Stuck With You / drarry

In Defence of Lucius Malfoy

Forty-five minutes later the two had packed their bags, and Harry had managed to book an emergency portkey for them to get back to London. He was back to wearing his blue jeans and a tee under a grey hoodie as he was frantically stuffing all of his other belongings into the seemingly endless bag. When he emerged from the guest room, where all of his stuff had been, Malfoy was already standing in front of the living room, carrying a black bag, having returned to his signature look of black slacks with a black turtleneck. Black for London. He hadn't said a word since he had read the letter from Narcissa, and was looking at Harry quite absentmindedly. It was as if he had somehow withdrawn inside himself, Harry couldn't blame him.

When it was time to leave, Draco closed all doors and windows as a matter of routine, his limbs moving as if they were on autopilot. He grabbed his bag, and Harry could hear something fall over in there, though it didn't seem to be very heavy. They made their way downstairs into the shop, and Malfoy locked the door to his apartment with a muggle padlock and a protective charm. He then left a short note for Moretti, stating that something had come up, and that they'd have to leave for London, not knowing when they'd be back. Truthfully, Harry didn't think if he'd ever be back, and even amidst the worry running through their veins like icy water, he couldn't help giving the place a last, longing glance.

The portkey was just outside the house. Since it was a wizarding neighbourhood, and also quite early in the morning, they didn't have to sneak anywhere private to start their journey. Both of them grabbed the portkey, which was scheduled to leave any minute, and held on to their bags, knuckles almost white. Harry had decided he hated international travel, and the early hours combined with the lack of breakfast had created a heavy pit in his stomach, that sure as hell would not be removed by being dangled around in a never-ending spiral of the portkey.

The experience was just as horrible as Harry remembered it: the twisting and turning of the whirlwind, the churning up and down movements and the eternal spinning made Harry feel like he'd vomit, for what felt like just a few minutes too long to be bearable. When Harry was sure he'd actually hurl on both himself and Malfoy, they were spit out on Narcissa Malfoy's lawn. If it had been early in Italy, it was even earlier in England. Harry hadn't realized that London even smelled different. Whereas the small, sunny town had smelled like salt water and hot stone, Narcissa's yard's scent neared the smell after a rain, and wet pavement. The morning was bright, the heat wave was still scheduled to arrive later in July, and the sunlight reflected off of every raindrop on the plants in the small garden.

Harry got up from the ground, to stand next to Malfoy, who infuriatingly did not seem to be affected by the horrid journey at all, even landing feet first. He was still squeezing his bag, and Harry picked his off of the wet ground. The door swung open almost immediately, and a weathered-looking Narcissa strode across the yard to wrap Draco in a tight hug. She looked like she hadn't slept at all: dark circles under her eyes, face puffy, hair messy. She had been crying, Harry realized awkwardly. He didn't think he'd ever seen the woman in this state, not even in her own trial. Now Draco put his arms gracelessly to touch her back, in what seemed like a reluctant embrace. Harry realized that he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to confront his wreck of a mother and deal with the execution of his monstrous father. Again, Harry couldn't blame him one bit.

"I'm so glad you're here," Narcissa murmured into Draco's shirt, and reluctantly let go of his son. She didn't seem to notice, or didn't care, that Malfoy looked as sour as someone who had just bitten into a rotten apple. "And you!" Narcissa exclaimed and turned over to Harry, and to his complete and utter surprise, wrapped him into an embrace as well, "thank you for bringing by son home," she said, voice shaking a little.

"Yeah, er, of course," Harry stammered, turning his eyes to Malfoy in search for some type of acknowledgement of the odd situation, but none came.

The three were now standing there, and just as Narcissa was about to rush them inside, Draco spoke, for the first time since hearing the news, "Mother, we needn't drag Harry into this, it's really more of a family matter." His tone was cold, and he didn't look in Harry's way, but kept his eyes on his mother. Harry didn't know why Draco was suddenly so eager to get rid of him, since he was the only person present with personal connections to the Ministry, but he didn't want to start a debate. He wanted to leave the two alone to process the news, together, he didn't need to be there; it wasn't his place, anyway.