Part 9
Despite returning to bed, Harry lay awake in silence for long hours the morning Scrimgeour's death was announced, his thoughts messy, layering one on top of the other in a hazy muddle, culminating in agitated sleep with vague dreams of green light and dreadful cold.
But the day brought a welcome touch of brightness in the form of a post-Christmas visit from Hermione, her wild mane of hair ticking his face as she engulfed him in a tight hug, the oversized scarf she sported soft against his cheeks. It warmed him inside and out when she pulled him and Ron into the living room, setting up by the fire and talking a mile a minute about her Christmas Day and enquiring about their own with equal enthusiasm.
It only occurred to him when she directly asked if there had been any Order news and they delved into the consequences of the minister's death that he hadn't shared the other relevant subject of discussion, and now felt a slight reluctance to do so.
x
x
The disastrous game of chess in front of him did little to distract from Ron's gaping expression, the fixed look having taken up residence on his freckled features the moment Harry informed him and Hermione of the Malfoy situation. Ron had seemed unable to voice a reply in the last twenty seconds he'd spent staring.
It seemed like it was up to Harry to break the moment.
"What?"
"You invited Malfoy here? As in, Draco Malfoy." Ron's mouth might have moved to form the words but his eyes still bugged out in the same display of horror.
"I didn't invite him. It's not like he's coming around for tea and biscuits."
Harry's sarcasm dried up as he took pause for a moment over that mental image, physically shaking his head to banish the visual and bring himself back to the point he was making.
"He needed a safe house, where's safer than here? That's all."
The shrug of his shoulders apparently did nothing to quell Ron's bafflement. "That's all? Harry, there are other safe houses in the Order, are you sure you want Malfoy, of all people, staying in your house? Besides, why are you even so set on protecting that git after everything? His family brought it all on themselves."
Here was the question Harry had wanted to dodge, knowing it was unavoidable. On the surface it was pretty straightforward: someone running from Voldemort required protection. Only Draco counted, of course. Lucius Malfoy deserved everything he got. He didn't know much about Draco's mother, so he wasn't sure where his thoughts sat with that. But it didn't matter. The youngest Malfoy was the one who needed a hiding spot. The fact that Harry was the one to offer it was just an awkward side note. And if he felt sort of bad for Malfoy, with his unhinged father almost getting his family killed, well, that was Harry's own business.
"Yeah, but-"
"Harry's right, Ron."
Hermione's interjection saved him, as Ron's questioning gaze turned to where she sat, curled up in an armchair with an alarmingly large leather-bound book weighted in her lap.
"Malfoy has always been horrible, we can all agree. But his family is in ruins and now his dad almost gets them all killed by trying to placate You-Know-Who? I mean, he's always worshipped his father and has grown up being told how distinguished they are in that," her mouth tightened in displeasure, "circle. Can you imagine how he must feel now?"
Ron seemed at a bit of a loss at this insight, turning back to stare down at the chessboard without actually making a move. It had been his turn for over two minutes now.
"Still, I don't trust him," he finally muttered.
Hermione sighed. "None of us do, but I think that's beside the point. As Harry said, he needs a place to be safe. It all comes down to that. I know it's not ideal that it's here... but we're at war, our discomfort doesn't really matter."
Trust Hermione to put sensible words together on the subject. Harry was even more grateful now for her visit, her parents only content to part with her for one day over the holidays. It seemed the growing danger in the magical world was not lost on them and they wanted their daughter home for as long as possible.
Meanwhile, Ron was finally caving in the face of her argument, muttering under his breath about unfair priorities as he sent his knight to dismantle one of Harry's pawns.
"When is he coming?" He finally asked.
"Tonight, apparently. Dumbledore told me it would be late. Probably best to avoid Malfoy having run-ins with everyone staying here anyway."
As for Harry himself, he had no intentions of purposefully crossing paths with Malfoy at Grimmauld Place, not only because he couldn't imagine them simply meeting on one of the many staircases or in the kitchen over breakfast and exchanging any sort of normal greeting, but also because he assumed the other would likely summon up hostility in the face of Harry offering him a refuge. They may have parted on surprisingly neutral and sombre terms, but he strongly doubted that would carry over into any future encounters.
x
x
As it turned out, his wish was mostly granted. Malfoy arrived sometime in the night with no fanfare, accompanied by Snape; at least that's what Mrs Weasley had informed them of the following morning over breakfast, with a very real warning to 'not go bothering the poor boy'. Although that threat had mostly been aimed at Fred and George, both of whom sported identical looks of faux innocence over their matching bowls of porridge, as they uttered 'Who, us? Never!' in unison. But despite the game they enjoyed playing with their flustered mother, neither the twins nor anyone else sought out their new houseguest and for the entire day he seemingly kept to his designated room. No one intruded upon his chosen solitude bar the Weasley matriarch, offering kind words through the bedroom door as she left a generously laid tray of food for him. He didn't respond and the breakfast went untouched.
"Of course Malfoy wouldn't lower himself to eat with the rest of us," Ron had growled over lunch, stabbing his steak pie with vigour, but Harry could tell his heart wasn't in it, and as if Ron wanted him at the table in any case.
Besides, it was understandable. Harry wouldn't want to eat with a bunch of the Slytherins if he was suddenly sent to stay in their keeping...
That roundabout thought led him down an unpleasant and unexpected spiral, casting his mind back to when he had visited Malfoy Manor and been in a Slytherin's 'keeping' there. A shiver went through him and he took a large gulp of tea to chase it away.
"Harry dear, can I have a moment?" Mrs Weasley had placed her apron down and was gesturing to the kitchen door, a neutral smile on her kind face.
"Uh, sure," Harry said, pushing his mug aside and following her into the hallway, aware of Ron's eyes following him.
Mrs Weasley didn't seem satisfied with the privacy of one closed door so he walked behind her as far as the unused dining room where she shut the second door firmly. He was getting slightly nervous now.
"Is everything ok?" His tone must have worried her for she immediately nodded her head. "Oh, of course! Sorry for alarming you. Everything is fine, I just wanted to have a little chat about Draco."
Hearing Malfoy's first name in Ron's mother's warm tones was a strange thing to behold and Harry momentarily marvelled at it, before he realised she was waiting for his consent to continue the conversation.
"Oh right, yeah, what about him?"
A relieved smile crept onto her face, as if she had confirmed something in his answer, and she took a seat, patting the slightly dusty chair beside her, where he promptly sat.
"I think it's a wonderful thing that you were willing to open this house to him. You are a very kind boy. I hope you know that."
Harry could immediately feel his ears getting warm at the praise and he waved it off as best he could. "It's not a big deal."
"I disagree, but that's not the point of this chat. I was hoping that you might try speaking to him before you head back to Hogwarts."
Harry's surprise overcame his initial reaction to reject the request.
"But, I thought you said we were to leave him alone?"
"I said not to bother him. And that was more aimed at my own children than anyone. Truthfully, I would have thought that the best course of action myself, however I spoke with Draco when I went up see if he would come down for lunch. He's certainly lacking in conversation but he wasn't as unmannerly as I'd assumed he'd be, given what Ron and the others have told me in the past."
Harry's eyebrows rose of their own accord. "Malfoy was... polite? Here?"
Mrs Weasley gave him a small smile. "Polite might be stretching the truth. But he did speak with me, if only for a moment. And the first thing he asked was if you were here."
A frown creased Harry's forehead. "Why?"
"Well, that's just it. I'm not entirely sure. I felt it safe to say that you were here, that you were at that moment downstairs sitting at the table ahead of lunch, but he didn't pass any comment on that. It was a brief interaction, but I do think it's possible he might wish to speak with you, it was a strange thing to just ask out of the blue. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course. And I don't think he will seek you out."
Harry understood then. "So you think I should go talk to him?"
"Only if you wish to, dear. You don't owe the boy anything. But I couldn't help feel for him, he's separated from his family under the worst of circumstances and now must live in a house with people he has spent a good portion of his time actively disliking. That can't be easy. So it might do some good to see if he wishes to talk, or if he even just has anything to say. So long as you're comfortable with that, I know you and he have a complicated history, and if any of the events that happened at his hom-"
Harry had to interrupt. "No it's ok, thanks though. He and I have always hated each other but I'm not worried about being near him or anything he might say."
Mrs Weasley took a moment to respond, a sliver of sadness in the smile she wore before she spoke again.
"Ok that's good. And even though it might seem trivial, if you are going to speak, maybe convince him to come downstairs and sit in here or in the living room. Somewhere a little less secluded than upstairs, just in case. I know he's just a boy and both Dumbledore and Severus were confident he would behave himself, particularly in a house full of Order members, but I still worry about you and in his situation he could be reactive."
A tickle of warmth flickered in Harry's chest and he offered up a grateful smile. "Thanks Mrs Weasley. I think he'll be fine too but, er, I'll keep that in mind."
"Good!" She leaned over and patted his hand. "Just have a think about it. And if you ever wish to talk about anything at all, you know myself and Arthur are always here."
There was something knowing in her tone then that Harry immediately wanted to avoid, so he simply nodded.
"I appreciate that, really. But I'm alright. And I'll consider the Malfoy thing, as you said."
He knew only one of those statements had been believed.
x
x
It was dark in the hallway, the far-off glow of a flame casting dancing shadows along the walls. It was likely due to the fact that he'd spent so long staring at the grainy timber that he'd come to feel the door he faced was somehow mocking him, one particular knot in the pattern looking like a twisted face.
He had raised his hand to knock more than once but so far this had just led to a sigh and an annoyed hand running through his hair.
He wasn't sure if it was because of how they had parted, or if it was simply because he had no clue what he was going to say to Malfoy, but his hesitation was starting to get on his nerves.
And that was what prompted the eventual rap on the door, maybe a little louder than intended, considering it was ten o'clock at night.
As soon as he knocked he began to hope the other was miraculously asleep and had not stirred. But the gleam of yellow light from under the door told a different story, as did the groan of the floorboards as the figure on the other side approached. But the door remained closed even as the steps came to a halt.
"What?" came a familiar, slightly sharp, voice. Then a quieter, maybe more uncertain, "who is it?"
It felt too weird to say 'it's Potter' and he couldn't bring himself to say 'Harry'. They'd simply never had a casual interaction before.
"Malfoy. Can I talk to you for a second?"
There was a long pause but Harry eventually found himself facing suspicious grey eyes, their intense focus almost distracting from their bloodshot state and the underlying dark circles undermining any nonchalance that might have been faked. He looked like a wreck, still dressed in his day clothes, dark shirt creased to hell and trousers hanging off his now slimmer frame.
Malfoy didn't speak, he simply stared, waiting with neither visible impatience or interest.
"Hey," Harry started, the weakness of that intro not lost of him.
Malfoy looked at him for a moment longer, then made to close the door. Harry's reflexes had his arm out before he'd even given his body permission. "Hold on!"
"There is nothing we can possibly talk about that starts with 'hey', so get lost, Potter. I don't owe you anything."
"Owe me? Who said anything about owing anyone? I just said 'hey'. Give me half a second to form some words."
The Slytherin's unimpressed stare spoke volumes, but he didn't attempt to push the door closed, yet his hand remained firmly on the handle.
"Look, I've no idea why I'm here. To prove that you're even in the house maybe?"
"Oh right, forgive me for not socialising with the general household. How rude of me."
The sarcasm meant nothing to Harry.
"As if anyone expected that."
It was quiet again for a moment and that seemed to drain Malfoys face of any energy it had.
"Seriously Potter, go away. I have no interest in engaging with you or anyone else here."
It should have been a dream scenario under the circumstances. Malfoy was neither vicious or seeking his attention. If only he had been like this through all the years of school. It should have made Harry content to walk away now, assured that the blonde was here, he was fine and he was not going to stir trouble. But it sat funny in his head, this display from Malfoy.
"I'll go. But if you ever feel the need to leave that room, there's usually no one downstairs after midnight. The small sitting room to the back of the house has some of the less disturbing books too."
It seemed Malfoy had no response to that. His pinched frown deepened the longer they stood there, but he didn't voice anything, closing the door with a firm snap as soon as Harry's arm released it.
The walk back to his room was marred by confusion about how that had gone. He wasn't sure if that was the kind of chat Mrs Weasley had had in mind.
x
x
It took three nights. Harry hadn't heard a whisper from Malfoy since their initial discussion by the blonde's bedroom door, content to leave him be and not dissect the final words between them.
But he hadn't lied. There usually was no one downstairs by midnight, unless an Order meeting was in session, and the small sitting room was the cosiest option, its fire staying lit into the early hours and the subjects within the books lining the room's shelves noticeably less grotesque than their competitors in the library. The Noble House of Black sure did invest its time in building a macabre collection to show off quite off-putting leanings.
Ron was in bed and had been for a solid two hours, but Harry found himself wide awake that particular night, unable to summon any semblance of sleepiness despite waking at six that morning. Maybe it was the unexpected glow of Christmas fading amidst the general hush that fell over the house in the days after the minister's death, but he found the unpleasant tendrils of a familiar fear creeping over him once again that particular evening when be attempted to slumber at a reasonable hour. Falling asleep was rarely a simple task anymore, but it hadn't been quite like this for a few days. His head had barely hit the pillow when he felt an initially mild sort of dread pull at his mind, the unease building as soon as his eyelids closed and he was left in darkness.
He lasted a full hour lying there, his exhales slightly too loud in the quiet night, fighting himself, stubbornness willing him to just go to sleep, to understand that it was just sleep and nothing deeper. But fear won out and he abandoned his bed, throwing on a jumper and wandering downstairs, seeking light in the very room he had recommended to Malfoy.
He settled for a spot on the rug as it gave him the closest proximity to the crackling fire. It was soft enough despite the fibres in the woven fabric showing wear and tear. Yes, the couch might have been more comfortable but the heat and sight of the flames were soothing, so he stayed put, sitting in the quiet night until the gentle creak of the stairs had his head rising from where it sat against his knees, eyes directed at the door as it swung open, a moment of wariness that diminished when Malfoy peered inside, halting when he caught sight of Harry.
They both stilled for a moment, and Harry knew that his reaction would dictate what followed so he simply didn't do anything, turning his gaze back to the fire and trying to relax his posture once more.
He heard the door snap shut and for a moment wasn't sure if the other had left, but then soft steps headed toward the bookshelves on the far wall, stopping for a moment, before selecting one from the many tomes and carefully walking back toward the fire, stopping at least five metres short, likely choosing the solitary armchair furthest from where Harry sat. A careful distance.
Harry didn't turn around once in the two hours that followed, simply sitting in the warmth, listening to the turning of pages that played to the uneasy tune of a silent truce.