In Your Mind's Eye.

Chapter Twelve.

(Disclaimer: this story and its characters belong to J.K.Rowling.)

Song: VCR by The XX.

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Also, SORRY for accidentally posting this chapter early! It wasn't completed, I was just being a bit of weirdo.

-R xx

The next morning, Harry woke to the smell of disinfectant and lavender soap. He rolled over, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable stiffness of the bed, and frowned, trying to clear his aching mind. As far as he knew, or the last time he checked, Grimmauld Place had had the stale stench of mothballs and mold.

Harry pulled on an over sized t-shirt over his boxers, and swung his feet to the side, standing up unsteadily and scrunching his bare toes against the coldness of the floor boards beneath him.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to forget where he was. He tried to forget that the last person who had owned this house, one of the last people he had truly seen as a father to him, was now gone. And, strangely enough, he was glad that Grimmauld Place still remained dirty, derelict and abandoned; that way, nothing would remind him of Sirius.

When he had first brought light to the dusty chandeliers last night, he had been surprised at how little The Order Of The Phoenix had managed to clean and tame when they had been in residence a few years ago. Not that he had had much time to dwell- he was so tired, that he had just collapsed onto the bed in the first empty room he found. Draco, it seemed, had already disappeared into the room next to his, and had slammed the door behind him.

And so the nightmare begins, Harry thought as he trudged down the stairs, which creaked and groaned under him in complaint. He was following the clean smell, which wasn't hard, because as soon as he came into the kitchen, he saw the source.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room, in a black long sleeved pyjamas top and matching bottoms. And he looked furious.

"This place is filthy." The boy snapped, the second he saw Harry, as if it was his fault, "You can't expect me to live here for two weeks."

"I don't expect you to do anything, Malfoy." Harry said wearily, rubbing his eyes and sitting down on a chair, "Leave, if you want."

"I can't leave. You know that." Malfoy said, voice strained, and colour flushed across his high cheekbones, "I knew you grew up poor and bedraggled, but I didn't think it would be this hell hole."

Harry rested his forehead on the table top, trying to cool down his skin, and said, rather good-temperedly for the rate at which Malfoy was speaking,
"I didn't grow up here. Stop screeching."

"I'm not. Where did you grow up then?" Malfoy demanded, raking his hands through his messy morning hair.

"Mind your own fucking business." Harry got to his feet suddenly, and got a glass, filling it up with water from the kitchen sink, "And if you hate this place so much, clean it. Stop moaning."

"What do you think I'm doing?" With a wave of Malfoy's wand, blue bubbles of soap popped into existence, spreading their lavender scent across the room. "Didn't you smell it? I can't believe I'm being forced to do these chores. Don't you have servants?"

"It's not even a chore, you're just making it smell a bit better." Harry snarled, at the end of his patience now as he slammed his glass of water back down on the counter, "Start properly cleaning, and I'll give you a medal, princess."

He stormed out the room, leaving Draco stuttering indignantly behind him.

...

Harry wasn't quite sure how he would deal with Malfoy for two weeks, but he had decided by now he had to try. God knows what McGonagall would force them to do if they still weren't friends after the Christmas and Summer Holiday.