Currently have been snowed in for the past few day and have finally became aware of the fact that I live alone. I have not worn pants for three days now and have only been wearing large ass shirts/hoodies and thigh highs with the little cat beans at the toes (you know the ones).
Two hours, it turned out, was really not enough time to talk to his best friends and to pack all of the things he needed to be able to live somewhere that wasn’t Grimmauld Place. After an hour and thirty-five minutes of Ron railing about the injustice of Harry having to be partners with Malfoy and Hermione telling him that there had to be a way out of it in the Aurors handbook, Harry finally managed to get out of their flat and back to his home.
He shrunk his dresser and packed it into an overnight bag, then shrunk his wardrobe, hoping it would have enough work clothes in it to get him through the rest of the week. He picked up the Theory of Occlumency book he’d been struggling through off his nightstand along with the murder mystery he’d actually been enjoying.
The bathroom was next, Harry tossed in his toothpaste and toothbrush followed by shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a couple of towels. He cast a tempus charm and saw that he only had 2 minutes until he was supposed to be at the ministry house. “Godric,” he muttered. He sprinted down the stairs toward the living room so he could go through the floo. “Kreacher!” he called.
With a sharp crack of apparation, Kreacher appeared in front of him and Harry had to draw up short so he didn’t bowl the elf over.
“Master Harry?” he asked.
“Sorry, I know this is short notice, but I will only be in and out for the next month. I don’t have time to explain, but I have to live with Malfoy for the next month as part of my duties as an Auror.”
“Should Kreacher come to serve Master Harry and Mister Lucius in their new house?”
“Err,” Harry started when a faint buzzing in his ears started up, “It’s not Lucius, it’s Draco, actually. And no, I think we’ll be okay, but I’ll let you know.”
Kreacher nodded, "A fortunate day indeed,” he muttered. “Kreacher would be most pleased to serve you and the young master Black.”
He didn't really have time to respond to that, so he just shrugged, “Thanks,” Harry sighed as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the buzzing in his ears intensifying. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
Kreacher shooed him and he glanced at the slip of paper with the address he was traveling to before he stepped into the floo to travel there. He all but tripped out of the floo when he arrived, he’d never really managed to get the hang of traveling that way.
“You’re late,” a voice called.
Harry rolled his eyes and followed the sound of that voice into the kitchen, “Sorry, honey,” he replied to Malfoy whose back was facing him, hair tied back in a half bun, as he worked at something on the stovetop.
Malfoy turned to glower at him and Harry couldn’t help but take in the long, lean lines of the other man’s body. Who wore trousers and a dress shirt while they were cooking in the kitchen? The effect was ruined when Malfoy opened his mouth, “Look, Potter, when you are late I have to hear that infernal buzzing noise as well. Do try to follow the instructions we’ve been given.”
Malfoy turned back and flicked his hand at the spoon that was stirring something on the stove and it stopped.
“Sorry,” Harry said, too distracted by Malfoy’s display of wandless magic to think about what he was saying.
Malfoy twisted to look wryly over his shoulder, one elegant eyebrow arched at him.
“Shut up,” Harry said.
Malfoy smirked and turned back to the stovetop. “You can pick your room and put your bag down, if you’d like. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes so don’t dawdle.”
“Dinner?”
Malfoy waved a hand carelessly toward the island between them and a knife started to cut through a loaf of fresh bread. Harry’s stomach growled. “Yes, Potter. Judging by the way you scarfed down food in the great hall at school, you’re familiar with the concept.”
“But,” Harry started, not even sure where to start, “Why?”
Malfoy turned and made his way to a wine rack, “White or red, Potter?”
“What are we having?” Harry asked before he could think better of it and the fact that Malfoy hadn’t answered his original question.
“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, turning to look at him, “I’m surprised. Have you learned about pairing wines with food?”
Harry sniffed, there was no way he was telling Malfoy about Alex. No. way. Instead, he said, “Yes, well, like you said earlier, I’ve changed since school.”
Malfoy nodded slowly and his eyes raked down Harry’s body, then back up before he said, “Roast chicken with herb jus, mashed potatoes, a simple french bread, and salad with an apple vinaigrette.”
“You made all of that?”
A delicate blush spread along Malfoy’s cheeks, Harry found it strangely charming. “I-” Malfoy started. “Much of the preparation-” he cleared his throat. “I’d done much of the preparation last night. It seemed foolish for it to go to waste.”
“No, sorry-” Harry started, waving his hands like an idiot. “That wasn’t a complaint. I was just surprised.”
Before Malfoy could reply a charm he’d set began to ding and he turned around to the oven. “Pick a wine, Potter,” he said, but not unkindly so, as he opened the door and levitated the chicken out of the oven.
Harry dropped his bag on the floor, mouth watering at the smell, and went over to the wine rack and pulled out a Sauvignon Blanc.
Malfoy had a knife carving the chicken as he flicked a hand at the potatoes on the stove so they began emptying themselves into a bowl.
“You’re pretty good at wandless magic,” Harry commented, it wasn’t something that he’d really mastered until he’d been in training for the Aurors, and he was in the extreme minority. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised based on what he’d learned about their magical cores today.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “Well, I have you to thank for that, really,” he said as he levitated the dishes he’d prepared for dinner and sent them into the dining room ahead of them.
“Me?” Harry asked incredulously. They weren’t even in the same training year, Malfoy had spent 4 months in Azkaban when Harry had started training, then done mandatory community service for 6 months and started training the year after Harry.
Malfoy nodded and gestured at the chair across from his at the modest four-person dining room table. “Please help yourself,” he said as he started to put food on his own plate. Then he actually continued to answer Harry’s question, “You stole my wand once.”
Harry winced but his mouth immediately opened to argue.
Malfoy, the annoying git, talked over him, “I know it was for a good reason and I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done it.” Harry’s jaw snapped shut at his words. Malfoy smirked at him and Harry rolled his eyes even as he scooped out a large portion of mashed potatoes.
“I learned,” Malfoy continued, “because I didn’t ever want to feel powerless again. Obviously, my wand is better for precision work and for dueling but if the knife doesn’t cut the bread in perfectly straight even pieces, or if I need to throw up a hasty shield in dueling, it serves just fine.”
While he was talking, Harry nodded along and poured the wine. He was tempted to do it wandlessly because he wanted to show off, but he knew Malfoy wouldn’t be impressed and would probably just mock him. “So, are you planning to cook every night for us?” he asked as he took a bite of mashed potatoes. He couldn’t help but groan as the creamy, buttery taste burst over his tongue.
“Definitely not, Potter. Why should I cook for you every night?”
Harry swallowed and said, “Because this is probably the best meal I’ve had since I lived at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy blushed again and something in the pit of Harry’s stomach shifted disconcertingly. Malfoy sighed, “Perhaps you could learn.”
Harry shrugged and took another bite of chicken, “Are you offering to teach me?”
“Would you accept if I were?” he parried.
Harry leaned back in his chair and stared across at Malfoy as he thought for a minute. “You aren’t like I remember you.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Someone alert the press, the Chosen One is learning that people change as they age,” he drawled.
“You’re a twat,” Harry huffed irritably. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know people change. It’s just-” Harry stopped and looked down at his plate.
“Just what, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his voice has gone low and dangerous; this is more the Malfoy that Harry remembered.
“Just that you’re...” he trailed off again and Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry could feel a light crackling of Malfoy’s magic around him and somehow that warning of his temper pushed Harry over the edge. “You weren’t into saving people. You weren’t invested in the wellbeing of others. And you certainly wouldn’t have been offering to teach someone to cook.”
“You have no idea who I was in school,” Malfoy snapped.
“I know you were a bully!” Harry returned, fire crackling in his veins. “You ratted people out to make yourself feel powerful; joined the inquisitorial squad,” Malfoy spluttered at that but Harry continued. “Tried to kill Dumbledore. Got a fucking dark mark and joined Voldemort at sixteen. You spent your entire school career going on and on about your father. ‘Wait until my father hears about this,’” Harry parroted. “You idolized a man who bullied people and believed in a megalomaniac. You wanted to be just like him and it seems like you did a pretty good job becoming him during the war.”
“So it’s that you couldn’t have imagined that a death eater could change and become an Auror? That you didn’t imagine that a Malfoy could work day in and day out on the same side as you do? That someone who had been in Azkaban could want to make something good out of their life?”
“No,” Harry said, even though Malfoy wasn’t far off the mark. “That’s not-”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “Because I have worked damn hard to be where I am and I have fought bigger monsters than you to get there.” Malfoy slid his chair back from the table and threw down his napkin on his plate as he stood up. “You had no choice,” he growled. “No choice but to be good. No choice but to be the hero. Other people did not have it as easy as you.” He turned from the table, his shoulder-length blond hair flipping as he spun, “And I am taking the blue room. You can have the sodding cream one.”
He stood up, too, not ready to be done arguing. The heat of self righteous anger raced through his veins, making his heart hammer and blood sing. “It wasn’t easy-” Harry started but Malfoy made it to his room and slammed the door. Harry could hear a shouted “Circumvestio” and knew that there was no way Malfoy would be able to hear him now.
“It wasn’t bloody easy,” he muttered to himself as he plopped back down and shoved another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. “Was really fucking hard.”
He stewed while he finished his dinner, the food somehow didn’t taste as good as it had before they’d started bickering but it was still better than what Harry would have made.
When he’d finished his meal, he cleared the plates (wandlessly; take that Malfoy) and sent them to wash themselves, then he packaged up the leftover food and put it under a stasis charm so Malfoy could eat it tomorrow. He drained a second glass of wine before re-corking the remainder. Bloody Malfoy.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten into his room that Harry started to think about what Malfoy had said. Harry hated the excruciating process of becoming self-aware. While Malfoy hadn’t been right about everything, he hadn’t been entirely wrong either. Of course people changed, Malfoy had probably proven he had over and over to people; he probably had to do it all of the time, Harry reflected.
He flopped back onto his bed and crossed his arms over his stomach. He was going to have to apologize.
Little man i wish i could explain to you that i can't turn on the cool breeze machine outside like inside
(Tbh he takes it better than me, i'm fussing and worrying and wallowing and he just comes in and takes a big nap, waits for me to give him extra snacks out of anxious need to see him Do Something and then. More nap)
How about we don't write stories pondering for the millionth time whether robots are people or not and instead write robots as an exploited working class? Like Čapek intended? With some actual understanding of capitalism instead of just talking about "them robots stealing our jobs" ?
my childhood was messy, but I never realized that the reason I love morally grey/villain romance so much is that those characters will burn the earth to keep their partner/love interest safe.
I never felt safe and I crave someone to go to the ends of the earth for me. (even if I don’t believe I deserve it)
