Protection (Drarry)

Chapter Sixteen

The sound of something smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces, followed by a high-pitched shriek, woke Harry abruptly the next morning. He bolted upright, struggling to extract his wand from his pocket in time, before his half-asleep brain woke up enough to process the situation. He felt Malfoy sit up behind him.

Kreacher stood in front of the couch, his tiny hands covering his mouth and broken crockery on the floor at his feet. From the scattered toast beneath the plate, Harry assumed he had been bringing breakfast to the person on the couch. The single round of toast suggested Kreacher hadn't realised there had been more than one person. As Harry fumbled for an explanation, Kreacher made a slightly strangled noise, like a sob.

Harry faltered, confused.

"Kreacher is just so happy," Kreacher burst out finally, removing his hands to speak and revealing a beaming grin. "His two Masters, together."

"Er, Draco isn't your Master," Harry said stupidly.

"Well, hold on a second," Malfoy said with a smirk, although his eyes were still slightly hooded from sleep. "If we're in a relationship and we're living together, I am Kreacher's master."

Harry groaned. "Be nice," he said, while Kreacher began crying with joy.

"Kreacher will prepare more breakfast," Kreacher said, snapping his fingers and instantly removing the broken porcelain and himself from the room.

"Have you noticed how much more like Dobby he's becoming?" Harry muttered vaguely, thinking of the Kreacher he had first met compared to the Kreacher that had begun to emerge since Harry had given him the locket.

Malfoy yawned. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was running a hand through his hair sleepily.

"My neck hurts," Malfoy declared.

Harry hesitated and then reached up to gently massage Malfoy's neck.

Malfoy's glanced sideways at Harry before relaxing into the massage. He closed his eyes.

"Feels nice," he mumbled, leaning back into Harry's hand.

Harry gave a final massage and pulled his hand back just in time to avoid Kreacher having another crockery disaster.

"Toast and eggs," Kreacher said proudly, presenting them each with a plate and a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said, trying not to laugh.

Kreacher sniffed loudly and disapparated.

Malfoy inspected the suddenly empty space with a disturbingly impish expression. "Reckon we should snog in front of him and make him faint?" he asked brightly.

Harry choked on his toast. "I said, be nice," he spluttered when he had finally stopped coughing.

Malfoy shrugged. "Don't think we'd even need to snog, to be honest," he muttered. "A particularly licentious battering of the eyelids would probably do the trick."

"That's beside the point," Harry said firmly.

"Spoil sport."

Before Malfoy could argue any further, Harry's owl flew in the window.

"That was quick," Harry muttered, unrolling the letter. Malfoy leaned over his shoulder to read.

Dear Mr. Potter, Professor McGonagall had written.

Professor Firenze has anticipated your request and left the attached message with me for safekeeping. I trust you will find it useful.