Monster

Once Draco was done taking his wonderful vertical bath, he toweled off and changed into the Muggle clothing Potter had left him. The tartan shirt hung limply off his thin frame, and the denim trousers kept sliding down his bony hips. With his beard, he felt like a mountain man. He took his time fixing his wet hair to how he liked it, parted to one side and out of his face. He was in no hurry to venture out of the relatively safe bathroom to face Potter. The thought made him flush with embarrassment.

It seemed like Draco would never be safe from Potter when it came to being in bathrooms.

He snickered softly and with one final pat to his hair, he squared his shoulders and walked out of the bathroom like a man. After a quick fight to remember which way down the hallway was to the kitchen, he started towards it, halting right beside the doorway when he heard a whispered conversation.

“Well, personally, I don’t believe him,” Granger whispered in her infernal domineering voice.

Oh, Granger, you insufferable wench. Of course you don’t believe me. And with good reason too, since you are exactly right to do so.

“Well, I do,” replied Potter waspishly. “I know that I have no solid reason to trust Malfoy, of all people, but… I don’t know, I just do!”

Draco’s heart gave a small squeeze, his chest tightening uncomfortably as he recognized the feelings of guilt and disappointment in himself.

Granger gave an unladylike snort. “Okay, Harry, let’s look at the facts. Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore. Malfoy is a Death Eater. Malfoy has never liked any of us and I don’t hold a single hope in my soul that he ever will. Christ, Harry, he even told me that he hoped the heir of Slytherin would kill me first! I could go on and on of all the wrongs he’s done us, and the fact of the matter is that Malfoy is not to be trusted,” Granger finished breathily.

He couldn’t take it anymore. With a small burst of indignation and anger, Draco righted himself and sauntered into the kitchen as best his weak body could allow. A small smirk curled the corner of his lips and he almost felt like his former self. “Not to be trusted, eh, Granger?” drawled Draco, all fear of her evaporating with the rush of his ego coming back to him.

The bushy-haired Mudblood jerked her head back towards the doorway, where Draco leaned haughtily against the wood of the frame. She almost looked shocked and almost embarrassed. “Malfoy,” she said from gritted teeth.

“I think I’m the one that shouldn’t trust you, Granger,” Draco continued, enjoying the look of distaste on her face more than he should have. “Of course, you and your Order have fought against my kind just as vehemently as we fought against you. There’s nothing to say that your Gryffindor nobility and kindness will hold up so far as to keep me alive as soon as you’re finished with me.” His smirk widened as she clenched her teeth even closer together. “But my Slytherin cunning and prowess will hold up on a deal as long as it saves my ass and helps me survive. Surely you’ve figured that out so far? I mean, you would’ve gotten top marks in seventh year if you had stayed at Hogwarts instead of out there… fighting and surviving in the wild like an animal, if the rumors are true.”

Draco ran a hand through his baby-fine blonde hair, an action that seemed to attract Potter’s attention. He felt as if his face was to crack from how large his smirk had become. He watched Granger’s face go through a hideous range of emotions with a perverse sense of glee.

Finally, almost thirty seconds later, Granger had, just as Draco had expected, burst with, “You didn’t get top marks in seventh year either! You haven’t graduated either, just like us!”

He shrugged, much to her visible chagrin. “Trivial fact that any first year could have pulled out of their ass. I didn’t need to get top marks at that loony-bin school; I almost had top marks with the Dark Lord, which is all that matters to me.”

She let out a huff. “Top marks, eh? What about not being in favor with Voldemort near the end?”

Draco refused to flinch at the name, but a muscle in his jaw jumped against his will. “In case you didn’t notice, no one was in favor with the Dark Lord near the end. Not even Professor Snape, for Merlin’s sake. Unless I’ve gotten my facts messed up? Severus Snape was killed at the hands of the Dark Lord, yes?” The suddenly closed-off looks on their faces confirmed what Draco already knew to be true.

Slightly smug about how this had turned out, he turned his grin to Potter. “Do you mind showing me my room, Potter?”

The two Gryffindors exchanged a look and Potter stood from the table. “Of course,” he said. Draco let him brush by and followed the raven-haired boy through the hall and into a plain bedroom with two beds pushed up on either side of the walls.

“Oh, and who am I bunking with?” Draco inquired with a bit of the leftover excitement coating his words.

Potter winced a bit, an action that was not lost on Draco. “Me.”

“W-what?” spluttered Draco, grabbing onto the doorframe with a pale hand. No, no, this could not be. He, Slytherin to boot, rooming with the Chosen One, the golden Gryffindor? Surely Hell had frozen over at that exact moment.

“Well, with me being Teddy’s godfather, and me being Sirius’ godson and Sirius being Andromeda’s cousin, she couldn’t bear to let me live alone in Grimmauld Place, and with Kreacher being gone and helping Hogwarts house elves regroup and take care of a few of the people that stay there to try and rebuild, I didn’t really want to be alone either.” Green eyes caught stormy gray, and Draco found he could not look away. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He let a bitter smile twist his colorless features. “Of course I don’t mind, Potter, I’m just surprised you trust me enough to sleep in the same room as me.”

Potter turned his eyes to the window, which showed how lovely the spring day was turning. “I trust you.”

Draco swallowed against the hard lump that had formed in his throat. “Which bed is mine?”

“The one with the blue duvet.” Also the one that was the farthest away from the window and the door, Draco noticed. “Sorry, Malfoy, I have to get back to Hogwarts and help rebuild some more. I’ll see you around.” Without a glance back, Potter pushed his glasses further up his nose and almost ran out. A few seconds later, Draco heard the voices of the two friends and two small pops, reminding him that he was utterly alone now.

Taking a deep breath, the flaxen-haired boy laid out over the soft fabric of his bed. He felt his lids grow heavy with fatigue, remembering the hard cot he had previously slept on for a little over twenty days. Despite the company of Andromeda’s house, he had to admit, this was a lot more preferable than that damned cell.

Draco let the weariness of the past year seep into his bones and curled up, falling asleep with an ease he had not been able to find since being young and carefree.