I'm sorry, I misled you guys in the previous chapter "Home for the Holidays." Andromeda Tonks nee Black is dead in this adaption. I did this solely for the sake of Draco's mental state, which we will see slowly start to unravel from this chapter on.
Also, some other people are alive- please don't hate me for rewriting a few choice details when it comes to the actual canon.
THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS. I do try to keep the story as canon when it comes to characters as possible. Its going to be harder when I finally add Harry's anger problem (he does have one) and... all Malfoy's other problems.
REALLY LONG CHAPTER
Biscuit?
No?
Well...
The Harry Potter series
And all of its biscuits
Belong expressly to J.K. Rowling.
Harry was both dreading and excited about the moment his makeshift family would arrive. Bill and Fleur would be coming by foot- safer for their child, as well as Lupin and his child. In his letter, Remus had told Harry about Molly Weasley's insistence to help him travel, but he had promised her that he and his baby had done quite a bit of travelling before he'd settled with the Weasley's for Molly's help in care. That had been back when Andromeda has still been alive, but he doesn't mention that bit. Its a bit hard for him, and Harry can tell.
That's probably why excitement grew so wild in Harry as he did one last round on the house. The new mats, furniture, curtains, and paint make the whole house shine. Even the key to the wards, which Harry could feel tingling beneath his fingers, enhanced his mood. In a single day, Grimmauld Place had become a paradise to Harry, and he hoped that Remus and the others can find a little bit of a getaway in it. He smiled, but thought of Malfoy and of the Weasley's and how it won't do to try make them get along without some form of precautions.
That's why he knocks on the door to Malfoy's room. No sound comes out of the room, not even a shuffle or a peep, which makes Harry nervous for a moment. Before there is blatantly enough sound coming out of the room. Shuffling, the bang of a book against a table, and then Malfoy's door swings open and there he is.
"I need to ask something of you," said Harry, and Malfoy moves aside to let him in. He goes back to sitting in the way too luxuriant armchair and picks his book- something else from the library, Harry notices.
"Ask away," Malfoy said. Harry squeezed his hands together, suddenly nervous. All Harry wants is a ceasefire for an indefinite period of time. He swallows.
"Your wand," Harry blurts. Malfoy raises an eyebrow as if he has no idea what Harry could possibly want. Then his face shifts into something between amusement and complete discomfort as he says, "Really Potter, I never knew you'd be so forthcoming."
It only takes Harry a few seconds to understand. His face lights in embarrassment, and he replies, "No! Not... I mean your actual wand, Malfoy. I need you to give it to me while the Weasley's and everyone are here."
Malfoy doesn't look as outraged as Harry expects him to be, but distraught is probably an understatement. Malfoy stutters, "M-my... Potter, I can't –..."
"Malfoy, please, you won't be the only one. I'm going to take everyone's wand, except Arthur and Molly's since their generally in charge of all of us. Plus Lupin's going to need help with the baby, and Molly's going to need her wand for that."
Malfoy seems on the verge of disagreeing, but Harry puts a begging look into his eyes. His fingers clench into a whitening grip around his book as he tightly says, "Fine."
"Oh, thank you Malfoy, I –"
"Don't thank me Potter. Please," Malfoy whispered under his breath, "I'll relinquish it when they get here. It'll... make it easier to convince them."
Harry hadn't thought of that, but he says, "Thanks. And... if you can help it, please no wandless magic either. I don't want anyone to get... upset or anything."
"You mean you don't want the youngest Weasley boy to get jealous," Malfoy quipped, turning back to his book. A sharp something slipped down Harry's spine, and he scowled. More than disliking the way that Malfoy was talking about Ron, he hated that the blonde hit the nail on the head.
"Don't call him that. And its called being courteous to consider how your friends feel about something you say or do," Harry said. Malfoy pinpoints him with his solidifying cinder block eyes and raises an eyebrow.
"There's a difference," he says very lightly, "between being courteous and being accepted. It must be one hell of a struggle to be friends with someone when you're constantly trying to avoid stepping on their toes."
"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry replied angrily, "I'm not sure exactly where your input comes in where my friends are concerned."
Malfoy's eyes darken to the color of the sky during a storm just before nightfall. He blinks slowly at Harry, who doesn't feel bad. Although some of what Malfoy said was true- he'd had trouble with dealing with Ron before- it didn't give him the right to comment on the way he dealt with his relationships. Malfoy turns back to his book.
"Fine then," he says astutely, "will that be all?"
"They'll be here soon," Harry replies, some of the tightness still in his voice, "Come to the – "
Two things happen simultaneously. The first is that the fireplace begins chiming and roaring, telling him that someone is calling him. The Weasley's no doubt, because Harry hasn't set the floo connection up to any place else, and he'd had Kreacher check for him. The second was that he remembered that he was supposed to be standing on his front step to look out for Lupin and Bill and Fleur's arrival. They'd all be arriving together. Harry looks to Malfoy, who sighs and sets down his book, straightens is clothes- a regular, collared tunic and long pants that widen at the bottom. He follows Harry out of his room and down to the sitting room.
"Hello there, Harry," Arthur Weasley calls, "Love what you've done with the place! Ready to receive us? Molly's anxious to get started on Christmas dinner. Spent all of this morning preparing dinner for tonight, she did."
"Of course," Harry says into the fireplace, "Come through whenever you're ready."
Mr. Weasley's head disappears back through the embers, and the house is silent save Malfoy's uncomfortable shifting. Molly is the first to come through, holding an over sized pot of something Harry's stomach suspects is roasted. His mouth waters. He idly realizes he hadn't had breakfast yet. Mrs. Weasley greets Harry with a smile before she looks around in both awe and appreciation. He knew he'd bedazzle her with the Christmas decorations. He and Malfoy had spend all night decorating the tree, setting up mistletoe, hanging garlands, and generally adding a sparkle to the house. Harry, who was more or less in love with natural looking pine trees, loved what a tree with charmed white bristles did for the brightness of the space.
"Oh my, Harry," she says breathlessly and Harry grins in acute pleasure at her reaction. It's his own reaction every time he does a once over of the house. He takes the roast from her.
"Let me take this into the kitchen," he says, and moves Molly out of the way of the fireplace. Malfoy shifts uncomfortably as more Weasley's come through fireplace. Harry is ducking into the kitchen as Arthur comes through, balancing both his and Mrs. Weasley's packs, as well as another pot of something. From the kitchen, Harry can hear the appreciative sound he makes, as well as the startled one. He is about to go flying back into the drawing room when more pots come floating sedately into the kitchen.
He moves back into the drawing room more calmly. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as still marveling at the room- Arthur has now moved to Harry's new and improved family tree. Fred and George stand on the other side of the room, moving out of the way of the fire place. George is looking around, and when his eyes lock on a cushioned chair, he wastes no time taking it.
Malfoy and Fred are locked in a staring match. The longer Harry stares at them, the more uncomfortable Malfoy seems to get, the more Fred seems to want to say something. Malfoy's wand is gripped loosely in his fingers. They tremble slightly, and the only reason Harry notices is because of those odd weeks they'd spent together in the flat/ room. Harry comes forward as the floo jingles again.
Hermione and Ron step through together, each one holding a tub or container. Harry flicks his wand at them and charms them to float into the kitchen. He'd already told Kreacher to start putting things away. The couple looks around in appreciation, though as soon as his eyes find Malfoy, Ron's face turns stony.
"Harry, this is wonderful," Hermione cries as Ginny steps through with a gasp on her tongue.
"Wow," she says, "This doesn't even look like the same place!"
"Yeah," Harry agreed with a smile, "Malfoy helped a lot."
The blonde couldn't have been more uncomfortable with Harry putting him on the spot, and he knew that. Harry would have been more apologetic about it, he really would have, but somewhere in his mind, he thought it was really a great opportunity for everyone to get to know Malfoy. He did not stand on the porch of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for ten minutes before the three tall figures made their way across his road and up his stairs.
"'Arry," Fleur was the first to greet him, eyes beaming as her six month old son peeked at Harry from his place on her back. She hugged Harry with strong arms. The young man flailed, wondering where he should put his hands- he didn't want to hurt Victoire. Gently he put his arms around the over exuberant woman, looking to Bill for help. He only smiled and laughed, patting Harry on the back as he was let go.
"Sometimes, you just have to let her be. It has been far too long, Harry," he said, sweeping him up into a loose hug of his own. Harry laughed and patted him back. Remus smiled at him from where he stood, a year and a half old Teddy Lupin swaddled up in his arms.
"It's nice to see you all again," Harry said.
"Say hi to Harry, Teddy," Lupin tried. Teddy's wide eyes pinpointed Harry, turned green and then hid themselves in his father's neck. He made a some semblance of a gurgling sound, but nothing more. Harry laughed.
"Hello Teddy," he said, "It's nice to see you again."
"I'm looking forward to spending the holidays with everyone, now that there isn't any threat hanging above all our head," said Remus, "Plus, I'm looking forward to Molly's cooking."
"Me too," Bill groaned.
"Oh, come in," Harry said quickly, "Shouldn't be standing here with the children."
He stepped into the house, immediately noticing that everything was far too quiet for there to be six Weasley's, Hermione, and Malfoy all in the house alone together. He called Kreacher to take his guest's jackets and bags, and scurried into the drawing room. There didn't seem to be anything wrong – at first.
Ginny was sitting, talking amicably back and forth with George about the school year so far and about the shop. Ron sat next to his sister on the chaise lounge, unabashedly glaring daggers at Malfoy, who was very pointedly ignoring him in favor of trying to ward off Hermione. The young, talented witch was drilling Malfoy about the new and improved family tree. Her head was half buried in the book Harry had seen Malfoy with yesterday. He assumed the blonde has summoned it for her.
Fred, who sat on the couch- the cushions of which were so comfortable that Harry thought he'd gladly be swallowed whole by it- next to George, was still staring at Malfoy. Malfoy was gripping his wand tightly. Molly and Arthur were no where to be found; probably both in the kitchen discussing dinner, or worrying over their children.
"There's no way Harry could have done this type of magic himself. No offense to Harry, he's a very capable wizard," Hermione floundered at Malfoy, "But the complexity of reworking a magical family tree – and to come into inheritance, no less –..."
"Malfoy helped," Harry said from the archway, stepping in to make way for the rest of his guests.
"I did no such thing," Malfoy muttered under his breath. Harry sent him a withering look, as though he was unsure of what Malfoy was trying to do, but being humble wasn't going to help. Malfoy wasn't looking at him. His eyes were behind Harry, and his already pale skin grew paler. Harry glanced behind himself. Fleur was scowling in Malfoy's direction and Bill was looking passively at the scene. Remus wore the slightly worried look, the way he always did before confrontation.
"I just want to know how you've managed it. I've read plenty of books on inheritance and the like to help Harry, and I didn't see anything on connecting two people who aren't related," Hermione struggled haltingly. Harry, who really wanted to avoid putting Malfoy into an even tighter spot, and keep Hermione from working herself blind from frustration said, "Hermione, just drop it okay. I think its good enough that the house is finally, really mine."
Hermione had the grace to blush and reply, "Of course! I wasn't trying to say that at all. I was just –..."
"I really love what you've done with the place, Harry," Ginny cut her off. He grinned at her, feeling light, his eyes flashing momentarily at Malfoy.
"If you think this is good, wait until you see the rooms," Harry said, "It took us almost all of yesterday to get everything sorted and repainted."
"I'm glad to see its in better shape than when Sirius was here," Remus said, with such fondness that Harry felt only the briefest pang at the mention of Sirius's name. Would the older man have liked it? Harry wanted to believe he would.
"Was it all just you," Ginny asked.
"The two of us yeah," Harry answered as Mrs. Weasley bustled back in from the kitchen, face red with irritation. Mr. Weasley followed after her, looking both exasperated and undeniably in love.
"Harry, will you please tell the house elf that I have always- always- cooked Christmas dinner for my family, and I will not be changing tradition because – "
"No, Molly," Arthur tried to stop her.
"Kreacher is not being told what to do by some – "
"Watch it, Kreacher," Harry intoned sharply, eyes steady on the house elf. Kreacher scowled and brought his hands together to begin wringing them.
"Kreacher has always been doing the cooking. Christmas dinner is the most special occasion," he explained, his eyes growing rounder in an attempt to appease Harry. Molly stood, hands on her hips, in wait for Harry to fix this, her husband standing resignedly behind her. Harry flicked his eyes to Malfoy, who caught his eyes, but seemed to regret it immediately. He held Harry's gaze and scowled.
"Kreacher," Malfoy said in the kindest voice he could manage among a pack of Weasley's, "Mrs. Weasley is going to be cooking dinner- Christmas or otherwise."
The old elf made a sound as though he was coughing up a hair ball and scowled as he bowed to Malfoy.
"If that is what Lord Malfoy requests of Kreacher," he said in a raspy, displeased voice.
"Yes," Malfoy said uncomfortably, "but if you'd be so kind, I am looking forward to seeing what you can come up with for breakfast."
Kreacher's eyes go wider and he makes another sound, much like a dying goose. He threw himself at Malfoy's feet, obviously trying to say something akin to thanks, but only making more birdlike sounds.
"Please don't. If you understand, you'll be in charge of breakfast from here on. And I'm sure you and Mrs. Weasley can correspond over lunch and dessert. Yes," he practically growled under his breath. His eyes flashed to Mrs. Weasley, who didn't say anything, but looked as though she had a bit of a hard time agreeing with Malfoy's decisions. Harry couldn't care less, so long as Kreacher and Mrs. Weasley didn't argue through the whole holiday about who was going to cook for whom.
"Yes, yes," Kreacher cried, "Kreacher is doing his best and making up a wonderful menu for Christmas breakfast!"
"Right. Do be kind to Potter's guests, also. I'm not sure he'll take too kindly to any nasty behavior," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. Kreacher sobered up immediately, pulling himself up off the floor and bowing as if he hadn't just caused a scene.
"Of course. If Lord Malfoy is asking this of Kreacher," he said in a simper. He snapped his fingers and everyone's bags and luggage floated out and up the stairs. He popped away with another sweeping bow. Harry breathed out in relief.
"Crisis averted. Well done, Draco," Remus said. Malfoy cringed at hearing his given name. His eyes flashed to Remus, then briefly to the child in his arms, before he looked away.
"Thanks Malfoy," Harry said taking out his wand, "Right, before I show you guys to your rooms. Accio purple box!"
It took a moment, but the box Harry had left in his room came zooming into his hands. He opened it and put his wand inside.
"I'll need all of your wands. Except Molly and Arthur, of course," he said, with much more confidence than he felt. There was a pause of unrest in which no one moved.
"What? Our wands? There's no bloody way I'm going to give up my wand with that snake in the house," Ron hissed, pointing a meaty thumb at Malfoy. Harry, feeling both uncaring and unyielding, frowned at his friend of seven years and said, "I'm not holding you here. Go home."
Ron's mouth fell open in shock, and he said, "What?"
"You heard me. My house, my rules. I'm not holding you here against your will, so if you can't give me your wand, then you can't stay. I'm not going to argue," he said, staring Ron dead in the eyes. He knew he'd reach opposition from everyone, especially Ron, but he also knew that if he gave a set standard of rules, Hermione would be wont to follow them, and that meant Ron would follow her. And then everyone else would be dominoes.
Malfoy stepped forward and practically threw his wand into the box. Though Harry was tried to give him a grateful look, but the blonde refused to look anywhere but at the floor. He shuffled passed Harry and around Remus, and almost soundlessly made his way back to his room. Harry raised his eyebrow at Ron in challenge. Fred was the first one to follow in Malfoy's footsteps, much to Harry's surprise. When Harry looked at him in grateful question, he simply shrugged.
"Malfoy's not so bad," Fred said.
"Besides," George added as he dropped his own wand into the box next to Fred's, "if the git tries anything, there are more of us than him, right?"
Harry didn't agree, but it got Ginny to put in her wand alongside Hermione, and then everyone else was complying.
~{aqua}~
Harry had been having such a good time with his friends that he'd forgotten about Malfoy until it was almost time for dinner. He thought of leaving the drawing room, where he was watching over Teddy and Victoire with their parents, Hermione, and Ginny, when Hermione asked to speak to him.
"Sure," he said, "I was just about to go tell everyone it's a half hour until dinner."
"I just wanted to talk you about... Malfoy," she started nervously, eyes darting between him and Remus, who was tuned into the conversation, though he pretended not to be.
"What is it," Harry asked, feeling suddenly nervous. Had Malfoy tricked him about the house? Did he do something so that it became his own right, instead of Harry's? Had he put something in their lunches earlier? Merlin, Harry had thought something tasted funny –
"I think Malfoy's wearing a glamour," she said. Harry held his breath for a moment before he let it out with an exasperated sigh at Hermione. She could really work up Harry's nerves when she wanted to.
"I first noticed it when he was fought Zabini in the Great hall, and then again when he was dueling with Blaise Zabini, but I just thought it was the after affect of the curse Zabini cast, though I still haven't found out what that was either. But I saw, when I was talking to Malfoy again, that the signs of the glamour is still there. It was hard to notice before because he maintains it so well, but maintaining it over long periods of time creates something like a magical lag," Hermione explained as quickly and as breathlessly as she could. Remus was looking at them completely now.
"Would Draco wear a glamour? And how long ago was this deul? I'm not sure anyone could maintain that consistency of magic for hours, let alone days," Remus quipped to both of them, concern creeping onto the edges of his face. Harry wondered why it was such a big deal. Malfoy could wear a glamour for the rest of his life, for all Harry cared. It wasn't as though Malfoy had done anything untoward to Harry- or any of them for that matter- lately. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to help Harry, almost every time he'd asked. If Malfoy had secrets that he'd rather not share, so long as he wasn't hurting himself or other people- than Harry couldn't care less.
"Well, he must have had lots of practice," Hermione answered, "It can't be good for him either. Harry –..."
"So," Harry asked, feeling as though Hermione did push some things way too often for Harry's liking. Hermione looked dumbfounded.
"He could have scars- he could be hurting himself without anyone knowing it," she pressed. And though Harry immediately pushed her reasoning out of the way, it nagged at him, told him to check on Malfoy. He was and had been his caretaker after all, and if Malfoy was hurting himself, it was Harry's job to make sure he was alright. Remus's eyebrows crinkled into one big, worried line.
"Has Draco been harming himself," Remus asked, looking between the two young adults. Before Harry could snuff out the conversation, Hermione came in with her quick tongued gossip.
"He's suicidal, and a reforming alcoholic. That's the whole reason he's here. Headmistress McGonagall asked Harry to look after him," she replied quietly, "Harry, if he's trying to... to kill himself, here –"
"He'd have done it by now. Malfoy is allowed to hide his scars, just like the rest of us. No one talked about you when you got rid of yours," Harry cut in coldly, eyes purposefully passing over her forearm for the briefest of moments. Even if he thought she was partially right, and the worry was settling into his mind, he didn't appreciate gossip. Especially when they were all spending time under the same roof.
Hermione flushed, but her mouth set itself into a line that Harry knew meant he had said too much. She was going to have his head off once they were alone again. But for now, Harry was escaping across the drawing room and up the stairs to Malfoy's room.
From his seat next to his wife on the too comfortable couch, Bill's eyes followed him.
…
Draco didn't know how long he sat in a silent stupor before Potter knocked on his door. Probably for far too long, because when he sat up to open the door, a wave of dizziness spread behind his eyes – eye, if he were technical- and he felt as though he'd just woken up from a long sleep. But God, he hadn't gotten any semblance of eight hours of sleep in a day in a long time. Even when he had been drinking, a good rest eluded him since the Voldemort's occupation.
He waved his hand thoughtlessly to dispel the silencing charms he had built up against the door and them moved to open it. Potter stood outside the door, looking both uncomfortable and commanding, and once again, Draco was jealous of him. He stepped aside to let him in when it didn't look like he was going to say anything. Potter came in and took up part of Draco's previous residence on the chaise lounge. Draco decided he'd be much more comfortable sitting in the armchair across from him
"So?"
"Dinner's in a half-hour or so," Potter said first, and Draco knew it would be the most trivial thing he'd come to talk about. He really didn't want the speccy git trying to give him a lecture about how to treat his friends. Draco was just fine sitting in the room all day, drinking tea and asking Kreacher to filch cucumber sandwiches for him all day.
"Alright. Anything else," he asked, because Potter didn't seem like he was going to work up the nerve to talk about whatever it was he was going to say. Draco supposed Luna Lovegood had been right about one thing- Potter didn't know how to speak his mind without being prompted. At least, he didn't when it came to matters that bothering his personal consciousness.
"Are you wearing a glamour," Potter asked, and of course he had to ask about that. He guessed it was Grander who'd spotted the glamour, because he was quite sure that if Potter had spotted it first, he'd have brought it up before that moment. Draco debated telling Potter to go fuck himself as an answer when the twat stuck out his hand. Draco felt the brunette's large palm ghost across the edges of his magic and forced himself to retract it out of his reach. It didn't feel right having someone that magically powerful touching him. He repressed a shudder.
"Yes and no," Draco said, scowling at Potter as he retracted his hand. Potter nodded.
"What does that mean? Be forward with me, Malfoy," Potter asked, and if he'd had any less decorum, Draco would have groaned aloud and told Potter to get the fuck out. He didn't debate trying to keep the information from him this time, however, lest the idiot try to take it off of Draco.
"It's less of a glamour and more of a curse," he admitted. Potter sat up straighter.
"A curse? Who did it? Was it Zabini," Potter growled so forcefully that Draco shoved himself back into his chair, his mind somehow telling him that it would help him get away from Potter. Which was utter bollocks.
"Calm down, Potter," he spat, trying to keep the quake from his voice. He glanced at the door, calculating how long it would take him to wandlessly fling it open and push himself through the threshold.
"Sorry, Malfoy... What does this curse do," Potter asked, and damn him for asking the right questions, and damn Draco for feeling like he had to answer them.
"It works much the same way a glamour does, so you can assume. It covers any imperfections. I essentially look exactly the same as I did when I was seventeen," he explained. Potter gave him an odd once over. A small shudder did escape Draco then.
"Is it harmful? How do we get rid of it? There must be some faults in it if your hair- and your nails, I'm assuming- can still grow," Potter replied, thinking in a critical way that dissuaded any doubts Draco had about how he'd won against Tom Riddle.
"Not necessarily harmful, unless I take some sort of critical injury. The curse will cover up the wound almost as soon as its healed enough," Draco replied, "I could get an infection, but its never happened, so I continue to maintain that it won't happen."
"You know better than me," Potter agreed, "but we have to figure out how to take it off. Just in case something happens."
"Nothing is going to happen, Potter," Draco lied, "besides which, I already know how to remove it. A simple Finite and it would be gone."
"Then why haven't you," Potter demanded of him, and Draco did sigh this time, unable to keep himself from feeling tired of having been in someone else's company for too long.
"That's where the curse part comes in, Potter. I don't want to take it off."
Potter looked dumbfounded as he said, "It makes you not want to remove it? Then why don't you let me- or maybe a healer –"
"You can't, Potter, because I'm the only one who can take it off, as the parameters of the curse so state."
"And since it makes you not want to take it off –..."
"As you've deduced, that's how the whole curse thing works Potter. Don't worry," Draco said flippantly, "All it's covering up is a couple of old scars. I'm in no danger unless someone decides to cast cutting curse at me."
At this, Potter flinched, and Draco, who hadn't meant to do that, whispered, "My apologies. Didn't mean to step on a nerve."
Potter looked away. Draco hoped Potter wouldn't do something so stupid as apologize- they'd been in the middle of a war. Or at least, a very long battle. Draco had no regrets when it came to Potter, and he didn't think Potter should have regrets about him. Potter seemed to read Draco's mind, thankfully, and said, "So dinner is in about twenty minutes or so."
"I heard the first time," Draco replied, "I'm not hungry."
Potter sent him another one of his patented Withering Looks™. Draco scowled at him.
"Just come to dinner, Malfoy. If something goes horribly wrong, you don't have to come to dinner for the rest of the vacation," Potter promised. Draco sent him a look that said he didn't believe him- not one bit.
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Potter," Draco replied. Potter grinned at him, and Draco was thrown off kilter for a moment. While he was regathering the pieces of himself that had flown away in the wind of Potter's smile, he found Potter gearing up to ask him another question.
"Malfoy, why did you help me fix this place up?"
"Because I didn't want to spend my winter hols in pigsty," he shot back coolly, knowing that was not at all close to the answer, and that Potter knew that too. The brunette rolled his eyes and said, "Even if that were true, this room was already fairly acceptable when I brought you to it. You could have just asked Kreacher to bring you some forks to transfigure into furniture and stayed in here."
Draco looked away, out of one of the room's overbearing windows, and said, "I didn't want to have to work with the Weasley's."
"You couldn't know if I'd have asked you to help," Potter shot back. Draco let out another world weary sigh and threw up his hands.
"I don't know, Potter! This is your home," he said gesturing noncommittally around the room. From his peripheral vision, he could see Potter tilt his head in confusion.
"It's your home, and I get that. I'm guessing this is your first time hosting something like this at your own house. You looked... I dunno, Potter. Messed up about it. When we first came in, you looked so tired, like you didn't know what to do. Like you might just... cry or something. I figured it was the least I could do since you agreed to host me."
They lapsed into silence as Potter digested what Draco had said. Finally he replied with, "Thank you, Malfoy. It means a lot to me."
Draco noticed Potter didn't deny any part of his comment- about crying or anything- and hummed in response. Potter stood up abruptly.
"Come on. Dinner."
Draco groaned but followed out of the bedroom, saying, "I don't want to have dinner with your bloody friends."
"Why is it any different then having dinner with me," Potter asked, most unintelligibly. Draco snorted.
"There's only one of you, thank goodness. Besides which, you don't find it necessary to talk at all times, over one person or another. And you're not ginger," Draco said, though he was only partially joking. Potter laughed as though he understood. Draco felt odd. Not good, per say, just... odd.
"My mother was ginger," he said, flashing Draco with a look, and the blonde rolled his eyes.
"Well let's be glad that wasn't one of those things you inherited from her," he replied. Potter made an odd sound between agreement and disapproval. Draco had no idea what was going on between himself and Potter lately, but he'd be thankful when they returned to school, because it needed to stop.
"I've always fancied myself as more of a dirty blonde if I had to be anything else," Potter said absently as they stepped through the threshold of the kitchen, where Molly Weasley was transferring her dinner into big serving dishes. Kreacher levitated them onto the table as she finished.
"Oh Zeus, no, Potter. Stick to the dark hair light eyes combination. At least you'll score points for being exotic," he replied.
"Exotic, am I," Potter said, eyes flashing over his shoulder at Draco. The taller man looked away, because looking Potter in the eye meant certain death, or something like that.
"As an albino unicorn in the Amazon Rainforest, Potter," he replied.
"And who exactly would I be scoring points with? What do I get if I score enough," he asked, and Draco did find some amusement in Potter's sarcastic wit. Before he could reply, Molly Weasley was calling them.
"Oh hello, boys," she said, "Dinner's on the table. If you'd be so kind to set the table. Harry dear, the plates are just here. Draco, if you'd be so kind as to get down the cups."
Draco cringed. What was with these adults calling him by his given name? The only person who'd done so lately was Luna Lovegood, and Draco only allowed that because he was quite sure there was more to her than she let on. Since he'd yet to figure it out, she was still on his 'get away with it' list. Which made the number of occupants on that list precisely one.
Draco did as he was bid, actively reminding himself not to use wandless magic. He wondered why he had to be the one who was careful around the ginger tit, but decided that if Potter- and he- were going to make it through this holiday without injuring someone, he'd have to put in effort. Even if it did mean manually setting tables for a horde of gingers. As Draco was setting the last of the places, the gaggle of Weasley's and their kin came in, settling themselves at the table.
There ended up being only a few places left by the time Draco made to sit down. In the middle, three spots were left open, across from them sat Ginerva, her elder brother's wife- Delacour, if Draco wasn't mistaken- and one of the Weasley twins. Beside one of the empty seats sat Professor Lupin- although Draco really should drop the honorific- and his child at the very end of the table. On the other side of the trio of seats sat Mrs. Weasley with Mr. Weasley sitting at the head of the table, and his eldest present son on his left. The only other available seat was down at the far end of the table next to the other Weasley twin. Which meant Draco had to choose between two very awfully awkward and potentially dangerous situations.
Potter took a seat next to Lupin, making Draco's decision for him. He slunk across the kitchen and sank into a seat next to one of the twins. He was stared at. Right then. He must be sitting next to Fredrick, if he remembered correctly. Rather, how could he not remember? On the bright side of things, at the very least he was nearest to the entryway should he need it.
"Ronald Weasley! If you don't come to dinner right this instant," Molly Weasley bellowed across the kitchen and through the whole house. There was an awful shrieking that accompanied it which came from the hallway, followed by some muffled cursing and the sound that Draco thought was similar to curtains on a shower rack. Mrs. Weasley had the grace to look abashed.
"Sorry dear," she said in Potter's general direction. He beamed at her.
"Oh, its fine, really. I was actually surprised, since I haven't heard so much as a peep from her since we got here. Guess it was too much to hope for that she'd deserted or been taken when the house was ransacked," he replied. Arthur Weasley laughed as though Potter had made some kind of joke. Draco was lost.
"There's a portrait of the old owner, Walburga Black- on the wall in the hallway. She's got a foul mouth and an even fouler temper," Fred Weasley leaned over to whisper, as though it were some secret. He was a Black by blood, after all. Draco leaned away. There was some shuffling, and then Weaselbee and Granger came into the kitchen, both looking positively red and ruffled. And although they probably had been snogging somewhere in recent times, it didn't put Draco at any more ease. In fact, it put him on the edge of the edge, thinking that they had used that as a ruse to do whatever it was they were about to do. When he glanced at them, he found Weaselbee glaring and Granger discreetly trying to peer at him.
Another glance told him they were both hiding their wands in their sleeves. He tensed up, because this was definitely going to be a long dinner. Arthur Weasley began speaking to his eldest son first.
"So Bill, anything new come up at work?"
Draco immediately tuned them out. Serving dishes were passed around- Draco took some sweet mashed potatoes, kale, and roast beef, but decided that he'd forgo the corn. He didn't like it when it got stuck in his teeth. Granger swallowed her first several bites before asking Potter, "What does that inscription in the drawing room mean, Harry?"
Fred Weasley leaned over- or at least as much as he could; they were very close in size, with the Weasley being about a half an inch taller than he- Draco again. When he was finished swallowing he said, "What's that thing round your neck?"
Draco looked down and realized he'd forgotten to put away his pendant. With a quick hand, he slipped the little blue cube under the hem of his tunic. He replied, "My necklace."
"What's it for?"
"Good luck," Draco replied, taking another small bite of roast beef. It was pretty good- better than any house elf-meal he'd ever had- but it didn't mean he was going to forget his manners.
"What's it do," George Weasley asked, and Draco shot him a dissatisfied look.
"Absolutely nothing," he said, "its just a cube for good luck."
"Cube is a strange shape to have for a necklace, don't you think, Draco," Fred Weasley asked, staring Draco down. He cringed again. This had to stop.
"Its Malfoy," he said shortly, "and no, it's not strange at all. I didn't want to over indulge and get myself a pentagon."
Potter snorted into his cup of butterbeer, and some ended up dribbling out of his mouth. Draco didn't look his way, but gave himself a little pat on the back in victory. He'd made Potter snort butterbeer in amusement. That had to be one for the record books. Of weird things, of course.
"So Draco – "
"It's Malfoy," Draco pressed.
"How has your school year been thus far," Remus Lupin asked, and Draco had to look up from the table at the question because what? Sure, it wasn't questionable for an ex-professor to ask a question like that, but not Lupin. Lupin was the type of professor to ask why he wasn't at home, or where his parents were- though thank God, Mohammad, and Allah that he didn't because Draco was liable to flip a shit. Lupin was the professor who was checking Draco's face after Easter Hols in third year, asking who he'd gotten into a scuffle with, and if he should write home. Ha.
Draco stared across the table at Lupin, who was staring back at him with the same amount of intensity. Making sure he had his occulemency walls up, Draco searched his mind for what he needed. It didn't take him very long- it was a recent memory.
He sat back and took a sip of his water before replying, "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know," Lupin asked, both incredulous and feigning innocence, "How about your studies? Your friends?"
"I don't have friends, Professor Lupin," Draco replied coldly, "And —..."
"I'm hardly your professor any longer, Draco. Please, call me Remus–"
"It's Malfoy," Draco reiterated for the third time that evening, because if he had to say it again dammit, he was going to blow something up, "And I wouldn't know because I was drunk for more than half of it. Couldn't tell you heads or tails what it's been like because I can't recollect anything of value. Just a few snippets here and there. Lucky thing that I was smart enough while intoxicated to keep my notes for the year."
Here he stared at Professor Lupin until his son batted at his arm to feed him more mashed potatoes. Draco took another drink of water in triumph and finished off the last of his kale.
"Things are different now. we're your friends," Potter said suddenly, after too much time had lapsed, "Luna and I."
Draco sent Potter a slow look, like cold wet concrete, and only replied with, "Right."
What saved Draco from the bought of initial spells were his reflexes. One moment, he was challenging Potter's eyes with a defiant look of his own, and the next he was catching a glimpse of the wood of Granger's wand.
"Immobulus!"
His back his the floor harder than he expected when he pushed himself away from the table, but he rolled expertly as another jinx flew definitely too close to him.
"Incarcerous," Weaselbee's voice followed, and Draco ducked around the wall as it whizzed past him. There was nothing nothing no sound but the blood rushing through his ears and his own voice telling him to run run run.
He pushed himself down the hall, his mind not even bothering to think of his wand sitting in the purple box on the mantle in the drawing room. Not even bothering to wonder why in the world he was being attacked over the dinner table. Thinking of nothing but not getting caught. He needed to get upstairs, to the room. If he could make it inside, he could lock himself there until Potter got around to reigning his friends –
"Incarcerous," Weaselbee's voice came again, much too close, and Draco crashed into the wall at the base of the steps with the speed of his momentum as his body seized up.
No...
no
no
no
NO.
Draco didn't want this, let him go, let him go right this instant, let him go! Draco's blood and his own voice are loud in his head, and he can't move, the ropes are too tight, someone help –
Tilly, please, make it stop.
"Ronald Weasley," Mrs. Weasley roared from somewhere still in the kitchen
"You have to keep it steady or else he'll get loose. We have to be quick," Granger said over the Weasley matriarch's voice. Where was Potter? Where was Tilly? He had to call her, he had to call her now before it happened again. All he had to do- but he can't breathe, no sound is coming out.
"Finite Incantatem," Granger calls, and all Draco knows is that it's him shrieking, because nothing hurts worse than whatever it is that Granger is doing, but he doesn't know how to stop. He can't even move let alone stop –
"Hold it, Ron," Granger spoke again, and Draco shrieked at her, louder, until his throat was burning as badly as his skin. Where was Potter? Where was Tilly?
"Expelliarmus," someone's voice, who sounded a lot like both Potter and Tilly, shouted, and the burning stopped. Draco couldn't see any longer, let alone thank whomever it was. Everything was on fire, everything was too still and too loud.
"What the fucking hell," said someone, and that did sound an awful lot like Potter.
Malfoy lay slumped against the wall, eyes rolled away from consciousness, fingers and feet twitching as though he'd just experienced a seizure. With an unsure wand, Harry said, "Finite."
The rope around Malfoy melted away and his body slumped against the steps. He was still twitching.
"Shit," Harry breathed, "Malfoy? Malfoy!"
"Ennervate," Mrs. Weasley's voice said gently, and Malfoy was gasping and shivering, closing in on himself like a vice. He clenched his teeth and hugged himself, eyes wide as saucers as he caught his breath. He didn't move from that spot for a long time, until Harry reached out a hand to take his shoulder.
"Malfoy, are you alright –"
"Don't touch me," Malfoy's voice came out harsh and angry, like an animalistic growl. He stumbled away from Harry's touch and moved up the stairs, crashing into the railing and tripping over the steps as he went. Harry turned to cast a scowl and glare at his friends, both of whom didn't look nearly apologetic enough, and then followed after Malfoy. The taller man slammed into the bathroom and locked the door before Harry could get close enough. After a moment, the sound of retching followed. With an angry sigh, Harry listened to Malfoy lose whatever little food he'd had.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy."
"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy gasped, and was sick again.
"I'll be back with something to give you," Harry said, ignoring Malfoy's snappishness, because he'd act the same if he'd been through something similar, "Call me if you need me."
"Don't come back," Malfoy gurgled, and Harry turned back down the stairs. Anger began seeping into him in earnest now. And while he wasn't furious, he was well on his way.
"... – never raised you to be this disrespectful. I honestly have no idea what got into your head! Either of you," Mrs. Weasley's voice came in a raging cant down the hall, and Harry used it to calm himself. He counted to ten before he stepped into the threshold of the drawing room.
"Oh Harry," Hermione thought to speak first, but he cut her off.
"Why is it... that when I ask Malfoy to be courteous to a house full of people who don't like him, he can do it no problem? But when I ask my best friends to be courteous to one person –..."
"I didn't mean to hurt him! I thought it was only a glamour! If I'd known he'd been cursed I would have looked it up –..."
"And what," Harry spoke over her in a strong, cold, and angry voice, "How much pain would he have to go through before you'd have broken it? And then what? Just take him to St. Mungos and say, well, there was just this glamour, and you absolutely had to know what was beneath it."
Hermione looked significantly cowed, but it didn't stop her from her next point, "He's been cursed, Harry. If he hurts himself –..."
"Hurt himself," Fred intoned, "What's she talking about?"
"Apparently Malfoy's been hurting himself at school," Remus quipped, and Harry was so furious that he had to count to ten again so that he wouldn't accidentally silence the entire room.
"Did you think to ask me, or maybe, I don't know, Malfoy about it," he said in a low growl, and Hermione looked even more ashamed. Harry vindictively thought good.
"He's not liable to tell us if he's hurting himself Harry –..."
"I'd know," Harry said, "Malfoy is my friend, and the fact that you couldn't at least mind your own business –..."
"Your friend," Ron intoned in outrage, "He's a bloody Death Eater for Merlin's sake –..."
"Language, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley quipped.
"Excuse me," Harry stopped him in a quiet, angry voice, and the wood in the hearth burst into flames, "don't call him that. I don't know if you'd forgotten, but Malfoy saved our lives."
Ron who'd flinched when the fire roared to life, was silent for a moment as his face grew red with anger, "Only to make up for the time he almost killed me!"
"It could have been any of us- Slughorn, you, or I! You didn't die, and that's not what any of this is about! What this is about is the fact that not only did you disrespect me by removing your wands from the box, and casting spells across my table, you probably injured Malfoy, and I won't be able to tell because of the curse you didn't ask how to remove!"
Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten for the third time that evening. He said, "If it is so difficult for you to follow my one rule and just ignore Malfoy, let alone be nice to him, then pack up your things and go home."
"I-I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said. Harry shook his head.
"Its not me you should apologize to. In fact, if you don't apologize to Malfoy by the end of tomorrow, you're no longer welcome."
"I can't believe you're defending him," Ron shouted, and Harry bared his teeth.
"If any of you had been hurt, I'd be doing the same thing. Maybe I'd be even more angry. But as it stands, the one person in the house who I expected to be a handful actually has more manners than the two of you combined!"
And with that, Harry flounced into the kitchen in search of Kreacher.
…
It took a little longer this time, but eventually, the door to Malfoy's room fell ajar. Malfoy lie sinking into the chaise lounge, arm slung across his face. He didn't say anything at Harry sat down across from him.
"I have some Pepper-Up for you. Kreacher's going to bring some tea to help settle your stomach," he said, placing the vial of it on the table. Malfoy didn't move for such a long while that Harry thought he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he stretched a long arm across the table, picked up the potion, and took two small sips. He re-corked the vial and set it back onto the table, but didn't sit up.
"Much appreciated," Malfoy said. His voice sounded as though it had taken a journey across the Sahara.
"I'm really sorry about them, Malfoy. I didn't know Hermione could be so –..."
"Hell bent on solving every challenge she's presented with –..."
"I never thought she'd go that far," Harry finished, looking pleadingly across the table at Malfoy. While he had been expecting a bit of a scuffle between his guests at some point, he'd not expected it to escalate immediately. Malfoy waved a hand flippantly.
"Its whatever, Potter. I'm sure it's just Granger's vice," he replied. Harry's eyebrows wrinkled at Malfoy's casual dismissal..
"Her vice?"
"Everyone's got one," Malfoy said, glancing at Harry, "especially after Voldenez. Especially you."
"Me? What's mine," Harry asked, genuinely interested in Malfoy's speculation of him. It lit something good in him, thinking Malfoy actually paid enough attention to him to notice. It symbolized friendship.
"You don't speak your mind unless its on the wire. Rather, when you want to say something, you don't, maybe because you think your idea isn't as important, or maybe you think someone will come up with the same idea. I was actually quite surprised when I heard you shouting at them, down there."
"I get angry more often than you think, Malfoy," Harry replied, rubbing a hand through his hair. Malfoy sent him a barely amused look as Kreacher popped into the room. He set down a tray with a tea set Harry hadn't been aware he'd owned, and next to it floated a three tiered cake stand with an assortment of biscuits and sweets that made Harry's mouth water.
"Kreacher makes the biscuits for settling Lord Malfoy's stomach, and tea for his nerves," Kreacher said, bowing lowly, "If Lord Malfoy or Master Potter requires anything else –..."
"We'll call you. Thank you, Kreacher," Malfoy dismissed him politely. Kreacher made another baying sound. Weakly he asked, "Is Lord Malfoy always treating elves this way?"
"I'm afraid so," Malfoy said. Kreacher made a sound between grumbly and grateful, bowed, and popped away.
"I don't doubt how often you get angry, Potter. But how likely are you to actually say what you mean to get across whenever you are," Malfoy picked up the
Harry debated it around a biscuit and replied, "You're right."
"I know," Malfoy replied, picking up his tea. They sat in silence as Harry continued to calm himself down. He thought of something Malfoy kept saying.
"Why do you say that," he asked, not wanting to give up amicable conversation with Malfoy, "Volde-ness."
"Nez," Malfoy corrected, "Voldenez is a joke I make with myself."
Harry waited patiently, and Malfoy sighed before explaining, "I thought it was both funny and strategically brilliant that Voldemort gave himself a new moniker. Instill fear into the hearts of the weak with an inhuman name, all that. But I couldn't help but think it was the name of a child who'd never been acknowledged enough for his own liking."
"So how did you come up with the joke," Harry asked, deciding not to comment on how accurate Malfoy was. Something about the conversation sat on the precipice of just enough and way too much.
"Voldemort is French. It means 'flight from death' or 'leaving death behind.' I just replaced the word for death with nose."
Harry choked on a chocolate biscuit with the laughter bubbling up his sides as he connected the dots. Before he could stop himself, he was coughing up crumbs. Luckily he'd covered his mouth with his hands before it had gotten out of hand. He noticed that within the visage Malfoy's calm face, his mouth turned into a line of pleasure. He wasn't smiling, but...
Harry's hand itched.
Yes, we will address Malfoy's relationship to others (his friend phobia) and what that means about the OC characters I created.
This was originally much longer, but since I need more time and it's a lot of mental energy, I'm separating it into two chapters.
Until next Saturday (or so!)
Later!