Dementor's Kiss

Chapter Nine - The Sword Of Gryffindor

In the shelter of number 12 Grimmauld Place, Draco expected to feel safe but he didn't. Hidden away beneath the dark slate roof and behind the enchantments cast around the bricked walls, there was no fear of the death eaters, or worse Lord Voldemort, finding him and yet he couldn't take a step without looking over his shoulders skeptically at the shadows in the hallways.

He didn't go a minute without being followed by a member of the remaining rebellion, they claimed they were watching him to protect him but there was no doubt in his mind of the real reason - they thought that the minute they turned their back he would turn them over, they didn't seem to understand that he'd be dead before they were if he did that. He can never go back.

All of them, except for Draco, seemed to be able to cope with the life that they lived in Grimmauld place; no one really minded that they had to spend most of their time cleaning or reading or talking to one and another and they definitely don't mind the lack of strategic conversation about the war effort. Draco hadn't heard anyone mention Harry's name since the night that he had appeared to them all in the living room; no steps had been taken by anyone sheltered in the haven to improve their chances in this continuous battle and, in fact, Draco hadn't heard any news in weeks. They could no longer risk getting the daily prophet whether it was picking it up or getting it delivered in case they got spotted; disguises had worked for a while but after they had began running low on supplies they had stopped to save their stock; the tv was spotty and only worked one tenth of the time and usually with broken sound and a strange buzzing noise, it must have been a punishment at one time as a simple repairo was not effective enough to mend the broken set.

All in all, it had been far too quiet for Draco's liking, cooped up in the old house with its weird noises and strange decorations hadn't been what he'd expected to be doing when he joined the side of the resistance. The others had drifted through the house all finding different things to do day in and day out and only changed their schedule when they had something more serious to carry out, like watching Draco. Loony and Longbottom spent all their time at the bottom of the garden working away in their carefully constructed greenhouse, which had taken the pair of them a week to build the muggle way. After their 'saviour' Randall had discovered a few packets of seeds inside one of the old coat in the closet, the pair of them had only been seen inside the house for the necessities like food, sleep and toilet breaks.

In fact they'd spent so much time out there working away that Longbottom had managed to gain a new shade of skin tone as well as shedding a few bits of the puppy fat that Draco had constantly teased him about during their years at Hogwarts. Loony had appeared to get some mildly-useful knowledge into that brain of hers and actually appeared to be enjoying her time trapped in the Black house.

Unlike them the others were not benefiting as much from the new situation and it had resulted in many harsh glances and cold silences at many evening meals. With the lack of personal space and news from the outside world, paired with the repetitive, boring lifestyle, some people seemed to be unable to go a few days without snapping at another before apologising. Draco was long since used to Hermione's testy nature, he had spent many of his day times holed up in a room with her, as his watcher, enchanting different objects and practising her magic and spells again and again.

More often than not he was at the receiving end of her venomous states and he knew that she still blamed him for the loss of the seaside house. The tension between the two of them was undeniable and it personally sickened Draco every time that he thought of trying to repair his problems with the mudblood.

Usually she would sit with a book, reading thoroughly, from cover to cover, more books in one week than Draco had read in his entire life. It didn't seem to faze her when he would sit there and pretend to read or just watch her curiously through his half-closed lids as he feigned sleep; perhaps it was the reason for the many arguments that were struck up between them but Draco suspected that she was more affected by how much it reminded of her times in the library when she would search for answers with Potter and Weasel gazing over her shoulders.