Harry lead them to the still fragile looking stairs.
The daylight made them look more brittle.

He wasn't sure where he was going to get Malfoy any food — he didn't know whether there was any in the manor.
…the idea of 'Malfoy without money' was still a bit hard to process.

Malfoy had hovered 'food items', apparently, but Harry had no idea where he'd gotten them from.

He also hadn't considered how he was going to have any meals himself during work hours here.

His time with the Dursleys had made him quite used to going without, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.
Was there protocol for meals during monitoring shifts?

Training had only mentioned how to deal with charges and any 'incidents' that might occur, it hadn't mentioned whether a charge was supposed to feed him.

He had been taken out of some classes early though, like when Death Eater bodies had been found, or right after he'd gotten his Order of Merlin and he'd been summoned so Important People could talk to him.

How would his colleagues have dealt with this?
Would they have just taken stuff from their charge's storage?

Or would they have brought something for themselves?

Probably the latter.

Why hadn't he thought to ask Tristan?

Regardless, he could hardly drag Malfoy to a bloody restaurant, could he? Any wizard present would stare at least, and he reckoned Malfoy'd had quite enough of that… But a Muggle place wouldn't be much better.

Malfoy would probably have something to say about it… Or lose his fucking mind again.

Not to mention that they'd have to be tethered together in public areas.

Yeah, Malfoy was 'free'…

…like a fox during a hunt.

There was only one thing for it:
"We're gonna go out for a bit," Harry said casually when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He heard Malfoy's footsteps pause, then continue.

"Don't worry, okay, we're not going anywhere public."

Malfoy reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at him, guarded.
"…what if I refuse?"

Harry pressed his lips together. "You'd be missing out," He said, a little worried he'd have to think of something else.

"…on what?"

"That would be telling," Harry said, resigning himself to having to tell him.

To his surprise Malfoy gave a small nod. He, too, seemed resigned to something. "…I'll tell my Mother goodbye."

"You will be coming back, you know."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as if he was unimpressed, but the expression was half-hearted.

Harry considered whether to suggest Narcissa should come along, but he decided against it. Even though both she and Malfoy looked like they needed a break from this place, only one of them was his charge.
Besides, they seemed to need a break from each other, too.

Malfoy went to the door underneath the stairs and knocked. "Mother?" He asked.

Harry followed, a bit weary. He didn't much fancy finding a new way to get stuck there.
There was a distant reply but he couldn't make it out.

Malfoy opened the door and walked in, not looking back at Harry. He went down the ramp and Harry followed, pressing his lips together.

If Malfoy would get him stuck again he would —… he was being petulant.

It was Greyback he really wanted to have a go at, but he was in Azkaban.

"Mother," Malfoy said as he turned the corner at the bottom of the ramp.
"I'll be out."

"Oh." Narcissa said after a few seconds.

Harry turned the corner too and saw that the square table was covered in ingredients again. Only one cauldron was on this time, and she put down a ladle with a pouring lip, then stoppered the bottle she'd apparently just filled.

"I've made you more Draught of Peace," She said. Then she went over to him, placed it in his hand, and adjusted his collar. He stood there and ignored her. "Any idea when you'll return?" She asked.

When Malfoy didn't respond, she turned to Harry.

Harry nodded. "Maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour or two… Don't worry, he'll be back in one piece."

Her eyes widened.

…she didn't think he could magic an arm out of nowhere, did they?

"I mean…" He sighed, "Like this, but… You know… Fed."

She nodded, her expression softened and she looked back at her son.
"Good," She said, smiling.
It seemed genuine.

Malfoy sighed and pocketed the bottle she'd given him.

When she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek he moved away — walked by her, leaving her frozen, looking shaken.
Then she straightened up as if nothing had happened.

Harry passed by her too, awkwardly, and mumbled 'bye' over his shoulder as he followed Malfoy.

They went through the black liquid-looking doorway on the far wall, from which he'd seen Narcissa appear last time he'd been here.
It didn't feel like he'd passed through anything at all - was the blackness only visual?

Harry wanted to look back, to see whether it looked black from the inside, too, but didn't much fancy getting stuck.

They were in a storage area of sorts, the walkway lined with shelves on both sides.
On the left, in the middle, the path branched off towards more shelves. There were jars, jugs, and ingredients on all of them. Harry spotted some lemons, limes and even a bunch of potted herbs.
A little cloud of the golden firefly-like things hovered over them, but most of the light came from along the top edge of the walls.

Malfoy walked straight ahead, going up a flight of stairs that cornered to the right. There was another doorless archway that led them to the kitchen.

Malfoy walked out, into the dining room.
It still smelled unhealthy here.

"Why didn't we take this route the other day?" Harry asked, "Did you want to lock me up in your brewing room?"

Malfoy sighed and marched on, quicker now.
Harry spotted the movement of the Professor Burbage manifestation on the long table again, but had to rush to keep up.

When Malfoy reached the door to the hallway he paused, leaning his shoulder against the frame.
He was panting.

Harry went past him, into the empty-feeling hallway again, to be able to see his face.

Malfoy looked exhausted.

"You all right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy panted and shook his head, but it was in annoyance rather than in response.
"There are many…" He breathed, "manifestations."

"I thought it was just Professor Burbage?" Harry asked, deciding not to comment on the state Malfoy was in.

He'd said he 'tired easily' and that he got 'knocked out if he got wound up', didn't he?

…how had he even… anythinged… with Tristan?

Had he lied?

Harry filed the thought away — he had to get some food in him. Starvation couldn't be helping anything and regardless — this was particularly uncomfortable to think about.

He instead focused on what would be the best way to travel.
Malfoy's wand had been blocked from Apparition, and Harry wondered whether side-along might physically be too much.
But what other options were there?

The Floo?

Would that be any better?

Malfoy shook his head. "Busy there," He said, still panting, "Don't like it."

Harry nodded. "Right. Okay." He considered for a moment. "Are you okay to Apparate?"

"Hm," Malfoy said, straightening up and inhaling deeply. His breathing seemed under control again but he looked pale and exhausted. "Yes," He sighed. "There's a shield."

He pushed himself off the door frame and went over to the front door, moving his wand as if he was going to throw it upwards.
The two-storey high doors soundlessly swung outward.

They passed through.

Somehow the marble plateau they now stood on felt less open and bare than the hallway… as if they had stepped inside rather than out.

Malfoy carelessly pointed his wand over his shoulder and the doors swung shut.

It felt very final.

The broad …chariot way? was covered in a thin layer of snow and the low shrubs looked like they hadn't been trimmed in — well, months. Some bits of green peeked through but most of them were twigs reaching for the sky, as if suffocating under the whiteness.
They were planted in symmetrical maze-like patterns, though the section on the right had a dried up fountain with scorch marks and the one on the left had a cracked pedestal with snow-covered rubble at its base.

In the distance were higher shrubs, more like a proper hedge, imposing but barren, and two white pillars stood tall besides the road.
One carried the bottom half of a statue.

The other carried scorch marks.

It was cold outside.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who slowly shut his eyes.

He exhaled small clouds that were hardly visible in front of his face.

"I'm taking you to 12 Grimmauld place," Harry said. It felt a bit weird to tell him so casually, but then again — he didn't want to let on how big of a deal it was.

Besides, who was Malfoy going to try to tell?

Some of Harry's fans?

…as if they would let him finish a sentence.

"Ready?" Harry asked, extending an arm.

Malfoy took it, the palm of his hand on the back of Harry's wrist, but didn't otherwise respond.

He felt cold — almost as cold as the air.

There was a small section of the rooftop terrace where Apparition was possible for those who knew the address, and the two of them appeared there.

Malfoy's face was lighter than his hair - the little blue vein in his cheek looked more alive than the rest of him.

"Come in," Harry said, opening the door and letting him go first.

"Downstairs," Harry said, and Malfoy turned left to go down the stairs. Harry was tempted to tell him not to fall, but he didn't feel like being snarled at.

He could always cast Levicorpus if he thought it necessary.

Malfoy slowly glided down the stairs, looking weightless, graceful, as if this was his fairy tale castle or something.

Harry went after him, making an effort not to walk into him.

"My Mother grew up here," Malfoy said as he reached the ground floor and looked around.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. He hadn't thought about that.

…somehow he didn't think Malfoy would mention this to his mum, though. At least not soon.

Harry passed by him and gestured to the right. "Kitchen," He said, then went to the room in question.
He opened the door and led Malfoy in.

The kitchen counters covered the left and the far side, and there was a dining table which functioned as an impromptu breakfast bar.
There were three chairs — there had been four, but he'd put one on top of the piano in the living room so he could clean the ceiling lamp properly.

He hoped Malfoy wasn't going to see that. He might have another heart attack.

"Sit down," Harry said, and went to the fridge.

He had insisted on having one, and the electricity had been a hassle to figure out. Hermione had been very enthused about The Project though, and it had taken the two of them nearly a month to get all the appliances working properly.

Last he heard, Arthur hadn't yet managed to convince Molly to get some in their kitchen, too.

Harry got Molly's baking dish out and put it in the oven, which he then turned on.
He reckoned twenty minutes to half an hour should do — he had considered to just Apparate back after getting it, but he didn't want to risk Malfoy passing out.

It'd be awkward.

Malfoy had taken a chair and watched him silently, without expression, without comment.

"Drink?" Harry asked.

No response. Was Malfoy playing deaf?

"Would you like a drink?" He asked again.

"What do you have to offer?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry looked in the fridge again — he wasn't going to offer him anything alcoholic.

"Eh… Orange juice, milk… Water… Tea and coffee," He said, closing the fridge again.

"Milk."

Harry chuckled and Malfoy gave him a pointed look.

"Sorry — I hadn't expected that," Harry said, a little incredulous. He got out a mug and poured him some, then placed it in front of him.

It was one of the mugs Arthur had enthusiastically given him. There was a picture of the Spice Girls on it, with a Union Jack in the background.

Malfoy looked at it with a blank expression and then slowly blinked at it.

Harry watched him for a few seconds. "What, do you only drink from crockery with silver on it?"

Malfoy glared at him. "It's broken."

Harry picked it up and looked at it. It hadn't leaked on the table and he couldn't discover any chips or cracks.

"The picture, Potter. They've frozen."

"Oh," Harry laughed. "It's er — not supposed to move." He set it back down, amused. "It's a Muggle mug."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Right. Trying to make some kind of point?"

"Maybe?" Harry shrugged and put a kettle on the Muggle way.
"They're a girl group," Harry said, as he looked for the tea.

Ginny put it somewhere else each time she was here, and Harry was starting to think it was intentional.

"I can see that," Malfoy drawled, unimpressed.

"No, I mean — they're singers," Harry narrowed his eyes and thought. "One of them goes by Posh Spice — can you guess which one?"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow again and looked at the mug. He hadn't touched it yet. "…the one who knows how to control her face." He said in a finalising tone. "Why is the thick-looking one depicted in her negligé?"

"Sorry?" Harry asked, pausing his search.

"The blond, she's standing around in her sleepwear. Does she know?" Malfoy huffed. "And the one with the ponytail is in her underwear too, isn't she." He looked Harry dead in the eyes. "Is there a reason you're trying to make me drink from this filth?"

Harry laughed a bit, and opened another cupboard.

"It's not filth, it's just a mug, they're singers, and I'm pretty sure they knew they would be 'depicted' like that." He grinned as he checked behind another door. "You've never seen them before? They're all over the place."

"…obviously not." Malfoy said dryly.

Then Harry found the tea, standing in a saucepan triumphantly.
Thanks, Gin.

"If you like I could see if I can find some of their music for you," Harry said, grinning at the prospect of the manor ringing with 'Spice Up Your Life'.

Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. "…as long as you keep it away from the drawing room."

Harry smiled and put a teabag in his own mug, but then stifled a snort. It had a different picture of the Spice Girls on it — why were they suddenly hilarious?

Malfoy still hadn't touched his drink.

"There's nothing wrong with the milk, you know," Harry said, leaning his back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil.

Malfoy pointedly reached for the mug and smelled its contents, then looked ahead as if trying to work something out. He slowly, suspiciously took a sip — a small one, and put the mug down.

Harry watched in amazement. "What — can you taste that the cow wasn't fed on emeralds?" He asked incredulously.

Malfoy looked at him blankly and scooted the mug away with the back of his hand.
"Coffee, please."

"Okay, rude." Harry took the mug and looked into it — the milk looked fine, as did the mug. It didn't smell funny, either. "If you tell me what's wrong with it."

Malfoy looked him in the eyes defiantly. "Never mind then."

"Oh come on," Harry said, a bit annoyed but mostly amazed. "Are you being difficult for the sake of it?"

"No." It sounded firm.

Harry chuckled incredulously. "Right, I don't want to know you when you're being difficult, do I?"

"And you do otherwise?" Malfoy regarded him curiously.

Harry felt strangely caught by that. "Sure, why not?"

Malfoy continued to look at him for a few more seconds and then shrugged. "So you are particularly interested in these Spice Girls, are you?"
He asked it with disdain.

"No," Harry chuckled, "Arthur gave them to me. Arthur Weasley," He clarified, though when he did he was pretty sure that Malfoy would have been able to work that out.

"And he is particularly smitten with them?"

Harry grinned. "Don't think so actually. Gave them away, didn't he?" He watched Malfoy's face — he didn't really think that's how merchandise worked, did he?

Malfoy continued to look unimpressed.

The kettle boiled and Harry poured water over the teabag, then poured some of the milk from Malfoy's mug into it. He could feel the gaze of judgement in his back.

"…dairy doesn't last in the manor…" Malfoy started flatly.

"Oh?" Harry put coffee in the coffee machine.

"…milk curdles within minutes."

"Residue?"

"Hm." It sounded affirmative.

"This milk isn't curdled," Harry said, as he put the coffee machine on and sat down at the head of the table.
He had been about to sit opposite Malfoy, but he didn't want to subconsciously prep him for antagonism.

Thank you, Interrogation Tactics.

"Hm," Malfoy did a little upwards nod.

"So what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing."

"Then why didn't you drink it? Just felt like being wasteful?" Harry realised he sounded admonishing and reeled himself back in.
He still felt combative after witnessing that memory and decided to try humour instead: "Or did the girls in their underwear put you off it?"

Malfoy gave him a dark look that lasted a bit longer than Harry'd expected.

"I'm sure the milk is fine, Potter." He said, somehow suddenly, sounding venomous.

Their eyes were locked together and Harry refused to back down — he mentally dared Malfoy to try something.

The coffee machine behind him began to make its spluttering noise.

Malfoy ignored it. "…I just can't taste it over the rot of my arm."

Harry remembered the smell during Tristan's 'sneaky little autopsy' some months ago and grimaced.
It really hadn't been pleasant.

"Fuck." He said.

Malfoy pulled the corners of his mouth back.

"Didn't St Mungo's — ?"

"The answer is probably 'no'." Malfoy said it calmly but steadily. "All they did was prevent me from dying."

"So they didn't tell you anything about how to…" Harry nodded at Malfoy, "…deal with…" He nodded at him again. "You know."

"They told me to put a sock on it," Malfoy spat.

Harry snorted but choked on it when he saw the fierce spark in his eyes.
The red inkblot-like blotch appeared in his neck and that vein in his face seemed to move a little, too.

"…a sock." Malfoy whispered, nostrils flaring.

He took a breath, relaxed his face, then briefly gazed at the woodgrain of the table "…and that I should be grateful I was the only one to live, because that had made me interesting enough to make the effort."

Harry was careful not to respond, and Malfoy got his fucked up sardonic expression again as he looked him in the eyes.

"Yes, Harry Potter. I'm the only one who lived." His wry grin split open his face as his eyes widened. "Perhaps when you're done cleaning Dark Lord sludge, I'll let you queue for my autograph."

Harry laughed a bit, more in incredulity than in amusement. "Okay, cool."

The wry grin on Malfoy's face got a hint of gratitude.
"…good." He said, with a small finalising nod.

The coffee machine filled the silence and Harry sipped his tea, wondering what to say.
The awkwardness was rapidly increasing.

"Does this house feel different?" Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded.

…if he would have made that an open question, they would be having a conversation now.

"How different?" Harry asked, feeling a bit silly.

"…is there a particular scale on which you want me to express this, or should I just keep my arms apart?" Malfoy asked.

That wasn't how Harry had meant the question, but all right then. At least they were talking.
"…on a scale from zero to red?" He asked.

Malfoy glared at him. "Triangle." Then he sighed. "I'll answer the question you intended to ask to save you the embarrassment…; This house feels healthy but starving."

"Starving?"

"Nobody really lives here."

"I do?" Harry asked.
The coffee machine changed its noise and Harry got up to get Malfoy his second drink.

He got him a clean mug — a plain one, then changed his mind and got him another Spice Girls one instead. He grinned at himself as he poured the coffee. He only had five of them.

"Hm, sure… There is literature on it somewhere." Malfoy said casually. "Living begets life, you know, some drivel about… 'heeding hearth of servitude'."

Harry placed the mug in front of him and sat down again. "I haven't heard that before…" He considered it. "Sounds nice."

"Homes are supposed to be," Malfoy said, casual still, then took the mug and smelled the coffee.
He looked relieved.

"Approved?"

Malfoy took a small sip, just as careful as before. Then he blinked rapidly a few times. "This is going to make my hair stand on end," He said with a grimace.

Suddenly Harry realised he'd scooped enough coffee to make a full pot, but he'd added water for a single cup. "Fuck, sorry," He said as he got up. "I'll make you a new one."

"No, no," Malfoy said, amused, leaning back as if to get out of his reach. "This will do quite nicely. I prefer my espresso quadrupled." He pronounced the word the Italian way and took a demonstrative sip.

"I don't know if the casserole will be okay," Harry said when its smell began to reach him. "It's really good, but… You know. Not as strong as quadrupled espresso."

Malfoy shrugged. "…is it a common brunch dish where you're from?"

"…asks the guy who was having liquor from a bottle at nine in the morning."

Malfoy responded by making a little cheers gesture with his mug.

.

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"Ooh it's so domestic!"- my beta