Malfoy threw his bag down in the hallway of number twelve and a half Grimmauld place and looked around with distaste.
"When you offered to have me stay, I was expecting a home, Potter. Not a hovel."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, already beginning to regret his decision. "If you hate it that much, you've got your own bloody ancestors to thank."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. Behind the arrogant gesture was curiosity, which Harry had to admit he never would have noticed if he wasn't making a particular effort to be nice to Malfoy. He gave a mental sigh and fought down the urge to say something spiteful.
"This house belonged to the Black family," he explained, leading Malfoy up the stairs to the bedrooms. He noticed Malfoy picked up his bag and followed. "Your mother's cousin, Sirius Black, grew up here." Although several years had passed since Sirius' death and it was no longer raw, it still hurt to speak of him.
There was silence behind him. Clearly, Malfoy was unimpressed with the history. He turned around and saw Malfoy looking at him expectantly.
"And you have it because...?" Malfoy said finally.
Harry blinked. He was so used to people tiptoeing around the topic of Sirius with him that he forgot Malfoy probably didn't even know.
"Sirius was my godfather," he said shortly, turning back around and continuing his climb. "He left me the house when he died."
Silence. He didn't bother turning around. When they reached the landing he waved absently down the hall. "Take any room you like," he said. "Except this one. That's mine."
Malfoy still hadn't said anything. Harry looked up at him in exasperation. Malfoy was watching him curiously.
"Didn't know you had any family," he said finally. "Guess you don't, now." He smirked and walked off down the hall, choosing the bedroom furthest from Harry's.
Harry watched him, stunned that someone could be that much of an arse, before kicking open his bedroom door and storming inside, away from Malfoy.
He shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his robes over his head and threw them on the floor. He had needed to dress properly for the Ministry, but now that he was home he preferred to be able to wear Muggle clothes. He decided that the jeans he had been wearing beneath his robes were clean enough, but the shirt was probably a bit old. Rummaging through his drawers he found a clean t-shirt and headed back into the corridor toward the bathroom and found Malfoy, obviously with the same idea.
He grunted, while Malfoy just grinned.
"Guests first, Potter," he said with a laugh, and walked quickly into the bathroom.
Harry turned around in disgust, regretting for the second time in ten minutes his decision to open his home to Malfoy, and headed downstairs to see if Kreacher was cooking. The kitchen was empty, so he assumed Kreacher must be cleaning elsewhere in the house, and set to making a cup of tea.
He was only halfway through his drink when he heard Malfoy yell down the stairs.
"Potter!"
Harry gritted his teeth and yelled back. "What?"
"Your linen cupboard makes no sense!"
"What the hell are you talking about? There's no linen cupboard in the bathroom!"
"Exactly. How am I meant to get a towel?"
Harry took a slow, deep breath. "No one's up there. Just walk out into the hall. The linen cupboard is opposite the bathroom," he called back.
"What?! And drip on the carpet? It'll go moldy!"
"It's my bloody house, Malfoy! I don't care if it goes moldy!"
"Well that's just perfect, isn't it? You inherit my ancestral house and you don't even care enough to look after it." Harry couldn't decide if Malfoy was serious or just set on annoying him in every way possible for as long as they were doomed to live together.
"Fine!" Harry yelled back. "Hang on."
He stomped up the stairs and pulled open the linen cupboard. Grabbing a towel he turned around and kicked open the bathroom door.
Malfoy yelped.
Harry threw the towel in at waist height without looking and turned back to the stairs, taking smug delight at what he mentally chalked up as one score in his favour.
Ten minutes later, Malfoy entered the kitchen, looking relaxed in black tracksuit pants and a black t-shirt, toweling his hair. Harry blinked in surprise, realising that he had never seen Malfoy in Muggle clothes before. If he had been told to guess, he would have said Malfoy didn't own any.
"Your transparent attempts to perve on me are pathetic, Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk. "You need to get over your schoolgirl obsession."
Harry reminded himself that he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt, took several deep breaths, and counted to ten.
"Tea, Malfoy?" he asked politely.
Malfoy looked taken aback, before nodding. "I'll make it," he said curtly. "Where are the teabags?"
"Cupboard above the kettle," Harry answered, flicking open the Daily Prophet. It was more of the usual. News on the rebuilding efforts, interviews with Ministry officials, and the latest captured Death Eaters. It was a shame that the latter was mainly additional news on Death Eaters who had already been caught. New captures were dwindling.
After a few moments he realised that Malfoy was swearing quietly under his breath. Turning around, he saw him struggling with the teabag, hitting it with his wand.
Harry frowned before realising what was going on. He laughed and stood up, walking over to the bench.
"They're Muggle teabags," he explained, opening the packet for Malfoy and dropping the sachet into a mug.
Malfoy glared at the teabag like it had personally insulted him. "What's the point in that?" he muttered furiously.
"Well, technically they're quicker to use than magical teabags," Harry offered pragmatically. "There really is no point in a teabag jumping through the air to dive artistically into a mug of water."
"Fun to watch though," Malfoy said, casting a wry glance at Harry. Then he seemed to suddenly remember that he hated Harry, and resumed glaring at the wall in front of him.
Harry sat back down at the table, running his hands through his hair and mentally added a third stroke on the tally of regretting his offer to share his living space with Malfoy.
Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't take the tea back up to his room, but sat opposite Harry at the table. Harry cast a glance up at him, but he was staring out the kitchen window. Harry wondered what it would be like to live with Malfoy if they were friends. If the relaxed comment that Malfoy had just let slip was anything to go by, it was possible for Malfoy to have a friendly conversation with someone, which was something that Harry would have refused to believe if anyone had suggested to him. For the first time it occurred to him that Malfoy's friends might actually like him, instead of simply being too stupid to figure out anything else to do with their time. He studied Malfoy over the top of the Daily Prophet, wondering what there could possibly be to like about Malfoy.
"Really, Potter, this is just sad," Malfoy drawled. "It would never work between us."
Harry abandoned his pretense and put the newspaper down. "Why aren't you staying with Goyle or Parkinson?" he asked, the thought suddenly popping into his head.
Malfoy's head whipped around, and the look in his eyes told Harry that he had just asked something very stupid indeed.
"Goyle is in Azkaban," he said tightly. "And Parkinson's family would never house a blood-traitor."
"Is that what you are?" Harry asked.
"I'm selling pureblood families to the Ministry," he answered, his chin lifted slightly into the air. "What do you think?"
Harry considered this. It probably explained why no other Slytherin families were housing him, which was his next question. "So, why are you doing it then?" he asked.
Malfoy seemed to take a deep breath, something Harry had been doing a lot of in the last hour. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. Before he could consider taking it back, Malfoy had jumped up from the table and stormed out of the room.
Harry let him go. The stupid git had done enough damage under Voldemort's hand for Harry to worry about his precious feelings. He had just picked up the Prophet again when Kreacher popped into the room with a crack.
"Master's friends are here to see him," he said with a bow, his locket bouncing off his bare chest with the movement. Harry made a mental note to look into what form of coverings he could give for Kreacher's torso without it being an offering of clothes, and stood up.
"Thank you, Kreacher," he said with a smile. "Are they in the living room?"
Kreacher nodded and began bustling about at the benches, presumably preparing lunch.
"Oh, Kreacher?" Harry said, turning back when he reached the doorway. "We have a guest for the next little while, Draco Malfoy. Please treat him, er," Harry thought about how he would like Malfoy to be treated, and how he should be treated as a guest in Harry's home. "As you would a permanent resident," he finished lamely, having used up all the manners he could for Malfoy in the word "guest".
Kreacher's eyes widened. "Narcissa Malfoy's son?" he asked.
Harry nodded. Kreacher's eyes took on a gleam of excitement that Harry hadn't seen since he gave Kreacher Regulus' locket.
"Kreacher will care for Malfoy as he cares for Master," he nodded emphatically.
Harry wasn't quite sure that was the arrangement he had asked for, but it would do. He waved his thanks to Kreacher and headed into the living room.
"I think I've come down with a sudden case of mumblemumps," Ron said earnestly when Harry entered the room. He began patting his face and ears frantically, checking for swelling. "I could have sworn you just said Malfoy was staying with you."
Harry sat down on the sofa with a grin. As much as he was already keen to throw Malfoy out into the street, it was almost worth it for Ron's reaction. "He is."
Ron's jaw went slack. He garbled unintelligibly for several moments, before Hermione patted him kindly on the back and took over. "I'm sure Harry has a good explanation," she offered, although she looked concerned.
"He's under witness protection, but no one will have him," Harry explained.
Ron snorted. "So you got lumped with him, did you? Nice reward for the Boy Who Died To Save Us."
There was an element of spite in Ron's tone that had nothing to do with Malfoy. Even after he had explained it to them, Harry's sacrifice was still a sore point between the three of them. Ron understood in theory that Harry had been given no choice, but it still rattled him that Harry had accepted it without discussion. And Hermione was hurt that he had gone without saying goodbye.
Harry sighed. "I offered," he said. Suddenly, Ron's incredulity at Malfoy living with him no longer seemed funny.
Ron wrinkled his nose. "You offered to live with that git? Blimey, Harry, that's twisted. If you were getting bored you should have just said. We could've played chess or something."
Harry stifled a laugh despite himself. "I didn't offer because I was bored, or to make things interesting. I think I've had enough 'interesting' to last me for the rest of my life. I offered because," he paused. Ron and Hermione both knew what Narcissa Malfoy had done for him, although they were the only ones who did. But he somehow felt like they wouldn't understand why it made him feel obligated to do this. And he didn't want to hear their protests. He felt like by protesting they would make his offer seem worthless. "I need his help," he finished.
Hermione looked suspicious. "Help with what?" she asked, while Ron was busy gaping like a fish.
"We're trying to identify the remaining Death Eaters," Harry said honestly. "So we need to spend time going through each-others' memories, trying to fill in the gaps," he continued smoothly into a lie.
"Malfoy's memories? Yuk." Ron made a face.
Hermione looked fascinated. "So you're using a Pensieve?" she asked. "Can I see? It would be really interesting to build a proper picture of the war from both sides."
"Hermione!" Ron gaped at her. "You can't be serious. It's not interesting. It's disgusting! Not only does Harry have to share his house with that slimy git, he's got to share his thoughts." Ron turned back to Harry with a solemn expression. "I'm here for you, mate," he said in a hushed tone.
Harry rather felt like someone must have died. He had an absurd desire to offer his condolences.
"If it gets too much, let me know," Ron went on. "I'll sort him out."
Harry buried the image of a slug deep in his mind and made a supreme effort not to laugh. "Thanks, mate," he said in as serious a tone as he could manage. I'll keep that in mind."
Hermione snorted rudely. Harry looked at her in surprise until he realized that she looked just as shocked. Turning around, he saw Malfoy in the doorway, sneering.
"Sorry to break up the party," he said, leaning against the archway. He no longer looked relaxed in his Muggle clothing. He looked tense and out of place. "I need Potter."
"I'm sorry, Malfoy, I just don't feel that way about you," Harry said solemnly, unable to resist the urge to get one back.
Ron snorted while Malfoy's lip curled even further.
"Touching," he said. "I need to know where I can put my things."
Harry frowned. "Isn't your room big enough?" Malfoy had only brought a small bag with him. Surely the room was adequate.
"Not even close," Malfoy grinned.
Harry sighed, reminding himself that he had asked for this. Pushed for it, even. "How much room do you need?" he asked.
Malfoy pretended to consider. "Well, there's my potions cabinet, my bookshelves, my guitar, my-"
"Geez, Malfoy," Ron interrupted with a glare. "You're only temporary, don't forget. You're lucky you've even got a room. If it was me, I'd give you a bloody cupboard."
Malfoy sneered. "Nice, Weasley. Real good of you. I'm pleased to see that the side of fairness and forgiveness won the war."
"You don't deserve forgiveness, Malfoy you little-"
"Oi," Harry interrupted. "You're in my house, mate. Give it a rest."
Three sets of eyes stared at him in shock.
"Take your pick of any of the rooms," Harry said to Malfoy, ignoring Ron and Hermione. "I'm not using them."
Malfoy watched him for a few seconds before nodding and turning around.
"Where's all your stuff?" Harry called after him.
"House elves are sending it," Malfoy yelled back before taking the stairs two at a time to pick his second room.
"So, you're sharing your space, you're sharing your thoughts, and we have to be nice to him?" Ron said with an incredulous look on his face. "You've lost it."
Hermione shoved him gently. "I think it's wonderful," she said with a smile, although her eyes still seemed hesitant. "If Harry and Malfoy can get along, just think what it could do for wizarding relations after the war."
Ron and Harry both rolled their eyes.
"Whatever, 'Mione," Ron said. "Just don't make me go out for tea with Goyle. It's bad enough I saved his life without having to be reminded of it. I might have a change of heart."
"So how are you two, then?" Harry asked, taking the opportunity to steer the conversation away from Malfoy.
He instantly wished he hadn't, as both Ron and Hermione looked suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Well," Ron began.
"Really good!" Hermione said, her voice slightly higher than usual.
Harry had a split second of heart failure, where he thought they must be breaking up and he would be forced to choose between his two best friends.
"We're going on a holiday!" Ron burst out suddenly, grinning.
"A what?" Harry asked.
"You know, we're going to have fun," Ron said, still smiling. "That strange thing normal people do when they're not killing dark wizards."
"Oh, that," Harry said weakly. "Right."
"We won't be gone long!" Hermione said in a rush. "Only six, maybe eight-"
"Weeks?!" Harry said, shocked that he would be unable to talk to his best friends for so long.
"Months," she finished with an apologetic grimace. "We'll write to you, though, every day!"
"Well, maybe not every day," Ron said wrinkling his nose. "But there's bound to be fires in some of the places we stay. So we can Floo you sometimes, too."
"Right. Brilliant," Harry said, suddenly wishing very much that the two of them had already left.
"We're leaving tonight," Hermione said with a weak smile.
He took it back.
"We were talking about it, and then decided to just do it," Ron said with a grin.
"How'd you get the money?" Harry asked, fighting to hold onto something logical.
"Hermione's parents gave her a graduation present," Ron said excitedly. "We've got tons of dolls to spend!"
"Dollars," Hermione corrected patiently. "And we don't have that much, but with the exchange rate at the moment, it's enough to get a decent holiday to start with, and we can work along the way."
She seemed to run out of things to say. They both looked a little wary, but they seemed so happy that he couldn't stay upset.
"I'm thrilled for you," he said with a genuine smile. "You'll have a great time."
Hermione jumped over the coffee table to hug him. "Oh, we wish you could come, Harry!"
"Hey!" Ron interjected, looking worried. "Not that we don't wish you could come," he assured Harry quickly. "We just, you know, don't want you to be there."
Harry laughed. "It's okay, I get it. You guys have fun. Write to me when you can."
Ron clapped him on the back and they both stood up, ready to go.
"Tell us how it goes with Malfoy," Ron said quietly, looking meaningfully at the ceiling. "Hope you don't kill each other in the time we're gone." He looked thoughtful. "Well, I hope you're quicker than he is anyway."
"Ron!" Hermione smacked him, and they stepped over to the fireplace. "Oh, Harry?" She turned back, looking suddenly concerned. "Be careful. I know we tested the charms on this place, but I'm still not convinced I did a good enough job to trick anyone who might come looking, particularly if Malfoy has angered half the remaining Death Eaters."
Harry laughed. "You did a perfect job, Hermione. Don't worry."
Hermione's frown deepened. "You will be careful, won't you? You'll check the charms every morning?"
"Yes, yes, of course," Harry said, giving her a push toward the fireplace. "Although there's nothing to check. You picked the whole house up and moved it a metre to the left, fence and all. It's a completely new address, ergo, completely new Secret for the Secret Keeper. Stop worrying."
Hermione looked like she was about to argue further, so Harry steered her gently but firmly to the fireplace and handed Ron the Floo powder.
"See you in a few months," Ron said with a wave.
Harry waved them off. When the green light disappeared from the fireplace, he sat back down and stared at the wall, wondering how on earth he was going to stay sane with only Malfoy and Kreacher for company.