House arrest

**Chapter Four: Unspoken Words**

The days that followed felt… different. Not in a grand, earth-shattering way, but in a subtle shift that Draco couldn’t quite place. It was like the air had lightened in Grimmauld Place, though the house itself had not changed. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the tension that had once hung thick between him and Harry was beginning to ease—bit by bit.

It wasn’t perfect. In fact, far from it. Their conversations were still curt, and Draco often found himself avoiding Harry’s gaze whenever they crossed paths. But there was a quiet understanding between them now. Harry wasn’t pushing, but he wasn’t backing away either. It was as if the space between them had become a kind of truce.

It started with small gestures. One morning, Draco found Harry leaving a plate of toast on the table for him, with a cup of tea sitting beside it. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for Draco, who had grown accustomed to his own solitary, self-reliant existence, it felt foreign—uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Eat something,” Harry had said, without looking at him, his tone as neutral as always. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.”

Draco said nothing. He didn’t need to. But for the first time in days, he sat down, ate the toast, and drank the tea. Harry hadn’t asked him to. But it seemed like he was… trying.

And in some strange way, Draco found himself trying too.

---

It was three weeks into Draco’s house arrest when Hermione came to visit. Harry had sent an owl, informing her that Draco was settled in, but even so, he could see the concern in her eyes as she arrived at Grimmauld Place.

“Harry,” Hermione greeted him with a brief hug before turning her attention to Draco, who was standing stiffly by the fireplace. “Draco.”

"Granger," Draco said, almost as though he were growling the name. He hadn't quite figured out how to be around Hermione, but he was beginning to realize that she wasn’t as eager to make him feel like a complete pariah as he had initially assumed.

Hermione smiled, though it was more out of politeness than genuine warmth. “How’s it going, Draco? Is everything… tolerable?”

“Tolerable,” Draco echoed, his lips curling slightly at the corners. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on things at the Ministry,” Hermione continued, her tone shifting to something more businesslike. “There’s still a lot of paperwork, but they’re looking into who’s being assigned to oversee the ex-Death Eaters. I’ve got some connections there, and I’m making sure things go smoothly.” She paused, her eyes flicking to Draco, as though weighing something in her mind. “The last thing I want is for anyone to get into trouble.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel a spark of resentment. “I’m not going to break any more laws, Granger,” he said sharply. “I’m not the one who needs ‘keeping an eye on.’”

Hermione held up her hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to make sure things are fair. You’ve been through enough, haven’t you?”

That struck a chord. Draco froze for a moment, the unspoken weight of his past pressing down on him. *Enough?* he thought. Had he really been through enough? His family had been torn apart, and he had to live with the knowledge of the part he had played in the war. No, he didn’t think he’d ever *had enough*.

“I don’t need your pity, Granger,” he muttered.

“I’m not pitying you,” Hermione said with a surprising firmness, meeting his gaze directly. “I’m *helping* you. Whether you want it or not.”

Draco didn’t respond, but Harry’s soft chuckle from the other side of the room interrupted the awkward tension.

“Relax, Malfoy,” Harry said, his tone playful, though there was still an edge to it. “Hermione’s not going to start a crusade to get you out of house arrest. She just wants to make sure you’re not doing anything stupid.”

Draco shot him a glare, but Harry just grinned, and for a moment, it was almost like the two of them were on the same team. Draco didn’t know how he felt about that, but it was a strange sensation, one he couldn’t quite shake.

---

As the days passed, Draco found himself thinking more and more about what Harry had said—about the possibility of *figuring things out together*. The very idea had seemed absurd at first, but now it lingered in the back of his mind. Could they really work together? Could he actually *change*?

The thought was terrifying. Draco had spent most of his life living in the shadow of his family’s expectations, of trying to prove his worth through power and status. He hadn’t known what it was like to just… be, to exist without constantly battling against the world.

One evening, as the sky turned dark outside the grimy windows of Grimmauld Place, Harry called him into the small sitting room where they had spent many silent evenings.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice steady but serious. “We need to talk.”

Draco didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t need to be told what had to be said. He was sure Harry was about to lay out some sort of expectation, or perhaps some lesson about the “right” thing to do. Harry Potter had always been the one who thought he had the answers.

“I’m not going back to the life I had before,” Draco said, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’m not going to play the perfect little reformed Death Eater for the Ministry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, his gaze calm but unwavering. “That’s not what I was going to say,” he replied.

Draco faltered. “Then what?”

Harry’s expression softened, and for the first time in weeks, there was something close to warmth in his eyes. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just… asking you to try. I’m not going to expect you to forgive yourself overnight. I’m not going to expect you to fix everything at once. But you *can* change, Draco. Even if you don’t believe it yet.”

Draco swallowed. He hadn’t expected that. His gaze fell to the floor, his fists clenched at his sides as the weight of Harry’s words settled over him.

“Do you really think I can change?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s answer was simple, but it struck him harder than anything else had.

“I think you want to. And that’s enough.”

---

The next few weeks became a slow unraveling of everything Draco had once thought was true. As the walls between him and Harry continued to shrink, Draco found himself questioning more and more of what he’d believed in. Harry’s unwavering patience was infuriating—and yet, there was something about it that made Draco begin to see himself differently.

One night, after a long day of awkward silence and occasional conversation, Draco found himself sitting alone in the library, staring at a book of history he’d never really cared about before. But now, the words seemed to take on a new meaning. The idea of *change*, of *redemption*, was starting to make sense in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

When Harry entered the room quietly, Draco didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

“What are you reading?” Harry asked softly.

Draco let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering, his voice almost absent. “A history of the wizarding world. You know, the stuff we never had to care about growing up. It’s… different, when you actually look at it.”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “Yeah. It’s amazing how much of it we missed, isn’t it?”

Draco didn’t respond immediately, his mind still spinning. But finally, he looked up, meeting Harry’s gaze with something like quiet acceptance.

“Maybe I don’t know everything. Maybe I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”

Harry smiled faintly. “It’s a start.”

And for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy didn’t feel entirely lost.