Misery and Grief

A/N: I have a few other Draco/Harry fanfics I have thought up. I'm so excited.
Also, I have decided that I am going to make chapters longer than previously. I don't know what is an acceptable chapter length in a fanfic, so excuse me if it's still too short/too long. On top of that, the name of this fanfic may change after a few more chapters. I'll tell you the chapter before it happens. Thanks.

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Harry knew Draco was angry. He was perfectly aware that the blonde was bottling up his emotions and inwardly freaking out. The question was what to do about it. He tried to remind himself that quite frankly it wasn't his job to fix Draco, that providing a safe haven for his arch rival should be more than enough. There seemed a constant debate in his head when it came to the current Draco, a war between thoughts telling him to just stay out of it or to find a way to help the other young man. Fighting between them just seemed so normal, so comfortable in it's own way.

"Hey." The boy who lived began awkwardly. Draco didn't look at him, which said something given his usual jumpiness, so Harry decided not to continue. He wasn't really aware of what he was going to say anyways. Instead, the boy seemed to just grab a rag and submerge it in water before taking it to the desk and cleaning it off. The rag was dripping and splashing all over the place, almost reaching some ancient book. The shorter man walked over and picked up the book, saving it from a watery doom. Draco still didn't look his way, instead concentrating on the desk.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, and with one quick movement stealing the rag from Draco, allowing the water to drip on the floor. Draco's expression when he turned to look at his keeper was venomous and Harry realized in that moment that snakes were much easier to talk to than Slytherins. Not saying a word, he threw the book onto the bed and the rag to the bucket, where he wrung it out. After that he returned it to the blonde boy, who only shot daggers as he took it.

What probably made Draco the angriest was that Harry refused to get riled up. He seemed, though a bit meek about it, generally unaffected by his glare. So after taking the moist rag, he returned to his work. He had gotten the point that things in the way should be cleared and not rampaged over. And it was with relief and dismay that he felt Harry leave his size, getting his own rag and starting on the bookshelves, which he cleared off first and then wiped down, dusting out each book as well.

It left the blonde wondering why Harry Potter would do this manually instead of with magic. It was ridiculous to do it this way. However, he felt himself more and more compelled by the cleaning. Every nook and cranny became all that more obvious with the washing away of the obvious filth. Draco, perfectionist and elitist extraordinaire, found himself picking thoroughly at the room. It was almost unfortunate that Harry never seemed to leave anything behind in his cleaning, seeming to have practiced hands.

So, in silence, they moved throughout the first floor and he found himself more and more intrigued by cleaning. He hadn't even realized that he was no longer accompanied by Harry until that very same individual was standing next to him with dinner. Snapped out of his reverie, he unthinkingly smiled at the man offering him food. It was a small smile and it only lasted a moment, but Harry saw it and smiled back even after Draco had let his cold veneer run over him like gloss. The blonde took the food and sat at a drawing table while Harry left the room, leaving him to think by himself.

He hadn't noticed it at the time, but Draco now realized that during his cleaning he hadn't had any energy to think about the things that had happened to him. He suspiciously looked at the door that Harry had left through, wondering if that had been the intention. However, that was ridiculous. It was his idea to clean for a wand. But, then, he couldn't ignore that Harry hadn't let him quit. That it had originally him that said if he didn't like the grime, to clean it up. He chewed his food with thoughts of paranoia clouding his mind. For, like Harry, Draco was not a very trusting individual as well.

The blonde finally acknowledged his food, still hot, as he looked down at it. Roast chicken. Had the dark haired man cooked this himself? He had never really thought of the man's living situation, and certainly didn't know he lived alone in a grimy place without service. This was the Black house, so it made sense that it would go to Sirius Black's godson, though he disliked to admit it because otherwise it could have been his. In that case, it would also make sense if there was a house elf at one time, in fact there was sure to be, but Harry would have let him go. Just like he tricked his father into getting rid of Dobby. Malfoy squinted, unsure who's side to take now. He kicked the table in front of him, his plate shaking in reaction. He forced himself to calm down.

There was nothing to think about rationally, because it all had to do with beliefs. However, now he didn't know what to believe. His father's word wasn't pressed down his throat anymore, not constantly whispered into his ear. His gut reaction now, from the betrayal and molestation of his own father, was to disagree with everything his father had ever done, ever said, ever thought. However, it seemed his world had broken up into two worlds. His father and Harry Potter. Perhaps it was technically Voldemort and Harry Potter's lifestyles that was the line, but it was his father that influenced him, and it wasn't Harry Potter's beliefs that he had been against before but anything Harry himself because of who he was. Because the famous Harry Potter had turned down his offer of friendship. Because Harry Potter was famous. Because Harry Potter time after time became more famous, more loved, more powerful than Draco - which meant Draco envied him more than anyone else. Because Draco Malfoy hated Harry Potter.

However, when he thought about it this way whilst sitting in a lonely house with Harry Potter, who's success seems to have only accomplished in achieving more and more upsetting news. Wasn't the fame always in reaction to some great plot against him? The money gained by losing something worth much more? He finished his food with this thought in his head. Still, it didn't change the fact that Harry and Draco hated each other. No, it just meant that they now had no reason to hate each other, not that they no longer did.

Damn his father for ruining his life and turning everything upside down.

And when he padded down the stairs with his platter and found himself face to face to his arch rival in the kitchen, it was with a new point of view. One that he was perfectly aware that he did not want. It was against his will that he saw the dark haired man, now washing his own dishes, in a new light. That light was no longer the limelight everyone else saw him in but the dim lights of an old house. The man before him was rash and angsty and infuriating. However, this man was also brave and loyal and willing to take in even his worst childhood pupil in a time of need.

This Gryffindor took his plate from him as he stood there speechless. However, Draco didn't leave. He kept standing there until Harry was finished and looking at him. As a Slytherin, as a Malfoy, as Draco, it was in him to be cowardly but the questions in his mind rose to the surface nonetheless. "Uh, so how long can I stay?"

Harry hadn't really thought about it but he supposed it made sense to ask that on the first day. Shrugging, he responded. "You don't really have anywhere else to go, do you? So as long as you need to, or want to, depending on your situation. I don't really know what you have available to you because I don't know exactly what happened." Draco's silvery eyes were flashing at him again, so he put his hands up. "I'm not asking you to talk about it, if you don't want to then it's none of my business. I'm just saying that it's up to you."

And while Draco wanted to be angry at Harry, he couldn't ignore that the open invitation to both stay as long as necessary and talk about it was was something he appreciated, though he didn't feel like taking the latter. Sensing his frustration, Harry sighed before speaking again. "Listen, we don't have to like each other. Despite our situation, we have a lot of history. I'll piss you off, you'll aggravate me. It's habit by now and if it's what you're comfortable with, I'm fine with that. I didn't exactly like waking up to find my rival naked and looking like a corpse, but at this point the unexpected is pretty much expected from me." He stepped closer to Draco, who jumped back. Smiling weakly, he walked past the boy who now only looked angry at himself.

"Hey!" Draco yelled, partially at himself, but Harry turned around none the less. "I..." He began, not really knowing where he was going with this. His thin eyebrows furrowed together as he looked down slightly. Suddenly his face shot up with a snobby "Hmph!" and he walked out of the kitchen and stormed up the stairs, leaving a very confused Harry Potter behind. Draco was unsure of what he was going to say, really, but was unnerved because he knew it had something to do with a thank you or a request to start again from scratch or an outright hug. Draco, unemotional and cold, afraid of letting people know he wasn't always in complete control and even more so afraid of embarrassing himself, could not bring himself to do these things. These were things that someone else would do, a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw, but never ever a Slytherin.

Oh if the sorting hat was placed on his head now, what would it think?