitchen drew others in, namely George Weasley, who mostly kept to himself—and Flora Carrow, who almost never spoke to anyone. She'd been in the house since its inception, having been found sitting in a park crying. She'd been brought in by Luna Lovegood, to join the small array of lost souls and from there the house had blossomed into what it was now.

On this day, it was Petunia who'd noticed Flora first, because she'd been keeping her eyes averted from the colorful swirls of magic that Luna was currently performing for the children.

"Would you like to join us, Flora?" Petunia Dursley quietly asked the young woman.

Blinking, Flora stared for a moment—then shrugged noncommittally.

"Come in, dear," Petunia said, beckoning the younger woman. "I'll make us some tea."

Flora watched the Muggle woman move toward the cooker, then followed slowly. As she passed the group having a good time, she chanced a glance their way and Luna, her eyes sparkling, nodded at her. She didn't respond, but that wasn't something that would bother the odd Ravenclaw girl. Luna Lovegood was one of a kind—and just plain good!

At the other end of the kitchen, Flora took a seat at the table and just sat there staring. She'd noticed George Weasley sitting on the counter by the sink, a cup of tea in his hands, but she'd not acknowledged him—and he'd not acknowledged her. They were a pair, the two of them, both mourning their other half.

When the kettle began to whistle, it was quickly removed from the fire. Petunia poured the hot water into two cups and brought them over to the table and sat down.

"I know this must be hard..." Petunia started—then stopped because she didn't know what to say and didn't want to say the wrong thing. She had too often said and done the wrong things. Part of her thought Flora Carrow should be relieved that her aunt and uncle were now residing in the wizarding prison, where they could no longer hurt her—they deserved Azkaban for their crimes! But the poor child was still grieving for her parents, who were killed at different times during the war, and missing her twin sister, who'd completely lost it during their final year at Hogwarts. Hestia Carrow was not dead—like George Weasley's twin—but she might as well be. She was now a patient at St Mungos and wasn't expected to ever leave.

Reaching out, Petunia took up the girl's hand—it was cold, despite warm, cozy kitchen and the heavy, drab green jumper she was wearing. Worriedly, the woman glanced up at the red-haired man who sat perched on the counter top watching.

Sighing heavily, George Weasley took his cue and set his cup down, then went to sit beside the despondent ex-Slytherin girl. For a solid minute, he sat there without saying or doing a thing—then he bumped her shoulder with his.

Her eyes filling, Flora had to blink to see again, her tears spilling down her cheeks as she tipped her head to rest it on the man's upper arm. If anyone understood her, it was George Weasley. She'd thought that many a time, but she wasn't used to socializing with anyone in the house. Not even Theodore Nott, who was a former housemate.

Wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders, George pulled her close and squeezed. "I could take you to see her," he offered.

Sniffling, Flora nodded. She would like that.

-oOo-

On the weekend, two weeks prior to Christmas, both Dennis and Nigel's relatives were scheduled to visit, so everyone was instructed to be on their best behavior 'while the Muggles were in the house.'

This gave Dudley a bit of a laugh, because...weren't the Muggles always in the house?

"What about the house-elves?" he asked Harry as his cousin was dealing with a particularly bad Teddy meltdown—which caused the portrait of Walburga Black to go berserk.

"Disgusting, filthy half-breeds!" the portrait screeched. "Blood traitors, children of filth! By-products of dirt and vileness! Abominations! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—"

Dudley cringed and backed away, quickly moving into the stairwell that led down into the kitchen, closing the door as he went and leaving Harry to deal with both the portrait and Teddy Lupin. Harry completely understood. Teddy they could all handle—Walburga, not so much!

Teddy had collapsed onto the floor, making his body go limp, so that it was difficult to pick him up. Harry scooped him up anyway though and held the boy while he kicked and wailed his displeasure, all the while glaring up at the screaming portrait.

Between the shrieking portrait and Teddy's tantrum, Harry was having a hard time focusing—then he noticed Malfoy standing at the foot of the stairs with Parkinson and made a decision.

"Oi! Malfoy!" he bellowed—then stalked over to the blond and pushed the screaming child into his arms. "Here. Take Teddy up to my room and put him down for his nap while I handle this!" he said, gesticulating wildly, but in the general direction of the portrait.

Draco opened his mouth to complain or protest or refuse, but...the dark-haired man had already turned away, his wand out.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Harry yelled. "Shut. The fuck. UP!"

He flung a curse at the painting and watched as the old woman paused for a moment, then started screaming again. She was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, and all along the hall behind them, the other portraits suddenly awoke and began to yell too. Shuddering, Harry actually screwed up his eyes at the noise and clapped his hands over his ears.

After a few moments though, Harry opened his eyes to see that everyone had cleared out of the hallway, making it possible for him to use some stronger magic. Sometimes only dark magic could silence the old bat, but Harry didn't want to hurt anyone else. With an empty hall, Harry did what was necessary.

Eventually, they all quieted down—some quicker than others—and Harry was able to close the velvet curtains over the portraits. But doing so, used up all his reserves. He was exhausted.

After it was over, Beth rushed to his side. She'd stayed well-hidden in the dining room while Harry lit up the hallway with magic, but now that it was over she needed to get the young man up to his room to rest.

"That was stupid, Harry!" she hissed as she put an arm around Harry's waist and led him toward the stairwell.

"I know. I just...don't know another way to stop her," the dark-haired man said.

Beth shook her head. "It's ridiculous! There has got to be a way to get that...thing off the wall," the Muggle said.

Harry snorted. "You would think, but...I've tried everything," he said as they rounded up onto the first floor. "Permanent sticking charm, funnily enough, seems to be...permanent." He grinned.

"Hmm. I've been thinking about that," said Beth. "I spoke to Benji...I hope you don't mind."

Harry shrugged. "Nope."

"What about...asking young Draco for help with the paintings?" she suggested.

"Hmm."

"He's a Black...through his mother," she went on.

Harry shook his head. "So's Andromeda and she's already tried."

"Yes, but...she's a disowned Black who's not even on the family tree anymore, so..." Beth stopped talking—and walking, because Harry could barely take another step.

Harry heaved a sigh and glanced around the landing—they were on the second floor—then up the stairs again. The fourth floor seemed so far!

"Yeah. Maybe. I'll think about it," he said as he started moving again. He'd had thoughts on getting the Black family tapestry repaired too. Andromeda shouldn't have to live in house where she had to look at herself burned off the tree—not to mention a tree where her deceased daughter and grandson didn't exist, because the tree didn't recognize their births.

Beth nodded, but didn't say another word about it as she helped the exhausted man up another two flights and into his room. She was surprised to find Draco Malfoy in the room, sitting on the couch holding a sleeping Teddy to his chest—and Draco was surprised to find her leading a magic-worn Harry straight to his bed.

"Would you like me to take Teddy, Harry?" Beth asked. "So you can get some rest. I don't mind."

"Naw," the dark-haired man said as he collapsed onto his bed. "He can have his nap here with me."

Beth glanced at Draco, still holding Teddy, and frowned.

Standing up, the blond brought the sleeping child to Harry's bed and carefully placed him beside his godfather, but he wasn't sure what to do with himself afterward. Teddy had cuddled up to the messy-haired man, both sighing their contentment at being together.

"Your wand in on your night table, Harry," Beth said. "Try to get some rest." Sighing, she left, leaving the door cracked open.

"Well then, I'll just...go too," Draco murmured, starting for the door.

"Malfoy. Could you...close the door," Harry said with a sigh.

"Of course, Potter," the blond said.

"And...um...couldyoustay," he whispered quickly.

Draco blinked with surprise and turned around. "Excuse me?"

Harry huffed. "Never mind."

Chuckling, Draco closed the door quietly. "I'll stay," he said. "If you insist."

Sighing again, Harry closed his eyes. "Thanks."

"Though I have no idea why," Draco continued as he approached the side of Harry's bed. Teddy was now curled around the stretched out man, sleeping peacefully.

"It's nap time," the dark-haired man mumbled, patting the empty spot on the bed, then promptly falling asleep.

For several minutes, Draco watched Harry Potter sleep. He looked completely at peace—and utterly beautiful.

Frowning, Draco wondered what he was thinking. He knew he shouldn't allow himself to have such thoughts about the other man. While he'd been told over and over again that Potter didn't hold grudges—that he'd let the past go—Draco couldn't imagine that the other man would welcome the affection of his once enemy. Really, he should turn tail and run before he did something stupid.

But he couldn't make himself leave Harry's bedside. Instead of lying down on the bed, the way the prone man had seemed to want him to, Draco took a chair from the other side of the room and dragged it close, then sat down on it and got comfortable—as comfortable as one could possibly be on a lumpy, old chair.

-oOo-

The light in the room was quite low when Harry opened his eyes again, making him realize that he'd slept the day away. And Teddy was gone, he noted when he reached out and found the other side of the bed empty.

"I took him downstairs when he woke up," said a voice. "Aunt Dromeda arrived home around half three, so..."

Rolling over, Harry frowned. "Malfoy? You're still here?"

"You...asked me to stay," the blond reminded him.

"Did I?"

Malfoy glared. "How often do you do that, Potter? Thoroughly exhaust yourself with dark magic, I mean?" he asked, obviously angry.

"It's the portraits," Harry started with a sigh. "Sometimes they just...make me crazy."

Draco snorted. "You could have hurt someone. Teddy."

"Don't lecture me, Malfoy!" Harry snapped as he rose to a sitting position. "I gave him to you and you took him out of harm's way."

"That's not the point," Draco said. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

Draco huffed. Was he being deliberately obtuse? "You...depleted your magic. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

Harry raised his hand and gave it a little wave, summoning his wand effortlessly, then pointing it at the low-burning fire in the fireplace and turning it into a blaze. "I think my magic's fine, thanks."

Draco growled. "You're an idiot!"

Harry chuckled. "Yes. I know you've always thought so," he said, his eyes twinkling like emeralds in the firelight.

Draco glared at him. "I'm talking long term injury here, Potter!" the blond snapped. "It's extremely dangerous to use so much magic all at once. You could cause irreversible damage your magical core and turn yourself into a Squib."

"Would that be so bad?" Harry asked.

Draco frowned. "Do you really mean that?"

Harry shrugged, but didn't answer.

"You should eat," Draco said, getting up from his chair. "I'll go get you something."

"No need. I'm sure one of the elves is already on that," Harry said. "They will have sensed that I'm awake now, so..."

Frowning again, Draco gave a clipped nod. "Does this...happen often?"

Harry shrugged again. "Not really. They just...know what to do. I just need to eat."

Draco shook his head. "You need to find a way to get that portrait down...or permanently silenced if not down," Draco said quietly. He didn't know why he was suddenly so concerned.

Harry nodded. "I'm in complete agreement, Malfoy," he said. "About that...Beth and Benji seem to think you might be able to help."

Draco's eyes widened. "Me? What could I do?"

"Well, you're a Black, so...maybe you would be able to help."

Draco frowned. "Hmm. Maybe. I'll have to think on it."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

CRACK!

"Master Harry, Aunt Petunia has prepared you a meal," Debby said as she moved forward. Today she was wearing a flowery purple dress and a matching bonnet with holes in the top for her ears to stick through. "And she expressed extreme displeasure that you were so careless about your health..."

Draco narrowed his eyes. He sensed that the little creature had cut her words off. He sensed that she'd been about to add the word again at the end of her sentence, but stopped herself.

Already moving to get up, Harry snorted.

"See Potter," Draco said, feeling vindicated. "Even your Muggle aunt agrees with me.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sit down, Malfoy," he said, gesturing at the sofa in his room. "Looks like my aunt made enough for the both of us. Beth must have told her you stayed up here with me."

Without waiting for the other man to sit, Harry sat down and smiled at Debby. The house-elf instantly came forward and put down the tray of food. Soup and sandwiches, some fruit and cheese, and wine.

"No," Draco started. "Well, she might have, but...when I took Teddy down to Aunt Dromeda, Petunia was there...conversing to Dudley and Pansy in the kitchen, so..."

Harry nodded. "So then, the entire house knows you stayed up here with me. Brilliant!"

Draco frowned. "You asked me to stay."

"I wasn't in my right mind," Harry countered—causing Draco to clench is jaw.

"Lighten up, Malfoy. No one here gives two shites what room we eat in. Just...sit and eat."

Draco glanced down at the food. "Ahh. How sweet, Potter. Dinner for two," he said. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your aunt was trying to set us up."

Harry snorted. "Not likely," he said, picking up a tiny triangular sandwich and shoving it into his mouth—then picking up a second one and doing the same with it.

The blond grimaced. "Were you raised in a barn, Potter?"

Harry laughed. "A cupboard, actually," he quipped—but didn't explain. "Are you going to sit or what?"

Draco glanced at the food. He was hungry after sitting in Potter's bedroom for hours watching him sleep. And worrying...only Merlin knew why. Sighing, Draco shrugged and sat down. Reaching for a grape, he nibbled on it. When it was gone, he tentatively picked up a sandwich and took a small bite.

"You eat like a bird, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice full of teasing as he took up a bowl of soup and sipped it—without using a spoon.

"You eat like a pig, Potter," Draco responded, watching. "Do you not know how to use utensils?"

"Of course, but...this is easier when not sitting at a proper table. Or...maybe you're used to eating in bed, with a house-elf hand-feeding you." Grinning, Harry put down his own bowl and picked up Draco's, then dipped the blond's spoon into the liquid and held it out for the blond to eat. "Open wide."

Draco just stared.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. Humor me. Open up."

The blond swallowed hard, but did as he was told, closing his mouth—and eyes—when the dark-haired man pushed the spoon into his mouth. He almost groaned when Potter pushed the spoon down on his tongue, then tipped it up and gently pulled it from his mouth.

"See. Not so difficult. And good too, yeah? Aunt Petunia makes a pretty good soup," he said. "And, to be honest, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she was trying to..." He let his words trail off.

Draco frowned, then shook his head. "Actually, I doubt it. She doesn't seem too pleased about her son's fascination with Pansy. Pansy doesn't think your aunt likes her much."

Harry chuckled. "Actually, she likes her fine. Whatever makes her Dudders happy, makes Aunt Petunia happy. Besides, I'm not Dudley. He's her son, so it's different."

"Your family is...odd," the blond said.

Harry shrugged. "As is yours, Malfoy," he said, handing the other man his bowl of soup.

"Touché," was all Draco could think of to say.

-oOo-

Thirty minutes later, having consumed the majority of food that Debby had brought them, Harry and Draco were still sitting side by side on the sofa in Harry's room—consuming more wine—when the Floo whooshed and in walked Ron and Hermione Weasley.

"Don't these two ever come by the front door?" Draco asked snidely.

Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes, but Ron's face turned magenta.

"What the fuck is he doing in here, Harry?" the redhead burst.

"Ronald! Language!" Hermione scolded—at the same time that Harry sighed.

"I don't want to have this conversation again, Ron," said Harry, exhausted.

"Weasley, your friend has overtaxed himself...used too much magic on the portraits downstairs," Draco tattled, dumbing it down for Potter's less than bright friend. "So maybe this isn't the best time, hmm?"

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried. "Not again!"

Harry shrugged. "They wouldn't shut up," he explained.

"But why? Unless there's something you haven't told us?" Ron prompted, ignoring the part about the use of dark magic.

"That's my cue to say good night," Draco said as he rose to his feet. "Or at least leave the room."

"Coward," Ron hissed as the blond walked by.

Draco just rolled his eyes. "I'll be down in the drawing room, Potter."

Harry nodded—then waited for Malfoy to close the door before he looked at his friends. They were looking at him expectantly—Ron wanted answers about Malfoy's presence and Hermione wanted to reprimand him for using curses he knew he shouldn't be using.

"Go on then," he offered.

Hermione bit her lip worriedly while Ron ran a hand through his flaming orange hair and started pacing.

"Really?" the redhead asked. "Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not like he wants me back."

Ron stopped pacing and turned on his friend. "Are you fucking kidding me, mate?!" he yelled. "Malfoy would jump into your bed if you said the word."

Harry shook his eyes. "No, he wouldn't. He's just—"

"Bullshit!" Ron roared. "Are you blind?!"

Harry frowned.

"Well, of course you're blind!" Ron ranted, pacing again—then he stopped. "It's okay, Harry...that you're gay. I've never had an issue with it. Most people in the wizarding community don't give two fucks who you sleep with. It's just...Malfoy? Really?"

Harry sighed. "It...snuck up on me, Ron."

Ron chuckled. "No it didn't," he said. " Stop lying to yourself. This has been brewing for over a decade."

Harry opened his mouth to contradict his friend, but Ron just kept on.

"Merlin, why didn't I see it? With the way you two have always danced around each other. It's so obvious," he said. For a moment he just continued to pace, then he stopped and looked down at Harry. Harry was still sitting on the sofa, looking somewhat fearful—of rejection?—and partially surprised.

"It's okay, Harry," Ron finally said, his face softening. "He's a complete git, but...whatever."

Harry sighed again, relieved. "Um. Thank you, I think. I mean, I'm not doing anything with Malfoy, but...thanks."

"Yet," Ron countered with a grim grin. "The word you left out is yet."

On the far side of the room, Hermione huffed. While her husband discussed Malfoy with Harry, she'd moved off to the side and watched them. Ron was right, Malfoy clearly held some sort of affection for Harry and Harry reciprocated in some way, even if he hadn't acknowledged it yet. But she was more concerned with the dark magic he'd used.

"This has to stop, Harry," she whispered.

Harry blinked. "I can't help my feelings, Hermione," he said, misunderstanding.

Hermione held up her hand. "While I'm pleased you've admitted to having feelings for Malfoy, that's not at all what I was talking about. I meant your use of magic that leaves you so exhausted that you sleep for seven hours in the middle of the day."

"Was it seven?" Harry asked. "I feel like it was maybe only six."

Hermione glared. "I don't think we need to quibble over the timing. Six, seven, eight hours? What's the bloody difference?!"

"She has a point," interjected Ron.

"You cannot allow your magic to explode out like that. It's dangerous for everyone in the house. And for you."

Harry nodded. "I know. But what should I do...just allow the portraits to scream and wail every time they're disturbed?"

Ron snorted. "Those bloody things are more than disturbed, mate."

Harry chuckled. "True that."

"It's not funny, Harry," Hermione said—then started laughing herself. "It's really not though."

Harry nodded. "I know. And...I've spoken to Malfoy about them. The portraits, I mean. Beth suggested that maybe he could help...being a Black and all."

Hermione frowned. "I can't believe I didn't consider that," she said, clearly displeased with her own lack of thought on the matter.

"And I think maybe you should start using his first name...much as it disgusts me," Ron put in. "You know, if you're going to pursue...that." He made a show of shuddering—while grinning.

Harry blushed. "Yeah. Probably."

"About that," Hermione started. "Do you think it's safe?"

"Safe?" Harry queried.

She nodded. "Well, with what they were doing out there. Malfoy and Parkinson. If you...you know, pursue him, then..."

Harry face hardened. "How is it that you know what they were doing to survive?"

Hermione glanced at Ron. "George may have mentioned something or the other about the night they arrived on your doorstep," Ron informed him.

"Hmm. George needs to keep his mouth shut!" Harry snapped.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione started, "George didn't mean anything by it. He was just—"

"I know that, but...everyone here has their own issues, Hermione," Harry said. "And the only way it works for those of us living here is for everyone's business to stay in-house, if you will. George wouldn't like it if anyone here talked about him with someone who doesn't live here, so..."

Hermione nodded. "You're right," she agreed. "I'm sorry. That doesn't stop me from worrying about you...now that I know."

"I understand. However, just keep in mind that I'm a grown man and don't need any mothering."

Hermione nodded. "All right. Please though...just be careful."

Smiling, Harry said, "Always."

At this, Ron snorted. "More like, never."

They all laughed—even though it wasn't a laughing matter.