No Light Without Shadows
by Draeconin
See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.
Chapter Four
After their late afternoon meal, and after consulting with Draco about what he'd like, Harry made arrangements with the Leaky Cauldron's house elf to deliver a small, late supper.
"I need to spend some time in Gringotts," Harry said. "I assume you'll wish to go there as well so that you can get the funds to replace your 'tainted' goods?"
"Of course," Draco replied loftily, "but what possible reason—"
Harry interrupted before the blond could finish his insulting insinuation. "Actually, you might be interested in one of the vaults I'll be visiting."
'One of the vaults'? Draco thought, his eyes widening a fraction in surprise. The git had more than one? But all he said was, "What makes you believe that?"
"The Black family," Harry revealed.
It took a moment for Draco to get over the shock enough to speak, but, "And why would you have access to the Black family vaults?" he asked, his growing anger almost, but not quite hidden.
"It could be because I was made the Head of the Family Black." Harry's voice was laden with dark humour.
"HOW..." Draco stopped, and tried to get his temper under control.
Harry answered before he could try asking again.
"I told you Sirius Black was my godfather?" Harry didn't wait for the blond to acknowledge the question. "He was the Head of the Family Black until he was falsely imprisoned, at which time the Ministry of Magic stripped him of all titles, properties and monies, which were put in trust, and the mantle went to his heir. But since he didn't have a blood heir, everything went to me, as his godson – only I didn't know it until yesterday."
"They didn't have the right," Draco whispered intently. He was afraid that if he spoke any louder, he'd lose the tenuous control he now had.
Harry shrugged. "I argued the same thing, and the goblins agreed with me."
"Then why...," Draco swallowed and tried again, asking, "Why?" more quietly.
"He left a will. And since he's . . . gone..." Harry had a lump in his throat that was making it difficult to continue.
It didn't matter. Draco followed the train of thought easily, and ignored Harry's emotional response. "So he left everything to you. Including the title."
"All but a few other small bequests. Nobody else to leave it to," Harry whispered as he tried to regain control of his voice. His eyes met Draco's as he softly added, "You're to take over the Malfoy mantle, and you know he didn't approve of your father's politics." The words 'Death Eater' hung in the air, unspoken, between them. "And there is no other living male of the Black line."
"So you're now the Head of House Black," Draco accepted stoically.
Harry nodded. "And House Potter," he added.
"Never a very influential House," Draco sneered quietly. He was feeling a bit jealous, however, that at the same age as he, Potter was the head of two Houses. There may or may not be subordinate Houses; but even if there weren't, there were traditional and political rights and powers that went along with being the head of an old, established Wizarding line.
"Not in the public eye, anyway," Harry agreed softly.
"Now," he continued more firmly with an effort of will, and before Draco could follow up on that remark, "are you interested in seeing the vault, or not? I'd rather not be there all night because we've bickered the time away here."
The Slytherin eyed Harry with slight suspicion, but decided to follow up on that rather . . . odd remark at another time. 'Not in the public eye'? That implied power behind the scenes. But Draco had a feeling that Potter would just clam up if he was confronted on it right now. He knew he would have.
"Yes; all right," Draco agreed.
Draco had been worrying about being reliant upon the family vaults in case he was cut off from them or the Ministry froze them. Now, with this development with Potter, he decided the odds weren't good for his continued, unopposed access to those monies, so he opened a personal vault and transferred part of the contents of several of the Malfoy vaults to it – the amount he'd be entitled to upon his majority, and not a knut more or less – and guaranteed that he was the only one with access or authority over it.
He wouldn't have dared such a move if his father were free.
He hadn't removed enough from any one vault that it would be noticeable without careful scrutiny, but it was a considerable amount, anyway: enough to last him many years if he were careful of his spending. Hopefully his preparations were for nothing, but it was best to be ready for any contingency.
It had taken a lot less time than Draco had thought it would, since his father had made similar arrangements for him before his incarceration, in preparation for Draco's coming of age. It had only taken changing a very few things, such as making it a private vault instead of a family vault, and the actual transfer of funds.
After retrieving the quantity of gold he thought he'd need for his shopping (forbidding Potter entrance to the Malfoy vaults, of course), Draco had followed the Gryffindor into the Black Family archival vault. He studied the family tree tapestry closely while Harry perused the most recent business records (self-updating). This family tree, unlike the copy his mother had, had far more names on it. It didn't escape him that Harry was a distant cousin, but it didn't matter, either.
While there, Draco also stumbled upon the Black Family signet ring, and tried it on. After a couple of seconds, during which the magic inherent in the ring assessed him, it started to burn. Draco's frantic efforts to remove it drew Harry's attention. Harry grasped the ring and took it off the blond's finger easily. Draco was quite relieved not only to be rid of it, but to find that there was no damage to his digit.
"Is it a curse ring?" Harry asked, eyeing the ring curiously.
"It's the Black Family signet ring, Potter!" Draco spat. Then a sly idea occurred to him. "Why don't you put it on, since you're now the House Head?"
Harry tossed the ring back into the jewellery box it had come from. "Trying to share the humiliation, Malfoy?" he asked casually.
Draco scowled at Harry's lucky guess. "Scared, Potter?"
Harry looked up at Draco from his perusal of the other contents of the jewellery box. "Why would you think I'd still react to childhood taunts?" he asked curiously. In truth there had been a twinge of angry reaction in his chest, but it was easily enough suppressed and ignored.
Draco mentally slapped himself. He was slipping, or Harry had changed more than he thought. He'd try another tack.
"It will only accept the true Head of House Black," the blond explained, as though to a child. "So the question is are you, or are you not?"
Harry stared into Draco's eyes for quite a long time, looking for any sign of deceit before he turned and picked the ring up again. And stared into the blond's eyes again as he slipped the ring on. He felt the ring assessing him, then it warmed and settled onto his finger, resizing itself to fit perfectly.
When Draco saw that, his face flushed angrily, and he stalked out of the vault. He would have gone back to the Leaky Cauldron, but the Goblin that had accompanied them refused to leave 'Mister Potter' down there alone in order to take the blond up to ground level, so he had to wait until Harry was finished.
Even then, however, Harry wasn't ready to go back up to Diagon Alley, but insisted on visiting the Potter vaults. He searched through three of them before he found what he was looking for: the Potter signet ring. Harry assumed it was the Potter signet ring, anyway. He'd never seen the Potter crest, unless it was that gold seahorse design at the top of the Potter family tree tapestry. But this ring didn't bear the same design, having crossed swords over a stylised flame. At any rate, the ring accepted him, and settled in on the finger next to the Black signet ring.
When they got back to the 'Cauldron, Tom spotted Harry and called him over. He gave Draco a polite nod, but that was all. "There's an owl seems to have a parcel for yuh, Harry," the man informed him, pointing at a white-faced, tawny coloured barn owl, "from Gringotts."
Harry approached the bird, who peered at him, then released a small package and an envelope with the Gringotts seal on it to him. Curious, Harry opened the envelope as they were heading to their room, and started reading. They had just reached the door when Harry stopped dead in his tracks, unmoving as he stared at the letter.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Potter; at least wait until we're inside before you decide to become catatonic! Now, if you would?"
Harry acted as though he hadn't heard a thing, still staring at the letter in his hand.
"Move, Potter!" Draco demanded. And then he started to become uneasy. Had the letter been a trick? Had a curse been attached to it? Not that he was worried about Harry – no, Potter! But if something happened to the Gryffindor, who would protect him?
Even Draco was starting to realise that he was protesting his disinterest just a little too much . . . and it bothered him.
"Potter! Snap out of it!" he snarled with a short, sharp shove of the Gryffindor's shoulder.
Harry looked at the blond, then holding up the still-wrapped box, he said, "It's the Potter signet ring."
"And this is of interest because...?"
"So what's this?" Harry asked, holding up the hand with the other two signet rings on it, and emphasising the one he'd picked up from the Potter family archival vault.
Draco looked. It took awhile for him to recall why the design seemed familiar and its significance, but then he snapped, "This isn't the place for this conversation, Potter. Inside. Now."
"That was in the Potter vaults?" Draco asked sharply, once they were behind closed doors and a few locking and silencing charms.
"Getting a little demanding, aren't you?" Harry asked, an edge to his voice.
Draco's tone was derisive as he replied, "You have no idea what that is, do you?"
"So why don't you tell me?" Harry said threateningly, from far too close.
Draco was now in a far worse position than he'd wanted to be. He'd hardly seen Potter move, but suddenly the Gryffindor was straddling his now-prone form, the dark-haired boy's hands firmly gripping the front of Draco's shirt, with two brightly glowing gold eyes staring into his own from too few inches away. How had he forgotten those gold eyes? And how had Potter moved so quickly?
"Potter..." Draco said shakily, while attempting to sound soothing.
"Well?" Harry demanded.
"If you'd just calm down?"
"Tell me!"
"Dæmentelen family," Draco revealed as calmly as he could. He hadn't been so scared since that time in First Year when he and Harry had been on detention in the Forbidden Forest and seen that . . . whatever it was. "Died out centuries ago. The most powerful family ever. It was thought that..." Draco's voice died away as the myth about that family connected with his current reality.
He had been wrong. He had never known true fear until now. Even his father in a temper, about to cast the Cruciatus Curse on him, hadn't inspired this kind of fear.
Harry's voice was deep and forceful as he growled, "Thought what?"
"It was thought that they'd died out, anyway," Draco almost moaned as his body responded to Harry's growl. But he was almost grateful for it, since it mitigated his fear. He brought himself under control with a gasp. "Obviously everyone was wrong, since you're wearing their ring."
He hoped Potter bought it, because Draco really didn't want to be the one to tell him. With the Gryffindor's obsession with trying to be 'normal', he was likely to tear apart the bearer of this news. But if he was right about Potter's heritage, it would explain a great many things, from how a baby could survive an Avada Kedavra, to his own fascination with young Harry since they first met, and even to his current predicament vis-à-vis losing enough control to make that thrice-cursed triple vow.
Everyone thought the Malfoys got their pale good looks from interbreeding with Veela. It wasn't from breeding with veela. Veela were little more than animals who lived to mate, and serve their mates. No, his ancestors had been far more ambitious.
Draco breathed an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief when Harry got off him.
Harry looked at the blond, his face blank, for quite a while. Draco was hiding something from him. What made him decide against pushing the issue was that he was sure Malfoy wasn't hiding the information from any malicious intent, but out of fear. And that had him wondering what the Slytherin could know about him that he'd be afraid to tell him? That it was connected to the Dæmentelen family, he was sure. But was the information detrimental to the Malfoys, or was there something else? Was there a blood feud between the two families?
A few minutes later, when Draco was busy with something else, Harry opened the package from Gringotts, which did indeed contain a signet ring; this one with the seahorse design he'd seen at the top of the Potter tapestry. He put it on, with now-familiar results. But three signet rings on one hand made the hand feel awkward, so he took the Dæmentelen ring off his right hand and put it on the middle finger of his left hand. It felt more natural there somehow, anyway.
According to the letter from Gringotts the ring had been held in trust by the goblins themselves because there had been no-one alive with the authority to open the main Potter vaults until Harry had come of age – only the small vault set aside to pay for Harry's tuition.
The rest of the evening was spent quietly studying texts that related to those subjects that each had decided to continue in the coming year at Hogwarts. Even their evening meal did little to break the spell of silence that had fallen between them. But Harry kept sending speculative looks at Draco every so often, all afternoon and evening.
And those speculative looks had kept Draco right on edge the whole time. He had to struggle to try to retain what he read. Every glance of those vibrant green eyes almost felt like a blow on his skin. He was so wound up by the time Potter announced it was time to get some sleep that he knew he'd never get any sleep. He almost decided to ignore the Gryffindor and stay up all night, but then had another idea. And if he could make Potter feel badly at the same time...
Draco turned down the sheets, stripped bare, and got on the bed on all fours. Gathering a pillow to himself, he put his head down on it, leaving his legs spread and his buttocks high, exposing his opening. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he asked bitterly.
Despite his words, his own manhood was fully tumescent. He tried to ignore the implications of that.
Harry wanted to deny it, but his body was screaming 'YES!' He stripped as well, and climbed up on the bed behind the blond. Putting one hand on Draco's lower back to brace himself, he reached between the pale thighs and started stroking and playing with the equipment he found there. But he found he couldn't just take the boy without asking, "Is this what you want?"
Draco hadn't expected to be asked that. This was his idea, but as he considered the question, he found that he was still angry on many levels; with Harry, with himself, with his father, with Voldemort... But the fight and subsequent sex, even if . . . no, perhaps because he'd been on the receiving end, some of that tension and anger had been worked out. That morning had helped as well. But the bloody Boy-Who-Lived had got on his last nerve this evening, and he was hoping this would help. But was that the only reason? He didn't want to think about it any more. He needed to work off some tension.
"Do it," he ground out.
"Do you want it?" Harry insisted on knowing. His erection was so full it was hurting, and if Draco answered 'no' . . . well, Harry wasn't sure if he'd go with the Gryffindor side of his nature, or take the blond anyway. Fortunately, he didn't have to find out.
"Yes!" Draco said, frustrated and upset to have been made to admit it. In the back of his mind, given the likelihood of Harry's genetic background, he knew they'd likely have wound up like this eventually anyway, but...
Harry entering him and touching something in him just so short-circuited his thoughts.
When they were done, having had some very energetic and sometimes acrobatic sex, changing positions several times and exploring what worked for them and what didn't, despite their frequent awkwardness, Draco lay there, feeling more than a bit lost. He didn't like it, but it seemed his enmity with the Gryffindor was waning. Hel's bells, it was disintegrating at far too rapid a rate.1 He wasn't comfortable with their relationship changing. Not a bit of it. They had been bitter rivals for several years, but now . . . now he had been completely torn loose from his moorings. But despite his always being the receptive partner – a position he had always avoided before – the sex was amazing.
Harry looked down to see tears streaming down Malfoy's face. He gently gathered the blond up in his arms, one arm about the pale shoulders, the hand of the other stroking Draco's back and buttocks.
"Damn you, Potter," Draco whispered hoarsely, trying to hide in Harry's chest the tears he had just noticed he was shedding. "Damn you."
"I know, Malfoy. I know," Harry whispered back soothingly.
'No, you don't,' Draco thought. And then Harry did something he hadn't expected. Harry kissed him.
Now, it must be said that there had been kissing during the sex they'd had, both this time and the times before, but it had been harsh, demanding, lustful kissing. This was different. This was . . . tender – caring. And Draco's emotions latched onto it like a drowning man would latch onto a life jacket.
"Mine, mine, mine," Harry whispered in the blond's ear a short while later, each word uttered between quick, soft, butterfly kisses. A ripple of magic could be felt.
Draco's eyes widened, and he tensed. "What did you just do, Potter?" he whispered fearfully.
"I accepted your vow," Harry replied comfortably.
Draco groaned, collapsing back into Harry's embrace. If there had been any hope of getting out from under the triple vow before, no matter how remote, there wasn't now. The circle was complete.
"By the way," Harry continued conversationally, completely unaware of the implications of what he'd done, "if you have any more shopping to do, it needs to be done first thing tomorrow. I don't believe we're safe here any longer."
Draco's body tensed, his other concerns pushed aside for the moment. "What have you learned?" he asked.
The next morning after they breakfasted, Draco took off for Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, and Harry went to Gringotts. He needed to find anything more he could about the Family Dæmentelen.
Harry hadn't, of course, told Draco his entire reasoning for their need to find another place of refuge, just that he'd been given information that led him to believe that they might have 'certain parties' looking for them. It would have been too much to expect Draco to accept that at face value, but Harry had refused to divulge anything more, and Draco hadn't pushed nearly as hard as Harry thought he would.
Three hours later, Harry strode out of Gringotts with a lot more questions but, hopefully, with the books that would give him the answers – shrunk and carefully secreted on his person. He found Draco still in Madam Malkin's – of course.
The blond took one look at Harry and nearly burst out laughing. But that wouldn't have been dignified, so he only smirked – broadly. "Merlin, Potter; have you been to see the Weasley twins?"
Harry groaned, and held his head. The twins! Here he'd been in Diagon Alley, and he'd not been to see the twins in their new shop! In his own defence, a lot had happened, and there had been a lot on his mind, but they'd never forgive him if he left without dropping in on them. Well, they would, but they'd humiliate him to a fare-thee-well with their pranks first.
"I haven't. But I'll need to," Harry said resignedly. Actually it was likely to be fun, but he'd planned to be in Grimmauld Place sooner. He frowned. "What made you think I had?"
Harry's clothes were too small. Harry's new clothes. But instead of his clothes having been shrunk, as Draco had thought, Harry had grown. Overnight he'd grown a full inch, his shoulders had broadened, and his hair had grown two inches. He'd noticed his clothes fit more snugly that morning, but hadn't paid it much attention; and Draco had been avoiding looking at him as well, so he probably hadn't noticed until now, either.
Well that was rather obvious, as the Slytherin would have remarked upon it as soon as he had noticed.
It was a good thing he was at Madam Malkin's. Harry had to cancel most of his order, save the socks and underwear. Since only a small part of the order had been made up by that time, Harry was able to get most of the cost of his order refunded. He asked for it to go towards credit for a new order, to be made up sometime in the future. But since some of the order had been made up, he only got part of the money for that back. What had been made would be sold on the rack, since Harry couldn't use it any longer, but he still had to pay a small penalty for not taking the order.
His school robes and cloaks could be let out, but not knowing if the phenomenon would happen again, Harry only ordered three pairs of trousers, six shirts, and one dress robe – green and gold. Madam Malkin took pity on him and taught Harry a resizing spell, but cautioned him that enlarging spells didn't create more fabric, but only stretched it, thinning and weakening the material, so he could only use it once or twice per item of clothing before risking the item falling to pieces while he was wearing it.
Upon being asked, she informed him that leather was more durable and the charm would have less effect on its durability. He would still have to watch that it didn't get too thin, however. Dragon hide was another matter. It was almost impervious to magic, so Harry would have to exchange his purchases for larger sizes. For now, Harry decided to just return the items for credit and stop his order for the dragonhide armour, then wait a few months to see if he grew any more before chancing a re-order.
Once those tasks were done and Harry was once again in comfortably fitting clothes and footwear (his feet having grown also), he made his way to the twins' new shop at Number 93, Diagon Alley, which they had dubbed 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes', while Draco went back to the Leaky Cauldron to make sure everything was packed and ready to go. The blond had categorically refused to set foot in a shop run by Weasleys. Probably wise, Harry thought, given his history with them.
"Oy! Harry!" one of the twins said with a wide smile as he spotted Harry entering their shop.
"How's our favourite..." the other continued, before trailing off.
"Hey, mate, when did you start growing up?" they said together, grinning widely.
"Last night," Harry replied sourly. But the twins' infectious humour had him smiling back at them.
Fred (at least Harry thought it was Fred) came over and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "So what happened last night, Harry o' my heart?" he asked.
Cocking an eyebrow at the redhead and edging away from him, Harry said, "I grew an inch and I got a boyfriend – I think."
The twins exchanged glances, then, "You think you got a boyfriend?" the other twin asked sceptically.
"Um... You don't seem to be surprised that it's a bloke?"
Both twins shrugged. "We thought you'd hook up with Ginny," Fred started,
"Or some other bird," George continued. "But if you prefer blokes..."
". . . It's no problem," Fred said. "But about this bloke of yours...?"
"Er . . . Draco Malfoy?" Harry ventured, ready to dodge or run as the need arose.
Fred fell dramatically onto the floor, whilst George almost leapt forward, grabbing desperately onto the other edge of the sales counter as if afraid of doing the same.
Harry rolled his eyes at their antics.
"You're having us on, right?" 'Fred' asked from the floor.
Harry shook his head.
"When did you two even become friends?" asked George.
Harry frowned. "It's not as though we're exactly friends, even now," he said.
"So you're just shagging?" asked Fred as he brushed himself off, having picked himself off the floor.
"So how is business?" Harry asked, in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation.
"Harry... Dear, dear Harry," Fred said pityingly as he led Harry over to a seat behind the counter,
". . .You know you're going to answer our questions," George continued,
". . .So why not save yourself the trouble and just answer them now?" Fred finished.
Harry sighed. Having seen the twins in action before, he knew he'd be in for it if he didn't talk, and he'd wind up telling anyway. So he said, "We met in Diagon Alley, where we had words; he followed me to my room: we fought, we shagged, we slept, he got robbed and moved in... That's about it, really," Harry said, as he nervously played with the rings on his fingers.
The twins exchanged glances. There was obviously more to it than that, but they wouldn't push . . . for now. Except... "Malfoy got robbed?" the one Harry thought was Fred asked.
"And if you don't mind..."
". . .When did you become the Head of three families?"
Harry nodded, totally ignoring the fact that the second question had been asked. "Someone ambushed him. I found him and took him to the medical practice in Knockturn Alley..." Harry paused, sure that there would be questions or comments about him being in Knockturn Alley, but when there weren't, he continued. ". . .and that's where my eyes got corrected as well," Harry revealed, hoping again to change the topic of conversation.
"Wondered about that," George put in.
"What we were asking about originally, you know," Fred commented.
"You look older without the round specs," George said, nodding. "More mature."
Harry blushed. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble and embarrassment if he'd only asked what the twins were talking about.
"Why you two weren't sorted into Slytherin..." he grumbled.
"Coming up in the world too, aren't ya?" Fred added, looking Harry's seated form up and down.
"Much better than you used to wear," George contributed approvingly.
"And you still haven't explained the signet rings?" Fred reminded Harry.
Harry sighed. The information would likely be in The Daily Prophet tomorrow, anyway. "The Potter family, of course," Harry started, pointing out the ring he meant.
The twins nodded their understanding of that.
"And . . . Sirius made me the heir of the Family Black, since there are no living male Blacks..."
The twins nodded a bit more slowly.
"Draco Malfoy?" George questioned, knowing the Slytherin git would normally have been next in line.
"Death Eater Junior? That's what Sirius called him," Harry said. It was enough of an explanation. The logical heir could be bypassed if there was a good enough reason. Normally politics wouldn't have been considered a good enough reason, but having a father who was a murderer many times over, with the likely prospect of the son becoming one himself, willing or not, was.
"And the other?"
"The Family Dæmentelen," Harry said with a frown. "I've never heard of them. Draco said they were supposed to have died out ages ago."
It turned out the twins had never heard of the family, either.
They speculated about them for a while, and then the topic of conversation turned to more innocuous things. Among other things, Harry found out that custom, while slow due to being a new business, was starting to pick up as word of mouth spread the news about the joke shop: mostly children and Hogwarts pupils, but quite a few young adults, too.
"No returns on your investment yet, Harry, but—"
"It was a gift!" Harry said adamantly. "I gave it you because I don't want anything to do with it." Harry would have continued his rant, citing that it was blood money due to Cedric Diggory's death, but he didn't want the twins to decide they didn't want it, either.
Again, the twins exchanged glances. They'd drop the subject, but their pride was at stake – something Harry didn't seem to realise. They'd taken the money, but with the idea of it being a loan or investment on Harry's part. They wouldn't take charity. Harry's share of the profits would be set aside for now, when there were some, and given him when he couldn't refuse it; perhaps as a birthday or Yule gift. They changed the subject to Harry's upcoming school year, instead.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry called a halt to his stopover.
"I'm sure you two have more important things to do than while the day away with me and, unfortunately, I need to be elsewhere soon as well," Harry told them. One or the other of the twins had needed to wait on a customer every so often, so his comment wasn't all that untoward.
"Hardly cricket, Harry..."
". . . To remind us of the real world..."
". . . When we were just catching up."
"I'm sorry, guys, but Draco is waiting for me." Harry was almost used to the twins finishing each other's sentences in their conversations, though thankfully they didn't always do it. But it could get disconcerting if they did it over too long a period of time.
"Why are we here, Potter?" Draco asked, his disdain for where he found himself clear on his face.
They had just stepped off the Knight Bus, having been delivered to the street called Grimmauld Place.
"This is where we'll find the dwelling of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry informed him, using its formal title for Draco's sake.
"The Black mansion? Here?" The young Malfoy's disbelieving expression and tone was understandable. It was a rather run-down neighbourhood, most of the houses being rather shabby, although it could be seen that at one time it must have been rather upscale. That time, however, was long past.
Harry shrugged. "It's rather ramshackle, now," was his only comment. "Come on." He crossed the street towards what appeared to be an empty lot between two large, formerly beautiful Victorian-style houses which were now in rather poor repair. It was only as his feet hit the pavement in front of number twelve that Harry could see it, and then only because he knew it was there and had been here a few times before. Even though he now owned the property it was still Unplottable and had all the other protections and wards on it, although it was no longer under the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore had taken it off when they had vacated the place, expecting Bellatrix Lestrange to inherit the property after Sirius' death.
"Where are you going, Potter? There's nothing here!"
"Just take my hand and close your eyes. Don't open them before I tell you, or we'll both be in trouble." Harry wasn't exactly sure that was still true, but he wasn't going to take any chances
"Where are we, anyway?" Draco asked.
Harry almost wished that Draco had maintained the sulky silence he'd been subjected to all day. "I can't tell you that, but King's Cross Station is about a twenty minute walk from here," Harry said. He didn't know if the Order would be coming back to the house, and didn't want to jeopardise them if they were. Despite their changing relationship, Harry was still wary of trusting Draco. "Now do you want—"
"All right; my eyes are closed. But if you run me into anything, or trip me, I'll hex..." The threat had been automatic – a habit. But Draco's new knowledge of his (ex?) arch-rival made him stop. He mightn't want to threaten or attack Potter, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to keep vexing the Gryffindor . . . up to a point.
Harry rolled his eyes, then took the blond's arm before leading him to the steps. "All right, now we have..." Harry paused as he counted. ". . . seven steps up to the door. Keep your eyes shut and take it slowly. I'll wait for you."
"Yes, yes, Potter. We all know your—"
"Would you rather I left you here?" Harry irritably inquired in response to Draco's snide tones.
"Keep your trousers on, Potter." But Draco had already felt out the first riser with his foot, had mounted it, and was feeling for the top of the next. In no time they were at the door.
"When we get inside, keep your voice down," Harry advised. "There's a portrait of Mrs Black that screams bloody murder at anyone who enters who isn't a pureblood Dark wizard."
"How . . . amusing," was Draco's comment. "And you're all too inept to take her down, of course."
Harry had opened the door by that time, and was leading Draco in. "The sticking charm has resisted everyone's best efforts," was Harry's patience-strained explanation.
"Harry? HARRY!" hit Harry's ears.
"BLOOD TRAITORS! SWINE! UNNATURAL CREATURES! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE..." Walburga Black was in full voice.
"Harry! Help me with these curtains, will you, please?" Remus Lupin urgently requested as the portrait continued to scream, and began striding rapidly towards the large portrait from which the strident screeching issued. "I apologise for setting her off, but you took me by surprise!" Remus said over his shoulder.
Harry closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He had truly hoped that the house would be empty. That it not only wasn't, but also held the only other person who would have been devastated by Sirius' death, was a strain that he'd hoped to avoid. And to have to listen to that damnable portrait screaming insults...!
Beside him, Draco was uncharacteristically silent. Harry's eyes had gone golden again, just before they were shut.
Harry unclenched his fists and strode forward. Reaching the portrait, he glared at the woman in it whilst reaching for the curtains on the other side of it. "Shut it, you harridan!" he yelled at her.
Mrs Black looked at Harry, opened her mouth to screech at him, did an almost comical double-take upon seeing his eyes, and immediately went silent. Not only that, but she performed a deep curtsey.
"Forgive me, my lord; I knew not that your line had survived," she said in meek, if aristocratic tones.
Remus and Harry, their hands full of the tattered velvet curtains that they had been trying to draw across the portrait, stared at her in shock.
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1: Hel is a Norse goddess, ruling over the underworld of Hel, or Helheim; but it's quite a different place than the Christian Hell.
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Many thanks to Andrew, for his work in correcting my Americanisms.