Protection (Drarry)

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Memories in this chapter contain quotes from Deathly Hallows, as they are events from the book rather than my own writing.

"Dinner is ready, kind Master," Kreacher's voice came from behind the door.

Harry sat up from where he had been leaning over his model quidditch set – great for setting up strategies and then seeing the numerous ways they could go terribly wrong – and stretched. When Ron and Hermione had left, he had shut himself in his room, hoping that Malfoy would take a hint and keep to himself. It felt ridiculous, hiding in his room in a house that he was used to being completely empty, but he supposed he would have to get used to it.

Malfoy was already at the table when he came downstairs. He nodded to Harry with something bordering on civility, and then ruined it by speaking. "So how often am I going to be graced with the presence of the Weasel and the Mudblood?" he asked airily. "A shame though it will be to miss their charming faces, I think I may have to schedule in something a touch more riveting, like my laundry."

"I said give it a rest, Malfoy," Harry said, sitting down. "That goes for you too. Don't use that word about Hermione, and would it kill you to say Ron's name?"

Malfoy gave a fake shudder. "I'll settle for 'the Weasley', and hope for the best."

Harry lifted the soup ladle from the large bowl in the middle and served himself. It smelled delicious. "Besides," he said, passing the ladle to Malfoy. "You'll probably never have to see them again. They're going on holiday for half a year, and by then you probably won't be here anymore."

Malfoy's mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smirk. "One way or another," he said airily, and served himself soup.

Kreacher hurried around them, bringing buttered bread rolls with thick slices of ham and cheese.

"I was thinking," Harry said after a while.

"Must be a new experience," Malfoy quipped instantly.

Harry ignored him. "Maybe it would be worth us working together at home on those memories, and trying to locate the last few Death Eaters? Then you can go home quicker."

Malfoy stopped eating, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth, and stared at him. "I hate to break it to you, Potter," he said after a pause. "But those memories aren't exactly a stroll by the lake for me. I'd rather not spend the precious hours I have away from the Ministry knee deep in more of them, with – no offence – the Boy Who Didn't Know When To Quit by my side. You're not the hero anymore, Potter. You've done your bit. Give it up."

Harry glared at him. "You don't just 'give up' doing the right thing," he argued. "And we don't have to look at your memories."

"Oh?" Malfoy sneered. "Which other Death Eater did you have in mind?"

"We could look at mine," Harry replied calmly, refusing to take the bait.

Malfoy looked surprised for a second. "What would yours show?" His tone, for the first time, sounded more curious than spiteful.

"Different things seen from Voldemort's perspective," Harry said, taking a bite from his roll.

Malfoy hesitated. He seemed to be warring with curiosity and some unnamed reticence to accept Harry's offer. Harry had a sudden thought.

"They're not as confronting as your memories," he offered casually, as if he were merely making conversation. "Mainly he was just getting angry at people, but he rarely tortured them while I was linked with him. At the time I wasn't really paying attention to anything beyond Voldemort, but you might recognize someone in there."