The Basket Case
by Stray
1 May 2006
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its characters and make no money off of it. I'm not sure I would even if I owned them.
Warnings: This is my first HP fanfic that you got to see. I'm not a native English speaker, but I try. And this is going to contain SLASH! If you don't like it, you can still read it if you harbour masochistic tendencies. Flames are used to warm my cold little heart. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
Beta-ed by: Kathleen and Vaughn.
8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8 ·m 8
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Now that Draco was over the initial shock, his vision started to clear, and he was able to take in the sight before him. He was in a kitchen full with people. Now that he was able to see clearly, it became apparent that not all of them were Weasleys. In fact, the dark head he had assumed to be Potter belonged to… was it one of the Patil twins? She was sitting at the table with a stiff back and arched brows.
At her side was the Weasel with one of his bear-like arms draped over her shoulder in a familiar fashion, wearing a hideous orange tee shirt with the Chudley Cannons logo. His face bore the expression of slight surprise, but not the utter astonishment Draco had been expecting to find. He slowly turned his back to Draco and looked at someone sitting on his other side. That was the moment when Draco was able to spot Potter. The Weasel's bulk had almost fully concealed him from Draco's sight.
"Blimey!" the Weasel exclaimed. "I didn't think he would have the guts to actually come here and demand something like that of you!" And that wasn't the reaction Draco had anticipated, to say the least.
Potter remained silent, but there was snickering coming from the other side of the table, which was filled with even more Weasleys. Draco recognised the twins – their similarity was a detail hard to miss - and the she-Weasel who had cursed Draco with that vicious Bat-Bogey Hex in his fifth year at school. There was another red-headed man, slightly older than Draco. He had no idea who it could be, but based upon the colour of his hair, Draco couldn't mistake him for anyone else but a Weasley, most likely, one of the Weasel's older brothers.
Draco was opening his mouth to demand an explanation for what the Weasel had meant by that, but a voice coming from his side had interrupted him.
"Oh dear! I didn't think you'd be here so soon! I didn't even have time to make tea!"
Draco whirled around on his heel so abruptly that he nearly lost his balance and had to grab the doorpost in order to steady himself. He saw a dumpy woman approaching him at a dangerously high speed, her greying hair in disarray, trying to tie the sash of a frilly apron behind her back on her way.
Draco was frozen on the spot. He didn't even react when she stopped next to him, placing a hand on the small of his back and steering him towards the table, brooking no opposition. He recoiled from the too casual touch, but since she didn't let Draco have his say, he had no other choice but to obey. He was pushed down categorically to the previously empty chair at the head of the table, feeling every pair of eyes directed at him. But that wasn't what he was concerned with, not even the fact that with that seating arrangement he had ended up next to Potter. His eyes didn't leave the little plump woman's figure, who was hurriedly flicking her wand, mobilising the various kitchen appliances to prepare tea and biscuits.
"You!" he blurted finally, when his vocal cords seemed to be in working order again.
The woman turned towards him with a reproving frown on her face.
"Yes, me," she answered briskly. "I am Molly Weasley, nee Prewett. My grandmother on my mother's side was a Malfoy. And I'm glad that the kinship is only that distant. It seems that Malfoys nowadays don't even teach their children basic manners."
Draco wasn't even capable of sputtering. Had he just been reprimanded by a lowly Weasley?
"Oh no, she's gone into mother-mode again!" he heard one of the twins muttering to the other, but he didn't pay further attention to it. His honour had been insulted, and he had to right the accusation.
"My name is Draco Malfoy," he found himself saying with a set jaw. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, madam."
His words were followed by more snickering coming from the twins and the frown on Mrs. Weasley's face deepening even more.
"You really don't remember me, do you?" Mrs. Weasley's voice was uncomfortably full of sympathy. Now it was Draco's turn to frown at her.
"Of course I remember you. You were there just now, telling everyone that I am supposed to have spent two months at the Order Headquarters with Potter…" in his peripheral vision, Draco saw Potter straightening his back and lifting his head at that. "But… that isn't true, is it? How much did my cousin pay you in exchange for that testimony?"
Everyone at the table seemed to suddenly come alive with anger. There were little menacing gestures directed at him, but Draco didn't let himself be intimidated by it. Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her ample hips and assumed a stance she most likely had perfected while dealing with her offspring.
"Are you accusing me of lying? Because if you are, you couldn't be more wrong! Never in my whole life have I told one lie! Well… only for the cause… But that isn't important now. I am a decent witch. If you were one of my sons, you'd have kitchen duty for a month, and I don't care how old you are! Do you understand me?"
"She might do it anyway," Draco heard the Weasel whispering to Potter, not exactly quietly. "It isn't as if she hasn't in the past."
Draco gulped. There was only one answer he could give to that.
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."
After that, the air seemed to clear of all the pent-up tension, and Mrs. Weasley's face suddenly brightened, though the concern wasn't gone from it entirely.
"Good," she told him, and then busied herself with pouring the tea into large mugs and dealing out the biscuits.
"Let's see if I still remember…" She looked at Draco, contemplating. "Three spoonfuls of sugar without milk or lemon, wasn't it?"
Draco was only able to nod numbly.
The picture of him sitting amid the various Weasleys around a kitchen table, drinking tea and munching biscuits in a companionable silence, felt almost familiar, and Draco was confused, because he didn't know where that had come from. If he had been in his right mind, he would have dismissed the notion as ridiculous and been done with it; but there was something in the air that demanded that he think about it some more. And with every minute, the feeling that something wasn't right grew inside him, until he couldn't stand it anymore and had to ask.
"Were you really telling the truth to Cyrus?"
"Of course, dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled at him benevolently. "Don't worry about it; it will come back. But now, I think we should discuss the situation."
Draco didn't understand what she was talking about, but it soon became apparent that the 'situation' was none other than his predicament. Draco felt uncomfortable with the topic being discussed with all those Weasleys present. It was none of their business. It only concerned Potter and him. But apparently, Mrs. Weasley felt that her unwilling involvement in the case and the way she seemed to mother Potter and now Draco as well, entitled her to have a say in it. It was a confusing feeling, as if Draco really had got his mum back – in the form of an unquestionably authoritative, plump, unattractive and not very sophisticated witch, who was in the habit of boiling tea water with her own wand and holding life-changing conversations at the kitchen table.
"So, Harry," she turned towards Potter, "do you have anything to say about it?"
Draco's gaze followed hers, and upon landing on the other man's face, he noticed that he bore a rather dark expression. Indeed, Potter had been strangely silent about the marriage proposal Draco had issued – all right, it had been more of a demand than a proposal, and Draco had perhaps hurt Potter's overly sensitive soul with it, but that wasn't a reason to say no, was it? It wasn't as if Draco had given him much of a choice, anyway. If he had to get technical, he might remind Potter that he had already agreed to it before even the thought could have formed in Loony Lovegood's deranged mind.
"It isn't as if it could be done. There is no sense in discussing it, then, is there?" Potter murmured grouchily.
"Mate! Hermione could arrange it, she said so herself," Weasley said, putting his large hand on Potter's shoulder. Potter only looked up at him accusingly.
"I don't want her to get into trouble because of it. You know what people would say…"
To Draco's surprise, Weasley backed down, the encouraging expression on his face changing into a contemplating frown.
"You're right. I didn't think of it like that."
Draco looked between the two of them, uncomprehending, but after a few seconds of silence, when no explanation came, he lost his patience and stood up.
"Potter! I want to speak with you alone," he said and jerked his head towards the living room. Potter looked up at him with surprise, but when Draco started walking out of the kitchen, he followed him willingly. First, he wanted to go out of the house, to get rid of any possibility of eavesdropping ears, but Potter caught his elbow and directed him toward his red couch. He sat down next to Draco and erected a privacy bubble constructed from a mix of various charms around them.
"What is your problem, Potter?" Draco attacked as soon as the charms were in place. Potter recoiled minutely, but then he got back his bearing and reinstated the previous dark frown on his face. He stayed silent, though.
"Potter! I am willing to offer a mutually advantageous arrangement. I need my heir to be legal, and, unfortunately, the family council decided that that entailed marrying the father. You. Let's say your M… Granger could arrange that the marriage between us is approved by the law. Would you then agree to it?"
"I…" Potter's glance flickered to Draco's face briefly, and then he turned away. Draco thought he would need to prod him more, but before he could think of something to make the stupid Gryffindor say yes, Potter chose to speak after all.
"I don't take marriage lightly. I don't know if I could…" he trailed off, shaking his head.
Draco sighed wearily.
"Potter, I am a pure-blood. My kind doesn't take marriage lightly either."
"But that's different," Potter insisted.
"Just how is that different?" Draco snapped.
"You don't love me." Potter told him, turning his face back to Draco and looking straight into his eyes. Draco couldn't disagree with that, so he only nodded. "And I don't love you either." Potter told him patiently, as if he was explaining a complicate spell.
For some reason Draco couldn't fathom, that last admission hurt. He blinked a few times, keeping his expression blank and stifling the urge to ask Potter if that was true.
"In that case, we are going to divorce as soon as possible, or you will be allowed to keep lovers. But you were the one who said that you wanted to play a part in this child's life. Here is your chance. This was what you wanted, wasn't it?"
Potter started shaking his head slowly, but Draco could see that he was just on the brink of giving in.
"Potter! I need this chance to keep the Malfoy money. Our child's inheritance…" How it pained him to say those words! But it had to be. Potter had a too thick head to understand niceties. Draco had no choice but to employ the heavy artillery. "You don't want him to grow up in poverty, do you?"
Potter's head suddenly shot up.
"I wouldn't let that happen, ever! Look, I have more than enough for myself…" Potter raked his fingers though the rats' nest he called hair. "I could provide for him… for both of you…"
Draco refrained from the derisive remark about Potter having no idea what he was talking about, comparing his pitiful pile of gold to the Malfoy estates. Oh, please! Draco had ten times as much in just the Black vaults that still remained his after he had been disinherited. He saw a chance and pounced on it immediately.
"That might be, but what if you die? Neither of us would have any legal claim to keep anything of yours. Except if you accept the legal responsibility, and don't tell me you'll include us into your will!" Draco exclaimed when he saw that Potter was just about to say that.
"If you ruin this chance for me, I won't ever forgive you. I won't allow you anywhere near this child if you dare do that to me. But if you accept…" Draco couldn't help wrinkling his nose a bit in discomfort. "…I may be willing to consider giving you some allowances…" And looking straight into Potter's eyes, he made it clear that he wasn't speaking about things like money. Of course, considering it didn't mean he would do it, but it was a good enough bait for Potter, nonetheless.
Potter exhaled loudly and seemed to deflate like a punctured Quaffle.
"I just know I am going to regret it," he muttered.
"Is that a yes?" Draco perked up.
Potter didn't answer. Draco left him alone to continue with his act of looking miserable in peace.
"Where is Harry?" Weasley intercepted him upon returning to the kitchen. Draco went around him and took his former place before answering.
"I left him to give him some time to come to terms with the great fortune that befell him," Draco quipped. He couldn't help it; for some unknown reason he felt tremendously better. His good humour couldn't even be spoiled by the presence of the Weasel or the prospect of having to marry his childhood enemy.
"You weren't this considerate when you used Harry to get pregnant and then didn't even tell him about it, were you?" the Weasel asked in a resentful tone. Mrs. Weasley, who was in the middle of cooking dinner, tutted reprovingly, but didn't turn away from her work.
"For your information, I didn't know it was Potter, so how could I have told him about it?" Draco answered, biting his tongue to prevent himself from adding he wouldn't have even if he knew. Apparently, hormones were once again making it hard for him to restrain himself.
"I don't believe you," the Weasel snorted. "You were always a lying bastard. You don't seem to have changed much since."
Draco was on the verge of admonishing him, even though he couldn't deny it, but he was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley coming to his defence.
"Ron, he can't be lying. I told you that he was fed Veritaserum, and that doesn't wear off this soon."
Now that was disconcerting.
"What do you mean, I was fed Veritaserum?" Draco asked with a slight trembling in his voice. He would have surely noticed it if he had been…
"Well, I heard someone saying they overheard Lentus Malfoy telling your cousin about ordering the house-elf to do it. But even if I hadn't, it was fairly obvious, dear. With the way they didn't question your statements at all, they must have had a reason to believe you wouldn't be capable of lying." And Draco wasn't able to argue that. Especially when he found himself complimenting Mrs. Weasley's cooking skills, based upon the delicious smells drifting his way.
Draco felt perturbed about how easily he had accepted the situation of him stooping to converse with a Weasley. But Mrs. Weasley surprised him by being a very pleasant conversationalist. She asked him about his accommodations at Snape's, and then listened to his long list of complaints about it with an understanding ear. At long last, Draco remembered that he should be on his way. In fact, he had already spent more time at the Weasleys' house than he had intended, as it was already becoming dark outside.
"Oh, no! Stay for dinner!" Mrs. Weasley offered. "Hermione will be here, and we can ask her about that change of law." Knowing about the Veritaserum, Draco didn't really desire to be in Snape's company right now. So he found himself agreeing.
At some point the Patil girl joined them in the kitchen. She offered to help, but Mrs. Weasley didn't want to hear it and insisted that she sit down next to Draco. Mrs. Weasley launched into an explanation almost instantly. It turned out that Patil was now a Weasley, and actually only a few weeks behind Draco in her pregnancy. She had just started showing. She seemed a bit uncomfortable with Draco being there, and that fact amused him tremendously. Normally, he wouldn't have started a conversation with the likes of her, but he couldn't help but exploit the situation.
It turned out that she was actually the undersecretary to the Minister, and Draco saw a good source of information in her.
"It figures that the M… Minister should staff her Ministry with her Gryffindor pals," Draco muttered under his breath, most likely because the Veritaserum was still in effect and had loosened his tongue. Unfortunately, he wasn't quiet enough, and she heard him. At least he had managed not to say that word in present company.
"I was a Ravenclaw, if you must know," she answered and, to Draco's great amusement, looked almost offended by the assumption that she could have been anything else. "And it was the other way around. I got together with Ron because of Hermione," she told him proudly, perhaps to accentuate the fact that she was on first name basis with the Minister of Magic.
Draco nodded, not really caring, but he filed away the information in his mind among all the useful facts that might come handy at one time.
"If you are so close to the Minister," Draco drawled, trying to keep the flattering in his tone to the minimum, because in his experience, Ravenclaws were always quicker on the uptake in sensing when their pride was being used against them, "you can surely tell me whether it is true that Granger could arrange it so that I can marry Potter…"
Draco's voice trailed off at the end, and he turned away a bit, as to not look too eager. He could see from the corner of his eye that she had a delicate frown on her face.
"Of course, I would understand if you said that it is a state secret and you can't divulge it…" he added for good measure.
"No, no, it isn't." She hurried to deny it. "I'm just not the person to talk about it with. I think you should wait for Hermione to arrive."
With that he was shaken off. Damn! He really wasn't looking forward to that talk! The thought of him, Draco Malfoy, having to lower himself to the level where he had to beg a Mudblood for something made him shudder. Perhaps he would be able to persuade Potter to do it for him.
It wasn't hard to find Potter; Draco had only needed to follow the loud yelling coming from outside. It turned out that some of the people were involved in an impromptu Quidditch match. Potter, one of the twins and the Weasel were on one team; the girl Weasley, the other twin and the older brother were on the other. There were no Beaters or Seekers, just two Chasers and a Keeper on each team. That was perhaps the reason why the Weasel was playing in his school position again instead of being a Beater. Draco supposed it was only fair, seeing that he was the only one with a professional career behind him. It almost pained Draco to admit it, but the match was actually very interesting and fast paced. There were no unskilled players on either side, even though it was already dark and the red Quaffle was hard to make out.
For a second there, he felt a strong wave of longing flooding his senses, urging him to ask whether he would be welcome to join the game, but then he reminded himself that even if he weren't pregnant, it would be beneath his stand to make a clown of himself like that.
Come to think of it, after lowering his standards and actually accepting a dinner invitation from the Weasleys, where he would be dining with blood-traitors and Mudbloods at a kitchen table to boot, not to mention that he had just blackmailed a Half-blood into agreeing to marry him, he couldn't have sunken much lower. He wasn't sure what his father would have said about it, even knowing that this was the only way for him to keep his inheritance. If he was honest with himself - and doused with Veritaserum, he couldn't be anything else - it would have been more likely that Lucius would have disowned him long before the situation could have escalated to these proportions.
He had been so carried away with his thoughts that he didn't even notice when the game ended and the players landed. He only jolted out of his thoughts when a hand descended on his arm. It was Potter's.
"Malfoy? What are you doing out here without a cloak?" he asked. In the warm light that streamed out of the windows, Draco could see a frown on his face.
Potter was right, he realised suddenly. He had left his cloak in the house, but he wasn't cold.
"Warming Charm," he said the moment he realised what must have happened. It was a bit disconcerting that he didn't remember casting it. It must have happened accidentally – the same way sometimes the food put in front of him turned into something else in his hands.
"Come on. Hermione is going to be here any second now," Potter told him, and started to walk towards the door.
Draco nodded absentmindedly, but then he remembered that he had to talk with him before the Mudblood's arrival.
"Potter! Wait!" he shouted, and to his mortification, he was actually running after Potter, catching him barely before he could open the door.
"What is it?" Potter turned to him in surprise.
Now that he had Potter's attention, Draco had to think quickly as to how to direct the conversation to the topic of having Potter talk to Granger instead of Draco, because asking outright would have been just disgraceful.
"I… So I was living with you at the Headquarters for two months?" Draco cursed himself for his lack of eloquence. But Potter didn't seem to notice it; he just gave a tentative nod, as if he was trying to figure out what Draco wanted, trying to steer the conversation in that direction.
"And…" Draco suddenly found himself blushing, but he also suddenly found that he needed to know the truth about it. "Was it true, what Cyrus was insinuating?"
Potter lifted a brow in question. Draco cursed his dim wit and bit his lower lip. It seemed that he was forced to say it out loud.
"Is it true that you and I had a… thing… back there?"
Now Potter looked downright amused. "What do you think?" he asked. Damn him!
Draco wanted to say 'no'. He wanted to categorically distance himself even from the idea. But when he opened his mouth to do it, no sound came out of it.
Just how much Veritaserum did they give to him? There must have been considerably more than only three drops of it in that glass if it was still working after all this time – and he had only drunk a few mouthfuls of it.
"Well?"
"I don't want to think about it at all," Draco answered finally, wondering just how he had landed in this position.
"Then why ask?"
"Potter! I just want to know. Is it that hard to understand?"
"Why does it matter if you don't remember anyhow?" Now Potter definitely looked sullen. He turned away from Draco and opened the door.
Draco was fuming that he was just left there, by Potter of all people, without getting his answer. He wanted to yell that it mattered because he needed to know, and that it wasn't his fault that he didn't remember. He just needed to know! And that was the absolute truth.
And that was when it happened. This time it didn't even take Potter leaking magic all over him; he wasn't even there anymore. Draco's body just went rigid on its own, his eyes clouded and his head spun. And after that, he didn't know what happened.
It felt as if he had landed in a Pensieve memory, but at the same time, there were alien thoughts in his mind, sensations flooding his senses. Draco saw himself – as much younger man – and he realised that it was that younger Draco's mind he was seeing into.
Draco was running, thinking that he needed to get out of there or it would be all over. His parents were dead - or so he believed, the mind of the grown-up Draco supplied - killed by the Dark Lord. But if he fled, he couldn't possibly stay alive on his own. So in a last, desperate act, he ran down the cellar and grabbed Potter. Surely, if he returned him, his side wouldn't kill Draco. Surely they would protect him.
From his pocket, he took out the ring his mother gave him: a Portkey to a safe place, she had said. Potter was unconscious and barely breathing. Draco didn't know why the Dark Lord kept him alive, but it was painfully obvious just by looking at him that he wanted some information, or else, just tortured him out of fun. No, he didn't believe that. But Potter being still alive proved that the Dark Lord had not yet got what he wanted.
Only, the safe house wasn't there. Or, Draco realised with a feeling of dread, it was there, protected by an Unplottable Charm or the Fidelius, so he wouldn't be able to see it.
He had no other choice but to drag Potter with him - he wasn't strong enough to Apparate both of them. And besides that, he didn't know where to, nor was he composed enough to dare try, even though he sure as hell didn't lack the necessary determination...
In the next instant, the scene ended and Draco was engulfed in a thick fog. When it finally cleared enough so Draco was able to see, he found himself standing on a forest ground covered with dried up leaves and thick undergrowth. The other Draco's thoughts filled his mind again, filling the holes in place of what he couldn't see because of the mistiness of the memory, for now he was sure that that was what it was. The events continued to play before his eyes, like a wizarding photograph.
Draco didn't know many Healing Charms. There was the one he had used to heal the hickeys Pansy and others left on his body - skin as pale and thin like his bruised easily. He knew minor spells to heal small cuts he occasionally made when he needed his own blood for a potion or else, a spell to clean a wound quickly and effectively, for the times when he cut his hand while brewing and poison seeped into the cut from the ingredients or the brew itself. All in all, he felt profoundly lacking; but in the end he was surprised how effective the combination of those worked on Potter's appearance, even though he couldn't hope to heal any internal damage, like the broken bone in his arm, which he put back in order and Petrified to keep it straight, or the mental damage from the Cruciatus Curse and whatever else his tormentors had chosen to use on him.
Potter was most likely just glad that the only person around him wasn't hurting him. He didn't care for Draco - Draco didn't think he even recognised him at first. Of course that wouldn't have been enough, if not for Draco's own weakness and his yearning for the comfort human contact could provide him.
It wasn't that surprising, really. They had to sleep close together to keep each other warm, Draco didn't dare leave Potter until he wasn't recovered enough to follow him, even if that meant that they had to eat bread transfigured from dry leaves or dirt, and drink water summoned from the dew on the leaves at dawn. When Potter broke down with fever, Draco held him close, and tried to wipe away the heat from his brows and cheeks with his robe sleeve that he had held out to the rain to dampen. He hoped that Potter wouldn't remember him crying for him not to leave Draco alone, or if he did, he would just think it had been one of his fevered dreams. When Potter was cold and the Warming Charm wasn't enough, Draco spooned his body behind Potter's. Later, when the nightmares came, he would hold him and pet his head in a manner his mother or Pansy would do to him. Much later, when he was coherent enough, Potter would reciprocate the gesture.
Potter was the first one to kiss Draco on the forehead after a particularly bad nightmare and Draco the one to return the gesture the next night - only that kiss went somewhat lower. From that point on, it was purely instinct and need. The next morning, waking up with his naked sweaty body stuck to another one was decidedly the most awkward moment in Draco's life. But all awkwardness was forgotten when Potter - only half awake - smiled at him and burrowed his head into Draco's neck, sighing contentedly. Later, upon discovering that both of them, like the healthy teenagers they were, had a morning erection, the happenings of the previous night were repeated by daylight, and neither of them could or would pretend that they didn't know exactly what they were doing. Potter didn't even hesitate to go down on Draco after asking him for a cleaning charm, since his own wand had been left with the Dark Lord, or destroyed by then. Draco wasn't affronted; their only means to clean themselves was magic since they wouldn't find a bathroom in the woods...
The scene changed and the mist came again. This time it lifted almost completely, and when it did, the surroundings changed to a strangely familiar house with house-elf heads mounted on the walls. The other Draco was alone with Potter in a room.
Nearly six weeks had passed between their hasty flight and their arrival at the doorstep of Potter's Order. They took Draco in and offered him protection from the Dark Lord. How could they not after he had saved their precious Chosen One? But that had gained a secondary importance, as Potter didn't even try to pretend that the thing between them was anything other than what it seemed. He took it for granted that Draco would stay there with him, as vehemently as his cronies, Weasley and Granger, had protested against his presence. And Draco, feeling that even if he had lost everything with his parents' death, he had gained something new and precious, was content to sink into the short blissful oblivion that that arrangement provided him with.
Draco saw his younger self stepping in front of Potter and taking one of his hands between his own, lifting them to his heart in a gesture his older self found ridiculously sappy and unbecoming. His face reflected feelings he had been sure to that point he had never known.
"Harry," he said, "I am in love with you."
In the next moment, Potter's arms came up around his younger self's frame. The fog was starting to build up again, and Draco couldn't see what happened, but he could still hear Potter's answering words.
"I love you too, Draco..."
The next scene started in a kitchen with the now-familiar setting of Draco sitting around a kitchen table among red-heads and Potter at his side, drinking tea.
That was when he learnt that his parents, against all odds, were alive. Faking their deaths was a part of the Dark Lord's newest plan, which his parents had regrettably failed to inform him of beforehand. After that, during the attack on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, when he found himself face to face with his father, he really should not have been as shocked as to forget everything about Potter for a few stunned minutes, which was enough time for his father to grab his arm and Apparate them home.
The transition felt almost instant. Draco's eyes popped open without the usual grogginess of the first few seconds after waking up. He was immediately aware of the fact that he was lying in a bed; looking around, he recognised his room at Snape's house. He was wearing his nightshirt and not much else, but the covers were pulled up to his chin.
There was a glass of water and some kind of potion on the bedside table next to his bed, but when he reached out for it, he glimpsed something red from the corner of his eyes. He didn't know why he was so surprised. He should have expected it, really, but he still gasped when his eyes took in Potter's ever-present couch and the messy dark head peeking out from under a red tartan blanket on top of it.
TBC
