Tied by Fate, Chapter Three -- The Order

[chesza]

Title: Tied by Fate
Author: Chesza
Category: Harry Potter
Genre: Slash/Romance/Drama
Rating: M
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: Everything you ever wanted to know about a Mage - well, not everything. Katya makes her first appearance, with some rather bad news.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sorry about the delay! It’s my fault - Writer’s Block. Anyway, over that. I want to send a million thank you’s to Jenny and Paris for their amazing beta skills - especially with this chapter as this was one of the more difficult chapters I had to write. They did a simply wonderful job on making it actually make sense and also, for correcting one major blunder on my part. Oops! I loff you guys. *glomps*

Of course, I also loff you readers. You guys are what keeps me going. Really. You guys and coffee. And H/D snogging. *drools* Enjoy, minna-chan!

<<*><*><*>>

Chapter Three - The Order

“Potter!” yelled an enraged voice from just outside Harry’s bedroom. “Potter! Get your fucking arse out here now!”

Harry blinked, furrowing his brow as he heard the blond stomping through the hallway, up towards his room. From the tone of his voice, he’d be willing to bet several galleons that the Slytherin was rightly pissed.Harry set down his Potions book and walked the few steps to the door, before opening it and -

“POTTER!!!”

-- getting his eardrums blown out by an irate blond. Harry winced and shook his head, trying to get the ringing out of his ears. “Yeah?” he asked in a pained voice.

Malfoy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care one bit that he was in danger of causing the Boy-Who-Lived to go deaf. He glowered into Harry’s eyes. “Get your fucking cousin away from me!”

Harry cocked his head to the side just a bit. “Dudley? What’s he done?” he asked curiously. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a single thing that Dudley could’ve done to Malfoy. The blond seemed to be perfectly healthy physically, and Dudley hardly had the intelligence to say anything too harsh for the wizard to handle.

Of course, Malfoy also didn’t seem to be in an “answering questions” sort of mood today. “Just get him away from me before I bloody hex him to fucking death!”

“Language, Malfoy,” Harry chided in amusement. “Anyway, you can’t do magic, remember? You’re still sixteen.”

Malfoy sneered. “Then I’ll fucking wring his fat, pudgy neck. Or, better yet, I’ll put his fucking hand through that blendy-thing and turn it into a rich hollandaise, before pouring it over his genitals and force-feeding it to him!”

The raven-haired boy instinctively positioned his hands so they were subtly covering his own parts, and cringed. “Really, Malfoy, must you be so graphic?” Trying to shake the nauseous feeling from the pit of his stomach, Harry asked, “What’d he do to you that’s got you so royally pissed off, anyway?”

“What’s he done to me?” Malfoy repeated rather hysterically. After a few seconds of staring Harry wildly in the eyes, he produced something resembling a shirt. In fact, it looked very similar to one of Malfoy’s silk black shirts that he’d bought from Diagon Alley, only it was now torn at the seams and a few buttons were missing.

“Erm…?”

Malfoy began wringing it in his hands. “He said it felt pretty against his skin. Pretty against his skin, Potter!”

Harry stumbled backwards a few steps. He could distinctly hear the glass of the portraits lined in the hallways shattering. As he looked in Malfoy’s eyes, a wave of fear swept over him. Malfoy’s eyes were glowing. Not bright with anger or glittering with malice, but actually glowing, the irises lined with a pulsating silver light. Harry noted vaguely that on Malfoy’s forearm, the dragon’s tail was lashing about violently.

It was a very frightening image indeed, and Harry wondered how in the hell the other wizard was managing it. Sure, when Harry felt particularly upset, weird things started happening, but to his knowledge, his eyes had never glowed.

“Erm…Malfoy? Maybe…maybe you’d better calm down?” he asked unsurely. “I mean, it’s not as if you don’t have other shirts - and if you’d like, we can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and get you another one.” Anything to calm the storm, Harry thought to himself, even if it meant going bankrupt.

The blond seemed to mull this over. Finally, he seemed to relax somewhat. In a flash of indignity, he balled up the shirt and threw it on the ground, stomping on it furiously. “Burn that for me, will you?” he growled as he stepped past Harry and sat down on the bed, practically burning holes into the wall.

Harry nodded numbly and picked up the discarded former shirt. He threw it into the waste-bin, and with an incantation, set it aflame. Seconds later, he extinguished it with another spell. After a moment or two, he looked back at Malfoy to find the boy sitting tensely, his eyes still glowing but instead of pulsating, they seemed to have reached a calm. The dragon on his forearm looked to have relaxed a bit, but its tail was still waving about dangerously.

“Malfoy…. It was just a shirt, you know,” Harry reasoned.

“It was the fucking moral of the thing, Potter,” he spat.

Harry fought to hide a grin. Malfoy had morals? How enlightening.

“Yes, that was just a shirt,” Malfoy continued. “But if he’s already put his grimy hands on that shirt, then I don’t even want to begin to imagine what else he’s touched and defiled. I’m probably lucky I didn’t bring my broom or else who knows what he’d do with that.” Malfoy’s voice was now evener, but it still held an edge of rage. Harry knew that if anything pissed the other boy off now, all hell would break loose.

“Please, Malfoy, imagery. I don’t want to think about what my cousin would do with your broom. I have enough nightmares with Voldemort; I don’t need you to add that to my list,” Harry told him, trying to lighten the mood.

The magic radiating off of Malfoy was suffocating, and Harry found it made him feel tense and vulnerable. It took all his control not to go bolting out the door for some fresh air. He could only hope that Malfoy would just calm down and the magic would disappear.

“Oh believe me,” Malfoy seethed, “It’s probably ten times better than the current image I have of your cousin practically molesting my shirt.”

“Oh, god, Malfoy!” Harry threw a pillow at the blond in disgust. “Enough about Dudley already. It’s really disturbing me.”

Malfoy fell backwards on to Harry’s bed and folded his arms behind his head, causing his shirt to ride up just a few inches above the hem of his pants. “I’m going to need years of fucking therapy to get that shit out of my mind.”

Harry smirked in amusement. “You’re so colourful when angry, Malfoy. I’ve never in my life heard someone use the word ‘fuck’ in one conversation as many times as you. Congratulations.”

He promptly found himself being assaulted with a pillow.

<<*><*><*>>

It was late. Midnight, to be slightly more specific. A time when most wizards and witches were asleep in their beds, thinking not of the day ahead, but of the plays their subconscious put on for them. This, however, was not the case for a select group of wizards and witches known formally as the Order of the Phoenix.

Since the return of Voldemort, the Order had been called for late-night meetings often, and had always acted with slight bitterness towards the whole ordeal. But this was most definitely not a night to scowl at the rudeness of being called out of bed, or to secretly fall asleep and pretend to be listening to whoever had the floor at the time.

This was a matter of utmost importance.

The Order sat tensely, their countenances betraying just how agitated they really were, even though they put on an air of calm concern. It was nothing they weren’t used to, of course. The Order had plenty of meetings that were like this. However, these meetings were never met with good news. Things always seemed to get worse, and their cause seemed to become just a little more out of reach whenever they all assembled with such urgency.

Dumbledore watched the Order calmly, his heavy-lidded eyes sparkling in thought. He was not wondering what in the world could be so important that Severus Snape would call everyone out of his or her bed so very late at night. No, he was concerned about how heavy the news would weigh on the Order’s shoulders. For tonight, they would not only hear one update, but two. Two very dreadful updates.

Once Snape saw that he had everyone’s attention, he straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “The reason I have called all of you here is because I have received some rather bad news,” he told them in his usual cold voice. He wasn’t shocked by the lack of reaction. They were all expecting something horrible. “Lucius Malfoy has recently informed me that young Mister Malfoy was to be taken into the ranks of the Death Eaters.”

The faces of the Order were grave. They had expected something like this, but hearing it was another story. “So, I suppose Mister Malfoy won’t be coming in the fall, then?” McGonagall asked.

Snape cut her a small look before continuing. “He has also informed me, with much reluctance, that Mister Malfoy wasn’t accepted.”

This came as a surprise. Lupin furrowed his brow. “I would’ve thought the Death Eaters were just waiting to get their hands on Mister Malfoy.”

“They were. Lucius did not tell me what happened, but he has made it known to me that he has disowned Mister Malfoy for whatever reason. When I asked where he was, Lucius told me that Mister Malfoy had disappeared and he hasn’t seen him since then.”

McGonagall sighed. “And do you really believe that, Severus?”

“If the Dark Lord ordered him to, Lucius would kill his son without a second thought,” Snape murmured vaguely. “But we cannot be entirely sure.”

Dumbledore shifted in his seat. “I should probably tell you all that Mister Malfoy is currently safe, and out of Voldemort’s hands.”

They all turned to him, shock evident on their worried faces.

“He is, in fact, currently staying with one Harry Potter,” he continued. “He arrived there shortly before the letters were sent out, accepting both of them to school for this year.”

“At Harry’s place?” Lupin asked. “Why would he go to Harry’s house? I thought they hated each other.”

“Oh, they do,” Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. “And I suspect they have done nothing but fight the entire time they’ve been around each other.”

“Then why…?” Tonks began to ask.

“Last year, I had a talk with Mister Potter before he left from school. In no uncertain terms, I warned him that if he and Mister Malfoy did not straighten out their rivalry, we might be losing more young witches and wizards to the Dark Lord this summer. I had a similar talk with Mister Malfoy - just telling him his constant conflict with Mister Potter was growing ridiculous and that they needed to grow up.

“But I told Mister Potter that unless he really wanted to face Mister Malfoy and many of his classmates in battle, then he needed to at least make a step in making amends with Mister Malfoy. After all, much of the house rivalry that occurs here is based upon Misters Potter and Malfoy,” Dumbledore explained.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Did he?”

Dumbledore grinned slightly. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. Just before leaving, he confronted Mister Malfoy and told him that if he ever needed anything, Mister Potter would always be there for him. Obviously, Mister Malfoy felt it necessary to take him up on that offer.”

Lupin slumped back into his armchair. “I just cannot believe that Malfoy would willingly go to Harry. Doesn’t he have other friends?”

“Yes, but think about whose children they are,” McGonagall replied.

“Meanwhile, Severus, there was a second part to your news?” Dumbledore prompted.

Snape drew in a deep breath before nodding. “I have also been informed that the Dark Lord has a Mage within his ranks.”

Gasps were heard, and a few perplexed looks were cast around the room. “A Mage?” Tonks asked.

“A person with an almost unlimited amount of magical energy, to be vague,” announced a voice from the door.

Everyone turned to the source of the voice, blinking blankly or scowling suspiciously.

There stood a young woman of about twenty-seven with long reddish-brown hair tied into a neat ponytail at the base of her neck, bright, round brown eyes, and a fair face with high cheekbones and a pert nose. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologised to the room.

“And…who are you?” Lupin asked.

The woman smiled, white teeth flashing brilliantly. “The name’s Katya Kendrick. I’m going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I’m currently the one with the most expertise on Mages in this room,” she replied without pausing once.

Before Lupin could introduce himself, Katya nearly ran over to Dumbledore, all traces of her previous smile gone, replaced by lines of seriousness. She turned to face the room, her robes twirling about her dramatically. “Let me just say that the fact that Voldemort has a Mage within his Death Eaters is very…well, hard to believe.”

Snape sneered. “Oh? And why is that, exactly?”

“Well, to put it simply, a Mage isn’t born a witch or a wizard. They’re actually Muggles with abilities to cast certain types of magic,” she explained. “And, since Voldemort is purely against the Muggle race, it is quite odd for him to recruit a Muggle, isn’t it? He’s all for that ‘keep it in the family’ sort of thing, right?”

“What are the chances that the Mage was born a wizard or a witch?” McGonagall asked.

“No chance whatsoever. Wizards and witches have a gene that cancels out the gene for being a Mage,” Katya told her. She brought her ponytail over her shoulder and began twirling it around her fingers. Her brow was furrowed thoughtfully. “Of course, maybe he’d be willing to make an exception for a Mage. After all, Mages are reportedly much stronger than an ordinary witch or wizard - if their abilities are trained at an early age.”

“What is a Mage, exactly?” Tonks asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. She had never heard anything about Mages before, and she was certain they weren’t part of the curriculum at Hogwarts.

Katya fingered her chin for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say. “Well,” she said slowly after a minute. “Back in ancient times, Mages were some of the very first magic users. They had no use for wands, as they could control their magical output mentally. And they had several other powers that witches and wizards don’t have today.

“Mages are very rare because they don’t really reproduce. Mages will only ever ‘mate’ with another Mage, and since they’re so uncommon, it is hard for Mages to find someone that compliments them in every way. And if that person is of the same sex, then they obviously cannot reproduce.”

“What are their powers?” Lupin asked, interrupting.

Katya didn’t seem to mind, though, because she turned to him and cast him a bright smile. “That all depends on their Source, Mr. Wolf!” she exclaimed.

Lupin blinked at the unexpected nickname, and fumbled around for a reply, but found he couldn’t come up with one. Instead, he settled for, “Source?”

“Yes! A Mage draws their powers from a Source - something of the Earth that gives them magical powers. Much like a witch or wizard, who draws magic from within themselves.”

“And…what would this Source be?” McGonagall asked.

“That depends on the Mage, of course. It’s different for each of them because no two Mages can draw magic from one Source. In history, there have been many different things - the physical embodiment of light, animals such as the eagle, swan, and tiger, and even plant-life like roses and holly. It depends on what the Mage most connects with. And once the bond is formed, it’s permanent.

“One of the easier ways for a Mage to figure out their Source is by completely opening themselves up to the world; letting themselves being pulled towards it. However, there is a second way. They can simply observe their marks.”

“Marks?”

“Every Mage has a Mark. These usually appear when they have been magically tainted by an outside source. Intentionally, not accidentally. Some Mages go their entire lives without seeing them, but those Mages usually have a much harder time tapping into their powers.”

“And those powers are?” Lupin asked impatiently.

Katya sent a mild glare towards him. “I’m getting to it, Mr. Wolf. You’re so impatient.” She drew in a breath. “Mages all have powers that are common among them. These include telepathy with other Mages - although, if a Mage’s Source happens to be the antithesis of the Source of the Mage they’re trying to talk to, it’s pretty much impossible. Also, they have telepathy with their Source, if their Source is a living, breathing object. They also have telekinesis once they’ve learned how to master it, conjuring items once they’ve practiced with it enough, and long life. The oldest recorded Mage, I believe, was around 1200. The oldest one living today is Lucien Arnaud who is 947 years old.”

“That’s all they can do?” asked Tonks.

Katya rolled her eyes quite noticeably. “Well, of course that’s not all they can do, Lady Metamorph. I only told you their common powers. Once they realise their Source, they will be able to call upon the powers of that Source. For instance, Lucien Arnaud’s Source is the eagle. This has gifted him with the power of flight, wisdom, and incredible sight. He can see magic because of this eyesight, and break down the layers of a spell and find an appropriate comeback. Not to mention that he can control the direction and speed of the wind. He could probably conjure a tornado so huge that it’d wipe out your school with very little effort.”

“And how does one go about detecting Mages?” Snape asked.

“All Mages have to be registered with the Ministry and the Ministry does not want any mishaps. So, they use sonograms to detect the Mage gene within a fetus inside of a pregnant Muggle woman. The Muggle woman is completely unaware. A Mage will glow a certain colour - usually bright orange - if they have the Mage gene. If they’re normal, they don’t glow at all. It’s pretty simple, actually.”

“They only test Muggles?”

Katya scowled at Snape. “Yes, they only test Muggles. I have already told you - it is completely useless to test pregnant witches as even if the fetus is a Squib, it still has a gene - though recessive - that cancels out the Mage gene.”

The Order let this soak in, each mulling it over mentally. If it was all true, if Voldemort really had a Mage serving him, they were all in a whole lot of trouble.

“Is there any possible way to defeat a Mage?” asked Tonks.

Katya sighed and slumped against Dumbledore’s desk. “We don’t know yet. It’s a possibility that a Mage could never be defeated, but that’s unlikely. It’s possible that only a Mage could ever defeat another Mage - as Mages are on a whole other level than witches and wizards.”

“We don’t have any Mages on our side, do we?” asked Lupin gloomily.

“Not really, no. Mages usually don’t take sides in battles. That Voldemort’s got one on his side is a marvel itself.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Katya bit her lip. “We could try to contact a few registered Mages, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. All of them, except for that one Mage Voldemort seems to have, want no part in wars - their people are scarce enough as it is without genocide. But it’s not hopeless. We’ll just have to find another solution.

“But you know what this means, don’t you?” she asked.

The Order members furrowed their brows.

“It means that Harry Potter is no longer safe where he is. A Mage can get past those wards with no problem at all.”

Many of the Order’s heads fell into their hands, exhaustion lining their bodies. With every day, their glimmer of hope diminished. Now they could barely even tell there had been a glimmer to begin with.

<<*><*><*>>

“Your aunt is a horrible, evil woman - and not in the good way, Potter,” muttered Malfoy as he struggled with a particularly stubborn weed.

Harry chuckled, pulling up a few weeds himself.

“And look at you - why aren’t you using magic?”

Harry blinked and stopped, momentarily stunned at his foolishness. “You’re right. I keep forgetting. Habit, you know.” Harry took out his wand and muttered a spell that rid his part of the garden of weeds.

“Hey!” Malfoy cried, outraged.

Harry smirked, tucking his wand back into his pocket. “I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I personally think you need to learn about the words ‘hard work’.”

Malfoy shot him a venomous look. “Oh, I know all about hard work, Potter. And my opinion of it hasn’t changed - it’s still utterly filthy.”

Harry ruffled Malfoy’s hair, causing steam to practically come from the younger teen’s ears. Harry tried to ignore the thought that Malfoy’s hair was soft - pleasurably soft. He, of course, took that thought and threw it into the unused portion of his brain so that it would never surface again. “You’re just saying that because you’ve got dirt on your precious, pretty little manicure.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in alarm and he looked almost sick as he looked at his fingernails.

Harry held up a pair of tan gloves and waggled them in Malfoy’s face. “Gardening gloves, Malfoy - they were invented for a reason.”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched and Harry could see that Malfoy’s knuckles were white around a single pitiful weed. “How. Dare. You-.”

Harry gave an impish grin. “I thought you looked cute dirty.” At his own statement, Harry’s heart and stomach leaped simultaneously, an embarrassed shade of red growing gradually over his face. Did I just fucking say that? he thought incredulously.

“I’m not cute Potter. And I’m certainly not cute dirty,” Malfoy practically hissed.

Harry’s brain was too busy pounding itself into oblivion to really hear what Malfoy was saying. Oh, Merlin, I hope he didn’t catch what I said in the way he probably will catch it. Damn it!!! What was I thinking??? This is fucking Malfoy. You don’t go around calling your enemy cute. Especially when he’s Malfoy.

<<*><*><*>>

“Fuck! It’s going to take bloody weeks to get all of this dirt out from underneath my fingernails!” Malfoy announced as they made their way up towards Harry’s room to get ready for their showers.

Harry’s eyes widened - no. Their individual showers. There - better. Damn, where were all of these thoughts coming from?

“Ah! Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing!!!” Harry cried upon coming into his room where he found Draco Malfoy shirtless and about to become pant-less. He tried to ignore the pull to glance over Malfoy’s smooth, bare chest, but found that to be very hard indeed.

As Malfoy looked at him, Harry felt his blush increasing in intensity. “I need to change my clothes - they’re filthy.”

Harry turned abruptly, his arms folded over his chest. “You can do that in the shower, Malfoy,” he growled.

There was another rustle of clothing and Harry just new that if he turned around just then, he’d see Malfoy in his boxers - or briefs. Deciding that debating on whether Malfoy wore boxers or briefs was indeed going too far, Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“Yes, I know that, Potter,” said Malfoy. “But I need to change into something before I get there - something clean. Ugh, I hate feeling all sweaty and bothered.”

Harry wanted to bash his own head into the wall at the image that conjured, but decided against it. “Will you just hurry up?” he asked, feeling rather bothered himself though why, he couldn’t figure out.

Malfoy made a slight noise of protest as there was another rustle of fabric. Harry hoped dearly that Malfoy was not changing his undergarments too. “You lot shower together after Quidditch practice, don’t you? I would think you’d be used to being around naked men, Potter.”

Naked? Harry’s stomach gave another lurch and it took all of his control not to turn around. “That’s different, Malfoy.”

“How is that different?” he asked. Another rustle of fabric.

“It…just is,” he said decidedly.

“If you say so.” There was another rustle of fabric and then footsteps. “You know, you’re being really strange today, Potter,” said a voice right by Harry’s ear.

Harry spun quickly, coming face-to-face with Malfoy in such a proximity that was uncomfortable to the dark-haired teen, even though there was plenty of space between them. Malfoy was still shirtless, though wearing a pair of comfortable-looking silk black pyjama pants that hung low on his hips. “I-I am not,” he protested weakly.

Malfoy furrowed his brow and then placed a hand on Harry’s head. He blushed even more. “You’re hot, Potter.” Harry made a strangled noise. “I think you might be coming down with something,” Malfoy murmured.

“Maybe that’s it,” Harry muttered, wishing Malfoy’s hand would just go away, as well as Malfoy’s naked torso.

Draco removed his hand and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I’m going to go take my shower now,” he said slowly and watched as another blush crept over Potter’s cheeks. His eyes narrowed even further.

When he went to step by him, he was startled to find that Potter had grabbed his hand. Draco turned and looked at him, surprise written all over his face. Potter wasn’t even looking at him, but he had out his wand. The other teen took Draco’s other hand as well and muttered, “Scourgify,” and the dirt underneath Draco’s fingernails became nonexistent.

“What-?”

“You’re the prissiest person when it comes to your nails, Malfoy,” Potter said. He locked eyes with Draco. “Hurry up on your shower. I don’t like being covered in grime either.”

With that said, Potter released Draco, walked over to his desk, and pulled out a book. Draco cocked his head to the side, nodded, and walked towards the bathroom.

<<*><*><*>>

I am so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Harry continued to cry in his thoughts repeatedly as he walked from the bathroom, clad in a pair of loose red cotton pyjama bottoms, a loose cotton navy-blue shirt, and a towel hung over his shoulder. His hair was nearly dripping wet - not like Malfoy’s had been when he exited the shower, his hair perfectly in place. How the blond managed to do it without magic was a mystery to him, and quite frankly, he was just slightly jealous.

Harry opened the door to his room. “Hey, Malfoy, you left your fancy shampoo in… Lupin?”

Indeed, there was Lupin. And Tonks. And Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Malfoy, who was leaning up against the wall, keeping a watchful eye on those around him. Of course, seeing as the Order delegates were looking at him as if he was a particularly wild animal they were not altogether convinced was tame, this was understandable. “Nice imagery there, Potter,” Malfoy commented dryly.

“How…what…what’s going on here?” he asked, his eyes wide and the previously mentioned shampoo bottle completely forgotten.

Lupin turned towards him. “Listen, Harry, we have received news and you aren’t safe here anymore.”

Harry narrowed his stare. “What do you mean I’m not safe here anymore? Voldemort can’t touch me with those wards up all over this house, right?”

Lupin sighed. “We have reason to believe he has found a way.”

Harry blinked, his eyes betraying a note of fear that refused to surface on his face or in his voice. “I see.”

Harry walked into his room and set Malfoy’s shampoo bottle on his desk. Then he took out his wand and began summoning things to pack. “You lot don’t seem too worried about Malfoy. Not that you should be -- he’s not going to kill me or anything. If he wanted to do that, he could’ve done so a long time ago,” he said in a dead sort of voice.

Draco sunk slowly onto the bed, but barely noticed his own movements. He was intrigued by the sound of Potter’s voice - so desolate and hollow. Not once had he heard Potter speak with such hopelessness, and was rather affected by it. It was somewhat…disturbing. “Where are you going?” he asked curiously.

Potter sighed. “To my godfather’s house.” Once his trunk was packed, he turned back towards Draco. “You’re welcome to come, if you’d like. We’re pretty much in the same boat, I assume.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “No, I don’t think we are. The Dark Lord isn’t trying to bloody kill me every minute of every day.”

Potter shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. He nodded.

“Okay then,” Potter said as he did another round of summoning spells that packed Draco’s trunk as well.

<<*><*><*>>

“This is it?” Draco asked, grimacing at the condition of the building that served as Order headquarters.

“Yeah, this is it,” Potter sighed. “Oh, when you first enter, be quiet in the hallway, or be prepared to have your eardrums blown out.”

Draco blinked, confused, but nodded and followed Potter into number 12 Grimmauld Place. As he entered, he gave a scoff of distaste. The whole place looked as if it had been abandoned years ago, tattered and torn and probably rotting from the inside out.

“Harry, Ron and Hermione are already here. Hermione’s settled in a room with Ginny, while Ron’s already set up in another room. I…guess Malfoy could stay in there with you?” Shacklebolt informed him in a whisper.

Potter nodded and quietly ascended the staircase towards his room. “You could stay with me and Ron, or you could go stay with Fred and George - it’s up to you.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and set his trunk down next to Potter’s. “I…think I’ll stay here. One Weasley is better than two.”

Potter rolled his eyes and looked around. “I wonder where Ron is,” he muttered. He checked his watch. “It’s dinner time, so I guess they’re all downstairs.” He looked back up at Draco. “You hungry?”

Draco stretched, pulling one arm over his head with the other. “Not particularly, no. But I could use some coffee.”

Potter blinked, seemingly shocked. “Malfoy, it’s past seven.”

Draco gave him a bored look. “Your point?”

Potter opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Never mind. Come on, I think they might have coffee.”

“They had better,” Draco mumbled as he followed Potter downstairs.

<<*><*><*>>

When Harry walked into the dining room with Malfoy, he hadn’t expected quite a shock to run through the inhabitants. Most just stared, some narrowed their eyes, and Ron was absolutely livid. They had all known that Malfoy had been staying with Harry, but to see him suddenly show up like this….

Well.

“What the hell is Malfoy doing here, Harry?!” Ron cried, looking up from his meal.

“Ronald!” his mother cried at his language.

Malfoy steeled himself and crossed his arms defensively. His eyes kept darting from one face to the next suspiciously, as if they had every intention of hexing him - which, in this case, some looked about ready to do.

“Remember what I said at Diagon Alley, Ron?” Harry asked, subconsciously moving in front of Malfoy. Why he was feeling so protective, he didn’t know.

Ron gritted his teeth. “Yeah, you said something about him leaving home for some reason and coming to stay with you.”

“Yes, well, obviously Ron, that’s still in effect.”

“So now he’s your little puppy? Follows you wherever you go?” he prodded.

Malfoy sucked in a breath and looked about ready to storm up to Ron and beat the living shit out of him. “I am nobody’s puppy, Weasley. I simply have nowhere else to go.”

“So just because you have nowhere to go, you get to come here like you

aren’t the son of some Death Eater?” Ron snapped. “Harry, for all you know, this could be some trick to get you for You-Know-Who.”

“I don’t think that’s what it is, Ron. I didn’t say you had to trust him. In fact, I don’t even trust him. But I don’t think he’s…on that path anymore.”

Ron’s eye twitched, but he said nothing. He began stabbing his mashed potatoes with a fervour that caused them to land in Ginny’s soup. Ginny glared at him and shoved her soup away.

“Fine, be that way, Ron. I don’t care anymore.” With that, Harry stormed off.

“Harry!” Hermione called after him, but to no use. Shooting a glare at Ron that clearly said, “I’ll deal with you later,” Hermione hurried after Harry, pushing past Malfoy.

Draco looked after them for a moment before turning back to the crowd that looked about ready to perform several unpleasant curses on him at once; he steeled himself once more and smirked. “Would you happen to have any coffee?”

Draco took their glares and complete silence as a “no.”

<<*><*><*>>

Hermione found Harry in his room, sitting hunched over on his bed, glaring angrily at a spot on the floor. She tentatively walked up to him, sat next to him, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, please don’t be angry at Ron - he’s only worried about you,” she pleaded in a quiet voice.

Harry didn’t look at her. “Well, I wish he’d be a little less worried about me, ‘Mione,” he growled. “Sometimes he can be such a prat - not seeing past his rivalry to see that Malfoy’s changed.”

Hermione sighed. “Don’t be so harsh, Harry. We haven’t had the time to get to know Malfoy like you have. You can’t blame Ron for being as suspicious as he is. And, considering his history with Malfoy, it’s harder for him to accept that maybe Malfoy isn’t as Dark as he wants to believe. You have to look at it from his point of view.”

Harry finally looked at her, his eyes searching. “Do you feel the same way as Ron?”

Hermione considered this carefully. “In some ways, yes, I am as skeptical to believe that Malfoy’s truly turned. But your faith in him - well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

Harry snorted. “Malfoy’s not truly turned, ‘Mione. He’s just not on Voldemort’s side anymore.”

Hermione smiled at this. “That’s something, too, then. I don’t think I could handle a Malfoy that is truly turned.”

Harry made a face. “Me neither.”

“And I’d most likely kill myself before I’d ever let that happen,” said a voice from the door.

The two friends looked up to see Malfoy leaning carelessly against the doorframe, a cup of piping hot coffee in his hand, his other hand tucked in his pants’ pocket.

Hermione smiled nervously. “Malfoy…erm…hello,” she tried pathetically.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Weasley’s down there having a conniption fit. You might want to go check on him.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What did you do?” she asked quietly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything, per say. I just told him that I’ve been living with Potter here. And when someone asked me where I slept, because they hadn’t seen another bed, I told them quite frankly that I was sleeping with Potter. Somehow,” Malfoy added with a smirk, “that didn’t go over quite well with your little boyfriend.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked from Harry to Malfoy, back and forth, for about a second before Harry’s own eyes widened and a blush quickly spread over his face. “Oh! No, he’s just being a git, ‘Mione. We haven’t…erm…that. Don’t be gross!”

Hermione nodded, but didn’t look convinced as she left the two boys to themselves.

Malfoy chuckled. “I think your friend Weasley’s psyche is permanently damaged, Potter. I don’t think he’ll ever recover.” He began walking over.

Harry glared. “You’re just a bastard. He’s known that for years. I’m sure he’ll get over your traumatic presence.”

Malfoy scowled, but it really didn’t have much edge to it. “Well, seeing as I’m a bastard, I suppose I’ll take your coffee and down it myself.”

Harry blinked, thrown. “You…brought me coffee?” Now that he looked closer, he could see two cups in Malfoy’s hand.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t say it like I’m doing something nice. I’m not doing anything nice, Potter,” he assured him as he sat down next to the dark-haired teen. He shoved the coffee in Harry’s free hands. “But you’ve been in a right horrible mood ever since those idiots showed up, and coffee is nature’s underage cure for everything.”

“So,” Harry said as he sipped at the steaming liquid. “Your motives are purely selfish then?”

Malfoy nodded. “Absolutely. My motives are always selfish. Never forget that.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re a piece of work, Malfoy.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “No, I’m a masterpiece.”

“Conceited bastard,” Harry mumbled in his cup.

<<*><*><*>>

Afterword: So? Any thoughts? Critique? Anything! Absolutely any and every little thing is welcome. Well, except for flames. But if you want to flame, I understand. And I'll use that flame to keep me toasty in my overly-cold room. *grins* Please review!!! I live off of those things. Honestly.

~*Chesza*~
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