Chapter 13
“Oh brilliant, I’m starving,” Ron said as he swapped the bag of curries, rice and naan from Harry’s hand with his gurgling black-haired godson.
“Hiya Teddy,” Harry greeted, whooshing him through the air. The infant made grabby hands towards the food. “Sorry, love, you’re too little for that. But we’ll have lots of curry when you’re older,” Harry promised.
They made their way into the living room, and Ron started to unpack the food, summoning some cutlery from the kitchen.
Malfoy looked up in surprise. “We’re eating in here? Why? You have a perfectly good dining table in the kitchen.”
Ron groaned as he stretched out on the floor. “But I’m comfortable here,” he complained. “And the kitchen is so far away.”
“I’ve never eaten on the floor before,” Malfoy said absently.
Harry shrugged. “We can move to the kitchen if you’d be more comfortable,” he suggested, ignoring Ron’s incredulous look.
Malfoy blinked, looking at Harry with surprise. “No, this is good,” he said quietly.
Harry summoned a few glasses and the elvish wine from the kitchen wordlessly. Hermione raised an eyebrow as he poured but said nothing.
“Did you know elvish wine changes into whatever best suits the meal?” Malfoy said conversationally, clearly feeling a touch uncomfortable.
Hermione nodded. “The brewing process is fascinating – nothing like muggle wine,” she commented.
Malfoy took his glass and sniffed it. “Dry Riesling.” He glanced at Harry. “Potter, I know you’re probably the richest seventeen-year-old in the wizarding world, but you should know that elvish wine goes for an awful amount of money. It’s probably not appropriate to waste it on take-out,” he drawled.
Harry’s cheeks lit up. He’d only been trying to impress Malfoy and he didn’t have any wine in the house. Malfoy didn’t strike Harry as a beer person.
Before Harry could … apologise? defend his decision?, Hermione smiled and raised her glass. “True, but we’re celebrating. Harry got his dream job, and you’re having your very first meal on a living room floor,” she said drily.
Malfoy laughed. “That’s true. Cheers to us,” he said, clinking his glass with Harry’s. “Salut!”
Harry swallowed. “Cheers,” he said, blushing. After a beat, he turned to Hermione. “How do you say cheers in Hindi?” he asked.
To his surprise, Malfoy answered. “People just say ‘cheers’, from memory. Sometimes people offer some of their drink to their ancestors, by pouring a small amount into something natural nearby. Like a plant, a flowerpot, fire, or something.”
“How do you know that?” Harry asked curiously. “Have you been to India?”
Malfoy shrugged. “No, but most pureblood children learn how to drink in other cultures, especially if they are the cultures of the other Sacred 28. As your elf said, the Malfoys and Potters have always been neighbours. It is only natural that the Potters would learn a bit of French and the Malfoys would learn a bit of Hindi.”
“Oh,” Harry said, taken aback. “Sorry, I don’t know any French,” Harry admitted.
Malfoy looked at him strangely. “Of course you don’t. You weren’t raised by Potters. Why would you feel the need to apologise?”
“I have a question,” Hermione said abruptly. “Malfoy and Potter… Etymologically speaking, the names are very British.”
Malfoy nodded. “Traditionally, we were de Malfoie. The Potters were Purohit. I guess both families decided to anglicise when they moved to Britain.”
“Do you speak French at home?” Hermione asked curiously.
Malfoy paused. “We did when I was a child. Mother wanted me to be fluent in English before I got to Hogwarts, though, so I wasn’t allowed to after I turned 8 until I got my letter. I spoke French at home during my Hogwarts years, but erm… not at the end.”
Ron cleared his throat, clearly wanting to change the subject. “The Weasley’s are Australian,” he declared. “G’day mate,” he cried in an atrocious attempt at an Australian accent.
They laughed and Harry glanced at the bottle of wine, and poured a little in the cap. “Do I have to say anything?”
“Who do you want to toast?” Malfoy asked.
Harry shrugged. “My mum and dad I guess. And Sirius and Remus.”
“मेरी माँ और पिता और मेरे गॉडफादर सीरियस और रेमुस को,” Malfoy translated. “That’s definitely not fully correct, but it’s my best guess. I’m sure your elves will be able to speak Hindi better.”
Harry smiled. “It’s better than I could do,” he said, and turned to the fireplace. “मेरी माँ और पिता और मेरे गॉडफादर सीरियस और रेमुस को,” he repeated, wincing at his butchering of the language. He spilled the wine into the hearth. Nothing magical happened, but Harry’s heart lifted a bit, knowing that his parents were still with him. “Thank you,” he said quietly to Malfoy.
Several hours, three chess games, and two bottles of elvish wine later, Ron was on the floor roaring with laughter as Hermione shot-gunned a beer. Malfoy looked at her with thinly veiled disgust.
“How can you drink it like that?” Malfoy asked.
Ron shrugged. “You should see a shoey, mate,” he laughed in the same horrible accent as before, smacking Malfoy on the back.
Malfoy looked shocked but smiled slightly at Ron’s clear acceptance of his presence. Harry grinned. If Malfoy and Ron could get along, anything was possible.
“Alright,” Malfoy said wearily. “How do I ‘shotgun’ this?” he asked, picking up a can wearily.
Hermione laughed. “I thought you didn’t like beer.”
“I hate it. But, there’s no wine left, and your … technique seems to make the feral liquid go down faster.” Malfoy grimaced.
Hermione giggled, but dutifully showed Malfoy how to hold the bottle as she pierced it. “It creates an air bubble, see?” she asked. Trust Hermione to explain the science behind a drinking method.
Malfoy managed to down half of the can before he started spluttering. His eyes were bright as he looked at Harry. Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying, however, too distracted by the sight of Malfoy. He looked dishevelled, but in the best possible way, with flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and the first few buttons of his shirt undone, exposing his long neck.
“Hmm?” Harry said after a minute. Hermione was clicking her fingers in front of his face.
Malfoy laughed. It was the sound of honey again. “Honestly, Potter. It’s truly a wonder you paid enough attention to the Dark Lord in order to defeat him,” he drawled. He chucked a can at Harry. “It’s your turn.”
Harry frowned, looking at the can. He couldn’t help but think it probably wasn’t wise to drink this much the night before his first day at work.
“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy smirked at Harry’s hesitation. His voice was so familiar, and baited Harry in just the right way.
“You wish, Malfoy,” Harry said, although his voice had none of the bite it usually had. He turned the can on its side, pierced it, and tipped it up, swallowing the burning liquid quickly.
When he pulled away, Malfoy was staring at him with hooded eyes, but quickly blinked and looked away, as Ron cheered and Hermione suggested they play a card game.
The next morning, Harry woke up with the worst headache he’d ever had. For a moment, he forgot that Voldemort was dead and raised his mental shields, not wanting to let the bastard back into his head. “Ugh,” he groaned, realising it was simply a fierce hangover from the night before.
He was lying on the floor in his living room. Glancing up, he could see Malfoy peacefully asleep on the couch next to him. Harry moved so that he could see the blond better. He smiled in his sleep, and the forehead creases that Harry was so familiar with place had softened. His blond hair was in a messy bun again on the top of his head, but a few strands had fallen out of the tie and on to his face.
Harry held his breath as he gently brushed the pieces back with his finger. Malfoy stirred but didn’t wake.
Hermione walked in but paused in the doorway when she saw Harry. Harry blushed at her as he quickly stepped away from the couch.
She smiled and pulled Harry into a hug. “You know it doesn’t matter, right? I know some muggles don’t like it, but wizards and witches are generally accepting,” she murmured.
“I know,” Harry whispered, his cheeks still red. He wanted to deny it but knew it would be pointless. “Thanks ‘Mione. It’s Malfoy, though.”
“No offence, Harry, but you’ve been obsessed with him for forever. I could have told you when we were fifteen,” she grinned and dragged him into the kitchen, where Ron was buttering some toast.
Ron passed Harry a small bottle. “Fred and George’s hangover cure. It’ll sober you up in five minutes. Fair warning: it’s not pleasant.”
Harry grimaced, but downed it in one. Instantly, steam that smelled of stale booze started billowing out of his ears and nose, a bit like pepper-up potion. It was far worse, however, and felt like his brain was falling out of his head. “Five minutes of this?” he cried.
“Yeah. Better than Jiggers’ for sure, but still not fantastic. George and I are working on it,” Ron said. Hermione and Ron resumed their conversation on their plans for the day while Harry waited for the potion to finish.
When the horrible sensation stopped, his headache had completely vanished, his mouth tasted like peppermint, and his teeth felt clean. Harry felt a lot better. “Thanks, Ron. You guys are going into Diagon Alley?” he asked curiously.
Ron nodded. “George asked me to go to the flat and pack it all up. He’s going to move back in there with Lee, but doesn’t want all the reminders, you know?” He glanced down at his toast, furiously blinking.
“I’m going with him,” Hermione said, correctly interpreting Harry’s concerned face. “We’ll do it together.”
Harry nodded. “I don’t know how long this thing with the Aurors will take, but I’ll come afterwards.”
“Sorry, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled from the doorway. “But you’ve just gotten an owl from Kingsley, Potter. He needs you this afternoon.”
Harry sighed, but nodded wearily. “Did he say what we’ll be doing?”
Malfoy swallowed. “Erm, you need to help with interrogations,” he said quietly, instantly dropping his aristocratic tone.
Hermione visibly shuddered. “I’m sorry, Harry. That won’t be fun,” she commented.
“Won’t be fun for the death eater, either,” Ron muttered. “Dad told me about the interrogations. It sounds awful.”
Malfoy sat down next to Harry. “It was,” he said quietly. “But nothing less than what was deserved,” he said with determination.
“You’re not like the rest of them, Malfoy,” Harry said fiercely. “You were a child.”
“We all were. You didn’t try to kill the leader of the light side,” Malfoy said darkly. He cleared his throat. “Did I hear something about a hangover cure?” he asked brightly, attempting to change the subject. “I should really be getting back to mother.”
Malfoy downed the potion proffered by Ron. Smoke blew out of the blond’s ears, but, somehow, he still managed to look dignified. When the potion’s effects seemed to have dissipated, he nodded his thanks and rose from the table. “Well, I can’t say I ever thought I’d be getting drunk and eating Indian with the Golden Trio, but it was actually quite enjoyable,” he drawled.
“Malfoy – “Harry grabbed the sleeve of Malfoys arm but paused, not sure what to say. “Your mother – she grew up here, yes?”
The wizard arched an eyebrow but nodded once.
“Do you think it’d be good for her if she moved in here?” Harry asked in a rush. “It’s just because, well, Hermione, Ron and I are moving into the manor, and you mentioned you’re in a safe house. And technically this is your mum’s home. Also, I’m worried that Kreacher will go mental if he’s not serving anybody…” Harry trailed off, realising he’d been rambling.
Malfoy frowned and said nothing for a moment. “Are you aware, Potter, how many darke objects remain in this house?” he asked quietly.
Harry blinked. He had not thought those were going to be the next words out of Malfoy’s mouth – he’d imagined it was going to be more along the lines of ‘Fuck off, Potter.’ He shrugged. “I have no idea,” he answered truthfully.
“Thirty-seven,” Malfoy said shortly.
Harry frowned. He had thought that they had removed most of them in fifth year. “I understand. Dark magic is probably not fantastic for your mother’s recovery. I can have them removed, though.”
Malfoy frowned. “I- no, that’s not what I meant. Potter, you are aware that I and my mother, were death eaters?” he asked sardonically. “I assumed when you left me here unsupervised the other day that you had a momentary lapse in judgement. No, actually, I thought that you had left me on purpose and Aurors were waiting for me to seek out one of the objects. Are you telling me that you left an armed death eater, inside your house, which is home to several powerful dark objects, without a contingency plan?” he ranted.
Harry looked at him in surprise. “You thought I was testing you,” he said after a minute.
“Of course,” Malfoy said nonchalantly. “It’s what any sane person would do. Bloody Gryffindor,” he added the last bit under his breath.
“Well, did you?” Harry asked.
Malfoy looked up sharply.
“Did you?” Harry asked again. “Did you seek out the darke objects?”
Malfoy scoffed. “Do you think I’d tell you if I had?” he challenged.
Harry shrugged. “Can I trust you?” he asked quietly. It came out gruffer than he had meant it to, but one look into Malfoy’s wild eyes told him it was necessary. “Tell me. Can I trust you?” he asked again, but this time it was more of a demand.
Something shifted in the air. The magic that swirled around him didn’t feel like his usual out-of-control magic, although it still felt familiar. It felt older – almost ancient.
Malfoy gasped and fell to one knee. He lowered his eyes. “I did not seek out the darke objects, my lord,” Malfoy clearly wanted to stop talking there, but the magic in the air forced him to continue. “I don’t trust myself not to, though. I have always been drawn to the dark,” he added quietly after a minute.
The magic swirled around Harry for a moment. “I know.” The magic instantly settled. Harry and Malfoy were both left panting. Hermione and Ron jumped up from the table quickly.
“What the hell was that?” Ron asked.
Hermione swallowed thickly. “The life debt. Malfoy pledged his allegiance to Harry. Harry accidentally called on it when he ordered him to answer.”
Harry sat shakily on a seat. Malfoy was still kneeling. Harry ran a hand through his hair. “You can get up,” he said softly, unsure if the magic that compelled Malfoy to kneel needed his permission. Malfoy stood up slowly. “For the record, Malfoy, I am, too,” Harry said after a minute.
Ron snorted. “Understatement of the century. You’re like a niffler in Gringotts when it comes to dark magic.”
The tension in the room eased slightly, but Malfoy still looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt. “I didn’t mean to call on the life debt magic,” he said.
Malfoy smirked shakily. “I know. You’re too much of a Gryffindor.” He sighed as he sat down. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I expected it to happen sooner, actually. The magic is confused. I promised to help teach you the Old Ways, and I am, but I also pledged to be of service to you – instead I’ve mostly been telling you what to do.” He paused, and then added. “I’m also leaving out a particularly significant part of the Old Ways in my lessons, and the magic has noticed.”
At Harry’s confused look, Hermione explained softly. “The Dark Arts.”
“You telling me what to do is of service to me,” Harry said quietly.
Malfoy nodded. “And the magic understands that. Mostly. It doesn’t help that I insult you a lot.”
“But that’s just … what we do,” Harry said. “I insult you back.”
Malfoy nodded. “It’s okay, Potter. You’ll just need to boss me around sometimes so that the magic doesn’t get too cranky.” At Harry’s worried look, he rolled his eyes. “Just little things. Get me a cup of tea, Get me my coat.” Harry did not like the sound of that at all.
“I’ve been doing some research, actually,” Hermione piped up. Ron and Harry worked to hide their grins. Harry could have sworn he saw Malfoy’s lip twitch, too. “I think you’ll need to teach Harry some of the Dark Arts.”
Malfoy inhaled sharply and shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t control myself around Dark magic.”
To Harry’s surprise, Ron was the one who answered. “What if you were to just explain the theory bit of it? You don’t have to actually be near it. Like Umbridge’s Defence classes.”
“That- that might work, actually,” Malfoy said after a moment’s consideration. “I don’t like it, but the magic will certainly be easier to manage if I do.” He turned to Harry. “And- and if you can find a way to get rid of, or lock away the darke objects in this house, my mother and I will move here. It was a very kind offer, and I do think it would help settle her mind. Thank you.”
Harry nodded once. He turned to Ron. “Do you think Bill would be down for a bit of curse-breaking?”
Ron smirked. “Always.”
Half an hour later, Malfoy had disappeared through the floo, and Harry was holding a handful of green powder, nervously fingering the hem of his brand new auror robes (that had somehow appeared in his wardrobe yesterday) with his other hand. “The DMLE,” he said, not willing to face the crowds of that had been in the atrium the day before. "Good luck with the flat," he said to Ron before stepping into the flames.