The Boy Who Lived

A Brief Curiosity Unfolds

The following day was tedious for Draco. He started by exploring Grimmauld Place after breakfast.

The townhouse was split over five storeys and, once again, he noticed that everywhere was exceptionally tidy with little possessions to clutter the place. Even Teddy's toys were kept tidy when not being used and the few possessions that Harry did have were very precisely arranged, almost to the millimetre in placing. It surprised Draco. He expected Harry to be as disordered as his hair.

Draco found Ruby laid out in a huge bed in an elegant blue guest bedroom on the second floor. Kreacher was sitting by the bedside, keeping vigil.

'How is she?' he asked quietly.

Kreacher jumped up, looking slightly worried. 'Is Master Draco wanting me to leave, sir?' he asked, his tone subservient.

'No, Kreacher. But I don't like those words you used.'

'I is sorry, Master Draco, I is not using them again if that is what you is wishing.'

'It is absolutely what I'm wishing. I've leant the hard way, Kreacher, that those words are so very wrong. We should be focusing on honourable behaviour and Harry is one of the most honourable people that you'll ever serve. He deserves our utmost respect and that extends to his friends and family.' He looked sternly at Kreacher.

'Yes, Master.'

'You seem to be looking after Ruby well.'

'Yes, Master Draco. I is keeping her asleep so she is not feeling the pain but the burns is already much better this morning. I is already bathing and re-dressing them this morning.'

'Thank you, Kreacher. Will you let me know when she wakes?'

'Yes, Master Draco.'

Draco made his way back downstairs but there was only so much reading or petting of Iolaus and Otrera he could do and only so many cups of coffee he could drink before he became too restless. He sat for a while, in the same armchair by the fire, contemplating details of the previous evening. Not the fire itself but the events afterwards. He thought about Harry holding him tightly as he apparated them both back to Grimmauld Place; even in his state of panic, he recognised the immediate security and comfort Harry offered, just like after the fire in the Room of Requirement. He would have supposed that was to be expected, considering the situation. He smiled to himself about Harry's hero-complex and begrudgingly admitted it was rather nice to experience that side of Harry again. He realised that the events of the two fires were very different. Perhaps because the first time it had been in the middle of a war and Greg had immediately fled the scene and there was the horror of Vince's death and fear of what the coming Battle meant and the strangeness of Harry destroying the diadem. Survival was a key factor for them all, there were no cosy, intimate chats and glasses of Firewhiskey afterwards.

He couldn't say he was particularly heart-broken about his house. In all honesty, it was a hollow monstrosity but he'd stayed because it was convenient and it was all he had. Yes, he'd lost memories and personal items, but since the war, he had very little in terms of sentimental items. He could begin again. He'd done that easily enough four years ago. He'd kept virtually nothing of his past life through choice. The biggest heart-ache was losing all his collection of magical creature books and his veterinary practice and research texts and his small potions lab which he used for brewing specialist potions for his patients. At least he'd been wearing his dragonhide trousers which had long since been broken in and were soft and comfortable and he'd be able to get Agatha to order some new work shirts easily enough. And he'd been delighted to find that Harry had somehow, in the midst of all that mayhem, gathered up the research and books and everything else that was on his desktop. He'd found it all in a box in the kitchen and carefully retrieved his favourite quills and his notebooks, as well as a photograph of him, Blaise, and Pansy at school and a photograph of his parents on their wedding day - in happier times, he supposed to himself.