December 1998
The pipes groaned and refused to give him any water despite his furious spinning of the tap.
"Alright, fuck you then. I give up, stupid house," he threw the washcloth down and stumped out towards the kitchen.
It was already dark and by the looks of the wind that was picking up, the expected snowstorm would hit soon as well. He'd been living, or rather trying his utmost to live at Grimmauld Place again now that the war was over, feeling a need to renovate the place and do something good with it. Sirius had hated the house and a part of him felt like turning it into something worthwhile that would make Walburga Black roll in her grave. Perhaps pass it onto Teddy for when he was grown, or Andromeda even, giving back the heritage that was denied her because she chose her own path. He would know what to do with it once he was done, he was sure.
Right now, Harry was rather inclined to get a box of matches and burn the place down instead. It was like the bloody house was fighting him every step of the way. He finally managed to sanitise every room of all creepy crawlies, doxies, and ghoulies in September and it was as if the house then decided to wake up and make his life difficult instead. Disappearing furniture, shuffling tools, moving him around the house in his chair, the bloody place had a mind of its own. On frustrating days like these, he was honestly at this point considering just moving out and shutting the place down.
Instead, he headed for the kitchen and reheated the pot of curry on the stove, filling in a decent bowl and sitting down for an early dinner. He may have been eating his feelings a bit but who cared, he loved curry, he loved a lot of food actually, now that he was able to have it and explore it. It took him three months but he made his way through all the local takeaways and smaller restaurants, quickly making a list of his top ten for regular treat nights. Spicy Indian and Thai curries, ramen and gyoza, and waffles were easily his regular favourites, and he found himself never needing for food for the first time since his childhood.
He would always be on the shorter side at 5'9", years of malnutrition could not be corrected so easily, but he was at least starting to fill out a bit now that he wasn't starving.
"Harry Potter eats too much these days," Kreacher appeared on the other side of the table, polishing the silver dining room set nonchalantly.
Harry frowned at his remark and chewed his mouthful before responding. "What and how much I eat is none of your business. How about you help me sort this bloody house out instead?" He practically growled.
"The House is trying to work with Harry Potter but he does not listens," Kreacher shrugged, clicking his fingers and the task was finished. "Harry Potter needs to stop eating so much and listen more to the House," he said before disappearing from view.
Harry didn't normally condone violence but he could have throttled the snarky little creature on the spot. He cringed at the realisation that it would be him no better than Lucius Malfoy, and Hermione would likely rip him a new one for it as well, so he just huffed and took another bite from his curry.
He looked down at his arms, his legs, and sighed tiredly. So he had gained a bit of weight, so what? He was tired, couldn't make himself go to the Wizarding world just yet, and food was comforting. For the first time his clothes weren't swimming on him because he was smaller than everyone else. His jeans were much better fitted, and his stomach and hips was becoming quite soft. So what? He was still in good shape but much more comfortable. Who was the elf to tell him what to eat?
Picking up the ice cream from the freezer for good measure, he headed up to his room to spend the rest of the evening with the latest book and the tub of creamy goodness. His frustrations with the house could wait another day.
"Master, there be a letter for Mistress Narcissa," Tottle squeaked by his elbow and handed him the letter with a deep burgundy wax seal.
Draco studied the ornate P on the elegant seal before nodding to the elf and cutting through the top to get to the letter itself. The moment he spotted the messy chicken scrawl on the page, he knew it was none other than Potter himself.
Dear Mrs Malfoy,
I hope you are faring well these days. I was glad to hear you were released from all charges against you and hope to thank you in person for saving my life during the Final Battle soon.
In the meantime, I am in the process of renovating the Black Manor at Grimmauld Place and discovered several boxes in the attic with your name, as well some family heirlooms which weren't stored in the family vaults. You are welcome to stop by to review these items to see if there is anything you would like to take with yourself, as I have no need for them.
Looking forward to hearing from you and sending my best wishes,
Harry Potter
Lord Potter-Black
He re-read the message three times before setting it aside and lacing his fingers under his chin as he contemplated his situation. The message sounded genuine and with Narcissa's condition, he wondered whether some of the items from her childhood home would be of comfort. The deterioration was slow, beginning with the death of his father in Azkaban in July, progressively taking away her lucidity and recognition of him. Healer after healer examined her but beyond agreeing that she must have been hit by a curse that was forcing her to slowly mentally deteriorate, they could do little else than monitor her.
He was keeping her state quiet and had his mother in the care of two of his elves at all times, which meant he would have to deal with Potter himself. He picked up a fresh piece of parchment and confirmed he would stop by on his mother's behalf on the weekend, watching the owl fly off and wondering what Potter did with himself these days. Was he doing Auror training with the Weasel? Was he dating the She-Weasel or maybe finally snogging Granger like the rumours said? He was curious and admitted to himself that in these bleak days filled with worry for his mother, restitutions and fighting to get an apprenticeship to restore their family name, it would prove a welcome distraction.
Harry swore as he sucked on his bleeding thumb, heading for the door at the knocking. "Kreacher!" he called but the stubborn elf was nowhere to be seen so he pulled the door open himself.
On the porch stood Draco Malfoy, meticulous as always and looking at him with surprise clearly written across his pointy face. Only belatedly did Harry remember that today was the day he was supposed to stop by, and realised he had just opened the door to the blond wearing little else but his black trackies and a vest top.
Draco stared. That was all he could do. Because Harry Potter was positively chubby . And he looked entirely delectable .
There has always been something between them, this tension. From rivals, to nearly killing each other, to tracking each other's every move. They used to be obsessed with each other to the point of unhealthy reliance on feeling the other's magical presence. At the time he had hated it, his mission to kill Dumbledore and save his family jeopardised by the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Let-Him-Be. But at the same time, knowing there was someone always watching him was comforting. Severus had been at that point too bitter, too burdened, to provide any comfort. Strangely, having Potter on his heels was what he needed.
Then, he helped him during the final battle. And in return, Potter had testified for him in front of the Wizengamot and ensured he would have a future. So here they stood, seven months later, looking at each other and taking in the changes.
"Err...hi," Harry finally managed, taking in the blond's elegant trousers and deep navy cashmere jumper. His fair fringe fell into his face, making his eyes look softer, but there was still that air of untouchable around him, as ever. Of course he just stuttered his way into the conversation like a pillock.
Draco snorted softly. "Eloquent as ever, Potter. I'm here on my mother's behalf, as I mentioned in my response."
"Sure, no problem. Uhm," he looked down at his own attire. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of refurbishing the place and forgot you were coming," he admitted.
Draco tried to contain the eye roll at the completely adorable dork before him and stepped into the renovated hallway and out of the cold. Adorable? What the-
"It's just up in the attic," Potter motioned for him to follow and he did, falling into step.
He had previously visited the place of his mother's ancestry and it had been dark, dank, dusty and dilapidated. The house he was walking into had been stripped of all the gore and darkness and he felt like he could breath, walking up the now bright hallway to a hidden staircase on the top floor. Potter preceded him and he enjoyed the sight of the curvy arse moving up before him.
What the fuck is wrong with me? It's Potter , he tried to chastise himself but his brain seemed to short-circuit at the sight of his once-rival looking so soft and powerful with his magic wrapped around him just-so.
The attic was spacious and filled with all manner of furniture and boxes. Potter didn't even bother with a wand as he cast an air-fresher spell to make it easier.
"I sorted the Black heirloom to this side and-"
SLAM!
The sound made them both jump, the door closing with a massive bang and throwing them into darkness.
"Of for fuck's sake, this bloody house," Harry prctically growled as he cast a charm to illuminate the attic with soft floating light balls. He made his way to the door and tried to pry it open again and it wasn't budging one bit. He sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "I'll just apparate on the other side to check what the blockage is," he explained before casting the charm.
And nothing happened.
He blinked in surprise and spun in place though he didn't really need to these days, but still nothing. He was stuck. They were truly and well stuck. Because the house just raised his anti-apparition ward.
Draco, rather than feeling cross, was actually thoroughly amused. "House troubles, Potter?" he drawled.
Potter looked like was at the end of his tether. "This bloody place has a mind of its own. One moment I feel like we're getting on and it's happy I'm restoring it, and the next it's being like this," he rubbed his face tiredly before looking at him with a genuine apology. "I'm sorry about this, Malfoy. Don't want to keep you but the house is having other thoughts."
"That's fine, I have the day off so might as well go through the boxes," he indicated and pushed his sleeves up to dig in. The initial moments were a bit awkward, Harry wasn't really sure what to do with himself until Malfoy looked at him with a raised brow. "Well, aren't you going to help, Potter? Or are you just going to stand there like an ornament?" he drawled.
Harry found that instead of raising his hackles, as the remark would have a few months ago, he just shrugged. "Right, yeah, let's get this sorted."
The silence between them grew a little tense but then they started asking each other a few small questions, nothing touching on the war just yet, trying to avoid any kind of conflict. In the end they had several boxes set up and Draco called for his house elf to transport everything back home.
Nothing.
He sighed and sat down on one of the ottomans. "Honestly, one would think the house would pull its shit together by now. How long have we been here?"
Harry wished for the floor to swallow him but then thought better of it, as the bloody house would probably sense it and the floorboards beneath his feet would give way. He took the other ottoman, resting his tired body. "Honestly, really sorry about this." He wanted to offer more in the way of apology but hesitated, not knowing how to really apologise.
Draco's silver gaze pierced him uncompromisingly and he nodded. "Well, perhaps you can make it up to me. You know the Golden Rose?"
"The Chinese place on the muggle side of Diagon?" Harry asked curiously.
Draco nodded. "I'm starving, so you might as well feed me once we get out of this miserable place."
"I can do that, it's a date," he blurted out like the idiot that he was.
Draco snorted in amusement and Harry's heart dropped at the unamused sound. Of course, what was he thinking? There was no chance Malfoy was interested. For all he knew he wasn't even gay. Not that he was sure he was, he had liked Ginny so maybe he was bi-
"Chinese lunch at home, a date? Oh absolutely not. If I am to be dated, I will be spoiled. I am, afterall, a Malfoy. Today is lunch, but perhaps a nice dinner out would rectify this disaster," he grinned in that sharp way of his.
Harry took a moment to digest the barbs and recognise the invitation for a date that was actually there. "Really? You would want to go on a date? With me? I mean, I'm...me. We'll probably Avada each other over the main course."
Draco shrugged. "We haven't killed each other yet and quite frankly, Potter, you are very nice to look at these days," he admitted before his gaze narrowed. "If that goes to your head though, I swear I will knock you down a peg of two."
Harry found himself grinning in return. "I wouldn't expect any less from you..Draco."
There was a soft click and the door to the attic opened soundlessly, the house finally deciding to let them go.
"Well, this was fun," Draco dusted his trousers off as he stood. "I'll get my elf to carry these home while I wait for my food," he waved the other man off and called Tottle.
Harry walked out of the attic and glared at Kreacher who seemed to be waiting for him. "I told Harry Potter the house was helping," he said before apparating out of sight.
As he shrugged on a jacket and headed out into the cold to apparate, Harry had to for once agree. He looked at 12 Grimmauld Place as he spun around on the spot, and thought that perhaps the bloody house wasn't so bad after all.
Fin.