MUTATION - Sequel to "Virus"
Summary: Living at the safe house is not what Draco expected and one chance encounter will change his life profoundly.
Harry enjoys his time with Sirius in preparation for his and Hermione's subsequent hunt and in the process solves one part of the riddle of R.A.B.
Author's Notes: Yes, I'm back! Sorry about the delay but I had the flu and more importantly, ffn refused to upload my document... But here it goes! Thanks to VernieKlein for being a wonderful beta!
I'll warn you right away, the first chapters will lack in the porn department for obvious reasons. And I can't see Harry going back to something casual with Nathan after everything that's happened with Draco.
So be patient. I hope, though, that the plot will keep you in suspense! Besides – there are always flashbacks! And Sirius and Remus... (Re-writing canon with Sirius in the picture is fun! Don't understand why JKR killed him!)
Also, part I was written for VernieKlein who wanted a story where I wouldn't have bad things happen to Harry and Draco after they get together. I obliged though I make no promises for part II. Ye be warned. (Spoilers: I'm a sucker for happy endings. Enough said.)
Cookies to everyone who spots the Doctor Who references!
XXX
Chapter 1 - New Beginnings
Time is never time at all
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth
And our lives are forever changed
We will never be the same
- "Tonight, tonight", Smashing Pumpkins
XXX
The sky is growing brighter as Draco watches, overseeing the port from his place on the balcony. It's warm despite the early hour and Draco can hear noise from the harbour; the first signs of life in this strange city.
His gaze wanders to his left, sliding over grass-covered slopes leading up the hill. They are on the Eastern edge of Port Tennant, Swansea, Wales. A Muggle town.
It's not that he expected their safe house to be situated near Magical folk – too risky, they might be recognised too easily. Yet Draco has hoped for a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Instead, when Professor McGonagall took him here last night, he found himself in a small townhouse with actual neighbours.
"There are certain rules you have to follow, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall told him sternly. "Performing magic is to be kept at a minimum and never ever do a spell in front of a Muggle. You may not have the trace on you anymore though we can never be too careful when faced with You-Know-Who."
Draco snorts and hugs his knees as a breeze makes him shiver. As if he has any inclination to interact with Muggles…
"Now, your neighbours' memories have been altered; they believe your family has been living here for seven years already and that your father's job has taken him to America which explains his absence. You will go by the surname Mallory for the time being. We can't risk anyone becoming suspicious. Also, your mother has already formed bonds with some of the families nearby – I would urge you to follow her example."
Draco didn't say anything, he merely let his disdain show on his face which caused the headmistress to sigh.
"Mr Malfoy, you are confided to this town for an unknown amount of time. You might have to spend years here. It will be imperative that you get accustomed to the lifestyle of the people surrounding you or you will be found out."
McGonagall left and Draco failed at falling asleep in his new room. The bed was comfortable enough but still unfamiliar and the sheets were cold and empty next to him.
So Draco has spent the past hours watching the moon and the subsequent sunrise, realising after much contemplation that he should stop whining about his situation. It's either the safe house or being captured by the Dark Lord – his situation could be much, much worse.
"Draco?"
"Good morning, mother."
He looks up and smiles. Staying here has been good on Narcissa. She has lost her haunted look, the lines on her face aren't as hard as Draco remembers and she has more colour in her cheeks.
"Did you sleep?"
"A bit," Draco lies without missing a beat.
She draws out a chair and sits down behind him at the balcony table. "I know this is all very new but I think we can enjoy our time here. Give it a chance. At least we still have our house-elves."
Draco chuckles. Five house-elves for this small a house are a tad excessive, yet the alternative would have been killing them since they can't set the creatures free – they know too many secrets.
He and his mother take breakfast in the morning sun, and afterwards, Draco explores the house. He noticed some strange devices the previous night and they still confuse him today. A big machine is standing on a small table facing the sofa so that everyone sitting down will have to stare at it.
Draco approaches it cautiously, wary of hidden traps or dangers. He waves his hand in front of what appears to be a screen yet nothing happens. Tentatively, Draco presses a button – and the machine comes to life.
Draco doesn't scream. He doesn't.
"It's a television." Draco whirls around to where his mother is standing in the doorway, a smirk on her lips. It almost looks as if she is laughing at him. "Watching it is the Muggle's preferred activity in their spare time as far as I can tell. There are some interesting programmes, too. You can learn a lot about Muggles by watching it."
Draco nods, eyebrows raised high, and presses the button again which silences the apparatus, thank Merlin.
Narcissa proceeds to show him even more Muggle technology. There is a radio, which works almost exactly like a magical one, a machine that produces coffee, a plastic kettle to boil water for tea something called a telephone which apparently is how Muggles communicate since they don't have a floo network.
Everything runs on electricity, especially the lights. Draco has to admit he is intrigued. Muggles seem to have found an alternative for Magic.
XXX
The following days are a blur to Draco. Narcissa takes him out shopping for Muggle clothes and the currency is confusing and the coins and bills are ugly. At least he obtains smart clothes: several suits that fit him like a second skin, dress shirts, some t-shirts and jumpers as well as a few pairs of something called jeans which he remembers Harry referencing once.
Draco has to concede that he does look good in them.
His mother also insists on buying him a mobile phone. The idea horrifies him a little yet Narcissa tells him, "Everyone who can afford them has them."
Draco still doesn't trust the TV, which is why he turns to the books his mother salvaged from the Manor. She only managed to bring a fraction of their library but was careful to take the most valuable and illegal copies.
Draco has been counting on this because ever since Harry told him about Horcruxes; Draco has been itching to do research on this particular topic.
The last two weeks of June pass in this manner before Draco has to face another challenge.
"I invited the Smiths and Pearsons over for tea on Sunday," Narcissa informs him Saturday at breakfast.
"Why?"
"They want to welcome you back from school, Draco. Don't forget, they believe they have known you for several years. Not well, admittedly, but they are aware of your existence."
"Do I have to be there?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you have any pressing appointments that slipped my mind?"
Draco scowls into his coffee.
XXX
He survives tea though it is a close call. He almost died of boredom. The two married couples remind Draco of some of his mother's high-class Wizarding friends and the conversational topics correspond accordingly.
After one and a half hours of "Have you heard what she did" or "Did you see" or "You won't believe what" Draco excuses himself and is promptly kissed on the cheek by both Mrs Smith and Mrs Pearson.
"You've grown into such a handsome young man, Draco."
"I'm sure you're a right heart-breaker, aren't you? Your boarding school is co-ed, isn't it? Anyone special to write to during the summer?"
"Not anymore," Draco replies curtly and flees after another quick apology.
XXX
When Harry sees Sirius again for the first time after Christmas, it's not as a big dog at King's Cross but in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, cooking supper for the three of them.
His godfather breaks into a wide grin when he catches sight of Harry in the doorframe and steps closer, pulling Harry into a hug. Harry notes that Sirius is a little thinner than the last time he saw him and hopes it is due to the solitude of his family's house, not to anything else.
"It's great to have you back, Harry."
"It's great to be back," Harry answers and accepts a bowl of salad to carry into the dining room.
They manage to get through dinner without mentioning Draco, Dumbledore's death or Harry's involvement in everything while instead they talk about less touchy subjects like Sirius' mission to make Grimmauld Place more liveable (his mother's portrait is still hanging firmly in its place yet apparently, the other rooms have much improved) or that Hermione is dating Zabini.
"Let's take this to the living room, shall we?" Remus suggests and Sirius tells Kreacher to get them some drinks. Harry has never been so glad for alcohol.
"So," Sirius starts and trails off, apparently unsure of where to begin. "You and Draco Malfoy. How did that happen?"
Harry decided, somewhere between Draco leaving, Ron and him exchanging insecure glances at the funeral and Hermione swearing she will stand by Harry until the very end, that it will be best to simply tell his godfather the entire truth. He doesn't want to keep secrets from Sirius, not when there is a war coming and Harry has to join right in.
So he recounts the true story of how Draco and he met, how Harry found out, how their relationship developed, how they organised the safe house and how they parted the day after Dumbledore died.
Sirius doesn't say anything throughout his tale, though his face shows his thoughts clearly. Right now, Harry would almost describe it as rueful.
"You've fallen in love with that git, haven't you?"
Harry shrugs helplessly.
"Does he love you back?"
Harry nods, a smile ghosting around his lips and Sirius' expressions smoothens out.
"Good. And seeing as he didn't betray you in the end, I'm much more inclined to accept this."
"There is no 'this'," Harry mumbles.
"What?"
Harry draws a shaky breath, fighting off the emotion still high in his chest whenever he thinks about it. "I'm not going to see him again, not while the war is still raging."
Sirius remains silent for a minute, then suddenly puts his arms around Harry in a heartfelt embrace. Sirius holds him until Harry isn't shaking anymore, until he feels strong enough to lean back and wipe his cheeks dry.
Harry is eternally grateful that he doesn't need to put into words what he is feeling, that his godfather seems to understand without being told.
Looking around, he notices that Remus left the room. Even better – Dumbledore asked him not to tell anyone about the Horcruxes but he doesn't want to keep it from Sirius. Asking Remus to leave would have been unpleasant.
"There's something else I need to tell you about," Harry begins and manages to explain everything up to the point where Dumbledore and he left for the cave before Remus knocks on the door.
"It's getting late, I'm off to bed," he says. They bid him good night and Harry can't stifle a yawn.
"You should be, too, Harry. You can tell me the rest tomorrow, alright?"
XXX
The next day, Remus is away on Order business and Sirius presents Harry with a few thick volumes when he comes down to breakfast. Well, strictly speaking it may be lunchtime but in Harry's mind, it's still breakfast.
"What are those?"
"Books," Sirius replies, deadpan. Harry raises his eyebrows. "Well, not just any books. Defensive spells, some about Dark Magic. I figured if you're going to hunt Horcruxes, you might want to prepare yourself."
All thoughts of tea or food forgotten, Harry grabs the copy on top of the pile. It looks ancient, the binding broken in several places, the parchment yellow with time.
"Where did you find these?"
Sirius smirks. "The Black library. Quite extensive, really. Most of the things in there are illegal, so there might be even more useful books in there."
"This is brilliant!"
Harry spends the meal leafing through the volumes, eager for Hermione's reaction as well as for time to try out some of the spells, yet he still has a story to finish. He even brought the note he and Dumbledore found down with him to show to Sirius.
"So Dumbledore died for nothing?"
"Well, I'm not sure. Someone was already there, but I don't know if they destroyed the Horcrux or not." Harry pulls out the parchment. "This was inside the locket."
He hands it over to Sirius who unfolds it and begins to read. Suddenly, all colour drains from Sirius' face, leaving him pale as a ghost.
"Sirius, what is it? Do you know who R. A. B. is?!" Harry asks, unable to come up with any other explanation for his godfather's behaviour.
Sirius nods slowly.
"Who? Who is it? Where is he?"
"R. A. B. Regulus Abraxas Black. My brother."
Harry stares. Now that Sirius said it, it is so obvious; Harry can't believe they didn't see it sooner.
Then his head snaps up so fast he fears he might get whiplash. "Then the locket might still be here!"
Sirius' eyes widen. "Kreacher!" he bellows and a second later, the elf appears next to them at the kitchen table.
When Harry's heart stops racing fifteen minutes later, they have learned that the locket indeed used to be at Grimmauld Place but that Mundungus Fletcher spent a lot of Order meetings sneaking around the house in search for valuables that Sirius wouldn't miss. Kreacher appeared to be in genuine distress as he told them how Mundungus took his master's beloved locket from him to sell it to who knows whom.
"Find Mundungus and bring him here," Sirius orders and Kreacher disappears with a crack.
"Damn," Harry breathes out. "I didn't expect us to solve this so fast."
"Well," Sirius drawls, "what would you do without me?"
XXX
When Kreacher doesn't return within the next two hours – which Harry spends reading the books Sirius gave him and waiting for a tell-talecrack – Sirius takes pity on him.
"Stop fretting. That tosser of a man has a few tricks up his sleeve; might take a while for Kreacher to find him." Sirius takes Harry's empty teacup away. "Why don't you call Hermione? Didn't you say she wants to help you?"
"Right…" Harry hurries upstairs and finds his mobile phone where he left it last Christmas. Somewhere in the depth of his trunk there's a piece of parchment with Hermione's number on it which she had given him in case of emergencies when owls were simply too slow.
"Hermione Granger speaking."
"Hermione! Hi, it's Harry."
"What's wrong?!" she shouts, immediately worried.
"No, it's good news," he assures her and summarizes the events of that morning. "So now we're waiting for Kreacher to return with Mundungus and then we'll know where the real locket is!"
"That's brilliant!" Hermione really does sound enthusiastic but something in her voice is slightly off. Harry can't put his finger on it, though.
"So, I was wondering," he begins, "do you want to come over? You should be here when Mundungus gets here. That is, if you still want to-"
"Don't be ridiculous, of course I want to!" She draws a deep breath, audible even over the phone line. "I'll be there tonight, okay? I need to say good-bye to Mum and Dad."
She sounds strangely sad.
"Alright. See you tonight, then!"
Harry hangs up, not sure how he is supposed to sort the conversation they just had.
Everything becomes clear once Hermione arrives a few hours later with a suitcase and a handbag. Knowing his friend, she could fit all of her belongings in these two items and hell, she probably did.
Harry stares at her blankly for a few heartbeats. "When you said you wanted to say good-bye… you meant for good."
She nods curtly, blinking rapidly. "It's safest for them."
"And they just let you go off-"
"Don't be daft." Another deep breath. "I obliviated them. As far as they're concerned, they never had a daughter."
"Oh, Hermione…" Harry crosses the space between them and hugs her fiercely. "When everything is over, you'll be able to go back and set everything right," he assures her, at this point in time even believing it himself.
XXX
June has almost ended when Kreacher fulfils his task. Sirius, Hermione and Harry have split the newspaper amongst themselves as the loud crack echoes around the kitchen.
"Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master."
Hermione disarms the man before he can even draw his wand properly and Sirius tackles him to the floor as he makes to flee.
"What?" Mundungus bellows, writhing underneath Sirius. "Wha've I done? Setting a bleedin' house-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha've I done, lemme go, lemme go or-"
"You're in no position to make threats," Harry says, wand pointed at the man. Sirius eases off the floor and Mundungus sits up carefully while Kreacher explains why it took him so long to apprehend the thief.
"Well done, Kreacher," Sirius tells him after a long look from Hermione who lectured Harry's godfather about the mentality of house-elves and his duty as a Master towards the creature. The memory will make Harry chuckle for a very long time.
"We have a few questions for you," Harry tells Mundungus, who immediately throws his hands up.
"A'right, I took'em goblets! But Sirius, y'never cared about any of the junk-"
"That doesn't give you the right to steal my possessions!" Sirius roars. Mundungus shrinks in size and suddenly, Kreacher is there, swinging a heavy-bottomed pan at his head.
"Call 'im off! Call 'im!" Mundungus screams.
"Kreacher, no!" Sirius calls out and the elf stops, pan still high in the air, ready to strike again.
"Perhaps just one more, Master Sirius, for luck?" he asks and Harry laughs heartily. Ever since Sirius gave Kreacher his brother's fake locket, the elf has been a lot friendlier towards his master.
"We need him conscious, but if he refuses to share his information, you can do the honours," Sirius tells the elf and Mundungus winces.
"A'right, what do you want?" The thief looks up at them defiantly.
"When you raided the house during Order meetings, you took a silver locket. Where is it?"
"Why? Is it valuable?"
"You've still got it!" cries Hermione but Sirius shakes his head.
"He's wondering whether he should have asked more money for it."
"More? That wouldn't have been effing difficult… bleedin' gave it away, di'n't I? No choice."
"What do you mean?"
"I was selling in Diagon Alley an' she come up to me an' asks if I've got a licence for trading in magical artefacts. Bleedin' snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an' told me she'd take it an let me off that time an' to fink myself lucky."
"Who was this woman?" Harry asks, the grip on his want tightening in anticipation.
"I dunno, some Ministry lag." Mundungus thinks; Harry can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "Little woman. Bow on top of 'er head. Looked like a toad."
Red sparks shoot from Harry's wand without prompting and he immediately steps back before he can hurt anyone. Hermione appears to be equally shocked by Mundungus' revelation.
"What? Who is it?" Sirius asks finally when no one volunteered any information.
"Dolores Umbridge," Harry explains, glancing at his right hand where the scar is still visible.
Sirius knows the woman only from Harry's stories but it is still enough to make him blanche.
"Out with you," he snaps at Mundungus who disapparates without much prompting after reaching out a hand for his wand. Sirius turns to face Harry and Hermione once the kitchen is theirs only once again.
"Okay, what's our plan?"
"Our plan?" Harry shoots back. "What do you mean, our plan?"
"Well, I can be useful-"
"Sirius, you're not coming with us."
"Only to get the locket from Umbridge-"
"It's too dangerous! She works at the Ministry and you're still a wanted criminal in their eyes!"
"You can't do this alone," his godfather emphasises fiercely.
"He won't," Hermione cuts in. "I'll be there."
"Two teenagers aren't enough-"
"I didn't tell you about the Horcruxes so that you can run off with us and get yourself killed!" Harry shouts but it comes out a tad louder than planned.
"But it's okay if you do it?" Sirius snaps back. "I'm your godfather, I have to protect you."
"Not this time. Do you know how close I got to losing you last year? And that was all my fault! If you'd died, it would've been on my conscience for the rest of my life. And if you come with us now and you don't survive, it'll destroy me, Sirius. I can't lose you. I've lost too many people to lose you as well. So you're going to stay here and stay safe. You're welcome to help us prepare but you are not going on any missions, do you understand?"
Sirius looks like he wants to argue but the words die in his throat. Undoubtedly he is thinking of James and Lilly, of Dumbledore, Harry muses. Harry knows that for once he isn't simply a stubborn teenager, he is right and his godfather better acknowledge it.
"I just feel so useless, locked away in here." It's barely more than a whisper.
"You're keeping Remus safe," Hermione says softly. "All those missions… He looked ragged when he came back two days ago. Without you, he'd go mad for sure."
This earns her a small smile from Sirius.
"And like I said – you can help us with the preparations. The books you gave us are invaluable. We'd be worse off without you, Sirius."
The look in his godfather's eyes is a little less haunted, a little less pained now and Harry hopes that this time will be the last that they have this conversation.
XXX
The days following the tea party, Draco ventures out of the house to explore the streets of Port Tennant and Swansea in an attempt to grow accustomed to his Muggle neighbourhood since, well, McGonagall had a point.
Friday in the late afternoon, Draco forgets time as he lounges in a restaurant and watches the passer-byes, tries to find out what the current trends are in the Muggle world and how people's mannerisms are like.
The sun is setting when he notices he should be going and that, of course, his mobile phone is lying at his desk at the safe house (because really, he hasn't used it once since he got it, what would be the point in taking it along?).
It is rather late by the time he reaches an area he is familiar with – and no, he didn't get lost, he merely took strategic detours – so he speeds up, striding through the darkness between streetlights.
Suddenly, a group of four people emerges from the shadows and block his path. They look like teenagers; all are wearing jeans that are ripped in places though Draco can't tell if they bought them like this or whether the tears stem from excessive wear.
"Where're ya off to, rich boy?" one of them – presumably their leader - asks.
"I don't think that's of any interest to you."
His response sends the group into a laughing fit. The leader is the first to recover. "Can ya be any more posh, mate?"
Draco doesn't know how to respond so he doesn't. The blokes are advancing now and he wonders how he will escape these unfavourable odds without his wand.
"I'm sure a git like ya has a lot a money on ya. Let's see some bucks."
"And if I don't?" Draco asks since frankly, he is a wizard and these are Muggles. They stand no chance.
His thoughts come back to haunt him when the leader only shrugs and takes a swing. Pain blossoms across Draco's left cheek and the force of the blow makes him stumble.
"Stop it, Costello."
Suddenly, all attention snaps from Draco to another figure behind him. The teenager standing there is probably younger than Draco, a little taller with short, dark hair and a soft face but a dangerous glint in his eyes.
A movement draws Draco's eyes down. The newcomer is holding a knife in a steady hand. The attackers back away.
"Whatever, Jones. This dim-whit's worthless anyway."
Before Draco can vent his indignation at the insult, the gang is off, leaving him behind with a boy with a knife who merely stares at him. Draco refuses to fidget.
"Well, that could have been unpleasant. I'll be off, then." Draco turns around though it doesn't take more than a few seconds until there is a hand on his shoulder, turning him around.
"Aren't you going to thank me?" The kid has a heavy Welsh accent yet thankfully, it's not thick enough to render his words unintelligible.
Draco wasn't going to but he doubts this Jones will be happy about that. "Right. Thank you for scaring off the crazy kids. I don't know how I would have survived without you," he adds in a sarcastic drawl.
Jones catches up on his tone (apparently he does have a few IQ points on Crabbe and Goyle and recognizes sarcasm) and growls at him – unfortunately not in a good way.
"Listen, rich boy," he seethes, "I know you think you're better than everyone else but this neighbourhood is anything but safe for the likes of you. Costello and his gang would have taken you apart-"
"He's just a kid, I had everything under control," Draco protests.
Jones takes a step back and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Alright, then I'll let you walk home alone. They're still watching and if they see you without me, they'll jump you again. But don't worry – I'm sure you can handle guns."
Guns. Draco knows about guns, he has seen them on the telly in those Muggle shows. Guns shoot bullets that can kill people and Draco has no clue as to whether magic can help in such a scenario.
The thought of walking home alone suddenly makes his palms sweaty but Jones is already storming off. Draco sprints after him, swallowing a chunk of his pride and dignity as he does so. He doesn't want to apologize to a Muggle and accept the proffered help, yet he wants to die from a Muggle gunshot wound even less.
"Oi! Jones!" As Draco comes level with him, the boy points his knife at him so Draco raises his arms. "Listen, I'm sorry I mocked you. Really." He wants to go on, ask him to escort him home but there is only so much humiliation a Malfoy can take in one evening and his tongue won't cooperate.
Apparently, the apology is enough for Jones. "Fine." He snaps the knife shut and puts it back into the pocket of his ragged denim jacket. "But you owe me one." He looks at Draco expectantly, so he nods. "So, where's home for you, rich boy?"
"Robert Owen Gardens."
"You're even posher than I thought."
"It's called standards," Draco snaps back, falling into step next to the boy.
Jones snorts derisively. "Let me guess, you haven't known anything but wealth your entire life, have you?"
"So? Some families are better than others."
"Some families are better off than others. There's a difference, you tosser."
"Not for me."
Jones looks at him, expression incredulous. "You really think that?"
Draco returns his gaze unwaveringly, though says nothing. He has made his point clear.
Jones barks a humourless laugh. "Fuck, you must be filthily rich."
Draco shrugs. It's true; by Wizards standards, the Malfoys are one of the best-heeled families in Britain. Draco can't fathom where they stand in the Muggle community, money wise. Narcissa hasn't taken everything from their vaults in Gringotts but enough to allow them a comfortable life for the next twenty years. In case of an emergency, there are still the family accounts in Europe.
Whatever Jones reads in Draco's expression makes him grin. "Perfect that you're owing me a favour, then. I'll bring you home to your ma and ta unscathed and tell them how I saved you from the thugs and they'll offer me a brilliant reward, won't they? That's how you lot solve everything, don't you? Throw money at it?"
"So what, you decided to help me because I've got money?"
"Pretty much."
Draco can't help being slightly impressed by this brand of Slytherin logic.
"That's fine with me."
They continue in silence for a while, already climbing up the hill towards Robert Owen Gardens.
"What's your name, then?" Jones asks.
"Draco Mallory."
"Draco? What sort of a name is that?"
"A majestic one," he snaps because frankly, he has heard it all before. "What's yours, then? I bet it's something pathetic."
"Ianto Jones." The boy glares, daring Draco to make a joke.
"Ianto? I've never heard that one before. What where your parents thinking?" he sneers and then stops for Jones' eyes and his entire demeanour have turned icy.
"Shut up, Mallory." He highlights his order by flashing of knife and Draco closes his mouth.
The rest of their journey to Draco's home passes in silence, though at the end of it, Jones doesn't leave. He plants his feet firmly on the ground next to Draco as he fiddles with his keys.
He hasn't even properly opened the door when Narcissa appears in the foyer, freely showing her worry. Once she sees the stranger with Draco, her mask slips back into place immediately though it has a few cracks.
"Draco, where have you been? Are you hurt?" Her eyes are focus on his jaw and Draco remembers the strong right hook he took a while ago.
"It's nothing, mother."
"This bloke got himself into a spot of trouble, ma'am. Would've been attacked by a local gang if I hadn't been there."
Narcissa's eyes turn soft immediately and Draco has to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Oh, thank you! Why don't you join us for supper? I have been waiting for my son here to return. There's enough for the three of us."
Draco wants to protest because inviting a stranger – a Muggle, above all – into their home is ill advised. Ianto will probably only make plans to return and steal their TV.
"That's very kind, ma'am," Ianto says, voice dripping with honey and Draco wants to gag at the blatant act, "but my own family is waiting for me. I'll just be on my way."
"Let me at least invite you over for tea tomorrow, Mr…?"
"Ianto Jones."
"Mr Jones. It's the least I can do."
"Mother, I'm sure Jones has better things to do than spend his time having tea with us. Why don't you give him some money? I'm sure that will convey our gratitude appropriately."
Jones's eyes flicker to him for a brief moment of silent appreciation. Narcissa, apparently, seems to have changed more than Draco previously thought. When before there would have been no question about handing the boy a few coins (or in this case, Muggle bills), she now shakes her head.
"That's too impersonal, Draco. Please, Mr Jones, join us for tea tomorrow. Draco here hasn't made any friends since he returned from school and I'm sure you will get along splendidly."
If looks could kill, both Jones' and Draco's would have. Narcissa ignores their silent protest and through gritted teeth, Jones agrees.
"Wonderful. Give our best to your parents and be careful on your way home."
Jones gives them a fake smile and hurries off into the night. Once the front door is closed, Draco turns towards his mother.
"What was that all about? All he wanted was money! Why couldn't you have given him some and he'd be out of our hair?"
"Draco," she says in a voice she uses when she accepts no protests and Draco sighs inwardly. "You need to find a few friends and this is as good a place to start as any. You'll lose your mind, only being on your own. Give this a chance, that is all I ask."
Draco knows any argument he makes will be futile. His mother has decided and so it will be.
Bloody Muggles.
XXX
End Notes: I hope you liked the first chapter! I'm in synch with my AO3 account regarding the chapters already posted, which means...
UPDATES SATURDAYS - chapter 2 will be up 7-12-2013. Five chapters are finished, so I'll be posting continuously until Christmas at least.
Fyi, Ianto Jones is a character from BBC's Torchwood. This is no crossover but since I have no time at the moment to write Torchwood fics, my Muse decided to explore my own interpretation of Ianto's past in this story.
So no knowledge of Torchwood is required - but if you'd like to see canon slash and aliens, I can highly recommend it ;)
For those who are interested in trivia like this: I decided on the safe house's location with the help of Google Earth. So if you look at Port Tennant you'll find the street Robert Owen Gardens in the North East ;)