Chapter Text
It had been 5 days since Kreacher left to look for the 3rd horcrux and Harry was getting anxious. Harry twirled his wand between his fingers in an attempt to distract himself from his racing thoughts. What if he doesn’t find it? What if the last lead was a dead end? Of course, his worries weren’t helped by the looming reality that after they found this horcrux he and his friends would still have to find 3 more, and they had no idea what or where they were, let alone how he’s going to destroy them.
“Harry? Harry, it's your turn.” He was ripped from his thoughts by the sound of Hermione’s voice.
“Huh? Oh right.” After spending a week at Grimmauld Place with no leads and nothing to do except read, although this was not a problem for Hermione, Harry and Ron were getting restless. So, of course, Hermione suggested playing scrabble because for some reason, she just so happened to have it. When Harry and Ron asked her why she packed it she said, “there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.” And as expected she was winning by 100 points. After Hermione’s reminder, Harry played ‘star’ for 4 points.
“Are you two even trying?” Hermione huffed, a note of teasing in her voice.
“It’s not our fault. No one could beat you Hermione,” Ron groaned in Harry’s defence, to which Hermione blushed in response.
Just as Ron began placing his letters for his turn, they heard a loud crash in the kitchen. The trio exchanged glances, eyes wide. “Kreacher.” Harry breathed. The three of them immediately scrambled towards the sound. As they approached the kitchen, the boy who Kreacher had kidnapped was cursing and kicking things. “Get off of me you filthy vermin!” and “Know your place!” Harry thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar, but ignored the prickling on his spine at the sound and pressed forward.
Harry, who was at the front of the group, swung open the kitchen door and locked eyes with familiar icy grey eyes. Overwhelmed with unpleasant shock Harry muttered “Malfoy?”
Draco Malfoy raised his wand to attack but Harry, Hermione, and Ron were quicker, and simultaneously shouted different spells, “Expelliarmus!” “Petrificus Totalus!” “Stupefy!” Malfoy immediately stiffened and shot backwards into the cabinets taking pots and pans with him as his rigid body slid to the floor. Harry caught the intruder’s wand as it flew into the air then slowly crept towards him, ignoring Hermione’s nagging voice behind him.
“Honestly boys, those are not appropriate spells to use in the kitchen! You’re lucky that only a few pots fell over!” Hermione snapped before muttering with a small smile, “I will admit though, that did feel good.”
Kreacher was hunched over Malfoy. “Kreacher has brought Harry Potter the one in possession of the locket,” the bitter old house elf was glaring as usual, but he also what Harry detected to be a glimmer of hope in his eyes. At this realisation, Harry removed Regulus’s locket from around his neck and tossed it to Kreacher who immediately scurried away to his cabinet, his former master’s locket in tow.
After Kreacher left, Harry had the chance to properly look at Malfoy who was covered in dust from the old cabinets he had slammed against. His eyes were shut, his hands lay rigidly at his side, and the horcrux hung menacingly around his neck. He looked off somehow, there were purple bags underneath his eyes and skin was sallow. Harry, who stalked observed him for many days during the last year, had never seen him looking so frail. He wondered what happened to make him look like that. Then he remembered who he was, an obnoxious bully who only cared about himself. He was also a Death Eater. And Harry decided he didn’t care what was wrong.
“So… What do we do with him?” Ron asked, lightly kicking Malfoy’s foot. “I mean, he obviously can’t stay here.”
Hermione scrunched her face in thought. She then commented, “well he can’t leave. I mean… he knows we have the locket and we have no idea if he even knows what it is. What if he does know? He’s a death eater, if we send him away he’ll go straight to you-know-who.”
Harry hesitantly nodded in agreement, and removed his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. Then confirmed, “he stays.”
“You’re mental! You can’t honestly expect him to just stay put! Regardless he’s a death eater! He’ll kill us!” Ron fumed. “Hey Malfoy, I know you hate us and everything, but could you just stay right there? I’m sure nothing bad will happen.”
“He doesn’t even have a wand, Ron, I took it from him. Besides, we could just lock him in the extra room upstairs, then he can’t hurt us and can’t get out. Sound fair?” Harry offered.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to feed him.” Ron grumbled.
“Hurry up you two,” Hermione ordered, “he’s not going to stay stunned forever.” With that Harry and Hermione levitated the blond up the stairs together. Harry did so lazily, occasionally ramming Malfoy’s legs into the walls with soft thuds which caused Ron to giggle quietly. Harry and Hermione hastily lowered Malfoy onto the bed in one of the rooms next to Sirius’s (where Harry had been sleeping), and locked the door from the outside behind them.
“I don’t understand why he has to stay right next to me. I just know he’ll try to bother me at night,” Harry mumbled.
“There are only two other rooms on this floor and we're certainly not going to put him in Regulus’s, plus we don’t want him further up where none of us are, in case he tries something,” Hermione said pointedly, “how would he know that it’s you anyway?”
Harry gritted his teeth. “Trust me Hermione. He’ll know.”
***
Draco woke up in a daze. The word spun around him as he tried to sit up, so he opted to stay horizontal instead. As the world stilled he was looking up at a cracked crumbly ceiling covered with dust and cobwebs. He scrunched his nose in disgust. Then the memories came flooding back to him. He had been kidnapped by Harry Potter's withering house elf and the scarhead’s stupid friends. Draco slowly hauled himself into a sitting position, his body aching from the combination of spells and objects that had hit him in, what felt like, many hours ago. Draco longed to be curled up in his four-poster bed with his satin sheets and goose-feather pillows. Instead he was in a dingy bedroom, on scratchy cotton sheets, in a house with three of his enemies.
He wanted to be angry. To scream and cry and wish for home. But he couldn’t. His luxurious home was nothing but a memory that had been tainted with images of blood and death. A small part of him was grateful, not that he would ever say it aloud.
He shivered at the thought of what the Dark Lord had planned for that night. He had abducted the former muggle studies professor from Hogwarts, and had planned to make an example of her by torturing and murdering her. Bile rose up from his throat at the thought. Not that he had ever had any interest in learning about muggle imbeciles, but something about her being from his old school made his stomach swim with nausea. He thought it a bit ironic that it would be the trio of gryffindors who saved him from his miserable evening. Who knew that the three people who he despised the most would in a way rescue him. The thought made him deeply uncomfortable and he wanted to ensure that it would never ever happen again.
Draco reached to tug at the locket he kept around his neck and found its weight missing. He didn’t really understand why he would miss something that gave him unrelenting nightmares for weeks on end. But for some reason or another it was almost comforting. Maybe it was because it was the only piece he had from his shadow of a home, as he had received it as a gift from his father. Or maybe because something about it made him feel needed. While he had a complicated relationship with his father, there was something about having it stolen that made him seething with quiet rage.
Draco shakily stood and slinked towards the door. He knew that it would be locked, but he still felt he had to try. He tentatively grabbed the handle, and it felt ice cold to the touch. The knob wouldn’t turn, and his suspicions were confirmed.
Draco leaned against the unyielding door and slid to the floor, head in his hands. He shivered and looked up to get a sense of his surroundings. Directly in front of him was a small window, not big enough for a person, but big enough to let a stream of pale moonlight trickle in. To the left of the window was the bed that he had been lying in when he awoke, and on the other side of that was a desk with a singular drawer and a wooden chair. He then had a very uncomfortable realisation. There was no toilet in this room. So, Draco did what any rational person would do and slammed his arm onto the door as hard as he could a few times and yelled “Potter! Come open the damned door right now!”
He heard a door to his left open and slam, then feet stomped across the creaky hardwood floors. “What do you want, Malfoy? I’m not letting you out just because you screamed at me!” Potter hissed from the other side of the door.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Potter, you have forgotten one crucial aspect of hospitality, which is a toilet. I know you’re uncouth but I didn’t realise you were that much of a barbarian. I’m surprised your little mudblood didn’t think of it.”
Potter released a furious sigh from beyond the door and then growled, “alright, but one wrong move when you come out of there and I swear you’ll be in the same position you were in two days ago.” Draco was grateful that there was a door between them, so Potter couldn’t see his face fall. I was out for two days?
Draco collected his composure for a retort, “ah yes sounds like a brilliant plan, try to run or fight, wandless, with three wizards in the house. Honestly, Potter I know you hate me but I’m not stupid.”
“Alright, alright give me a moment. Alohomora ,” he heard Potter whisper at the door and then a click as it unlocked. The door slowly opened to reveal Potter with his wand out in a blue t-shirt that was far too big for him and navy plaid pyjama bottoms, his bare feet resting on the old wood.
“Ugh, aren’t you worried about splinters? Utterly revolting,” Draco said, his face twisted in disgust. As Potter motioned for him to turn around, then put his wand painfully between Draco’s shoulder blades.
“I didn’t have time, seeing as you were about to break the bloody door down,” Potter seethed, stifling a yawn.
“Aw did I interrupt the poor little scarheads sleeping? I would say it’s beauty rest but that adjective doesn’t apply to you.” He could feel Potter’s irritation radiating from behind him.
Potter came to halt beside one the doors across the hall. “Go on, but be quick about it. I’d like to go back to sleep.”
Draco grabbed the door handle, ensuring that he looked as revolted by the unkempt bathroom as possible, and locked the door behind him. He then took as much time in the bathroom as humanly possible.
After what Draco estimated to be about 15 minutes Potter banged on the door. “Hurry up! Or I might just lock you in there all night!”
“Oh yes, as tempting as that sounds, I’ll have you know that I’m almost finished.” Draco then proceeded to take another 5 minutes.
Bang bang bang! Potter's fist slammed against the door again. “Malfoy, I’m about to leave you in there!”
Draco swung open the door. “Alright, I’m finished, are you satisfied?”
They began walking again. “No. You should’ve been done ages ago.”
“I’m surprised with all these loud noises you didn’t wake the Weasel and the mudblood. I hear inferior beings are light sleepers.” Draco jeered.
Clearly that hit a mark as Potter grabbed the back of Draco’s shirt collar and shoved him onto the floor of the room he was imprisoned in.
“I hope you rot Malfoy.” Potter's eyes were flaming as he slammed the door behind him and locked it with a click.
After this encounter Draco felt a bit pleased with himself. Making Potter angry was something he excelled at, so he was proud to make use of his talent. His satisfaction didn’t last long as he looked around the room in which he was forced to stay. Draco sighed and pushed himself off of the dusty floor. He wiped the dust onto his already dirty trousers, and his irritation spiked. Of course he had no extra clothes, but he realised that the prospect of wearing clothes provided by Potter, who normally wore those wretched muggle trousers, would be worse. Draco decided to take the rest of the night to lay down, but, as he had just slept for two days straight, he knew that his efforts would be in vain.
He curled up on his side and tried to think of happier memories, before the Dark Lord took hold of the Malfoy estate, and before he had a reminder of it on his skin. Draco remembered his mother’s warm embrace enveloping him and her soft words of encouragement after his father had given him violent punishments. His fear infected even some of his happiest memories with a vicious poison.
Every memory of his mother’s smile, fixing his hair, and telling him everything would be ok was tainted by his father telling him he wasn’t good enough, or slapping him when he failed. He winced and touched his cheek at the thought, and realised that he had started crying. Draco knew his father would be angry when he found out he had lost the locket, and even more that it was stolen by Harry Potter. He also knew his father would only care that he was missing because of appearances. He could picture it “allowing yourself to be taken, do you have any idea how this looks? Disgraceful. I do not expect such weakness from the Malfoy heir.”
Draco’s only response could be “yes father.”
Acceptance was the only acceptable way for a Malfoy to respond, especially Draco who was to be the future head of house. His father’s expectations weighed heavily on his shoulders at all times. A Malfoy must maintain appearances. He must have grace and poise. He must never fail. Anything other than perfection is failure.
Perhaps Draco could just waste away in this dirty room; simply pretend like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Throw away the war and his fathers expectations. Perhaps they weren’t even looking for him. Draco knew he was expendable; he wasn’t even able to carry out the important task he was given by the Dark Lord himself, Severus had to do it for him. He pictured Dumbledore’s glassy eyes as he offered Draco protection. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He could never have taken protection from the former headmaster. The thought of Draco on the other side of the war was laughable. This was who he was, he had never known anything outside of pleasing his father and worshipping the Dark Lord. Even though he had seriously considered taking Dumbledore’s hand, his place had already been decided. Draco only had one option.
He also came to the realisation that he couldn’t kill people either. Standing over Voldemort’s opposition and being told to commit murder made him feel physically ill. He had puked in the dungeons of his home more times than he could count. For this, as a Death Eater, he was frequently laughed at. “Itty bitty Draco couldn’t even cast the spell.” “He’s a failure to his family.” “Why was he even made a Death Eater?” The voices of his superiors rang in his head like the buzzes of a thousand insects. Draco was, however, capable of torture. Maybe it was an easier thing to not think about. Maybe it somehow felt less permanent. Less real. Maybe his father had just desensitised him. Still, the glazed eyes of his ally’s victims haunted his nightmares with an unshakeable fervour. The image made him feel cold and empty.
After a few hours the increasing light showed him that it was dawn again. He once again got up to explore the room. It was a very small space, so there wasn’t much more to see, other than the desk drawer and underneath the bed, but he felt that it could at least try to decrease his boredom. He opened the drawer, but there wasn’t much in it. There was a bit of parchment and a strange multi-colored cube, which was a strange glossy material. He eyed the cube curiously, then closed the drawer. He crouched to look underneath the bed, but there was nothing under there except more dust.
His stomach let out a loud grumble. It was going to be a long day.
***
When Harry went downstairs for breakfast he was still fuming. He knew those kinds of remarks about blood purity were typical for Malfoy, but it didn’t change the fact that they still managed to get a rise out of him.
“Mornin’ Harry,” Ron said sleepily from the kitchen table, where he was flipping through The Daily Prophet, which he did every morning, despite the fact that he knew it was rubbish. When Harry asked he did mention that it was mostly because of the boredom they’d been faced with for the past few weeks at Grimmauld Place.
“Morning Ron,” Harry muttered in return, “where’s Hermione?”
“In the kitchen, she wanted to make breakfast because it’s unfair to always use ‘unpaid labour’.” Ron rolled his eyes. “You alright, mate? You look absolutely knackered.”
“Malfoy.” Harry grumbled and shuffled into the kitchen.
Hermione was standing beside the sink in an apron with flour all over it. In front of her there were three bowls piled in the sink. The kitchen smelled like burning.
“Oh, hello Harry, would you like to help?” Hermione smiled at him, her thick curly hair was tied out of her face into a bun, but a few shorter pieces escaped from the front.
“Possibly? What are you trying to make?” Harry said hesitantly, although he knew that he would probably end up finishing the cooking because as highly as Harry thought of her, he also knew that she was a horrible cook.
“I was going to try pancakes but they’re not turning out quite right,” she replied with a frown.
Beside the flour dusted recipe that was resting on the counter was a pile of black round blobs. Harry had to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll have to agree with you on that one. Why don’t you go join Ron? I can finish them.” When Harry said this Hermione looked a bit relieved, nodded and left the kitchen. He internally mused that he could take something from Hermione’s batch for Malfoy.
Harry looked into the bowl of batter that she was just mixing, and picked up the spoon to check the consistency. It seemed about right, but just a touch too thick, so he added a bit more milk, and they seemed to look alright. When Harry was finished his pancakes were perfectly round and golden, he plated them and left the kitchen to place them on the table in front of Ron and Hermione. In his other hand he held a plate holding the lumpy burnt ones.
“You’re not really gonna eat those are you?” Ron teased. This earned him a light punch in the arm from Hermione.
“They’re not for me,” he said with a smirk.
“He’s not going to be happy when he finds out that it was me who made them,” Hermione feigned exasperation, but Harry knew that she was just as amused as they were.
“Exactly,” Harry grinned.
“Nice! Using his bigotry against him!” Ron offered him a hand for a high-five, which Harry accepted. Hermione rolled her eyes.
Harry grabbed a water bottle from the coffee table in the lounge and then carefully carried both it and the plate up the stairs with steady hands, being careful not to drop them as he skirted around nails in the creaky staircase. He was unsure how he should approach Malfoy’s door so he stood outside for a moment to mull it over. He decided that the best course of action would be to knock. After the first tap Malfoy responded haughtily, “never thought I’d live to see the day I’d be excited by a knock from your lot.”
That gave Harry half a mind to turn around and offer him nothing at all, but as he stared down at the charred pancakes he decided he was much too enthused to carry it out, and wasn’t going to let Malfoy just being Malfoy ruin it for him. Plus terrible or not he didn’t want Malfoy to starve. He considered himself to be much better than that. Harry unlocked the door and opened it slowly to find Malfoy lounging on the bed; he hadn’t even sat up upon Harry’s arrival. “Well if it isn't the famous Harry Potter, gracing me with his presence. To what do I owe such a pleasure?” Malfoy said sardonically, while he closely examined his fingernails.
Pushing down mild irritation, Harry placed the blackened pancakes on the small desk. “I- er- brought you food.”
Malfoy pretended to look uninterested but as soon as Harry mentioned food, he immediately moved to a sitting position. Harry noticed upon Malfoy’s movement that his eyes were red and puffy. “Malfoy… have you been… crying?” Harry wasn’t concerned but rather unsettled. He had only seen Malfoy cry once, and while he despised the git, it was not a memory he quite liked to remember.
Malfoy scoffed, “that, Potter, is simply your imagination. Perhaps all of the dust in here is fogging your glasses.”
“Of course, my mistake. I had forgotten you were incapable of feelings,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Then the pancakes caught Malfoy’s eye, and Harry wished he could have taken a photo of his horrified expression.
“What’s that rubbish?”
“'That rubbish' is Hermione’s attempt at pancakes,” Harry smirked, as he enjoyed the exact reaction he would’ve expected from Malfoy to unfold, “you’re welcome not to eat them. Although, you shouldn't expect to see any more food until supper. That is, if you play nicely. Tomorrow if not.”
Malfoy’s face turned bright red. “You honestly expect me to eat your little mudblood friend’s sorry excuse for cooking?”
“You’re not going to be eating anything with language like that,” Harry replied darkly.
“Touchy, touchy. Don’t know why using accurate descriptors bothers your lot so much. Perhaps you’re just not used to civilised society.”
“Have you ever considered that perhaps your ‘civilised society’ is not as civil as you seem to think it is. Have you ever even considered pretending to have empathy?” Harry could feel his temperature rising and decided that it would probably be best to leave before he throttled the blond prat.
Harry moved to close the door, prior to being interrupted by Malfoy’s obnoxious voice. “Oh and Potter, would you be a dear and ask Granger to get me something to read? It's dreadfully boring in here. I would ask you to do it, but you obviously don’t read.”
“Why would she want to do anything for a prick like you? You’ve done nothing but bully her and call her slurs.”
There was a pause.
“I’ll be nice then,” Malfoy murmured.
“I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t think I heard that correctly, did you just agree to be nice? I didn’t think you were capable.”
“I’d prefer that to sitting around all day staring at the ceiling. In case you hadn’t noticed, this room is quite empty!” Malfoy huffed.
“Fine. But if I hear that you said anything at all about Hermione’s parentage, you’ll have to start counting cracks in the floor.”
“Fine.”
Harry closed the door and locked it again before he descended down the stairs to hopefully eat the pancakes that he had made for himself.
When he returned Hermione and Ron were sitting on the couch in the lounge, whispering quietly to each other. Harry was halfway to the kitchen before they noticed him.
“Hi Harry, how’s our prisoner?” Ron said.
“As much of a git as usual. Although he did make a strange request…”
“What kind of request?” Hermione inquired.
Harry looked at her. “He actually wanted you to give him books. He said he wanted you to do it because he knew I didn’t read.”
Hermione looked at Harry, bewildered. “I’m surprised he’d want to touch anything I gave him, let alone explicitly ask for it.”
“I know, I'm just as surprised as you are. Hard to believe he cracked after only a day of being awake.”
“I dunno, I’d be bored enough to ask for a book if I were locked alone in a room alone for a whole day,” Ron admitted.
“Likely,” Hermione snorted before she continued, “I luckily always have books on hand, but I think I have just the one.” She rummaged through her bag to find the right book and handed Harry a large red book that she had clearly read a dozen times. Harry looked at the front cover that read Muggle Basics: Lifestyle, Home and Work in gold curly font.
Harry grinned widely, “oh he’s gonna love this.” Then he ran back up the stairs to give the book to Malfoy without even touching his breakfast.
***
Draco stared across the room at the burnt blobs of ‘food’ that Potter had left for him, and decided that he wasn’t hungry enough to essentially poison himself. He did however eye the clear container next to the supposed meal. It had some sort of clear blue protective covering around it. He poked at the strange container with the fork Potter had brought him. Nothing happened. It said on the outside that it was water, but it was in a completely closed container, so he had no idea how to drink it. Instead he decided to sit in the chair and stare at it curiously.
There was another knock on the door. “Yes?” Draco called lazily, still eyeing the strange container.
Potter once again pushed open the door, a book in his hand.
“Miss me already Potter? I know I'm dashing but you're really not my type.”
Potter’s face reddened with irritation. “I brought you the book you asked for. Anything else, your majesty?” He said sarcastically.
“Actually, yes. While I understand that it must be quite amusing to you to play pranks on me, I do need to drink water, but I must say it was very clever to make it clear like that.”
Potter's face twisted into pure confusion. “I already gave you water” then his face shifted into an expression clearly trying to stifle laughter, “have- have you never seen a water bottle before?”
“Seen a what- apparently it’s not a very common spell, I must admit I’m impressed,” while Draco was very proud, his curiosity to know how Potter had done it overweighed his pride. At that point Potter was doubled over laughing.
Draco was incredibly offended. “Why are you laughing, Potter? It’s embarrassing enough that your little prank worked. If I had my wand I would have most certainly figured out your little trick,” he snapped. Which only caused Potter to be in tears from laughing. A part of Draco liked this side of him, but he shoved the thought down as soon as it came.
Potter wiped the tears from his eyes. “Oh merlin that was priceless,” Potter breathed, still recovering from his guffawing, then cleared his throat. “It’s a water bottle. It’s made of a muggle material called plastic. I’d never thought about the fact that there’s no plastic in the wizarding world.” Potter then picked the ‘water bottle’ up and twisted the top to create an opening, placed it on the table and walked to the door.
Draco could hardly suppress the look of horror that appeared on his face. “No- no that’s not possible. A muggle could never come up with something that complex. You’re just trying to trick me. It’s not going to work.”
“Fine, you don’t have to believe me; just see for yourself,” Potter said before he placed the massive red book he had brought with him on the floor and slid it over to Draco. The book landed against his foot with a quiet thud. After which Potter left the room and locked the door once again.
Draco picked up the book that Potter had given him, but after reading the title, he immediately dropped it back on the floor in offence.