Chapter Text
"You are aware you just showed me the way to your place, right?" Draco observes when they come to a halt in front of a line of tall houses.
"Uh?" Potter replies, distractedly. She is looking around with the subtlety of a hippogryph in a china shop and, when a group of men in business attire walks past, she flattens herself against someone's garden wall with just as much grace.
Draco raises an eyebrow when one of them turns to give her a second glance.
"You know, your house… Where you live alone…" He says, slowly, letting the implication behind his words linger in the air. He is almost personally offended at her lack of forethought. Apparition would have given her at least a modicum of secrecy, making it harder for him to find the place on his own.
"And stop acting so suspicious! Muggles are going to think we are planning a robbery or something." He adds, when she ignores his concerns in lieu of resuming her maddening scan of their surroundings.
"It's not like I'm cursed to do whatever you want me to… Like spill my deepest secrets. Or stop acting suspicious." She quips, pushing herself off the wall with a calm expression that he thinks it's at least partly due to his unintentional command. "Also, why are you so hell-bent on trying to make me wary of you?"
"Uh… Wha- What do you mean?" He splutters, distantly conscious that they are standing in the middle of a fairly busy footpath and that people have to circle around him to get through.
"I'm not sure you are aware of doing it, but you keep warning me about the dangers of, well… yourself." She says. He could swear she is hiding a smile, as if the idea is rather laughable. "You treat me like an idiot."
"You are an idiot. A reckless idiot." He tells her. Firmly. Making sure there are no doubts transpiring in his tone.
"That's beside the point." She breathes a little puff of air through her nose, her mouth twitching in amusement. "Do you want me to think you are dangerous, Draco?"
Her question takes him by surprise and he flushes, heat rising in his cheeks.
Merlin.
"No, what, I- No. It's… No. It's just that you- you never seem to be. Afraid of me, I mean. Why is that?" He looks up at the sky, trying to recover. It's, unsurprisingly, grey.
What the fucking hell. He hates the way she can knock him completely off balance with so very little effort. Despite the veritaserum having worn off a while before, attempting a conversation with her still feels like riding a particularly unpredictable dragon.
It's infuriating.
Once his face has lost enough warmth to safely dismiss the likelihood of self combustion, he risks a glance in her direction.
She has abandoned all pretence at politeness, shoulder shaking with open laughter. Despite clearly being the butt of the joke, he finds that he doesn't mind one bit, his own lips pulling at the corners.
"I'm actually a decent wizard, you know." He drawls, with the petulance of a child, humour softening his tone.
He barely just stops himself from patting his chest in self-importance, but wonders if that, too, would make her laugh.
"Yeah." She agrees, easily, her hair bouncing as she nods. She is so ridiculous he wants to push her over.
Gently, his mind supplies, as if disjointed from the rest of him.
He wants to push her over, gently, in a field of grass. Just to watch her topple and lay, sprawled and breathless, her eyes on the grey sky, her dark hair and red skirt fanning against the ground.
He shakes his head at the odd direction his thoughts seem to have taken, not sure what to feel about the vivid image still flashing behind his eyelids.
It has been a weird couple of days, he tells himself. Blame it on that.
"You are the definition of all bark, no bite." Potter says, once regained some composure. Her mouth shapes into a grin, forming a faint dent over the bridge of her nose that causes her glasses to slip a little. It's another unfamiliar expression, one never directed at him before, and he has to concentrate hard to follow her next words. "Honestly, I never once thought you could do much harm."
In accordance with the strangeness of the moment, he takes it as a compliment.
And, for the first time ever, he actually believes his previous statement that they could become friends, one day.
"Fair." He shrugs, scruffing the tip of one shoe against the pavement. It's only then that he remembers being out in public.
"So, which one is yours?" He asks, jutting a shoulder out towards the row of houses.
"Oh, shit, yeah." She says, with one last glance around, before lowering her voice. "I live at number 12 Grimmauld Place, London."
It takes the exact moment her lips purse on the "n" for it to happen. If Draco wasn't so accustomed to magic from an early age, he is sure he would have screamed. The two houses in front of them jump apart with a loud snap, similar to that of a rubber band being released. A worn, dark wall stretches in between them, windows and dated architectural embellishment popping out as if pushed through sand, until a whole new house stands before them.
"Merlin, this place looks grim." He comments, wrinkling his nose. Compared to the modern and lively buildings on either side, Potter's residence misses the mark to homely by at least a mile.
If he were to interpret the curious expression she throws his way, he'd be tempted to say his observation has caught her by surprise. She blinks, slowly, face tilted towards his, and then nods, still in slow motion. There is a funny uncertainty in the furrow of her brows, as if nothing has ever baffled her more than finding herself in agreement with something he has said.
Smirking, he glances around.
"What, did you think I was the type to salivate over any decrepit old mansion that once smelled of money? I do have taste, darling."
She rolls her eyes at the term of endearment, but chooses not to rise to the bait. Humming, he peels his gaze off her and goes back to perusing their surroundings.
The handful of Muggles wandering down the street appear completely unfazed, if not a touch too engrossed in whatever they are doing.
"Why were you being so skittish?" He asks, unable to repress his curiosity. "There is clearly a Muggle-repelling charm around here. A pretty strong one, if I'm not mistaken. That guy has been counting the cracks on the pavement all the way to number 14!"
"Yeah, I know. And the fidelius, of course, in case there are some… not-Muggles lurking. But, I guess, it's more of a habit now…" Potter trails off, taking the steps leading to the front entrance two at the time.
"Are journalists still harassing you?" He asks, following behind.
For months after the war the only stories that made the news were over-embellished articles about her life. Her face was everywhere, embarrassed and annoyed in equal measure. He's still not sure what had bothered him more, the constant reminder of her existence or seeing her so harassed and knowing, deep inside, that she had never wanted any of that. That, despite his childhood claims, it was always clear to him how much she actually hated her fame.
He was never one to give a damn about her feelings and, yet, reading about her had felt uncomfortably intrusive.
Eventually, he stopped buying newspapers altogether.
"Uh, what? No. Not really. Not anymore, at least…" She shrugs, worrying at her lower lip. With one last glance around, she pushes the door open. "Well then, Malfoy, welcome to my humble palace. Please, keep your voice down in the hallway."
"Bloody hell!" He says, a short while later, as she shuts the library door behind their backs. His breathing is ragged and he doesn't know whether to laugh or start asking questions.
"I told you to be quiet." She snaps, face flushed and hair in disarray. He feels a little guilty for having watched her struggle to pull the curtain shut all on her own but, in his defence, he was half dumbstruck with shock.
"Who- I mean, why haven't you gotten rid of that… that monstrosity?
"It's not for lack of trying, trust me." Potter sighs, still a little breathless herself. "She is your… great aunt- whatever, you know."
"I think she mentioned it, once or fifty times." Draco replies, half between a chuckle and a hiccup.
"Well, she certainly wasn't expecting you. I am not sure which of you looked the most surprised. I could definitely see the family resemblance. You, her and a cod." She mumbles, sinking into a worn armchair that envelops her like a hug. With a huff of content, she runs a hand through her hair and stills. She stares into the distance for so long that Draco starts to believe she has fallen asleep with her eyes open.
Nudging her foot, he gives her a genuine smile. Now that the giddiness and shock have subsided, he realises that the day is shaping out to be one of the most exciting he has had in quite a while. "It's never boring around you, is it?"
She looks startled once again, her whole head turning to face him so fast he feels a twang of concern for the wellbeing of her neck. "Hermione would say I attract enough bullshit in a week to last her three lifetimes. Except she wouldn't use the word bullshit. She'd probably call it mortal peril." She mimics, but there is clear fondness in her tone.
"I wonder what she would think if she found out you invited someone like me back to your place. And, might I add, while cursed to do my evil bidding like a good little elf."
"Please, Malfoy." She dismisses, waving a hand in the air. "We have established before that you are as dangerous as Trewlaney's predictions during class. Being intentionally bigoted with your elf quip isn't going to scare me into remembering you are one of the bad guys. Plus, you haven't ordered me to do anything morally dubious yet and, if it has escaped your notice, we have been alone plenty in recent times."
There isn't exactly a challenge in her words, more of a "told you so", but Draco can't help raising one eyebrow, staring her down.
The quick image that flashes in his mind makes the skin at the back of his neck heat with shame.
"Eh. Uhm." He stammers but, then, another idea pops into his brain that makes him grins, wide and a little manic. "Get up, I want to try something."
He can't deny that her indignant expression sends a tiny thrill of satisfaction down his spine.
"Don't you dare grab my hand." She warns, and he wonders what about this new twist on their old dynamic is making him feel so inexplicably perky.
"I would never." He says, pulling his most innocent smile out of his arse. "Follow me, then. And, please, feel free to skip along like a little girl trotting across a meadow. In fact, do skip along, dear, it would make me ever so happy."
"You can stop, we have reached our destination." He recites, mere minutes later, trying to keep his voice low and serious.
"I will kill you in your sleep." She hisses back, as the curtains in front of them draw open by themselves.
"Is this morally corrupt enough for you?" He asks, pressing his index fingers as deep as he can inside his ears. Even so, he can't help wincing when the old lady in the portrait they just uncovered starts screaming obscenities at Potter, so loud it rattles the windows.
"May I know what the fuck are you trying to achieve with this?" Potter yells, taking a few steps back, hands clamped hard over her own ears. "Is making me deaf in your to do list of nefarious deeds for this year? Because I really can't-"
Taking a deep breath, he removes his fingers from their strategic placement and, gently, tugs her arms down until they flop limply in his grasp.
Straining to be heard over the chaos, he bends over until their faces are only inches apart.
There is a ring of gold in her eyes.
She looks rather more curious than scared.
Never scared.
"Erin." He said, pausing just to watch her blink. "I want you to take out your wand and remove this damn painting from the fucking wall."
They still, just for a heartbeat, the both of them.
Then, she pushes him back, away, like an instinct.
He stumbles, keeping his balance just long enough to encircle his fingers tightly around her wrist. He thinks he can see a hint of fear, then, in the split second it takes her wand to appear in her other hand, a "bombarda" already forming on her horrified lips.
They are falling before the explosion hits, Draco dragging her like a dead weight in his wake. Thank Merlin, he thinks.
Thank. Fucking. Merlin. A silent acknowledgment sent to the heavens, as his arms reach around her waist and her body slams against his ribcage, turned to the side like a sleeping child in his embrace.
Meeting the hard ground is not a pleasant experience.
Draco's elbow scrapes against the uneven surface of the wooden flooring, leaving a sharp ache where his skin breaks open. The impact of her weight on his stomach is strong enough to take his breath away and, when air finally fills his lungs again, it takes Draco a moment to understand what is happening.
It's too noisy, too many sounds around him. The string of loud profanities coming from the painting is now muffled by short, wheezy pants much closer to his ears. Somewhere, something- a wand, perhaps- hits wood with a clattering finality.
And, then, there is the boom of the explosion.
The explosion.
The. Fucking. Explosion.
Unconsciously, Draco's body curls protectively around the smaller one in his arms.
As rubble flies all around them and the only though on his mind is how royally he has fucked this time, something stirrs in the very depth of Draco's essence. Met with the extraordinary circumstance of facing death, the restrictions on his magic lift. It feels a little like loosening a tie that had been snug against his neck for far too long, his body welcoming the full scope of his powers back with immense relief.
His wandless shield is lifted just in time for most of the debris to bounce off it and onto the ground.
Under him, Erin shakes.
Draco relaxes his hold just enough to allow her an exit from the shelter of his limbs.
She looks mad, and a little wild. A triangle of skin along her jaw is covered in dust from where the finer particles of wall managed to penetrate his haphazard protection and, with a wince, he notices that both her knees are bleeding.
"Holy shit!" She cries, kicking his leg. "What the fuck where you thinking?"
Despite the rational part of himself knowing this was his fault and his alone, he can't help the defensive retort slipping past his teeth. "What I was thinking? Bombarda, Potter, really? Of all the things…"
"It's not like I had the time to think about it." She argues, her face a mask of disbelief. "Seriously, explain your thought process to me, Draco, because what you did was bat shit crazy and I want- need to understand."
"Well, I just thought that if I ordered you to do it you… I don't know. You would have found the right way to do it in- inside of you." He fumbles, lamely, feeling quite the fool.
"You thought what, that I would somehow be able to pull the right spell out of my magic hat like a neat party trick? A spell I probably don't know and that I have never come across in my life? Ridiculous."
"Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe? I was trying to help. Shit, I'm sorry. But how was I to know you would blast the entire wall off? You crazy bint."
Unexpectedly, she chuckles. "Well, I might have thought about it a few times. Many times." She amends, as he lifts a sceptical gaze to meet her own.
"Thank you, by the way." She adds, quieter, but without breaking eye contact. He thinks he understands, and nods, a bit embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, I should have discussed this with you before going in with nothing but a half arsed plan and almost getting the both of us killed. And all for nothing, really, as it hasn't stopped her yapping…" He says, turning his head towards the offending direction, from where the intensity of the insults seems to be only getting louder.
Potter's sharp "Oh" of surprise tells him she must have done the same, as in front of them stands what remains of the original wall, the curtains and rail completely obliterated by her magic.
The portrait is still attached to the last standing portion of the wall, about a metre from the floor, its occupant screeching in rage. It looks heavy for the few remaining bits of plaster, too heavy. It doesn't take long and, before their amazed eyes, its support crumbles and the frame sways, finally toppling face down onto the parquet, making Walbulga Black's last parting words a few muffled obscenities against her ancestral ground.
"So very sorry, Mrs Black, we'll all be very sad to see you go. Desperate, truly." Erin's voice thrills, too full of cheer to even attempt sounding mournful. Her laughs erupts, like bubbling gas pushing up her throat, inhibited and pure.
Tension melted, Draco relaxes against the opposite wall, watching her as she giggles, his magic humming contently in his veins.
