13th January, 2000. 8:05 a.m.
These thoughts carried him to the door, and as he raised his hand to knock on it, it whipped open to reveal Harry Potter in front of him.
“I’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up before Ginny comes down. I don’t want to have to explain you—”
Too late. “Harry, who are you talking to?” Ginny’s voice called from close by. Over Harry’s shoulder, Draco could see her appear in the doorway of the kitchen. “Harry!” was the questioning exclamation that leapt from her lips as she locked eyes with Draco.
“I think I’d better come in, don’t you, Potter?” Not even waiting for an answer, Draco pushed past him into the house, even though a conversation with Ginny was probably the last thing he wanted to have right now.
“Draco! I haven’t seen you… What are you doing here? Harry, I don’t understand…”
“I went to try and talk to Hermione last night, Ginny. I felt like we couldn’t just keep ignoring her. She might know where Ron is. She’s staying with Draco and Snape now. Draco seemed to think that I couldn’t make it to their house on my own,” he added venomously, shooting the blond an angry glare.
“We just like our guests to be invited, Potter. Ginny, I hear you’ve recently had a son. I hope he’s well.”
“Yes, Draco, quite well,” Ginny stammered out, confused by Draco’s civility juxtaposed with Harry’s hostility. “I still don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Does she know…?”
“I’m not sure Hermione can help you, Ginny, Harry,” Draco addressed them both calmly and authoritatively. It was sort of true. She couldn’t help them find him. “However, she’s agreed to speak to Harry, despite everything that’s happened.”
“I don’t see why she couldn’t speak to me last night!” Harry snapped under his breath.
“Perhaps because you were physically attacking her in the street?” Draco asked loudly and placidly, slipping a cunning look at Ginny. What a fantastic way to deflect attention from himself. He loved it when all his Slytherin tricks came back to him so effortlessly.
“Harry!”
“It’s not like it sounds, Gin!”
“I don’t care. I want to see her. I refuse to have these secrets between us, Harry Potter.”
“Gin, you have to take care of Xander,” Harry began pleadingly.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ginevra. Hermione isn’t very strong. I’m not sure how well another surprise visitor would go down. I’ll talk to her about it, though.” Draco’s voice was smooth and warm now as he slid into the neutral position of mediator, his old Malfoy charm coming back to him with ease.
Ginny cast a fierce glare at him now, which he met with a cool, impervious gaze. He knew that Snape would be taking care of Harry when they got back to Prince Street. Having Ginny there too would probably mess up the plans, whatever they were. Draco didn’t need to know what was going on to be able to guess what the best course of action was. He had been trained from birth to play the part of a pawn in Slytherin games, either those of his father’s designing or those of Voldemort’s. Ginny’s perceptive gaze warned him that she understood more than he was telling her, however. She knew there was a reason he wanted to keep her out and that she couldn’t trust her husband to bring back the whole story to her.
“I want to see her, Malfoy. Tell her I’ll be coming around some time this afternoon.”
“Ginny!” Harry exclaimed, and she turned to him imperiously now.
“Either you can take me or Draco can. I don’t care which of you, but this is my brother and my friend that we’re talking about, and I won’t be excluded!”
“Ex-friend, you mean,” Draco retorted before he could stop himself. Ginny whirled back to him with a glare.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
For a second, he considered backpedalling. Then, he resigned himself to ploughing on. “You ceased to be Hermione’s friend a long time ago now. We’re letting Harry into our home out of respect and sympathy for the pain you must be feeling at… your brother’s disappearance, but do not think old wounds will be forgotten, Ginevra.” This response was surprising even him. Perhaps, Snape was right, and he cared for Hermione more than he’d realised. Or maybe he just didn’t like change. That was what his girlfriend was always telling him whenever he refused to talk about marriage or moving in together. At least she didn’t think he didn’t love her. There was no love lost between him and Ginny, however. She was glaring daggers at him, but she seemed to have the sense that he was partially right, as she wasn’t saying anything.
“Now, Harry,” he hurried on, “you should come quickly. I don’t have all day. We do run a business, you know!”
He strode toward the door, ignoring the angry, dumbfounded Ginny and motioning to Harry to hurry up. Opening the front door himself, he loitered about half-way toward the end of the garden while Harry and Ginny held a tense, hurried conversation on the doorstep. When Harry approached him, Draco tersely reached out a hand and gripped his upper arm, and with a swish of his wand, they found themselves at Prince Street once again.
As Draco released him, he could see that Harry was looking up and down the street and carefully taking in the front of the house, memorising it for Apparation, probably.
“Hey! Come on, get inside, it’s cold,” Draco muttered at him, prodding him in the back and chivvying him towards the door. Reluctantly, Harry followed his lead, and they were swiftly inside the house. It was silent, the vague creak and clank of pipes somewhere told Draco that Hermione was still in the bathroom. That was good. He led Harry into the kitchen, and Snape was there, precisely where Draco had left him, still sipping at his tea.
“Welcome, Mr. Potter. Thank you, Draco.”
“I want to see Hermione!” Harry burst out. Severus and Draco exchanged a look, and Draco took the cue to leave. When Snape turned back to Harry, it was with something of a forced smile.
“Mr. Potter. Hermione is in no fit state to see you right now. Or, rather, you are in no fit state to see Hermione. You would upset her, attack her, berate her, injure her—”
“No, I wouldn’t!” Harry broke out, glaring at him furiously. He was still stood above the tea-drinking, pyjama-wearing Potions master, and yet the power seemed to lie all with the seated figure.
“Sit down, Potter. Let me tell you a story.”