There is an odor that he can't quite place as he stumbles out of the Floo. Harry looks around. Dirty dishes lay among filthy clothing scattered about the room. His nose wrinkles out of habit at the sight. He can't believe he lived like this. He can't believe it ever came to this.
Harry's shoulders square up as he inhales. His mouth comes together in disapproval and he begins the daunting task of cleaning his house. He banishes most of the surface items—all the trash, the clothing, and the old takeout. Some of the lingering smell fades once the rotten food is removed. Beneath that, he finds rugs that are too stained to salvage. Some of them he Scourgifies repeatedly, but the worn threads just cannot handle the torment he's subjecting them to. Those, too, are banished.
By the time he gets down to the basic furniture, Harry is exhausted. One of the couches is junk. Ginny had lain on it for so long without washing herself that the oils and reek of her body have sunk into the filling. Nothing he does will get it out. He first thinks about setting it on fire, but decides instead the rug underneath isn't too damaged. That he can save.
It's nearing dinner when his stomach begins making itself known. He hasn't eaten anything since breakfast and, at this point, realizes that cleaning is hungry work. Another sign of his absence from the house comes when he walks into the kitchen. Aside from the wretchedly foul stench of months-old dishwater, Harry finds his ice chest full of moldy food. Everything goes off to meet his couch in the land of banished things while he continues to hunt up anything he can eat. The cupboards give him the only thing left: a can of soup and a tin of crackers.
Harry does what he thinks anyone in this situation would; he ignores the soup in favor of the tin and makes his way back to the living room. There, he sinks down and bites into the first of many stale crackers. When his hand reaches in, rummages around, and comes up empty, Harry's stomach isn't satisfied. He sighs and leans back, trying to ignore thoughts of the meals Tovo brought him as he drifts off to sleep.
Knees crammed against his desk, Draco scribbles out notes from his fieldwork. The leopard flashes around his door, padding in front of him. When he cocks his head at the Patronus, Draco hears his mother's voice.
"He's gone." The leopard blinks, then licks a front paw. It looks up at him and hisses. "You need to find him. Come home, Draco."
"Fuck. Why now, mother?"
He waves the leopard off without a response. The nib of his quill bounces across his desk as he tosses it aside. Ink sprays wildly across the document he's been so careful with. He considers the assignment he'd been given an hour prior.
"Expecto Patronum." Draco speaks the words clearly; they echo in the small office. As the raven perches on the corner of his desk, he looks straight into its eyes and continues, "Mother. I can't leave just at this moment. I'll be home as soon as Shacklebolt will let me. You must learn to keep a tighter leash on your pets."
A flick of his wrist sends wings flying and all he sees is the trail of white. He works for another hour and a half before he can honestly tell his boss he has an emergency at home.
"What is it?" Shacklebolt asks.
"Potter's run off," Draco says dismissively.
Kingsley raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know he was still living at the Manor. How is he doing?"
"He's talking now. Coming out of his room like a good little boy. Too bad it sounds like he's a runaway puppy and I've got to chase him down." Draco's sitting on the edge of a chair digging beneath a fingernail absently. "Merlin knows how I got dragged into this."
Kingsley laughs. His full-bodied laugh consumes the room and Draco rolls his eyes.
"Yea. Have to go save the Golden Boy now. I'll be in at eight."
"See that you are," Kingsley responds—half-serious.
Draco disapparates home to find Narcissa pacing near the Floo. Tovo hovers nearby, the edges of her garment frayed by tiny fingers.
"Draco!" Narcissa barks at seeing him saunter into the room. "You must find him."
Four short words and Draco feels the need for a drink. He's got the stopper out of the whiskey before she's at his side.
"Tovo says he left in the morning. He took his things, but left anything we've given him."
Draco stares hard at her for a minute. "Are you sure he didn't want to leave? Are you positive he'll even want to be found?"
Narcissa takes a breath as if she's about to say something, but Draco continues.
"Are you absolutely certain he didn't leave because he wanted nothing to do with us anymore?" The glass in his hand slams down against the counter. "You and I know we were never good enough for him. Maybe he needs to find his own way."
"How dare you," Narcissa hisses, voice dropping low. "You brought him here. You agreed to look out for him. You brought him back into my life. Now you need to stop acting like an entitled little bastard before something happens to him." Her breathing is rapid and Draco takes a step back. "I would have left this house earlier to look for him, but you know just as well as I do that I can't—and why. Now go."
With the last word, she walks away from him and sits down on the couch, pointedly ignoring him. Draco downs another glass before stalking over to the Floo. He glances over his shoulder when his hand fills with powder.
"Grimmauld Place," he calls.
When she refuses to look at him, he steps through.
Harry's home is not what he remembers. Some of the furniture has been rearranged and, while it still has a distinct odor, it is not the atrocity it was. He gets his bearings for a moment before spotting the mess of hair sticking up on the other side of the remaining couch.
When Draco steps around to get a good look, he stops himself from barking a laugh. Harry's chin is flat to his chest. His hand is stuffed inside a cracker tin. One leg is bent against the back of the couch while the other sprawls open. He snores in tandem with the twitching of his left foot.
Draco shakes his head and grabs for the tin, setting it on a nearby table. He uses the toe of one boot to nudge the sleeping Potter awake. Harry jerks, not prepared to see Draco—also not remembering he'd come back to Grimmauld Place.
"Why'd you leave?"
Harry rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes. It doesn't help the irritation, but he tries a second time just to be sure. It doesn't help, so he stares at Draco with red-rimmed eyes.
"I didn't think the Manor was the right place for me anymore."
"Why the fuck not?" There is anger in Draco's response.
"I heard you," Harry replies. At Draco's empty look, Harry continues, "I heard you and Narcissa arguing. I'm causing too much trouble. I-I would be better off here." Harry's now running his nails up his thighs then pushing his palms down. The gesture is anxious, worried.
"Fucking prat."
Draco stands and is hovering over him. Harry cowers, arms raised, but all he sees is Draco's arm reaching out to grab him. He's hauled to his feet and continues to stumble as Draco fumbles for Floo powder in his satchel—Harry's bowl is empty. Draco's mumbling, but the words Harry understands make him groan.
"Malfoy Manor," is all he hears before he's shoved through.
On the other side, he falls to his knees. Narcissa is there, on the couch, chin resting on her knuckles as she watches the fire patiently. When Harry clears his throat and places a hand on the floor to steady himself, two things happen: Narcissa is at his side and Draco come through the Floo.
She clears her throat upon seeing Draco, who walks past her with a smirk.
"The bloody wanker didn't feel he could stay at the Manor because it wasn't the right place for him," he scoffs.
Narcissa turns to look sadly down at Harry.
Draco continues, "Apparently we need to do more to make Harry feel at home, like take him on dates and give him flowers and court the fucking sod." He leans down and grabs Harry's shirt. "Is that what you need, Potter? Do you need flowers and poetry?"
Harry looks away. Narcissa steps behind Draco and wraps a hand about his shoulder.
"Enough, Draco." She steps between them, then kneels, tossing her robe behind her. "You are always welcome here. You can leave whenever you choose, but I enjoy your company and I am absolutely certain Draco does too."
Harry stares, failing to comprehend. He's not sure if he's not hearing correctly or if her words just aren't making any sense. She smiles; it's that mischievous smile she has when she's pushing him.
He dusts off some of the soot and stands. After a quick glance between the two Malfoys, Harry walks out of the room and retreats to his room upstairs.