Malfoy had never liked Diagon Alley. It was too busy, bustling, cheery, and full of Mudbloods. Much more to his liking was Knockturn Alley, with its winding streets, gloomy demeanor, and rather dodgy shops. But Malfoy didn’t have time to worry about who might recognize him here in all this Mudblood filth. He pushed through groups of shoppers impatiently, looking for Potter.
“Malfoy!” Malfoy turned, for once relieved to hear Potter’s voice. Potter plowed over two little old ladies and stopped by Malfoy. “Where do we go from here? There is one place we could go…”
“Where?” asked Malfoy.
“Grimmauld Place,” whispered Potter.
“Where?”
“It’s the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix…” Wow, thought Malfoy. I guess he really trusts me, or he’d have never told me that.
“Well? Do you have any other ideas? Oh,” said Potter, “never mind, you won’t be able to get in. The Secret-Keeper was Dumbledore, and he can’t tell you. He’s dead.”
“Uh, yeah.” Malfoy’s cheeks reddened. “Um, I do have an idea though. You won’t like it, but I promise you it’d be safe, although you might not think so.”
“Where is it? I’m feeling very open-minded right now, funnily enough.”
“No need to get sarcastic. It’s…it’s Spinners End.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s…er…it’s where Snape lives. We could stay with him.”
“WHAT?” exclaimed Potter, jumping up and causing an old man to jump (a tuft of gray hair fell to the ground; he bent over, picked it up, and slapped it back on his head rather crookedly.) “No. I absolutely refuse. He killed Dumbledore! I can’t go to his house! Besides,” he added, “he probably wouldn’t let me in.”
“He would. And about Dumbledore…well, see, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know. But I guess you’ll have to find out. And,” continued Malfoy, his anger growing, “in case you didn’t notice, you just killed my father! I should just-just leave you here for the Death Eaters to find! But we’re in this together, so come on! We have to go to Snape’s. It’s our only choice!”
“I can’t Apparate there; I don’t know where it is.”
“I’ve been there before. We can do Side-Along.”
“I can’t…I mean, I won’t…I mean…Malfoy, get serious! I cannot go to Snape’s house.”
“Well, it’ll be pretty awkward. But we’ll be safe there…at least for awhile.”
Potter sighed. “I don’t have any other ideas, so I guess it’s our only option.”
“Good,” said Malfoy. “Let’s hurry, though. Grab my arm.”
Potter grabbed Malfoy’s arm, and Malfoy quickly Apparated. They arrived in front of a dilapidated, gray house. The whole street seemed rather gray and dreary, in fact. Each house looked gloomy, desolate, as if their hope had evaporated long ago. The place always gave Malfoy the chills, but as a child he’d been here on countless occasions to visit Snape.
Malfoy knocked swiftly on the door; an irritable voice called, “Who’s there? What do you want?”
“It’s Draco,” announced Malfoy. “Draco Malfoy.”
The door was flung open, and there stood Severus Snape: sallow-skinned, greasy-haired, eyes like an endlessly deep ocean trench. He glared down his hooked nose at Malfoy, and then glanced over at Potter and sneered. “Well, well, well. I didn’t think I’d ever stoop so low as to admitting you, Potter, into my house.”
“Believe me,” muttered Potter, “I never thought I’d stoop so low as to entering it.”
They glared at each other; Malfoy was afraid they’d start dueling that very instant, but Snape stepped aside. “Enter, if you must.”
Malfoy stepped inside; Potter reluctantly followed, shutting the door behind him. It was darker inside the house than outside, and everything smelled rather musty. Malfoy noticed Potter wrinkle his nose in distaste.
“Come into the kitchen, away from the windows. You shouldn’t stay out if it’s not needed…especially not you, Potter.” Snape appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, sneering.
“When are we leaving?” Potter hissed in Malfoy’s ear as they stepped into Snape’s gray kitchen.
“Not until the Death Eaters figure out we’re here.”
Potter sighed. “Better watch out, or I might just send them a letter.”
“Sit down, boys. Now…what is your purpose here?”
Malfoy and Potter sat down at Snape’s round, dusty kitchen table. “We’re in hiding,” Malfoy explained quickly, glancing around. “From the Death Eaters. They’re after us.”
Snape raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Why are they after you, Draco? I know you’ve wanted to become a Death Eater your whole life, and I know that you succeeded in your goal.”
“I betrayed him.” Malfoy wasn’t making eye contact with anybody. “I betrayed Voldemort, and he’s dead because of it.”
“Dead?” asked Snape, looking to Potter for confirmation. “Is this true, Potter?”
“Yes, it is,” Potter retorted. “I killed your old master. What are you going to do-murder me right now and avenge his death?”
“There’s no need to take that tone with me,” replied Snape coolly. “Am I supposed to let you barge into my house and not ask any questions? And,” he added, “in any case, I stopped working for Voldemort years ago.”
“Will you two please stop!” said Malfoy, standing up and banging his fist on the table. “Snape, we need to hide. Can we stay here a couple of days?”
Snape eyed Harry distrustfully, not caring to hide his loathing. “Yes, fine. Stay here as long as you want…as long as you don’t want to stay too long, Potter,” he added, putting emphasis on Potter’s name. Potter scowled.
For the rest of the day, Malfoy thumbed through Snape’s many heavy, dusty old books. Some were written in foreign languages that Malfoy couldn’t read, but others were quite interesting. Snape had quite a lot of books about Salazar Slytherin, which Malfoy devoured hungrily.
Malfoy picked out a stack of books and carried them over to a dusty armchair with quite a lot of holes. Dust puffed up as he sat down, but he ignored it and opened the first book.
The writing was tiny, but it was at least in English. Malfoy squinted down at the small words, trying to make them out. In some places, the ink was smeared so badly that he didn’t even try to read it. The intricately drawn illustrations were much more helpful, so he concentrated on them. In each picture was a tall wizard with cold gray eyes and dark hair. He was always dressed in green robes trimmed with silver, and seemed to be constantly angry. Malfoy was sure this was Salazar.
Outside the library, Malfoy could hear Potter and Snape arguing. He grinned, remembering many similar occasions back at Hogwarts. But then, Snape could deduct House points or put Potter in detention. Here, they'd have to settle with a duel. That could be nasty.
“Potter,” said Snape’s sneering, silky voice, “as long as you’re staying here, you might as well make yourself useful.”
“Meaning?” snapped Potter-here Malfoy heard robes rustling, and he was sure that they had both drawn their wands.
“Meaning that if I wanted to, I could contact the Death Eaters this very second and tell them of your whereabouts. I might need a little persuasion to keep quiet.”
There was a long silence, and then Potter sighed deeply and said, his voice filled with utmost loathing, “What do you want me to do?”
Malfoy knew that Snape was smiling smugly at this very moment, because his tone was extremely self-satisfied when he said, “Oh…for a start, how about my laundry?”
Malfoy made a face, as he knew Potter was, and then Potter objected, “No! I won’t do your stinking laundry for you, you dirty-”
“Expelliarmus!” yelled Snape; Potter swore quietly and Malfoy knew his wand was gone. He tiptoed over to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Potter was disentangling himself from Snape’s green-gray curtains and Snape was twirling his wand, Potter’s safely in his pocket.
Potter got to his feet and held out his hand. “C’mon, Snape, my wand.”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Snape casually, caressing his pocket. “Giving you your wand would enable you to finish any task in a matter of seconds, as well as being able to attack me. So I’ll keep your wand for now.”
Potter’s face was beet-red, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his teeth clenched, and Malfoy knew it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to jump on Snape and punching him. Malfoy sighed. He’d loved watching this sort of stuff at Hogwarts, where it happened alarmingly often, but now, it sort of made him sick. Who was Snape, to bully the Chosen One, the boy who’d defeated Voldemort? Malfoy mentally kicked himself for thinking “boy.” Potter wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man, a powerful wizard. ‘So am I,’ thought Malfoy with a start. ‘I’m a man. And just as good a wizard as Potter.’
It was strange. It seemed like just a few weeks, not years, ago he’d been yearning to join the Death Eaters, longing to serve Voldemort. Now he wished he’d never made those choices. Malfoy had definitely changed, in more ways than one.
Potter and Snape were still glaring at each other. Malfoy half-expected Snape to use the Imperius Curse before long. It really wasn’t fair of Snape to force Potter into doing his laundry-ugh. Malfoy sighed and stepped out into the hallway.
“Snape,” he said, “I’ll do your laundry. I don’t care, and Potter obviously doesn’t want to.”
They both stared at him like he was growing tentacles out of his nose. Malfoy reddened slightly. “I mean,” he said, “I don’t think you should force him to.”
“Since when have you cared?” asked Potter. “Just mind your own business. I don’t need your help.”
Malfoy flushed. “It looked an awful lot like you did,” he said coolly. “And I’m taking back my offer.” He turned his back on Potter and retreated into the library.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! That’s what he’d been, stupid. Stupid to betray Voldemort. Stupid to help Potter. Stupid to bring Potter here, to Snape’s house.
Stupid to think that he and Potter could ever be friends.