The day passed slowly. Malfoy stayed in the library, reading Snape’s musty old books about famous wizards, intricate spells, and magical gadgets such as Time Turners. They were all quite interesting, and Malfoy learned a lot.
That night, dinner was an awkward affair. Snape had served a grayish, lumpy stew that was quite unappetizing. Malfoy choked it down and excused himself, not desiring to stay at the table with Snape and Harry. He bounded up the creaky stairs up to the bedroom Snape had given him. It was reasonably comfortable, even if it was furnished entirely in a dingy brown color. But then, most of Snape’s house was.
Exhausted, Malfoy fell asleep almost as soon as he collapsed on the bed, fully clothed. When he woke up, it was ten o’ clock. He jumped up and descended down to the kitchen. Potter was sitting alone at the table, reading the Daily Prophet and drinking a cup of tea. He glanced up briefly when Malfoy entered and said, “So, you finally got up.”
“I’m not a morning person.” Malfoy trudged over to the counter and started looking through the cabinets. “Where’s Snape, and where does he keep his tea?”
“He left about an hour ago for Knockturn Alley. Said he’ll be back around noon. As for the tea, I took the last of it. There’s probably more in his cellar,” responded Potter from behind the paper.
Malfoy’s hand went instinctively to his wand to hex Potter, but he thought better of it and asked in a voice of forced calm, “Do you know where the cellar is?”
“Right there.” Potter’s hand lazily indicated a door to his left.
Malfoy strode over to the door, all drowsiness evaporated, and pulled it open. He glanced down the stairs and grimaced. It was pitch black, but Malfoy could make out rotting stairs sticky with cobwebs. “Ugh,” he said, then stepped cautiously onto the first step.
It supported his weight, so he stepped down again. Gaining confidence, he walked more heavily-
And crashed through the rotten wood.
Malfoy landed on his stomach, which was punctured by something sticking out of the floor. “Oof,” he winced, rolling over and squinting through the shower of dust and splintered wood. He rubbed his stomach tenderly. “What the heck was that? Lumos!”
The tip of his wand lit up, illuminating the dark cellar. Malfoy looked around the gray, dreary, rather damp room, his stomach still paining him. He winced as he got to his feet, then glanced at the ground. “Hey!”
Potter’s bemused face appeared by the door. “I’m guessing it isn’t tea you found, Malfoy?”
“I don’t think so,” murmured Malfoy. “Potter, come down here!”
Potter sat on the ground, his legs dangling above the ground where the staircase had been about thirty seconds ago. He pushed off, landing catlike on the ground on all fours. Then he got up and strode over to Malfoy in one fluid motion.
He knelt down next to Malfoy and ran his hand over the floor. It was concrete, hard and slimy, but there was a patch of rough, splintery wood near where the two men were squatting. “It looks like a trapdoor,” Potter observed, his hand gripping the handle that Malfoy had landed on.
Malfoy grunted, still massaging his stomach. “Ouch,” he moaned. “That really hurt.”
“Shut up. I wonder what Snape’s hiding down there?”
“Well, why don’t you find out, then?” asked Malfoy irritably.
Potter got to his feet and pulled out his wand. Aiming it at the patch on the ground, he cried, Bombarda!
Nothing happened.
“He’s probably protected it,” said Malfoy, still sitting on the ground. “Bewitched, you know.”
“Yeah. So I guess we need the key to get in.” The keyhole was small and silver, not tarnished at all.
“Well, what time is it?” asked Malfoy.
Potter checked his watch. “10:20. We’ve got over an hour to look for the key. Let’s go. We can Apparate out of here.”
Malfoy nodded and scrambled to his feet eagerly, all pain forgotten. “Let’s try his bedroom first, you reckon?”
Potter nodded. “Sounds good.” then he was gone, and reappeared promptly in the kitchen. “Come on, Malfoy! Let’s go!”
Malfoy left the cellar and followed Potter up to Snape’s bedroom. The room was spacious, but gloomy, containing only a bed with a gray bedspread and a dresser with peeling paint. “Where do we look?” Malfoy asked, looking around the room.
“Everywhere,” was the reply, so Malfoy shrugged and started digging around in the dresser. The first drawer contained only robes, all obsidian colored, with absolutely no variety. He emptied out the drawer, making a pile of dismal black robes on the ground, but he found no key. Potter was searching under the bed, but having no luck, either.
Not yet discouraged, Malfoy set the drawer aside and began pawing through the second one. It contained more robes, although Malfoy thought these might be dress robes. They were made of velvet and seemed to be better quality, and adorned with golden embroidery on the edges. Still, though, there was no key to be found.
By the bed, Potter’s pile of old junk was growing. Obviously, Snape’s room was only clean because he shoved his things under the bed. There were broken magical objects such as Time Turners and Foe Glasses, dusty old spellbooks, and other assorted items. “Any luck?” asked Malfoy hopefully.
“Nah.” Potter drew himself out from under the bed, specks of dust caught in his hair. “Snape’s sure got a lot of old crap under here, but no keys. You?”
“Nothing. Just a bunch of robes,” said Malfoy.
“All black, I see,” noted Potter, absent-mindedly leafing through one of Snape’s old books.
Suddenly Malfoy sensed another presence in the room. Dread growing in his stomach, forming a leaden weight, he looked up to the doorway.
Snape was standing there, yellow teeth bared, wand out and pointed at Malfoy.
He was absolutely livid.
Snape strode into the room angrily, his face white. “What,” he asked softly, “are you two boys doing in my bedroom, looking through my things?”
“Uh-uh-” Malfoy scrambled to his feet and backed against the wall, shoulder-to-shoulder with Potter and not even caring. His hand curled around his wand in his back pocket, his heart thudding.
Snape, however, was wandless. He stood by his bed, surveying the piles of his belongings strewn around the room, and then said, barely audibly, “Leave.”
Malfoy remained silent; so did Potter.
“Get out of my house, and don’t ever come back.”
“But-Snape,” said Malfoy weakly. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“I don’t care. Just get out of my house. Now.”
“But-”
Potter cut him off. “Snape’s right,” he whispered into Malfoy’s ear, gripping his forearm and steering him towards the door. As they passed by Snape, Malfoy attempted a grin. Snape stared back icily, and the halfhearted smile slipped off Malfoy’s face. I never really did get the hang of it, smiling, he thought, and then shook Potter’s hand off his arm and followed the black-haired man out of the house.
“Potter…where do we go?”
“The Burrow. You’ve never been there. Side-Along. Grab my arm.” Malfoy did as he was told, realizing Potter wasn’t in the best of moods.
They Apparated, feeling as if they were squeezed through a tiny tube, and Malfoy found himself outside of a tall, precariously leaning house with a few chickens pecking in the yard. “Where are we?” Malfoy asked, letting go of Potter’s arm.
“This is where the Weasleys live.”
“The Weasleys’ house?” Malfoy asked vehemently.
“Well…there was no other alternative!”
Malfoy glanced around contemptously. “We’re not staying long. Two days tops.”
“Hey, cut it out,” said Potter. “You’re such a jerk, you know that? We’re going to stay as long as we need to.”
Malfoy didn’t respond. Maybe he was being a jerk, maybe a rich, spoiled snob. He’d always been that way, his whole entire life, but did he really want to? No, he decided, following Potter to the front door, I don’t want to be like that anymore.
Worst Friends, Best Enemies by halfbloodprincess22
Chapter Notes: Malfoy and Potter make a surprising discovery.