Ingredients from a Cupboard
"I think that I want to hear about how father died."
It was around one in the morning and Harry was more than halfway to falling asleep for the night when Draco shuffled out of his bedroom looking like a kicked puppy and sat down on the edge of Harry's transfigured sofa bed, eyes cast to the floor.
Harry sat up promptly, hand reaching blindly for his glasses, all of his attention turned to Draco.
"Okay... What brought this on?"
Draco remained silent for a long while, and Harry wondered if going to him was Draco's first or even second idea. It had been eight days since Harry had gone to him with the news, and Draco had not asked about it once until now.
"I..." Draco's voice died out for a moment. "I just want to know," he bit in a whisper, turning his head slightly towards Harry. His chest was heaving. "I'm his last living relative, aren't I? I deserve to know."
Harry could swear that, in the reflection of the moonlight, he could see that Draco's eyes were red, puffy, and glossed over with a film of tears. It was at that moment that Harry realised the fragility of the situation. He decided to tread carefully, lest he scare Draco back into his room for a week with only the sound of him locking his door dozens of times as a sign of life.
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"...Where was he found... How was he found... Was he already dead when you arrived...?"
"Okay... before I say anything, are you sure you want to hear this at one in the morning?"
Draco took a deep breath, seeming agitated. However, he paused.
"Just... just tell me. Where was he found?"
Harry took a deep breath. Of all of the murders, Lucius' was the most gruesome, and he didn't quite enjoy the idea of telling Draco all about it.
"He was found at Malfoy Manor."
Draco nodded, his eyes still directed toward the floor. He took another deep breath.
“Okay. Okay, that’s-“
“He was the first one to get killed inside his own home. Everyone else including you was taken to a separate location.”
“Oh.”
The room fell silent, and Harry cringed as he remembered the sight of Malfoy Manor that day. It was difficult enough for him to stomach, he was thinking it wasn’t best to give Draco too many details.
“How- er… what was done to him?”
Harry hesitated. “A lot.”
“I want to know,” said Draco.
“It was… really a lot, Draco-“
“Was it the same as me? …Astoria?” The atmosphere took on a sombre tone, and Harry’s heart squeezed in his chest.
“It… not exactly. But no two murders have been executed the same, except-“
“Except what?” Draco had snapped his head in Harry’s direction now, red puffy eyes on full display. Harry stilled. Shit.
“Tell me, Potter.”
“Er, well…” Harry motioned up and down his left arm. And before he could put it into words, Draco looked down to his own left arm, deflating. His right hand ghosted over the area where the dark mark is, Harry remembered seeing two long scars. He put his hand down.
“Oh.”
Draco turned to the floor again, and Harry was wondering why now, of all times, Draco was so curious to know.
“He, uhm…” It wasn’t pretty. Harry decided not to finish that statement.
“What else was there?”
‘Draco…”
“Don’t I have a legal right to know?” Draco snapped. “I want to know. Stop tiptoeing around the subject as though I were a child-”
“I never implied that you were a child-”
“Then tell me.”
Draco was electric, and Harry could only feel stunned by the whole thing. He took a deep breath, wiping at his face and adjusting to sit more comfortably in the bed.
“He was strung up.”
Draco glanced at Harry. Harry steeled himself, then continued.
“He… we found him hanging from the ceiling. And… his-” Harry paused. Reimagining it was making his stomach turn.
“Well, he was kind of…” Harry struggled to put it lightly. He began making motions with his hands, avoiding seeing Draco’s expression. “Opened up. He- his entire torso, just… down the middle. And…” He made a spilling motion with his hands. “He- I hadn’t… everything-” Harry stopped, forcing himself to breathe and stop stuttering and stumbling over his words. He started over.
“All of his innards were just, hanging. He- there was a puddle of blood beneath him, I… It was terrible.”
Draco was still sitting there, perfectly still, eyes on the floor. It was as though Harry had been speaking to a wall, and he was worried that he had gone too far. Harry half wanted to ask how their relationship had been since the war, but he knew he’d be prying if he did ask. Draco spoke after a long pause.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “You’re welcome,” was all that he could say.
Draco stood up abruptly, and Harry got the impression that he wanted to be alone. He nodded curtly before turning on his heel and walking back to his bedroom.
—-------
The next few days were difficult for both of them. Draco seemed lost and Harry didn't know how to make him feel better. He would stop by his room every so often, but Draco would always avoid eye contact or say something curt before retreating back to his bedroom.
On the fifth day, Draco came out of his bedroom without Harry having had to knock and walked into the living room, where Harry was lying on the couch.
"Potter."
Harry looked up from the book he was reading. Draco had his hands in his pockets and his head down, and there was an air of defeat about him.
"Draco."
"May I speak with you for a moment?"
Harry nodded and set his book down, gesturing for Draco to take a seat. Draco did not sit.
"I want to go to church tomorrow."
Harry nodded.
"Okay."
"You will take me."
"Just like I did last time, yeah."
Harry looked up at Draco, whose expression was of steel.
"How has it been, catching my assailant?"
Draco's voice was cool and devoid of any emotion. He sounded distant. It made Harry wonder what he could be thinking behind that mask.
"It's not been easy. I'm sorry."
"Hm." Draco didn't respond beyond that. Harry spoke again.
"What're you thinking?"
"Oh, nothing. Why is it difficult?"
"Oh," Harry responded, not expecting Draco to have asked that. "Well, he has been simultaneously making a show of all of his murders and also keeping everything we could use to identify him under wraps. We're basically looking at what we know and trying to make semi-accurate guesses." Harry sighed, the weight of everything coming back to him.
"And your Auror friends haven't made any revelations?"
"Mordecai helps at scenes and with filing."
"And Weasley?"
Harry looked up at Draco, hesitant.
"We haven't spoken in a few weeks."
"Well, that's not very professional of you."
"He would tell me if he got something new. He's wracking his brain over all of the same information that I am."
Draco remained silent, then went over to his bookshelf to retrieve his recipe book. Harry watched as he flicked his fingers across the pages, searching for something to make (for tomorrow’s service, no doubt). Harry felt the slightest of tugs at the corner of his mouth.
He found himself wanting to know more. When did he start making desserts? Why does he like it? Which one is his favourite? What inspired him to contribute to the church in such a kind and wholesome way? These thoughts began swirling around in his mind and he didn’t stop to consider why he was becoming so vested in Draco Malfoy. Without thinking, he walked up to him in the kitchen while taking ingredients out of his cupboard.