The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 14: Haircuts and House Calls

They stayed up for hours that night waiting for him to return. Potter made three cups of tea, and they took seats in the sitting room, each of them trying, and failing, to read a different book.

Around one in the morning, Draco decided it was time to break the silence. "I suppose we should leave, then."

Potter looked up from The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. "What do you mean, leave?"

"I mean he's the Secret-Keeper, Potter. If he gets caught, he could give this place away."

"He won't be caught," Potter said. "What do you think, Ron's just going to go into Diagon Alley and say, Hi, everyone, I'm back?"

"Where else is he supposed to go?" Draco said coolly. "You can be sure the Burrow's being watched, and that flat the twins have, too. If he tries to sneak back into one of those places in the middle of the night—"

"He could travel back to Hogwarts," said Hermione in a small voice from the armchair closest to the fireplace. She'd cried silently for half an hour, but had so obviously been trying to hide it that Draco hadn't said anything. She seemed to have shrunk to three-fourths her usual size since Weasley left: her shoulders were folded in, her legs tight together as if she'd been put under the Leg-Locker jinx. Even her hair seemed deflated, with the way she'd been anxiously smoothing it down.

"After all," she said, "he was supposed to have been at the Burrow with Spattergroit this whole time. They never knew he was with us. Maybe now with Tonks and Lupin on the run, he'll want to be near Ginny."

"Snape's there," said Potter wearily. "If that slimy git gets suspicious that he was never sick and does Legilimency on him, or sneaks him Veritaserum..." Potter shook his head. "Ron'll find a way to get in touch with his dad. They'll get him back into the Burrow somehow, and he can just pretend he's still recovering from his Spattergroit until he's cooled off. He'll be fine."

Draco wanted to tell Potter he was being an optimistic idiot, but he found he couldn't be bothered. He could still hear Weasley's voice saying, You've been busy keeping secrets with a Death Eater. He'd been surprised by the way the words had hit him. Why did he care that Weasley still looked at him and saw a Death Eater? It wasn't like it was a huge surprise. And when had he ever given a damn about Weasley's opinion?

He wondered why he cared what anyone thought of him, at this point. Crabbe's father or Crabbe himself or Weasley or the rest of the Wizarding World. He knew what he was, and that should have been enough.

He was reasonably sure he knew what he was, anyway.

"Draco's right, though," said Hermione with a bit more strength. "We should be prepared for the worst case."

"I'm not leaving," Potter said. "We've worked too hard on this place, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Well... we'll have to be on the alert all the time. I'll pack my bag again with the essentials. The Horcrux, the tent, Polyjuice, some books. You two, pack some robes for me to put in, too. I'll keep the bag on me, and if we hear anyone Apparate in and Ron doesn't say it's him, we Disapparate right away to that cave we used in our old escape drills, all right?"

Hermione hurried up the steps while Potter collected the teacups and saucers. But once Hermione's door had shut upstairs, Potter's motions slowed. He looked over at Draco.

"Listen. Er. Draco."

"Yeah?" Draco said.

"Thanks. For what you did for Hermione."

Draco gave a curt nod.

Potter looked into the hearth, where the fire had burned to embers. "I can't believe Ron and I didn't see it. It's really lucky that you did. I mean, not lucky, but—yeah, thanks." He hesitated. "And for what it's worth, I don't think Ron meant any of that, what he said. I mean, he was holding the Horcrux, and he hasn't been feeling right for weeks. We know you're not a Death Eater anymore."