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Eavesdropping

Lulled off to sleep early by another overly-full stomach Draco was surprised to find himself awake in the wee hours. The old house was quiet around him and for the first time in at least three years, if not more, he felt safe. A luxury he'd taken for granted for most of his life, and now he'd slept so deeply after dinner that he was more rested at three a.m. than he usually was after his allotted eight hours.

As he lay there pondering the incongruence of feeling more secure here than in his own home, it crossed his mind that this would be the perfect time to go looking for clues regarding the changes he had made to the timeline. Perhaps his home was not crawling with sycophants like last time. He racked his brain for ways that he could discover the changes he had made, details he remembered from the past that might be altered. The newspaper was an obvious source, and he vividly remembered the headline in The Prophet the day after they finished exams. It had been a full page block-letter proclamation of Voldemort's return. Draco could still recall the squawks and horrified gasps perforating the usual humdrum in the Great Hall during breakfast as students opened their morning editions.

Lupin and Black had been looking at the paper last night in the kitchen, Draco remembered, perhaps it was still there? Before he could change his mind, Draco swung his feet out of bed decisively. He was not normally the adventuring type, but then he was not normally the wake up in the body of his former self type either, so acting a bit less like his usual cautious self was probably necessary.

The part of him that was still the pampered fifteen-year-old he had been was pleased to find that Kreacher had left him a pair of corduroy carpet slippers set neatly beside the bed. He slipped his feet in, and felt a swell of gratitude somewhere deep inside, it gave him the urge to do something nice for the elf. He shook himself mentally, clearly the shock of being looked after, after fending for himself for so long was really affecting his conscience. Draco'd thought more about this one house elf's well-being than possibly anybody other than himself in a very long time. It was a very weird feeling.

He crept quietly from his room, squashing down this sudden Granger-esque attitude as he went. He did a double take when he turned the handle of his door and found it unlocked, he had to keep reminding himself he wasn't a prisoner in this place. The old house was very creepy in the dark, the portraits muttered as he passed and every single floor board seemed to squeak, no matter how carefully he placed his slippered feet.

Down the corridor, just before the landing a door stood open. Draco peered in, there was a bedside lamp burning on a stand between empty twin beds. One of them was perfectly made, obviously not in use, while the other was crumpled beyond reasonable sleep shuffling. The covers were in a heap on the floor and the sheets were a twisted shambles. It looked as though someone had just had a violent nightmare, or an excellent shag. Either way, whoever slept in the bed was nowhere to be seen.

Draco continued on through the house, down towards the kitchen. He swore he could hear snoring coming from behind the mysterious curtains in the entryway, but resisted the temptation to have a look behind them. Potter's sincere wide eyes when he'd warned him to steer clear seemed too honest to ignore. After all, when a Gryffindor warns something is too dangerous it must be nothing short of life threatening.

The passage to the kitchen was lit, which Draco found odd, since none of the rest of the house was, it made him hesitate, and the moment he paused, uncertain about barging into the kitchen if someone else was in there he heard voices. Quiet murmuring of no more than two people Draco guessed. He'd done his fair share of listening at doorways in his life and was something of an expert.

He edged nearer to the door jam and could see a man sitting at the kitchen table, his bare back hunched a little as he rested his elbows on the table top. The dirty bluish ink symbols on his left shoulder made Draco realise it was Black. He knew those symbols; the body he'd occupied until thirty hours ago bore similar. It was the mark of inmate identification, branded on by the Dementors of Azkaban.

Draco's mind's-eye was flooded with unpleasant recollections as he looked at Black's marred skin: the line of convicts cowering in the arctic wind whipping in from the North Sea, the pallid goose-pimpled skin of the prisoner ahead of him in the line as they were all told to strip by a Ministry guard. Then, the stench of burning flesh and the cries of pain as the Dementors swooped along behind the shivering people, pausing to press their cursed brand into each shoulder.

It was Potter's low voice that brought Draco out of his traumatised reminiscing.

"He obviously doesn't know I'm with here with you, or he'd have tried a different vision to get me to go."

Draco looked a little further into the room, and could see Potter sitting opposite Black, he wore a white undershirt and his hands cradled a mug whose contents were sending faint spirals of steam into the air.

"I guess that means the kid isn't a spy at least." Sirius replied, after taking a drink from his own mug.

Potter's face was slightly scrunched, as though he was unsure how to phrase his next question. Eventually he said, "Why does he want this prophecy so badly anyway?"

Sirius shook his head slowly, "Molly will kill me if I tell you that, Harry."

"You're my guardian, not her." Harry muttered petulantly. Draco didn't blame him. What say did Molly Weasley have in Harry's upbringing? Harry didn't give up, "Do you think I'll be safer if I know what's going on?"

"Of course you will be," Sirius said, a touch of impatience entering his voice, "but-"

"Then tell me," Harry interrupted, "I'm not some helpless little baby, Sirius."

There was a loud sigh from Sirius before he said, "It's not just Molly, James would want you to know. I'm a hundred percent on that, but your mum… she's the one who managed to keep you alive, and I'm bound by what she'd want as much as what James would. This is hard for me too kid."

Draco watched as Harry's face drew in pinched with guilt, and he said sheepishly, "Well why didn't you tell me that? Bloody hell. I can't win can I?"

Sirius gave a little chuckle. "I've been thinking about this on and off all year. Lily was a scholar, she loved learning as much as your mad friend, bit less of a sticker for the rules thankfully. But I really think she'd want you to understand as much as possible, as much as you're ready to about what happened back in eighty-one."

"Really?" Potter's surprise was obvious.

"I don't know everything," Sirius warned, "but Dumbledore does. I've convinced him to tell you. He'll be coming sometime this week."

"Does Mrs Weasley know?" Harry asked, apprehensive and a bit amused at the same time.

"Not yet…" Sirius replied, sounding a little sheepish himself, "I thought I'd let her argue the point with Dumbles instead of me for a change."

"Chicken." Harry grinned.

"Cluck cluck." Sirius deadpanned.

Harry snorted a laugh and then said quietly, "Thanks for this, I've never had anyone to talk to after my nightmares."

"Don't guilt me now." Sirius murmured.

"Sorry," Harry said, contrite at once, "I didn't mean too. Just," he gave a little self-conscious shrug, "it's nice."

"Kid, if there is anyone that understands nightmares it's me," Sirius said, patting his godson's forearm across the table, "batshit crazy family all around, then ol' Azzy and the Dementors, I can't remember the last time I slept all night without some kind of disturbing interruption."

Rather than make Harry look relieved or comforted, this statement caused a funny sort of slyness to cross his face, "Doesn't that bother Remus?"

Sirius withdrew his hand from Harry's arm as he huffed out a little laugh, "I wondered when you were going to ask about that." he sat back in his chair, a clear indication for Harry to ask away.

"Are you like … a couple?" Harry began, faltering only slightly, "Or do you just, er … share a bed?"

"Couple." Sirius confirmed, "well, we don't advertise it. it's best to keep the important things private in a climate like this. Spies, Snape ... there are people who'd want to use it against us."

"But you're ... gay?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"That's what it called when you prefer men, yes." Sirius replied bluntly.

Harry frowned down at his mug for a moment, and Draco couldn't blame him for being a bit shocked. Homosexuality was something of a taboo among the old families because it was seen as a hindrance to the magical birth rate. No one really mentioned it though, and it was a surprise for Draco to hear someone, a Pureblooded someone, even if he was about as Bloodtraitor-y as it was possible to be, declare himself to be gay quite so baldly. But then Potter spoke, drawing Draco's attention once more.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Apparently this was not a question Sirius was expecting, "How is it relevant?" he asked, genuinely taken aback.

"Umm-" Potter hummed incredulously as his eyebrows tented across his forehead, "it just is."

"Not really." Sirius disagreed, "Me and Moony had a lot of shit to work out, we've only been together since last summer."

"A whole year?" Potter said loudly, he looked a bit hurt now.

"You don't tell me about your love life," Sirius said defensively.

"There's nothing to tell." Harry muttered, his cheeks colouring as he looked away, Draco shrank back into the shadows in case those green eyes turned in his direction.

"Or whether you like girls or boys." Sirius continued, "I was just following your lead."

"Girls I guess." Harry admitted, his eyes flicking back to Sirius for a second, his ears and neck were red now too.

"You guess?" Sirius repeated, all teasing was gone from his voice now.

"No, definitely, but I've only kissed one," Harry said, flustered, "and it wasn't very nice, she was crying."

"Oh. Well, I can see how that would be off putting."

They were both quiet for a moment and the silence was definitely awkward. Draco thought he should probably leave but was far too invested, he'd always found eavesdropping somewhat addicting.

"I'm going to bed now." Harry said abruptly, as he stood up. His chair grated noisily as he pushed it back and his face was still a bit pink.

"Good call." Sirius said. He stood too and reached out to clap Harry's shoulder, "I'm happy keep our midnight chats to death and depressing bollocks from now on if you want."

Harry grinned, and Draco suddenly realised that he would be discovered here if he didn't move it.