Scattered Pieces (Drarry Fanfic)

Chapter Seven: Grim Old Place

Merlin's balls, what was I bloody thinking?!

Harry stood with hands shoved in his pockets, back ramrod straight, in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. The house didn't look quite as dark and forbidding as it did in the past. Ginny and Hermione had done a splendid job of sprucing up the frequently used rooms in the old Black Manor.

That was the least of Harry's concerns, however. All his energy and attention were focused keenly on his guest, sitting rather stiffly on the plush couch behind him.

Swallowing a frantic sigh, Harry forcibly composed himself and slowly turned to face the other person in the room.

Draco sat on the edge of the sofa, eyes firmly fixed on the cold fireplace, trying his hardest not to panic. His face was a careful mask of blank indifference. The only thing that gave away his own nervousness was the intermittent twitching of his right leg.

"Look, Draco..." Harry began and inwardly congratulated himself on how even his voice sounded. "I can call you Draco, yeah? Fuck, that sounds weird. I know its bloody awkward but I honestly don't know what else to call you given the... uh..." Bollocks. I'm rambling. "The current situation you're—"

"Yes, Potter. You may call me Draco." The blond cut him off with his patented eye roll. Leveling his gaze at Harry, Draco raised an elegant eyebrow. "You're rambling."

Harry pressed his lips together in a tight line, giving Draco his best attempt at a bored expression. "Was not." Bloody hell, that sounded childish. Harry couldn't help but secretly grimace.

A triumphant smirk transformed Draco's impassive face at Harry's retort. "What's the matter, Potter? Nervous? I assure you, my bite isn't what it used to be. It won't hurt much but it'll probably sting just a bit. That much you can handle, I'm sure, oh Chosen One."

A sudden flush of giddiness, washed over Harry as he gazed at Draco. Now this, this is familiar. This Draco was much easier to deal with than the new and much improved version he'd been exposed to the past week. That Draco left Harry confused, grasping at straws, floundering about like a drowning man.

His lips quirking into a sneer of his own, Harry jerked his chin at Draco's fidgety leg. "Look who's talking. It takes one to know one, yeah?"

Realizing his faux pas, Draco bristled as he quickly crossed his legs and sent Harry a withering scowl. "Nevertheless, you just admitted you were nervous."

"As I was saying." Harry rolled his eyes pointedly, dropping onto an armchair across from Draco. "I know you don't want to be here anymore than I want you in my house—"

Draco visibly flinched but quickly recovered, countering in true Malfoy fashion. "Of course. Imagine how terrible a shock it would be if the rest of the Wizarding world found out that their Golden Boy, Saint Potter, was temporarily housing a Death Eater. I can already hear the cries of outrage. Can you hear that, Potter?" Draco cocked his head to the side, eyes widening comically. "It's a lynch mob coming for my head!"

"Former Death Eater." Harry retorted, nailing Draco with his unwavering stare.

"A minor detail, I'm sure." Draco drawled, averting his eyes as he fought to keep his wits about him. Ignoring Harry's clear, green eyes as they seared a hole into the side of his head.

Sighing in exasperation, Harry leaned forward, rapping his knuckles onto the coffee table. "Listen, you prat. You can't go home to your flat because you're not well enough to be on your own and you need Medical Treatment of the Magical kind. But, you won't stay at St. Mungo's for very obvious reasons, which I understand. You can't stay with your boss, Stubbs, because he's more of a Muggle than a Wizard as I'm sure you realize. You won't be able to get the Treatment you need if you stay there. I am the only solution to your predicament. Its the least I could do given that I—" Harry paused to catch his breath. "—given that I was the one who caused all this."