Chapter Eight - The Tapestry
The Auror department was quiet the next day: some case in the North was taking up everyone's attention. Harry was left with the admirable job of reading through and signing off on the past week's paperwork. It was an incredibly dull day, and Harry realised that he missed Malfoy. He missed him even more when he went to get a coffee from the canteen and almost spat it out – bloody Malfoy had got him used to proper coffee now, and he had to go out in the rain to find a decent one. The rest of the day passed with a slight itch, thanks to the drying charm Ron had rather over-enthusiastically applied to Harry's clothes when he got back.
Harry got home, tired, hungry, and still feeling uncomfortable in his clothes, to find Kreacher looking almost happy.
"Kreacher is glad to be home, Master Harry," he said. "Kreacher has been busy."
"Oh yes?" said Harry.
"Yes," said Malfoy, coming down the stairs. Harry looked up. Malfoy was wearing a set of long, dark robes, close-fitting at the top, and he just flowed as he moved. "I hope you don't mind, Potter, but I've given your house-elf a little direction today."
"I–" said Harry, trying to make sense of the words, because all he could see was the way that the fabric flared out with each step down Malfoy took, and way it flexed and stretched ever so slightly where it was buttoned up, pulling Harry's eyes to a long, lean torso. Harry hadn't really appreciated wizarding robes before, but now... they were just about the hottest thing he'd ever seen. He made a conscious effort to close his mouth.
"Articulate as ever, I see," said Malfoy.
"You've been ordering Kreacher around?" said Harry, willing his mind to focus on the words, and nothing else.
"As I said, just a little direction. I think you'll be pleased," said Malfoy. Kreacher had watched this exchange in silence, hands wringing his teatowel apron.
"Master Harry must come this way," he said, and Harry, followed him down the stairs to the kitchen, with Malfoy swishing behind him.
The kitchen door was one of the only ones in the house not to feature a snake. Kreacher reached up and turned the knob, and they stepped in. It looked like his kitchen, and yet it didn't. The floor had been repaired, and the table too. Everything looked solid, well-scrubbed and almost glowing.
"Kreacher has fixed all the things, cleaned the lampshades and waxed all the furniture, Master Harry," Kreacher said, giving a happy sigh. "It has been a most busy day."
"Even with Malfoy 'directing' you?" asked Harry.
"Master Draco was most instructive," Kreacher said. He bowed low, and returned to supervising some pots on the range. Something smelled good, but Harry was still trying to come to grips with the idea of Malfoy instructing Kreacher on cleaning: for all Harry knew they'd exchanged polishing tips all day.
"Yes, er, sorry about that," said Malfoy. "It seems that you have actually won over the respect of your house-elf, I heard about you all day today—"
"You did?" asked Harry, his mind now filled with the image of Malfoy and Kreacher having a gossip about him while they polished the silverware. "I don't understand though, why are you sorry?"
Malfoy sighed. "Kreacher follows your orders because he likes and respects you, but today he was happy to follow mine just because my name is embroidered on a bit of fabric upstairs."
"Oh," said Harry. The mental image evaporated away, replaced with embarrassment. He usually hoped that Kreacher didn't mind him, but didn't expect to hear Kreacher's feelings described in such positive terms. "Well... Hermione would say just remember to say please and thank you if you want a house-elf to like you."
"Seriously?" said Malfoy, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, she has a bit of a blind spot where house-elves are concerned. Although it is good advice in general. Personally," Harry lowered his voice, "I think she terrifies Kreacher. Sometimes she tries to hug him." Malfoy gave a mock shudder of horror, and Harry smiled.
After a dinner in the kitchen that was even more intimate than their meal out the night before, even though they didn't do more than talk about Malfoy's day of research, Malfoy showed Harry the Black family tree he had drawn out, complete with all the names scorched away before.
"There's quite a history to all these missing names," Malfoy said. "No wonder they were burnt away." Harry fixed him with a hard stare. "Totally unacceptable reasons in the modern wizarding world, of course," he said. "But for an old, proud family, I can see how being a squib or marrying a Muggle would have given old Walburga downstairs palpitations."
"How did you find all the names?" asked Harry. "I'm guessing that there aren't many references to them left in the house."
"No there aren't," said Malfoy. "Although you'd be surprised how talkative some of the portraits can be. Actually though, I had a lovely chat with Mrs Parkinson, this morning – apart from her Crup trying to fornicate with my leg – and she was more than happy to give me the dirt on the Blacks. Then I spent the afternoon going through the archives at the Prophet to confirm the details. You owe me for a new pair of trousers, by the way: between the Crup spunk and the cobwebs, they were beyond hope."
Harry's mind stalled a little at the word 'spunk' on Malfoy's lips, along with the thought of the removal of trousers, but he rallied enough to grumble about Malfoy's expensive taste in clothing. Privately though, he rather loved the tailored look, and had wasted many a pleasant moment in the contemplation of just how well his trousers hugged the tight curves of Malfoy's rather delectable arse.
They made their way upstairs still bickering about how much Harry was willing to pay for a pair of trousers.
"Handmade?" Really?"
"Well, yes."
"How on earth do you afford it?"
"I look after my clothes," said Malfoy. "Luckily I don't often have to deal with sex-crazed Crups or Paper Spiders that often."
"Paper Spiders?" asked Harry with a wince. They'd had a few at the Ministry: they made their webs in stores of old paper, catching snippets of escaping magic, and their bites caused itching and contact with their webs indelible black staining. "I suppose in that case I could pay for your trousers."
"I knew that you'd see reason," said Malfoy.
Harry stood back as Malfoy cast a series of Mending Charms on the tapestry, until the scorch marks had faded, leaving blank spots where they had once been.
"I need a Galleon," said Malfoy, his hand held out. "Today would be good, Potter."
"You're going to start asking for cash now, as well as expensive trousers?"
"It's just a Galleon. I know that you're loaded: you're Harry bloody Potter, of course you are. Cough up." Malfoy waved his hand closer. Reluctantly Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.
"Okay, just don't—" Harry stopped as Malfoy took a Galleon, and immediately pointed his wand at it.
"Extendio Filum" he said, and a thin strand of gold was extruded, looping over and over again in the air until the entire Galleon had been replaced by a shining skein of gilt thread.
"Wow," said Harry, and Malfoy glanced over at him, giving him a half smile whilst still keeping the thread hovering next to him. He turned back to the tapestry, and squared his shoulders. He took a couple of long breaths before speaking.
"I am Draco Malfoy, son and heir of Narcissa Black." Malfoy lifted his head up, and his hair glinted in the light from the lamps, his profile proud and filled with certainty. Harry held his breath as Malfoy pointed his wand at the tapestry, making a waving motion as he did so. "Isla Black, married Bob Hitchins" he said, and the thread began to move, in and out until the names were embroidered on. Harry smiled, recognising the neat, flowing script. "Phineas," said Malfoy, pointing again at the tapestry. Once that name was on, he raised his wand again. "Marius," he said.
By now there were beads of sweat on Malfoy's forehead, but he didn't stop. "Cedrella Black, married Septimus Weasley," he said, and Harry started at hearing the name of his friend's family. Malfoy continued though, without so much as a shudder at the name. "Alphard," he said, and the name was sewn in next to Walburga's. Harry felt a surge of anticipation, prickling the back of his neck, as he realised who was coming next. "Sirius," Malfoy said, and this time, as the thread passed in and out, he looked over at Harry, who just smiled and nodded in thanks: he didn't think that he'd be able to speak if he tried.
Malfoy took a deep breath before saying the next name, and his wand wavered, for just a second. When he spoke though, his voice was strong and clear. "Andromeda Black, married Edward Tonks," and the names slowly appeared. All the old scorch marks were accounted for, but Malfoy didn't lower his wand. He looked over at Harry again, and his eyes were sad. He returned to the tapestry. "Nymphadora Tonks," he said, "married Remus Lupin." Finally he added "Ted Lupin," and stepped back. There was no more gold thread left.
Both Harry and Malfoy turned round, at the sound of a small sigh from behind them. It was Kreacher, who moved forwards, stepping past them to look at the tapestry. He stared at it for a long time, then turned back, and looked between them. His face contorted into a kind of grimace, and he nodded deeply, then walked back out of the room.
"I think... that was a smile," Harry said. He turned to Malfoy. "Thank you."
Malfoy's face was pale, but he smiled back at Harry, and let out a long sigh. "My jobs aren't usually quite so... personal."
"I– I hadn't really thought about it like that," said Harry. "I mean, I knew that this was your family too, but you don't seem to... you never even mention your parents."
"Well, what is there to say?" said Malfoy. "Father... well, there's not much to be said about Azkaban, is there? And mother... mother has made her own life in France. So mostly I don't think about family. Especially since I left the Manor."
Harry didn't know how to respond to Malfoy. So he said nothing, and his eyes roamed over the tapestry. Malfoy went to sit by the fire, while Harry walked up and down.
"Ron is going to shit a brick when he sees that there's a Weasley up here now," Harry said in the end. Malfoy snorted, then laughed. "I think that my mother would do worse," he said. Harry turned to face him, in time to see Malfoy's face fall a little. "Although maybe she wouldn't, not now."
"So what happens next?" said Harry. "Will that fix the house?"
"No. It's not enough," said Malfoy. "But I think that we're nearly there." Harry nodded, and came to join him by the fire.
"You– you work hard," said Harry. "I never realised that you were like that."
"Really?" said Malfoy. "I always worked hard at school: I had to, to keep up with your friend Granger."
"I just... I don't know," said Harry. He looked over at Malfoy, who was leaning back on the sofa, his legs stretched out before him, one foot resting on top of the other. His eyes were closed, and his face looked peaceful. "You're nothing like I thought you were," he whispered.
"Hmm?" murmured Malfoy, and then he yawned.
"I think it's time for bed," said Harry, still watching Malfoy. He had unbuttoned the top of his robes, and Harry could see the hollows of his neck, just visible through the gap.
"Good idea," said Malfoy, and he stretched out his arms above his head, lengthening his entire body as he did so. Harry wished that this was an entirely different conversation. He wanted to be the one to undo the rest of those buttons. He would slip each one loose, one by one, until the robes fell from Malfoy's shoulders. And then he would bend his head, and taste the skin of Malfoy's neck.
Instead though, he stood and said goodnight, and made his way to bed alone.
o~O~o
The hand travelling over his body was cool, the fingers light as they explored his skin. His own hand moved through hair spun from Galleons, glinting in the firelight, he found the top button and began to work his way down. His fingers sought the smooth heat of warm skin, hidden below.
When Harry woke up, it was, yet again, in a damp patch. He cast a quick Tergeo then rolled over, closing his eyes and secretly hoping to dream once more of Malfoy.