The moment Harry woke, the soft light of dawn filtering through his blinds, he knew what he was going to do that day. He threw on his clothes, downed his pills and potions, and clattered down the stairs to the kitchen. Narcissa had yet to arrive that morning; the kitchen was empty. Kreacher poked his head around the door to his den as Harry entered.
"Master is needing something?" Kreacher asked hopefully, stepping fully into the kitchen. Harry noticed that he'd exchanged his ratty old tea towel for a new one — it was almost blindingly white. He looked as if he'd given himself a good scrubbing, too. Harry thought that he wouldn't say Kreacher's skin was pink, exactly — it was still grey, but it was definitely pinker.
He stood taller, too; Harry was surprised to see that he didn't look as old when he wasn't hunched over. His eyes caught on the necklace dangling around Kreacher's neck and he realised that he, too, had worn a horcrux. He shuddered, remembering what that had felt like. How it had hung heavier around his neck each day. He'd felt the urge to hunch over too, by the time he'd been able to take it off.
Harry shook his head, shaking away the memories. "No thanks, Kreacher. I'm just going to get breakfast going." He pulled open the cupboard and rifled through the pans, feeling the urge to make something different. He thought for a minute, then snapped his fingers. Omelettes. He would make omelettes. Which meant he would need...
He set the skillet on the counter and turned to gather ingredients from the pantry, but soon realised he had a problem.
"Kreacher?" he called.
Kreacher appeared beside him. The crack of Apparition startled Harry and he stumbled, catching himself on one of the shelves.
"Kreacher," Harry said, staring down at him, "why did you Apparate? Weren't you just over there?" He pointed across the room.
Kreacher shrugged his bony shoulders. "Master called. Apparition was faster."
"But that's..." Harry sighed in defeat. "Fine. Kreacher, can you get some tomatoes and mushrooms and..." he thought for a moment. "And cheese. Oh, and more eggs. Please?"
Kreacher snapped his fingers and disappeared. Before Harry even made it back to the counter, Kreacher was unloading the food there. Harry shook his head, wondering at the speed the house-elf could muster when he was inclined to.
Harry cracked the eggs into a large metal bowl and began to whisk them, absentmindedly whistling a cheerful tune. Then he turned to the vegetables Kreacher had lined neatly up on the cutting board and began to chop.
He was just preparing to flip the first omelette when Narcissa stepped into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Harry, dear," Narcissa said. "You're up early."
He nodded, concentrating on the pan. It was almost time... Now! He flipped the omelet, browning the other side, then slid it onto a plate and offered it to her. "I hope omelettes are okay," he said, suddenly self-conscious. "I thought we could have something different today."
She took the plate with a smile. "It looks lovely. Thank you."
Harry found himself smiling back and turned back to the stove, pouring more eggs into the pan. When that omelette was done, he plated it and slid it in front of Lucius, who had joined Narcissa at the table and was sipping his morning tea while reading the Prophet.
He made a third omelette and was about to sit down when he remembered Malfoy. You don't have to make him one, he thought, but he found himself setting the plate aside and cracking another egg.
"Take this to Malfoy, once we've gone?" he asked Narcissa, not looking at her, focusing instead on whisking the eggs.
"Of course," she said. "Thank you."
Harry shrugged off her thanks and turned to Lucius, who was folding the paper and looking up at him warily.
"And where are we going this morning?" Lucius asked.
Harry smiled. "We're going to pay a visit to Kingsley."
"You do remember that he asked you to make an appointment?"
"And we will. But since the Floo's not working, we'll just have to go there to make it. May as well drop in and see him while we're at it."
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This time, when Harry barged into Kingsley's office, the Minister groaned theatrically. "What now, Harry?" he asked, completely exasperated.
Harry shrugged. "I'm making an appointment to go see about Lucius' vault. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Kingsley stared at him for a full minute, face curiously expressionless, before bursting out in a laugh that was less amusement and more frustration.
"Harry... this is the sort of thing you don't make appointments for. And this isn't how you go about making them, anyway. Just... do me a favour. Let Mr. Malfoy guide you. At least he knows the proper procedures."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Lucius stepped smoothly in front of him. "Of course, Minister," he said, voice oozing solicitousness. "Please, call me Lucius. We're all friends here, after all." He leaned forward over the desk and extended a graceful hand.
Harry noticed that his other hand gripped the head of his cane, knuckles gone white with the effort he was expending to move so smoothly. But Kingsley didn't seem to notice, as the massive piles of parchment on his desk blocked Lucius' shaking hand from his view.
Kingsley shook his head, looking like he didn't believe what he was about to do. Then he clasped Lucius' hand firmly. "Lucius," he said. Then, after a pause, he added. "You may as well call me Kingsley, I suppose."
"I think Minister should suffice, at least in public. It wouldn't do you any political favours to appear too friendly with a former Death Eater, after all."
Kingsley's face took on a green tinge for a moment, but he didn't say anything.
After a moment, Lucius said, "I believe it would be best to do this when the Ministry is officially closed. How does Saturday work for you, Minister?"
Kingsley groaned and waved a hand helplessly. "Fine. Absolutely fine," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't want to see my wife this week, anyway. I've yet to come up with a sufficient apology for last week."
Lucius' mouth quirked up at one corner. "I believe we can help you there, as well. Very well. We shall see you Saturday morning. Say, around 9? There's a lovely little tea shop not far from the Ministry. It would be perfect for a light breakfast."
Kingsley nodded. "I know it. This vault," he said hesitantly, "it wouldn't be in London, would it? Because I'm not sure..." he trailed off, looking torn.
Lucius smiled thinly. "No, it is not. We'll be arranging International Portkeys for the three of us. So that we can find an appropriate apology gift for your wife, of course. I'll make arrangements for us to have lunch out as well. That way you and Harry can discuss his many career options."
Lucius glanced significantly at Kingsley, and Harry frowned, realising there was something going on here that he wasn't aware of, and not liking it at all.
Before he could say anything, Kingsley nodded and Lucius clapped a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, steering him toward the door.
"Oh," Lucius said, turning back before they reached the door. "The vault is in a Muggle area. It would be wise to dress accordingly. I assume you have something appropriate?"
"I'll manage," Kingsley said dryly, waving them out.
"Where are we—" Harry started, the moment they emerged into the hallway, but Lucius frowned and turned slightly toward him, moving his hand in a subtle chopping motion, careful to keep it hidden from the secretary's view.
"Not here," he whispered. Then he greeted Kingsley's secretary with a smile. "We'd like to make an appointment to speak with the Minister," he said pleasantly.
The secretary gaped at them for a moment in disbelief, flicking his eyes to Kingsley's office door — where they'd just emerged. Then he seemed to collect himself as his glance flicked to Harry. "Right. Of course. Let me grab his calendar."
They waited while the annoyed secretary shuffled through stacks of parchment on the desk, finally pulling a large leather-bound book from one of his drawers. Lucius gave every indication of waiting patiently. Harry could hardly hold himself still. He ground his teeth at the delay.
"Bertrand, isn't it?" Lucius said, with a quelling look at Harry.
The man looked up, startled, then nodded, selecting a quill from its stand. "And you're here for..."
"Assisting Mister Potter," Lucius said smoothly. "Mister Potter would like to speak with the Minister in, oh, about two weeks, I should think."
Bertrand nodded, flipping through the pages and frowning. "He's completely booked for the next three weeks, I'm afraid, but the week after that I can squeeze you in on Wednesday if you can come in at 10."
"That sounds perfect, thank you," Lucius said, smiling pleasantly. "Come, Harry. We mustn't take up too much of this man's time. He looks as if he has important business to attend to."
He took Harry's arm and swept them both down the hallway before the secretary could object or ask them any more questions.
Harry was forced to stew in silence all through the long walk to the International Portkey office, and then all through the interminable exchange of pleasantries and the arranging of the Portkey. Lucius made the arrangements for "Harry Potter and guests," with a significant nod in his direction, and the pretty girl at the counter became so flustered that she neglected to ask for any details. Harry couldn't deny that Lucius was good at what he did, but he also didn't have to like it, he thought stubbornly.
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It was drizzling that Saturday when they met the Minister outside the tea shop. Kingsley slouched against a lamppost, cutting an imposing figure in what Harry assumed was an attempt to go incognito. His dark brown fedora was pulled low over his eyes and he had the collar of his charcoal trench coat turned up against the swirling grey mist. In the strip of dark skin visible between the hat and coat, his gold earring gleamed.
Harry frowned. "I thought we were having breakfast."
Kingsley didn't say anything, merely stretched out his hand. Harry sighed and pulled the chipped compact mirror from his pocket, holding it out. He'd eaten a light meal that morning, but he'd been looking forward to something different. Lucius and Kingsley extended their own hands, their fingers touching the compact seconds before it whisked them all away.
The world swirled and blinked out around them; Harry opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the bright sunlight. It was clear they were far from dreary London.
Kingsley shrugged off his coat and hat, shrinking them and stuffing them into his trouser pocket.
"Well," he said after a moment. "The weather is better here. Wherever here is."
Lucius gestured with his cane. "Welcome to Switzerland. If you'll take my arm, I'll Side-Along you to our destination."
Kingsley frowned, but held out his arm. Harry didn't immediately follow. "Can you do that?" He eyed Lucius' raised wand skeptically. Even though Kingsley had cleared Lucius to use his wand discreetly outside Grimmauld Place's wards, he was still restricted to the same list of approved spells.
Lucius hesitated. "Ah. Perhaps it would be best if you did the actual Apparating, Harry. Excuse us for a moment, Minister, if you would..."
He guided Harry a few steps away and threw up a hasty silencing charm, which Harry strengthened with a wave of his own wand. Then Lucius whispered directions to him. "That should be enough to get us there," he said as Harry canceled the silencing charm.
Harry frowned, still hesitant. Lucius hadn't given him much to go on, but he seemed confident that Harry would get them there. Harry decided to go with it. After all, what could go wrong?
He really needed a better way to make decisions, he thought wryly, as he took their arms and raised his wand. Hermione would definitely not approve.
They reappeared behind some overgrown bushes at the edge of what seemed to be a Muggle warehouse. Harry turned to apologise for bringing them to the wrong place, but Lucius was already striding toward the entrance.
Inside the building, they passed through a shimmering voice-activated ward and into a warren of vaults that reminded Harry of Gringotts. A hunched goblin sitting behind a desk held out a smooth metal plate, which Lucius laid his right hand on. The device whirred and beeped.
The goblin then lifted and turned the device to scan first Lucius' ring, bearing the Malfoy crest, and then his eye. Then the device gave a satisfied-sounding beep and spat out a small metal card that Harry thought looked rather like a Muggle credit card. The goblin grunted and waved them forward.
"Three hours," the goblin said shortly. Lucius nodded, and they continued under an archway, down a long, branching hallway, to an iron door set into the stone.
Lucius inserted the metal card into a thin slot in the door, which whirred and beeped. Then the heavy door swung open with a soft click. Lucius held up a hand as they stepped through the door and into the vault.
"Don't touch anything. There are protective wards, but I'm afraid they're there to protect the artefacts from intruders, not the other way around. Touching any of them would bring about most... unpleasant results," Lucius cautioned as he led them inside.
The vault was a large room lined with shelves of artefacts. The centre was divided into a series of aisles and packed with boxes upon boxes of files. Blackmail material, Harry realised. There was an entire section labeled "Ministry" that Kingsley stared at with obvious surprise.
Lucius turned his back to them and pressed his hand against a small panel on the wall. Then he punched in a string of numbers. A pale blue light lit the section of the room they were standing in.
"I've cleared you to touch anything in this section," Lucius said as he turned back to them. "Take care to touch only the things illuminated by this light."
Kingsley picked up a file at random. "These look as if they go back for decades," he said in mixed wonder and horror.
"Centuries," Lucius corrected. "Most of the boxes older than, say, 50 years won't be of use to us now, but—"
"Hermione would kill for a look at these," Harry breathed, flipping through one of the files in the box closest to him.
Kingsley cleared his throat. "I'm sure Miss Granger would never lower herself to—"
Harry snorted. "You forget I've known her since she was 11. She kept Rita Skeeter in a jar for a year — in her unregistered Animagus form — when she wouldn't stop writing lies about me. Trust me. She would kill for this."
Kingsley stared at Harry, aghast.
"I fear I may have underestimated Miss Granger," Lucius said, raising one pale eyebrow.
"Oh, yes," Harry said, smiling. "But don't worry — everyone does."
"Do you know how many high-clearance Ministry job offers Miss Granger has received?" Kingsley asked, looking horrified. "You can't go around saying things like that."
"Not off the top of my head," Harry said cheerfully. "But I know she got one for your job, too."
Kingsley dropped his head into his hands. "Let's just get to those files," he said wearily. Harry grinned.
Kingsley wouldn't admit it, but Harry suspected he was enjoying a day out of his stuffy office.
Kingsley dug three copies of an employee roster from his breast pocket, handing Harry and Lucius each one. "Let's get started," he said.
They pulled the files of everyone on the employee roster and began flipping through them. They stacked anything that looked useful on the floor in the middle of the illuminated section. Some of the files only contained information that Kingsley either already knew or didn't care about, but there was a steadily growing stack of files beside him containing damning evidence that he'd be able to use against his more troublesome employees.
"Do you have everything you need?" Lucius asked some time later, when they'd been through all the files he deemed relevant.
Kingsley nodded. "I can't believe this is all here," he said, looking awed. "The sheer amount of information you've got here is staggering."
Lucius nodded, mouth quirking up into an amused smile. "It's one of the Malfoy family's most closely guarded secrets. I do not share it lightly."
Kingsley nodded. "I know. Now," he said, standing and dusting off his robes, "how do we get it out? Do we just walk out with it?"
Lucius shook his head. "Nothing leaves this room."
"But—"
He held up his hand. "Wait. I did not say you could not take it with you; only that it could not leave this room."
Harry stared at him, perplexed. Kingsley mirrored his expression.
Lucius' eyebrow quirked in obvious amusement. He took the folders they'd gathered and tapped the top of the stack with his wand, muttering something too quietly for Harry to hear. A second stack appeared beside the first. Lucius picked up the top folder from both stacks, flipped them open to show they were in fact identical, and then replaced them, taking care not to mix them up.
He tapped the stack of copies, shrinking it, and then produced a small hinged case that he stuck the tiny stack of folders into. He handed this to Harry.
"Insurance," he said, by way of explanation. "It goes with us to Grimmauld Place, and with us to — and from — the Ministry."
Kingsley groaned. "I knew you'd have a trick up your sleeve. Fine. But I expect you to bring it with you to my office regularly. I'll have to come up with an excuse for us to meet."
"We should discuss that over lunch," Lucius said, guiding them out the door to the vault, spelling it closed behind them. "We're running low on time, and they take the limits very seriously here."
"Lunch?" Kingsley asked, brows lifted. "And where is it that we'll be eating?"
"At the Rose and Lily."
Kingsley looked skeptical. "You have to make reservations years in advance there."
"Luckily, the Malfoys have long maintained a standing reservation. It should still be valid." Then he paused.
"It might," he said hesitantly, "be better if I appear to be in your custody, Minister. The restaurant employees are discreet, but some of the patrons might not be."
Kingsley looked at Harry, who shrugged. He was feeling very much not in control of the situation, he thought, as they followed Lucius to the door.
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"Those were reporters," Kingsley said under his breath as the severe-looking attendant ushered them into the Rose and Lily. His eyebrows lowered. "If this is a trick, Lucius..."
Lucius chafed his bound wrists as if they itched. "No trick. There are always reporters there. As you said, it is a very exclusive restaurant. The chances of glimpsing a celebrity or two are high, so many reporters make it their business to be here."
Harry had turned back to glance at the reporters gathered in a small knot across the street; now he turned back around, hoping none of them had got a good look at him. He hated publicity.
Trying to forget his unease, he glanced around the restaurant. Small tables were scattered about the room with far more space between them than he was used to. Each table was encased in a shimmering bubble, obscuring its occupants' faces. He could hear the clinking and scraping of utensils against china, but no conversation. It would have been eerie, if not for the faint strains of piano music filtering through the perfumed air.
The usher had shown a remarkable level of restraint, not even batting an eyelash when faced with a standing reservation being claimed by a former Death Eater in custody of the British Minister for Magic and Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. After checking Lucius' credentials, he'd called the manager to show them personally to their table.
Harry wondered, as they followed the manager, if it would actually be possible to find a more unlikely group of such notoriety.
The manager was a small man with dark hair and a meticulously groomed moustache. He was thoroughly intimidating in an impeccable charcoal pin-striped suit with a red silk handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. He bowed obsequiously to each of them (Harry rather thought he couldn't decide which of them was most important) and indicated that they should follow him.
As they were led through the front dining room, Harry gawked at the golden chandeliers glistening above them and the sumptuous velvet cushions on the small sofas scattered about the edges of the room. Most of the tables were filled, he saw, with elegantly dressed couples drinking and talking within their bubbles.
Harry looked down at his own outfit with a grimace. He'd considered it serviceable when they'd started the day, but the worn jeans, red jumper, and scuffed trainers stood out among the suits and gowns of the restaurant's other patrons.
Of course, he was the only one of them that looked out of place. Lucius wore black Muggle dress pants and a grey button-up shirt. Kingsley had worn tan Muggle dress pants and a blue button-up shirt under his trench coat. They both blended in seamlessly with the other patrons. Harry scowled at the paintings lining the walls, their gilded frames sparkling in the light of the chandelier overhead.
He felt his trainers sinking into the plush carpet that ran between the tables, deadening their footsteps as they passed table after table, following the manager through a door marked private and into a smaller room containing a single square table.
"This is a private room, reserved for our most exclusive patrons," the manager said as they seated themselves at the polished wooden table. "It is surrounded with the strongest silencing charms available, which will keep out the noise from the other diners and keep everything said in this room confidential."
He indicated a small metal disk in the centre of the table. "Tap this with your wand and it will summon me; I am completely at your disposal." He paused. "If you are ready to place your drink orders, I will take them now."
Kingsley picked up the wine list, then glanced at the clock on the wall and set it down with a small sigh. "We should probably stick to water," he said regretfully.
The manager nodded and tapped the disk with his wand; three glasses of water and a steaming basket of crusty bread appeared in front of them.
"I'll leave you to select your meals," he said. "Simply tap to summon me when you are ready to place your order."
Lucius thanked him, and the manager bowed and departed, leaving the three of them staring at one another.
"I can't say I've ever eaten anywhere quite like this," Kingsley said, impressed despite himself.
Lucius smirked. "Wait until you taste the food."
"What do you recommend, Lucius?" Kingsley asked after glancing at his menu. "I concede I'm rather out of my depth here."
Lucius considered the question. "Emincé de veau zurichoise. It's a wonderful veal dish served with a cream sauce. It isn't the Rose and Lily's most well-known dish, but it is my favourite."
Harry wrinkled his nose. He wasn't sure he liked veal, and he'd heard plenty of lectures from Hermione on how cruel it was. He stared at his menu, frustrated, willing himself to recognise something. But it was pointless — the menu remained incomprehensible. He let it flop to the table with a frustrated sigh.
"Harry?" Lucius asked.
Harry felt his face heat. "I, er, don't know French. And I don't want veal," he added quickly.
Lucius tapped the corner of the menu, and the words converted into English. Harry's face relaxed and he breathed a sigh of relief, slumping into his chair. He scanned it, settling on the least exotic-sounding dish: Lobster Alfredo with shrimp poppers.
Once they'd sent the manager off with their order, Kingsley frowned and said, "All those other diners who saw us enter — they'll expect us to be discussing something important."
"As we shall," Lucius replied. "They'll assume that you're here to talk to Harry about one of the many Ministry job offers he's received. Which you are. They don't need to know it's not all you're here to talk about."
"There will be questions," Kingsley warned, "There are bound to be people who question your presence here with me and Harry."
Lucius shrugged. "And you can tell them that I am indebted to Harry for saving myself and my family, and that I have agreed to act as his assistant in payment."
"I don't need an assistant—" Harry protested, thinking that the title ought to belong to Hermione, whenever she returned.
Kingsley snorted. "You will. You'll have to actually do something if the three of us are to continue meeting."
Lucius nodded in agreement.
"Hey, don't I get a say?" Harry asked crossly, beginning to feel very much out of his depth.
"No," Lucius and Kingsley said simultaneously. They considered one another for a moment, then Kingsley continued. "You'll need to take more of a public role in speaking events and the like, if this is going to work."
"But I can't—"
"I'll help you," Lucius interrupted. "You can. You haven't been taught how. Yet."
Harry groaned, staring down at his hands as if they could get him out of this situation.
He was saved by the arrival of their food; the table was quiet for some time as they all focused on their meals. Harry was startled when his first bite of shrimp actually popped in his mouth, and both Kingsley and Lucius chuckled at his startled expression.
"You could have warned me," he grumbled, but he couldn't hold on to his irritation. Once he'd gotten used to the popping, the shrimp were delicious.
They ate in silence, savoring their food. Eventually, Kingsley leaned back, patting his stomach. "Lucius, I have to say that was the most delicious meal I've eaten in quite some time. Granted much of that time has been eating sandwiches at my desk, but even so.
"Now, what shall I get my wife as an apology? Jewels?" He frowned. "Though I'm not sure she needs any."
Lucius patted his mouth with his napkin. "Jewels are always a good apology, but no. I have a better idea. I propose we get you a vacation." He paused, considering. "Well, we probably can't manage a proper vacation, but we can at least get you the weekend, and occasional weeknight dinners with your wife. Possibly even breakfasts."
Kingsley's eyebrows shot up. "And how exactly do you propose to do that?"
Lucius smiled a razor-sharp smile. "By having Harry here help you with those towers of paperwork. Think about it. You can invite him to 'shadow' you, introduce him to what it would be like working in the Ministry. Then you can let him handle all the mundane little tasks that eat up your time, leaving you free to handle the important things. Since I have to be with him at all times, I can offer my assistance as well."
Kingsley stared at him. "That's why you wanted us to eat here. You wanted us to be seen."
Lucius dipped one shoulder in acknowledgement. "Partially. I happen to like this restaurant, and it's been far too long since I've been able to visit it. In fact, if you don't mind the wait, I'd like to take a few things back for Narcissa and Draco." He paused. "But, yes, I did consider the possibility of us being seen together, yes. If asked you can — quite truthfully — say that you took Harry out to discuss his options for his career, and invited him to shadow you to get some first-hand experience to help him in his decision. I will be there acting as his assistant."
Kingsley shook his head, wordless, as he considered. Finally he nodded. "Fine. We'll give it a shot. If you can get him to cooperate," he said to Lucius, nodding to Harry "then this might work. Now, I need to get home to the Missus before she has the Aurors out looking for me."
Lucius glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. "Our return Portkey is scheduled for a little over an hour from now. Why don't we order dessert, and then you can tell Harry about some of his career options. He needs to be seen considering them. That way none of us will have to lie when asked about it."
Kingsley nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. I don't think I have room for dessert though."
Harry looked up hopefully. "Do they have treacle tart?" It had been ages since he'd had any, and he suddenly craved the sticky sweetness coating his tongue. He felt a sudden stab of regret that he'd not returned to Hogwarts for a final year. At Lucius' amused nod, he grinned widely in anticipation.
He dug in happily when the tart arrived, and Kingsley leaned back, propping his hands on his stomach. "Did you get an offer from the Department of Mysteries?" he asked Harry.
Harry nodded, pausing to suck treacle from his spoon. "Hermione said we'd each got one from every major department. She'd never even heard of some of them."
"Well," Kingsley said, "The Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries work on top secret projects, many of which even I am unaware of. The job would involve a great deal of secret keeping, which you have shown yourself to be adept at. And— " Kingsley stopped talking abruptly when Harry shook his head.
"Having the Malfoys living at my house is the last secret I'm keeping, Kingsley. I'm done keeping secrets," Harry said firmly.
Kingsley nodded in understanding. "All right. How about the British and Irish Quidditch League? The Head of, I should think. Not as a player."
Harry tilted his head to the side, considering as Kingsley explained what his duties would be. He continued eating his tart.
"How does that sound?" Kingsley asked.
Harry shrugged. "It sounds okay, I guess."
"What about the Apparition Test Centre?"
Harry grimaced. "Er, I never actually got my Apparition license."
Kingsley snorted in amusement. "Yes, Harry, I know. Just about everyone in the Ministry knows." He shook his head. "I've been asked to request that you take the test, since everyone else is afraid to."
"Oh," Harry said. "I suppose I'd better do that, then. What else is there?"
"Well, there's the Department of Magical Creatures. The International Confederation of Wizards— "
"Absolutely not," Harry said grimly.
Kingsley sighed. "You'd be an excellent candidate. Really, you're the only one who could possibly replace Dumbledore."
"No," Harry said. "What else?"
"Well, there's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts."
Harry looked up, properly interested for the first time. "That's where Arthur works."
Kingsley nodded. "Yes. It's also one of the less-desired posts within the Ministry."
"Do any of those sound like a good fit for you?" Lucius asked, head tilted as he considered Harry.
Harry shrugged. "A couple of them, yeah, I guess."
"It would be prudent to accept one of the offers," Lucius said. "Or at least express an interest. It would do much to explain our presence in the Ministry."
Harry nodded. "I need to think about it."
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When they arrived back in front of the tea shop, Kingsley nodded at them. "Harry. Malfoy — I'm surprised to say that it's been a pleasure."
Lucius smiled and extended his hand. "Likewise, Minister." They shook, and then Kingsley made his way down the street, shaking his head in bemusement.
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"Oh good, you're back," Narcissa said, the moment Harry and Lucius returned from their outing. "I need assistance with something, if you'd be so kind."
Harry groaned. He hadn't realised it at the time, but the day had been longer than he was used to and now he felt exhaustion crashing down on him. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. His left leg twinged.
Narcissa looked at him then, and frowned at whatever she saw. "Perhaps you should rest, Harry, dear, you don't look well at all. This can wait."
"Thanks," he said weakly as he dragged himself toward the stairs, wondering if he'd be able to make it to bed before his leg gave out. There was no way he'd be up for cleaning the next day. He downed his medication, making a mental note to ask Narcissa for more of her potion in the morning. He could feel the migraine sneaking up on him, ready to pounce.
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When he'd first moved in — and, truthfully, until the Malfoys had arrived — the house had felt like an empty shell, devoid of life and falling to ruin. But since the Malfoys' arrival, and since he and Narcissa had begun the task of cleaning the house, it had seemed almost as if it was waking up.
Harry could feel it, though it took him a while to realise it. As they got further into the cleaning, he found himself reaching out a hand to splay on the wall, tracing his finger along the walls and catching on the doorframes, running his hand lovingly down the bannister. A thousand tiny caresses.
Narcissa did it too, he'd noticed.When he asked her about it she smiled.
"I told you: the house is alive. We're waking it up."
Harry didn't know what to think about that. It sounded sinister - but it didn't feel sinister. He kept doing it, though, and soon noticed himself doing it even more.
And sometimes — sometimes he thought he felt a soft thrumming in response, though he wasn't sure whether it was the house he was feeling or just the pulse of blood in his fingertips. Or both.
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"Narcissa," Harry said, as they made breakfast one morning, "Why did you say we couldn't use magic to clean the House?" Something Lucius had said in passing was bothering him, now, just out of reach.
She looked away. "It's not that you can't use magic, exactly. I wasn't entirely forthright with you. It's that the house needed to get a sense of you — of Harry Potter, the person, without your magic." She paused, furrowing her brows, as if searching for the best way to explain.
"Think of it like training a horse. Before a horse knows you, knows the saddle, it is skittish. You must first gain its trust, let it come to know you. Then you teach it first to bear a blanket, then to bear a saddle, then to bear a rider. Mastering a House is, in many ways, very much like mastering a horse."
"Now the house knows you — you can feel it, can you not? — And so everything we do from now on can be done, for the most part, by magic."
Harry frowned, confused. "Did Lucius have to do all this when he inherited the Manor? It sounded like he didn't, from what he said."
Narcissa shook her head. "When Lucius inherited Malfoy Manor, he'd been living there his whole life. The house knew him already, knew his magic and knew his essence. His bloodline had owned the Manor for centuries, and it hadn't been left to fall to ruin, as this house was. So it didn't need the intensive cleaning and repair work we're doing here." She reached out and patted the shelf next to her fondly.
"All Lucius had to do was travel the house from top to bottom and claim it as his own. The house knew him, and allowed itself to be claimed." She smiled at Harry.
"The house knows you, now, but it does not yet know your magic. Nor is it ready to be claimed by its new master. So the next task that falls to us is to travel this house, every inch, and use your magic to repair it. Only then will you be able to truly claim it. And this house needs to be claimed. It yearns to have a master again, to be whole."
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As Harry saw the flash of Draco's pale hair outside the room he and Narcissa were working in the next morning, his frustration bubbled over. He threw down his rag and turned on Narcissa.
"Why is he not helping? Even Lucius is working, doing wonders with the garden. And helping me, with Kingsley. And it's not like he doesn't limp sometimes, too. Surely Malfoy could do something!"
Narcissa sighed. "Again, it's not my story to tell."
"Well he's certainly not telling it," Harry grumbled. But he picked up his rag and went back to scrubbing.
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"Malfoy!" he yelped, startled, as he windmilled his arms for balance. Then he glared. "What are you doing here? And for Merlin's sake, why haven't you been helping your mother and I clean the house? What are you doing up there that's so damn important?"
Malfoy sneered at him. "It's not my house, Potter. Why should I force myself to work through the pain?"
"Your father is in pain and he helps!" Harry said, gritting his teeth as all the weeks of pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface. "I'm in pain — Hell, your mother is in pain, and you don't see her complaining. So what gives you a free pass?"
Malfoy snarled and startled Harry by lashing out with Legilimency. Harry couldn't shield, having learned nothing from Snape, but his stubborn incompetence combined with the basic knowledge of Occlumency that had stuck in his brain and created a sort of half-shield. Malfoy's attack partially rebounded off of it, throwing them into one another's heads.
Harry was shuffled rapidly from one bad memory to another as he tried to stay afloat in the frothing sea of Malfoy's mind, struggling to shove Malfoy out of his head and return himself to it.
Finally, they managed to come back to themselves, gasping for breath, each reeling from what he'd seen.
"Bloody hell Potter," Malfoy whispered, "You died? You lived in a fucking cupboard? And you're in that much pain?" He stared at Harry, eyes wide and horrified, cheeks flushed.
"You're one to talk." Harry shot back. "I knew you'd been through most of that with Voldemort but... Merlin, Malfoy. I had no idea he was that fond of Crucio. He tortured you. And you blame fucking magic?"
Malfoy paled, then snarled; Harry laughed.
"Your mind is like a bloody inkpot, Malfoy. Could your thoughts be any darker?"
"Yes, well. I didn't see very much light in your memories either, Potter. I don't see how you ever learned to cast a Patronus."
They looked away from one another, scowling, as their energy ebbed. The silence stretched between them, tense and awkward.
Harry sighed, turned back, and held out his hand. "Truce?"
Malfoy eyed his hand with suspicion for a moment before saying, "Yeah, OK," like it was an inconvenient concession. He reached out and hesitantly shook Harry's hand, the barest press of fingers.
"Stay out of my head, Potter," he added, turning away. His fists were clenched, his back held rigid in the tense silence.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You stay out of mine, then, and I shouldn't react instinctively like that. I don't even know what the hell I did."
Malfoy whirled. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
Harry held out his hands, palms up. "Stay out of my head, Malfoy, and I'll stay out of yours."
He backed away, hand grasping behind him for his doorknob. They stared at one another as he opened it and backed through, shutting it against Malfoy's scowl. He leaned against it for a moment, willing the trembling in his hands to stop and for his feet to remember how to move.
He could feel a headache lurking at the back of his mind, pulsing threateningly behind his right eye. He looked longingly at his bed, wondering what Narcissa would say if he didn't turn up for dinner. There was nothing that he had to do the rest of the day, after all. He was an adult now; he could go to sleep in the middle of the afternoon if he wanted.
So he did.