Chapter Six - The Wards

"Ok, so I've found at least six layers, or strands, to your wards," said Malfoy. "The bulk of them were laid down in the eighteenth century, and they all appear to be tied to either the physical bricks and mortar of the house, or to the Black bloodline itself."

There were pieces of parchment laid out across the table, each covered with flowing script and tidy diagrams. The weather had turned chilly overnight, and a fire was lit in the grate. Grey light filled the room as it rained steadily outside.

"So what's your plan?" asked Harry.

"Well, first, I thought I'd show you the wards—"

"You can do that?"

"Yes I can, and please don't interrupt, Potter. Not only is it terribly rude, some of this is quite complex and I'd rather you didn't disrupt the flow of my explanation." Harry clamped his mouth shut, exaggerating the gesture, and Malfoy rolled his eyes before continuing. "As I was saying, I will show you the wards, as I am fairly sure that you're not actually that familiar with them," he paused. "Correct?"

Harry nodded in response. Malfoy was obviously in his element, and when he was like this, when he was talking about a knotty problem or a bit of magical theory, his face would change, becoming animated. The way he carried himself would change. He held himself with more confidence, more presence, and Harry found it mesmerising.

"Then I want to isolate each strand, and see if I can align it with you and your claim on the house. I need to see how you respond to each one, and how each one responds to you."

"And do you think that will work?" asked Harry, daring to speak when Malfoy seemed to have come to a natural stop.

"I– I hope so," said Malfoy, with just a moment's hesitation. "But it may not, in which case I will then look at working with the family tree and the portraits to integrate you better with the Blacks." He frowned, and bit at his lip slightly as thought. Harry's eyes were drawn to the hint of white teeth, to the way they pulled down the skin; he wanted to see if they left pinks marks behind. He took a deep breath and resolved to ignore Malfoy's mouth. "We may also have to look at the possibility that once we get to a certain point, we'll have to place a new layer of wards, specifically attuned to you. But it would be tricky, and it would take a little preparation otherwise the new and old wards could conflict with each other, and at worst, destroy the house itself."

"Oh," said Harry. "That does seem a little, er, dangerous."

"This is magic, Potter. It isn't always safe. Although," and suddenly Malfoy's voice softened, and his focus seemed to shrink down from encompassing the whole house and the wards, to just the two of them stood by the table, "I promised that I wouldn't put you in any kind of danger again, and I meant it. I should have realised what would happen," his eyes shot up to the newly-restored chandelier, which they had both chosen not to stand under, "and I still feel awful that you got hurt at all." He couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes as he spoke.

"Malfoy," said Harry, his voice quiet enough that it only just travelled far enough to be heard. "It's ok." He reached out, and rested his hand on Malfoy's arm. Through the sleeves of Malfoy's long robes, Harry could feel him hold very still as if he might pull away at any second. "I'm okay," he added, and Malfoy's eyes finally rose to meet his.

"I—" said Malfoy, the words seeming to catch in his throat. They looked at each other for a moment more, and then he stepped back. "I think we should walk through the whole house while I reveal the wards."

They started just inside the front door. Malfoy traced a line around the door with his wand, and gradually, out of the corner of his eye, Harry became aware of a glow which followed the doorframe, up and around the door. It was a strange sensation: if he tried to look at it full on, it would shimmer and disappear for the blink of an eye. He forced himself to relax, and then it seemed to grow more solid, and he became aware of the way it spread, in what seemed to be a thin layer, over the walls themselves.

"This is the most basic ward," said Malfoy. There was some strain in the way he spoke, and Harry wondered just how much magical energy this was taking. "But also the most comprehensive."

"The one tied to the bricks and mortar?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Malfoy, "And this one was laid down, more or less in its present form, in the eighteenth century." He reached forward, and touched the door. A faint pulse of light radiated out from his hand, moving outwards then back in again until it returned to his hand. "You try it," he said, and Harry pressed two fingers to the door. The same light appeared, and it travelled out and then back again. It was strange seeing it when Harry couldn't feel anything. The ward shimmered, then disappeared.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry said, worried.

"No," Malfoy said. "I just ended the spell. But that was good: this level of ward does respond to you. If it hadn't, the light would have kept moving away until it faded."

"I didn't feel anything," Harry said, and Malfoy frowned.

"We should work on that. If you can become a little more attuned to this ward, then it should help you sense when someone enters your house."

"But why is this ward recognising me?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," said Malfoy. "Perhaps this one ties in more neatly with the fact that Sirius named you as his heir in his will. Or maybe the snakes on each door help."

They then spent the next hour focusing on helping Harry feel the wards, first when he could see them, and then just when he concentrated on them. They felt like a strange tingle, a prickle at the edge of his consciousness. After a while though, Harry couldn't tell if it was the wards or just frustration with trying, over and over again, but he felt his skin begin to itch and he just wanted to get out. A soft touch on his arm calmed him, and after a deep breath he realised that Malfoy was stroking his arm.

"This should help. This kind of work can get a bit much, can't it?" he said. Harry put his own hand on top of Malfoy's. It was warm, and before he could think about, Harry brushed his thumb over Malfoy's wrist.

"Thanks," he whispered. Neither of them moved. He moved his thumb again, a slow and deliberate swipe, and he watched Malfoy's breath catch.

"Potter—" said Malfoy. His voice was airy. Breathless. "I don't think–" he took a breath. "I think it's time for a break. We've probably worked on this too long." He gently removed Harry's hand from his own, and stepped away.

"Sorry," said Harry, and he ran a hand through his hair. The sound of heavy rain battering the front door and windows filled the hallway.

"You– you're not used to spending all this time at home, especially not with someone else here, are you?" asked Malfoy.

"No," said Harry.

"Well it's probably just a bit much to cope with. I might be done today, and then you can have your space back."

"Yes," said Harry, but even as he answered he knew that wasn't what he wanted. The hallway felt particularly dark and gloomy. "Let's go sit by the fire and you can explain whatever comes next," said Harry.

It was warm by the fire, and the rain seemed far away. Malfoy outlined his plans to familiarise Harry with all the wards, but Harry only half-listened to the words, captivated as he was by the way Malfoy's hands moved through the air, the way he spoke in such concise and elegant language. Malfoy was looking at him as if expecting an answer, and Harry realised that he'd been asked a question. He blinked.

"Er…"

"Oh for… pay attention, Potter. I want to examine your Floo connection next: it seems to be well maintained, unlike most other things here.".

Harry almost didn't notice the comment about his upkeep of the house, and nodded in answer to the question. Arthur Weasley insisted on checking it over every year.

"I have it locked to most people. Usually just work and my friends can Floo in." He paused. "How did Parkinson come in the other day?"

"There aren't any restrictions on Flooing out," Malfoy said, "and once the connection was made, it was easy enough for her to step through. Do you mind her knowing where you live?" he asked.

Harry thought about it, and was surprised to realise that he didn't.

"No, it's fine, actually."

Maybe this discussion had prompted Malfoy's choice of test subject, but soon he was kneeling by the fire, Harry beside him, Flooing Parkinson. The flames shivered and turned green, losing all their heat as they did so.

"Draco, what a delight, as always," she said, dipping her head in greeting. "And my, my, Potter too!"

With precise words, nothing wasted, Malfoy sketched out how he needed her to help. He and Parkinson spoke in a kind of shorthand, sentences short and often finished for each other, like an old married couple. Harry began, rather glumly, to revise his assumptions about Malfoy's sexuality.

The rest of the afternoon became increasingly frustrating, as Harry was unable to see, let alone feel, the Floo when Parkinson called. In the end he saw that it had finally stopped raining, brilliant sunshine glancing off pavements still slick with rain, so he offered to go out and fetch coffee. When he returned, Harry was momentarily cheered when the doorknob flickered and brass eyes turned towards him; he walked in with the sibilant slithering sounds of a formal greeting still hanging in the air.

Harry stopped at the drawing room door: he could hear voices. Malfoy was, it seemed, relieving his own stress by complaining to Parkinson.

"I still think you're mad," she was saying. He could hear the pout in her voice: Pansy sounded as if she knew he wouldn't listen to her.

"I know, Pansy, but it's been fine."

"Draco, you were obsessed with Potter, obsessed! I don't know how many times I had to endure hearing about—" her voice rose but Malfoy cut her off.

"That's not fair and you know it. It was years ago, and nothing is the same now."

"Yes, yes, so I hear," she said, and sounding a little bored. "But I'm still suspicious of this sudden détente between the two of you."

"There's nothing sudden about being civil to someone you work for," said Draco.

"Civil?" she said. "It looked like more than civil when you were calling him Harry the other day."

"Yes, when he was lying injured on the floor because of an oversight of mine." Harry smiled: he didn't need to see into the room to know that Malfoy had rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Pansy, I'd say that you're the person obsessed, what with your little theories."

"I have yet to see anything to disprove one of my theories," she said.

"I'm working for him, we've been friendly. That's it."

"Oh, it's 'friendly' now, not just 'civil'? Your word choices give you away, Draco."

"For Merlin's sake, Pansy, just leave it alone!"

Malfoy now sounded quite pissed off, so Harry thought it might be time to make an entrance. He shuffled his feet and made a little more noise than strictly necessary as he turned the door handle. Malfoy turned from where he knelt by the fire, and his face was indeed the most delicious shade of pink. Harry smiled and handed him his coffee.

"Potter, I don't think it's worth us continuing with the Floo work today," Malfoy said, and he shot a glance at the fireplace. "You're not needed anymore, Pansy," he said, and unceremoniously closed off the Floo connection. "That's better," he said. "She does get on my nerves after a while."

"Just drink your coffee," said Harry. He had noticed that doing so often calmed Malfoy down. Amazingly enough, Malfoy sat on a chair and complied. After a few sips he looked over the rim of his cup at Harry, before peering into its depths.

"Look, I don't know how to say this," said Malfoy, and all of a sudden Harry felt nervous about whatever Malfoy wanted to say. Harry put his own coffee down and waited. "I'm not going to be able to finish today. I can just... I feel that I haven't got to the bottom of this. And I want to work it out." He looked up at Harry. "Can I stay here until I at least know that I've made it safe for you?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," said Harry. "I thought we'd already agreed that."

"I know," said Malfoy. "I guess I'd still been hoping..." He trailed off, and Harry felt faintly disappointed that Malfoy hadn't want to eke out this time together a little more. He knew he did. "I've actually enjoyed working here with you. And I think maybe we could be friends, which, given everything – well, it's a bit of a surprise, to say the least."

There was a pause as the words seemed to sit in the air, and when Malfoy spoke again, it was so quietly that Harry strained to hear him.

"I don't want to mess it up. I– I think I'd quite like to be friends." Malfoy's words filled Harry with a swell of warmth.

"It'll be fine," Harry said. "You'll see." He smiled, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

o~O~o

Moonlit clouds sped across the sky, white edged shadows against a deep blue sky, while yellow light from street lights pooled in pavement puddles. The view from the window was familiar, yet unfamiliar: Harry had moved up to the front bedroom above the drawing room, and it was strange to look out on to the street. Malfoy had taken the neighbouring bedroom at the back of the house, and they were now both in their rooms for the night. Harry had undressed, a little shy beneath the frankly lascivious gaze of Wrinkled But Saucy, and then climbed between cool sheets, trying hard not to think of Malfoy doing the same in the room next door.

He was sure that it would take him hours to get to sleep, but his drift into slumber was surprisingly speedy.