~~~~HP~~~~

The morning after any previous years' Midsummer's Gala was always a day of rest for Harry. It was a day he was allowed to have a lie in, recovering from being up late celebrating the Summer Solstice with fireworks, bonfires, a late night dessert reception, and often not getting back until well after the middle of the night. This year, he was allowed to have the coveted lie in as he could hear his parents' murmurs from downstairs, but neither wanted to come and wake him, though it had nothing to do with the festivities wearing them all out or getting home in the early hours of the morning; was because none of them knew how to handle the 'new normal' on the face of an upcoming war. Once they were awake - as his parents had obviously discovered - life would change whether they were ready or not.

He was grateful his parents had understood his hesitation to speak with them after his stepfather landed them - literally speaking - on their doorstep; expertly between the wards protecting the property and those shielding them from any muggles walking by. Harry never ventured outside long after dark in Cokeworth because the people who came out at night looked about as safe as Bellatrix Lestrange, and while he never had any encounters with any of them, he wanted to keep it that way. With only a "g'night, I love you," he'd come up to his room and changed out of his new green dress robes knowing that every time he saw them, he'd be reminded of the row with Severus at the Leaky Cauldron and the disaster at the Midsummer's Gala.

An attack by Order; it couldn't be a coincidence. Harry - through years of listening to Severus - didn't believe in coincidences and there was no way the conversation with Ron about the Order, the announcement of going to war against the Muggles, and the attack at the Ministry weren't related to one another. He just couldn't figure out what that connection had to do with him and it was trying to connect those dots that kept the Gryffindor up until almost dawn.

He woke up late Saturday to a deep blue sky and the warm, bright sun gleaming in through his window. The outside was so far from the way he felt inside of himself that it was almost nauseating; as if his body was going through vertigo and if they could only align a little better he could make it through the day unscathed. He was never that lucky, and so he grudgingly swung his legs over the side of his small bed not at all ready to face whatever the day had in store for him. His emerald eyes were drawn to the pile of green fabric lying unceremoniously on the floor next to his feet, so even if he wanted to forget about the last two days, he wouldn't be able to. In his haste to go to bed and rid himself of the awful night, he'd deposited the dress robes in the first place he could - and that was on the floor - before getting into his navy pyjamas. Had his mum woken him up that morning, he would have heard an earful from her about how careless he was with his belongings and then lectured him on a bunch of things he probably wouldn't remember.

Picking up the wrinkled robes, straightening them out the best he could without magic and then uprighting them to hang, a small piece of parchment - folded right across the middle - fell from somewhere inside of them. He curiously watched as it floated to the floor right above his bare feet, like it had been charmed to find a place where he was guaranteed to see it, therefore preventing him from promptly ignoring it as rubbish. Placing the robes nicely onto his bed, the Gryffindor crouched down to inspect the parchment. The fact that he couldn't remember placing anything in his robe pockets last night immediately put him on edge about where this had come from and what was written in it. Without removing his line of vision on the parchment, Harry reached his arm back to grab a quill he knew he always kept on his bedside table, and used the tool to unfold the parchment. He sighed when he recognized the perfect script from Hermione, but it still didn't account for how her response had ended up in his possession to begin with.

Now that he was comfortable enough with whom the mysterious parchment was from, he picked it up and sat back onto his bed to read what his Muggleborn friend had to say about his letter to her:

Dear Harry,

Good idea having Ron deliver your letter yesterday, that was some quick thinking! It looks like the best way for us to send correspondence this summer is through a messenger since we can't trust the owl service or even the muggle post any longer. I know he told you where we are staying (I can't actually write it down) and I want you to know that we're safe. After tonight, things are going to drastically change, but I'm still hoping to be at school in September. No, I haven't gotten my O.W.L. marks yet and given the turn of events I'm very nervous to get them back.

As for the other part of your letter, it sounds like you found a muggle drug called cocaine. It's extremely addictive and illegal to buy and sell. Unfortunately, your friend sounds like he was selling it to the other two men. If I were you, I would stay away from him - no good can come from the situation. If you want to help him, the best help you can give him is to tell your parents. Since they both grew up in that muggle community, I'm sure they'll know the right precautions to take to keep your friend (and you) safe. Getting involved with drugs can be extremely dangerous, so Harry, please don't try to handle this yourself. For once, get your parents involved. With everything going on in the wizarding community now, I don't want anything bad to happen to you.

We'll try to stay in touch as much as possible. Please think about what I've written, Harry, and what Ron told you about the other day.

Love you,

Hermione

Harry folded the parchment and held it between his hands as he contemplated what he'd just read. What was Chris doing with muggle drugs? There wasn't much he knew about them, except that they were bad and could cause a lot of damage. Growing up in a place like Cokeworth unfortunately meant his parents needed to tell him about the dangers of them, but that was all he knew… and that he would get in an awful lot of trouble if his parents - especially Severus - found out he had some in his wardrobe. Tucking the Gryffindor witch's letter under his pillow, he went to the lavatory for a quick shower trying to come up with some way he could tell his mum - in an effort to get Chris the help he needed - without his stepfather finding out; either accidentally or by his mum telling him.

Finally ready to start the day around lunchtime, Harry made his way down to the kitchen. Since it was Saturday - he loved when the gala fell on a Friday or Saturday because the fact that Severus didn't have to get up for work made him feel less guilty about waking up late - he could still hear his parents murmuring; not muffled like a Muffliato spell, just quiet talking on the other side of the door.

"...don't have a choice," he heard his stepfather firmly say to his mum. "At this point-"

The talking abruptly stopped, telling the young wizard his presence had been discovered. They may not have put up any silencing wards, but they had put up alarms to notify them when he was in listening distance. Not wanting to push his luck, he opened the door and was greeted by the biggest display of food he'd seen on a non-holiday afternoon. When his mum got nervous she either cleaned or baked and since the small home was already kept in such a neat and tidy condition, that apparently left her baking the entire morning possibly ever since they got back. Based on the kitchen around him, the young wizard could only assume she was absolutely terrified over something; if Harry had to guess, it would be the muggle war. Thinking back to Hermione's letter, now there was no way he could get his mother involved with what happened the other day with Chris. There was no doubt in his mind that it would push her over the edge she was already dangling precariously close to.

Lily was wearing a soft yellow apron over yet another floral dress, coral colored this time with small white flowers that Harry thought were daisies, but wasn't completely sure. Her hands were coated in pure white flour which was also splashed across her apron, in the hair that framed her face, and smeared across her forehead. That was nothing compared to the countertops, though. Harry was sure there wasn't a spot on them that wasn't coated in flour, batter, sprinkles, or peanuts. And that was just the preparation area. The table was covered in loaves of fresh bread, biscuits - sugar, chocolate chip, and, Harry's favorite, peanut butter - and brownies, each in their own tray and the bread was floating above the rest because the small table had already run out of room. On the far end of the table, in what was usually his mum's seat was Severus, reading the latest copy of The Daily Prophet that was sure to have some kind of coverage from the gala and, possibly, with the right spin to it, the Order attack on the Ministry. Somehow, Severus managed to be completely flour-free regardless of wearing black trousers and a black Oxford shirt.

"Erm," Harry nervously said, looking around at the odd sight before him. "Did you sleep at all mum?"

"Of course I did, sweetheart," she answered him in a way that he knew was a lie, gave him a small kiss on the cheek, and then back around to continue baking. Severus shuffled the paper down and gave a look towards Lily and shook his head slightly.

"So... what's going on?" The young wizard carefully asked. "Obviously…" he gestured to the room around him.

"Don't," Lily turned around and pointed a spatula in Severus's direction; she was baking - or more accurately frosting - what looked like a carrot cake. "He absolutely doesn't need to see it!"

"Well, now I kind of have to," Harry logically retorted. "It's not like I wasn't there last night. I heard what had happened."

"It's not that, Harry," his stepfather said. It had been a while since he'd heard that voice from the Potion Master; when he was talking about something uncomfortable, like when the Gryffindor was little and used to ask where his dad - James - was and when he'd be coming home. Harry didn't even remember James anymore, but somehow remembered those conversations with Severus like they were yesterday.

"I mean it, Sev," his mum warned again and Harry almost gagged at the nickname she used for the professor. "If you so much as give him that paper…"

"You'll what?" The Slytherin challenged and Harry felt like he was stepping in the middle of something he shouldn't be involved in. "He's going to find out at some point."

"Yes," this time Lily firmly placed her frosting covered hands on her hips, "but that point doesn't have to be today."

Harry rolled his eyes feeling confident that his stepfather would agree enough with him not to lecture him on the behavior; a first, which demonstrated just how much this upcoming war had already changed their family. At this point, the fact that she was intentionally keeping it from him was enough for him to think the worst of the situation.

"As you wish," his stepfather said before vanishing the paper away. Harry felt the disappointment settle over his chest, thinking maybe the other wizard had finally seen his side of things, but apparently he'd been wrong.

Helping himself to a peanut butter biscuit before pulling back the last remaining chair not covered in baked goods, daring to sit down, Harry's eyes went wide when he saw on the seat a small novel sized version of The Daily Prophet. His head shot up to look at Severus, who simply placed his right finger over his lips; their secret… this was something that was supposed to be just between the two of them. He gave his stepfather a small nod and tucked the miniature paper under his shirt.

"So, biscuits for lunch?" Harry asked with a smirk. "What are we going to do with all this, mum?"

Severus raised his eyebrows just as interested to hear the answer to the second question. Lily turned around frantically, taking in the baking scene around her. Harry held his breath waiting for her explosive reaction to his inquiry, but instead of her angry yell, she started laughing; a deep belly laugh that made Harry very uncomfortable. The young wizard looked across the table at Severus who didn't look nearly as amused as he was about his mother's random reaction to their kitchen completely covered in baked goods. The laughing didn't stop in what would have been an appropriate time and she continued as she held the edge of the counter for support.

Picking up on some unknown signal that Harry completely missed, Severus unceremoniously stood and walked to his wife. The exact moment his arms were wrapped around her, the hysterical laughter turned into heart breaking sobs. Feeling his face flush at the uncomfortable sudden change of mood, the Gryffindor wizard pulled the Daily Prophet out from under his shirt to take a quick peek at what his mother hadn't wanted him to see. At first there wasn't anything surprising; he'd expected to see the announcement of the war splashed across the front page along with a moving photograph of Lucius on stage giving his speech - a moment that would go down forever in Wizarding history - so the headline War is Upon Us! didn't cause him any apprehension. His eyes moved to the sub-headline, placed directly underneath the caption, and his breath was literally knocked from his lungs when he read:

All Wizards Between the Ages of 15 and 35 Must Register at the Department of Magical Defenses.

All he could think was that he had to be reading this wrong. While turning sixteen meant he was closer to his majority than he would have liked going into a time of war, he was still a year away so he assumed he would've been exempt. Could they really require wizards - kids - two years below the age they even allowed them to use magic outside of school to go to battle?

"It will be alright, Lily," Harry heard Severus say once his mum's sobbing slowed down, but he could hear the doubt in his normally solid and sure voice. If he sounded scared and unsure then it was definitely not going to be alright. Not wanting to get his stepfather in trouble for stealthily giving him the Daily Prophet, Harry placed it back underneath his shirt.

"Sorry," Lily said, back to her sweet voice, wiping the tears off her cheeks. Giving one more look around the tiny kitchen, she said to Harry, "Why don't you order takeaway for lunch?"

"Chinese?" Harry hopefully asked, knowing it was one of his mum's favorites, but Severus practically hated the cuisine.

"Yes," his stepfather answered before the Gryffindor witch could. "There's some muggle notes on my desk."

Now Harry was sure the world was coming to an end; Chinese food for lunch and he was being allowed to go downstairs to Severus's laboratory turned office, not to mention enough biscuits, cake, and bread to feed the whole neighborhood.

When the food was ordered and would hopefully be on its way shortly, Harry carefully walked back into the kitchen. Most of the flour and cake batter had been cleaned up already and Severus was standing by the countertop with his back towards the door Harry had just entered, leaning against it with all of his weight pressing on the palms of his hands.

"Where did mum go?" Harry asked, now unsure if he was supposed to return to the kitchen or go back to his bedroom before lunch was here.

Severus turned around and the young wizard took note of how exhausted he looked. When the young wizard had first come into the baking extravaganza he had been more focused on finding out what his mum wanted to keep from him and didn't really look at how his stepfather was handling this. As long as Harry had known the other wizard - which was as long as he could remember - he hid his emotions from everyone around him. In fact, Harry sometimes questioned if he even told Lily when something was plaguing his complicated mind. Harry's emerald eyes looked across the room at the man who had stepped in to help take care of him and his mum and now things were going to get infinitely more complicated.

"Take a seat, Harry," Severus told him, but not in a commanding way that the Gryffindor would have expected and would have defied. "Your mother went to take a quick shower and I'd like to speak with you before lunch is here."

Harry resisted the urge to argue, choosing to simply nod, and made his way to the table which now held small baskets of each type of sweet his mum had made. There was no doubt an extension charm had been added to each basket, otherwise Harry knew all the food wouldn't have fit. When Severus sat down, Harry took another good look at the man. Unlike the first time the young wizard had entered the room, his previously pristine black shirt and trousers were coated with flour, meaning he had been the one to clean up the mess throughout the kitchen the muggle way. Curious of the reason, Harry almost asked, but stopped himself when he noticed Severus's sleeves rolled up to his elbows, allowing the Gryffindor to see the Dark Mark which the other wizard rarely ever showed. Before last night's announcement, carrying the Dark Mark - especially the old style design Severus bore - was a mark of honor. All new military personnel were marked with it, however Severus's was from the original Death Eaters group; from being inside Lord Voldemort's inner circle of followers. His biological father had one, too. With Severus's help, James Potter had worked his way up the ranks until he was bestowed the honor of his Lord's mark so he could be summoned at will. Harry knew the entire Wizarding World expected him to join, with pride, as his father and stepfather had, and just the thought caused bile to rise up the back of his throat.

"Did you see the front page of the Prophet," Severus jumped right into the conversation, and Harry shouldn't have expected any less.

"Of course I did," Harry responded with more sarcasm than he was originally going for. He was feeling defensive, like if he didn't show some kind of resistance to all of this, he might crumble apart. "Am I really going to have to fight?"

The professor paused longer than Harry was comfortable with, but then he shook his head and replied, "I'm going to see Lucius first thing Monday morning to see if there is anything I can do to prevent that from happening. While I doubt they'd send fifteen and sixteen year olds to battle the Muggles, I promise you I'll do whatever it takes to get you out of this."

"What about you?" Harry found himself asking as he not so subtly stared at the Dark Mark. Feeling self-conscious, Severus rolled his sleeves down and Harry added, "Can he call you again? Will you be going to fight?"

"Yes he can, and he probably will," the Death Eater answered honestly, "I can't imagine I'll be called to the front lines, but I'm sure I'll be pulled in for something relating to the war besides brewing wound cleansing potions and Polyjuice."

Harry was confused by his own feelings about what he'd just heard. It was no secret that he and Severus had their issues, and again both of his fathers were - or had been - Death Eaters, but that didn't mean he wanted the man to go stand by Lord Voldemort's side. If he were really honest with himself, which he resisted being on this topic, he wasn't even sure which side of the fence Severus truly fell on. The professor's muggle father had been… well, Harry assumed from the small bits he'd heard the man hadn't been very good. So it didn't surprise the Gryffindor one bit that his stepfather hated muggles.

"I take it that's what caused-" he motioned his hands all around the kitchen, "-all of this."

"She's a bit worried," Severus looked over at Harry, "as am I."

Harry was uncomfortable with the declaration made from his stepfather which he could only assume had to do more with Harry's involvement than his own. Even growing up, before Harry changed his views away from his family's, he and Severus never talked about their feelings; they both just knew. More recently though, things were different. A parent was supposed to love their child unconditionally; he never questioned his mum's love for him even when things between them were strained. The fact that Severus wasn't his biological parent left him in this middle purgatory, never really knowing if he was granted that unconditional caveat. If Harry pushed hard enough against the anti-muggleborn propaganda, would Severus turn his back on his stepson?

"What about Australia?" The young wizard asked, with a half smile hoping to steer them towards more neutral ground, "I always assumed you had some grand plan to-"

"It's too late for that," Severus interrupted, shaking his head so his dark, greasy hair fell across his pale face. "Effective immediately there have been restrictions for all travel across Britain, not mention in or out of the country, and with your mother… let's just say it's not an option any longer."

Harry tried to ignore what sounded like grief or regret coming from his stepfather's dark voice. They'd miss the window to leave and he questioned if that was intentional or an oversight on one - or both - of his parents.

"Things are going to change now, aren't they?" The young wizard asked, wishing he sounded braver than he felt inside. To alleviate his own awkwardness, he focused his attention in running his finger across the table, imagining he was ice skating across the smooth wooden surface.

"They will," Severus said, his head turning as he watched the fifteen year old across from him, wishing his son didn't have to grow up in the world he had himself. "We'll get through it one step at a time, and first, on Monday, I'll see what kind of flexibility there is on the military registration. If you can't get out of registering, then I'll find out anything I can on what type of positions they're looking for. Even with magic on our side, I'm afraid the wizarding world is at a tactical disadvantage to the muggles, so I'm interested to see their plans to account for that level inequality. We've waited this long, Harry," he tried to reassure the Gryffindor, "the Ministry would not go forward now if they did not think we would come out on top."

But the fact was that Harry didn't trust them, not one bit; why would he put his trust in an organization that had never really put the welfare of their citizens above their own selfish agenda? He carefully watched the wizard across from him trying to determine if he really believed that too or if he was just saying it to shed a little positivity on the overall grim situation.

Before he had a chance to say anything else about it all, there was a soft knock on their front door, essentially breaking their moment of honesty; something that didn't happen nearly as often as it should. Neither wizard made to move, even as another knock - much louder than the first - came from the front door.

"Lunch is here," Harry said, drawing his stepfather's attention out of whatever he had been thinking about, "want me to get it?"

"Please," Severus replied without any further comment or direction, another first for the pair.

Happy to have a reason to leave the awkward kitchen, Harry made his way to the front door, pulling out the muggle notes and counting out the correct amount to pay for lunch. Not paying attention - thinking about seeing the cute Asian girl who usually delivered from this restaurant - when he opened the door, he jumped in shock at the sight of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy standing outside of his home. Without thinking, he slammed the door closed.

"Is lunch here?" His mum asked, as she was coming down the stairs looking better than she had the last time he saw her in the kitchen. She was now dressed in a yellow and white striped sundress and the leftover evidence of her baking frenzy were no longer in her hair and on her face.

"Not exactly," Harry sheepishly replied, just as another soft knock came on the door behind him.

"Who's here, Harry?" The red-headed witch narrowed her eyes at her son and shooed him away from the door.

"Erm…"

"Narcissa!" Lily exclaimed, opening the door and seeing the two Malfoys still waiting outside… on the half broken stoop surrounded by the dilapidated houses all around them. "Come in, please."

She moved aside to allow the two most aristocratic people in wizarding Britain into their home, giving him a pointed glare as they entered.

"Thank you, Lily," the Malfoy matriarch greeted. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi," Harry felt his face start to flush as the four of them stood in the tiny entryway.

"Is everything alright?" Lily asked, confused. Harry had to admit that she was handling the odd intrusion better than he was.

Draco stood a half step behind his mother looking around with a satisfied expression, like he was surprised the inside of their home could be so much brighter and welcoming than the entire rest of the town. Just as they made eye contact, Severus came into the already cramped room.

"Harry, is lunch-" the Potions Master started, but paused when he saw the unexpected visitors with his wife and son. Harry noticed him immediately go on alert before he asked, "What's going on?"

"You were having lunch?" Narcissa placed her dainty hand over her heart as she asked. "We can come back another time."

"Nonsense," Lily responded, sounding completely offended. "Would you care to stay for lunch? We have takeaway Chinese on its way and Harry always orders enough for days of leftovers."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his mother knowing she had every intention of multiplying the food that was on its way. "Seriously, I always order way too much, especially since Severus hates Chinese food so much."

He threw that last statement in to provide some comedic relief, but it didn't seem to help at all.

"We hate to impose," Narcissa explained. Harry was internally debating if she was just being polite or if she really didn't want to be there. Suddenly, he had this urge to know if Draco could eat with chopsticks and getting them to stay for lunch became the highlight of his day.

"It's nothing," his mum insisted. And then, as if they needed anything else going on, there was another knock at the door that was definitely their lunch this time. "Harry, take Narcissa and Draco into the kitchen while Severus and I get the food."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes - knowing it was not acceptable in the current company - he instead sighed and handed the muggle notes to Severus, then gestured for the Malfoy mother and son to follow him the short distance to the kitchen so his parents could make sure there was enough food for five rather than three.

"This is a lovely home you have," Narcissa commented as they passed through the sitting room and into the kitchen.

Harry thought she sounded genuine, however he wasn't sure how someone living in a palace like Malfoy Manor could then turn around and say this semi-attached house was "lovely". Concluding it was probably part of her formal etiquette - while noticing that Draco had yet to say a word - he replied with a mumbled "thanks" and led them into the kitchen.

Even before the recent baking additions from this morning, Harry knew they wouldn't all fit at their three person table, but he still started collecting the baskets of biscuits and bread, relocating them to the countertop, to make as much room as possible.

"Like baking much, Potter?" Draco finally spoke up. He was looking around the room with a face that was somewhere between impressed and disgusted.

"It was a…" the Gryffindor paused thinking back on his mum's breakdown over the upcoming war; he definitely couldn't tell the Malfoys about it so he lamely went with, "... long story. But help yourself, we have enough to feed the neighborhood."

"What a great idea," he cringed when he heard Severus's sarcastic voice from behind him. He approached Harry with his hands full of takeaway bags and a smug expression upon his face, "Why don't you bring some over to Mrs Figg after lunch?"

Harry groaned at the task he'd just been assigned, all because he was answering Draco in the most innocent way possible. The Figg's moved into the house at the other end of the row that Harry's house was attached to right around Christmas time after Harry started at Hogwarts. They were an elderly couple - which in itself was kind of out of place for the rundown area - and as far as Harry knew they never had any children; just a lot of cats. This past year, Mr Figg was diagnosed with a muggle disease Harry wasn't familiar with and passed away suddenly last spring, leaving Mrs Figg alone with her cats. Since then, his mum had taken it upon herself to help out whenever possible. Severus getting involved now was simply his way of telling Harry he was walking on thin ice because he knew Harry's feelings about the "creepy cat lady".

Since there wasn't enough room for them all to eat in the kitchen - which Harry had already known - the two younger wizards were banished to the sitting room with their plates of food.

The Gryffindor would never admit it, but besides his bedroom the sitting was his favorite place in the house. All four walls were lined with bookshelves full of both wizarding and muggle books - most of which Harry either wasn't permitted to read or wasn't interested in - but each one had a shelf or two where appropriately aged texts would swap out, making sure he always had something relevant for him to read from. It was obviously charmed - he learned early on in his life that Charms to his mum was like Potions to Severus, and ironically he didn't excel at either of those - to make the changes, but he imagined there had to be a place within the house for the charms to pull the books from. And that strange idea was what kept him coming back; the idea that his mum, or maybe even Severus, was always looking for books that he would like to add to "the collection". The room itself wasn't as bright as the other rooms after his mum's redesign, which had to do with the bookcases dominating the space and bringing in the original dark wooden features before they moved in. The space was only big enough for a plush sofa, which was deep maroon in color, making the room look both smaller and out of sync with the house, with a long table placed in front of it and a fireplace - connected to the floo network - sat in the right wall. Harry had always assumed this room was more or less untouched from when Severus lived here alone; before he moved into their Godric's Hollow home for the first year after marrying Lily. The only part of the sitting room with his mother's touch was a couple shelves in the bookcases that had been cleared off and replaced with pictures of their family throughout the years and trinkets that were sentimental to his mother; like the shells they collected from their first beach holiday, a bouquet of flowers Harry picked when he was younger set with a charm to keep them everlasting, and Harry's letter from Hogwarts proudly on display as if she were afraid he wouldn't have gotten into the school.

The two teenage wizards sat in mostly silence while eating their respective lunches. To his surprise, Draco did, in fact, know how to use chopsticks, but did hesitate with a look of pure disgust when presented with his takeaway cuisine. Did the Malfoys ever order takeaway food from their mansion? Or would the fact that all their meals were made by a waitstaff negate the need for takeaway?

His answer came almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind when the blonde beside him stared at his plate and said, "Did this seriously come from a box?"

The Gryffindor paused, the noodles dangling from his wooden chopsticks halfway to his mouth, "That is kind of how takeaway works."

"And is it always this-" Draco trailed off examining his food like it was about to walk off his plate. "-stale?"

"Erm," Harry furrowed his brows, "I guess-"

"I mean," the Malfoy heir interrupted, not at all interested in hearing Harry's explanation, "Severus makes a decent living. Your mum's getting survivor benefits from your dad's passing, so why are you eating Azkaban food?"

Something about the insult frayed Harry's last nerve and to get away from the topic he aggressively asked, "What are you even doing here?"

"Right now, I'm supposedly eating some kind of Asian noodles with pine, of all things, chopsticks," the Malfoy heir replied, sarcastically.

"Don't be a prat," Harry responded, "you know what I mean. How did you get here?"

"Well for one, my father has the addresses for every Ministry employee," he said as if it were completely logical to go to a private directory for his own personal use.

"Of course," the Gryffindor shook his head, "so then why are you here?"

Draco placed his chopsticks down in a neat and tidy manner across his half eaten plate of noodles and rice, "There was a lot that happened last night… and I… wanted to make sure you were… alright."

The last word was mumbled so low, Harry wasn't quite sure he'd heard correctly, "Were you worried about us?"

"I wouldn't go that far," there was a conflict in his eyes that matched the unsteadiness in his voice. "It's just, we were swept off to 'a safe location' and you guys were left there. You didn't even have your wands! That's… unfair."

"Your father's the Minister for Magic," Harry logically answered, and a little confused; he would have thought the Slytherin would be thrilled to be guaranteed safety in a situation like last night's. "Did you think they'd just leave you guys vulnerable?"

"Well… no," the blonde shook his head, "but how fair is it that my father got whisked away when the people he's supposed to be protecting were left to die?"

It made sense, nonetheless Harry also knew how important it was to protect their leaders. "We weren't actually in any danger. At least not from anything inside the manor. Not to mention, life isn't always fair."

"No, I guess it's not," the other wizard's replied. "So what happened after we left? The last I heard was a lot of screaming."

"Did you see the lights go out?"

Draco's grey eyes widened giving away his answer before he shook his head.

"That was probably the screaming you heard," Harry continued, "people were going crazy. But eventually the aurors took everyone out in groups to disapparate. It wasn't a big deal."

Neither teenager called out the blatant lie Harry had just told. They both knew it was a big deal; that kind of reaction wouldn't happen over anything but a 'big deal'. However, talking about it would only make the situation all the more real, and so Harry didn't offer any other information, and Draco didn't ask. Somehow Harry knew if they discussed their own unique viewpoint on the war, or the attack at the Ministry - even though Harry was desperate for information and knew the Malfoy heir likely had it - it would bring forth a new set of an anxiety and righteousness he wasn't prepared to deal with at that moment. Therefore, they once again found themselves in this neutral zone that neither had really expected nor had they even tried to get there, and decided Quidditch was really the only thing they could safely talk about to pass the awkward lunchtime without causing too much disturbance to that neutral zone.

"Harry," his mum called him in from the kitchen.

"Yes, mum?" He asked, already anticipating what his mother was going to request from him, knowing he couldn't refuse with Narcissa present. Sometimes Harry thought living with a Slytherin like Severus for so long had a bad influence on her.

"Take these down to Mrs Figg, would you, please?" In her hands was a basket - enlarged to have the extension charm removed - filled to the brim with different biscuits, cakes, and bread. It was far more than a woman like Mrs Figg could actually eat, yet he knew saying so wouldn't get him out of the task; it would only make him look bad in front of the Minister's wife. And doing so before his stepfather was going to ask about his military registration wasn't exactly the best idea.

Great, Harry thought to himself, now I'm starting to think like a Slytherin.

He considered arguing that Mrs Figg would probably want to see her instead - as a way to make himself feel just a little more in control - but one look past his mother over to Severus told him this wasn't the time to cause issues. If Severus had asked him, he wouldn't have thought twice; he just couldn't cause anymore despair to his mum.

"Sure thing, mum," he answered obediently, taking the basket of treats. "I'll go get my trainers on and head over there now."

He'd almost made it to the door. In fact, had he moved just a touch faster he could have claimed he didn't hear the latest instruction, from the last person he wanted to take orders from: Narcissa Malfoy.

"Draco will go with you," the Malfoy matriarch said, "it'll do him good to get out for a little bit."

Groaning quietly, so the adults wouldn't hear him, he simply muttered, "Come on, Draco," and stalked out of the kitchen to visit his elderly muggle neighbor.

"You know, this place might have had some kind of potential if anyone cared enough to keep it from completely deteriorating," Draco announced when they walked outside. "Seriously, you have this large winding river, which is the foundation to any town worthwhile, and it's absolutely filthy."

The Gryffindor knew it was a losing battle to try and defend his hometown - not to mention he shared the same viewpoint with the other wizard - but he was filled up with the need to explain something about why Cokeworth appeared the way it did.

"This was a milling town," the raven-haired wizard started explaining while pointing to the crumbling mill on the horizon, "and pretty much everyone living here worked, in some capacity, for the mill. So when it closed, everyone lost their jobs. Those fortunate enough to find more work moved out quickly, but those who didn't had no choice but to stay. And without the mill bringing in money to the town, there wasn't any to do things like repair the infrastructure."

He tried not to be embarrassed, but it was hard when he was standing next to someone like Draco Malfoy explaining why the town he lived in was so broken. Giving the prim and proper wizard a quick once-over, Harry quickly realized that they couldn't continue to the other side of the row with him looking as he did. While the Slytherin had been dressed in muggle-appropriate clothing, it was leaps and bounds from what the average household in Cokeworth could afford. In fact, in his black suit and tie, Mrs Figg was more likely to think the blonde was from a local church than simply delivering a basket of biscuits from the Snape Family.

"You should take your tie off," the Gryffindor nervously suggested, peering at Draco from the corner of his eye.

"Why would I do that?" He was offended, Harry could tell by the cold tone of his voice. "Just because you choose to dress like a waif when hiding in the muggle world doesn't mean I have to."

Harry quickly thrusted his arm out, stopping Draco in his tracks only three doors away from Mrs Figg's house. His emerald eyes met Draco's and for once there wasn't any animosity found from the words he'd said. Rather there was fear inside of them and the raven-haired wizard wasn't sure if it was fear of being in a fully muggle community or fear of the type of muggle community they were in. Cokeworth might not be much - and even that was being too kind - but for Harry it was his home; even if he didn't always feel like he belonged in his family.

"I dress to fit in this neighborhood," Harry clarified, thinking of Hermione's letter about the muggle drugs and the type of people who used them. "Your outfit screams that you don't belong here and if you show up at Mrs Figg's door looking like that, you're going to terrify her. Not to mention what anyone walking by will think."

"Because of my tie?" Harry was sure if it were considered proper form to roll one's eyes, the Malfoy heir would have done so by now.

"Because you look like you don't belong here," Harry was already tired of this conversation, "and Mrs Figg is just a nice old lady who wants to live her life as uncomplicated as possible."

Refusing to budge until Draco conceded, Harry lifted his eyebrows in a move he'd seen Severus do too many times, yet he knew he didn't pull it off nearly as well as his stepfather.

"Fine!" Draco eventually agreed and aggressively took his black suit coat off - handing it to Harry after giving the Gryffindor a good once over - and pulled off his tie. With both articles of clothing now nestled over his forearm, he lifted his hands and said, "Better, your highness?"

"Much."

The rest of the trip to the other end of Harry's row was in silence. Like all the attached houses on Spinner's End, Mrs Figg's had a small window in the front that looked into the kitchen. Unlike most of the houses on Spinner's End, almost every time Harry passed by the window, she was looking out of it. For the longest time, Harry thought maybe she knew when he left his own house and was spying on him - admittedly, this was when the young wizard was in his own peak of paranoia over the Ministry's control of their lives - but the more he watched the older woman, and especially after he heard of her husband's passing, the more he realized she was simply looking for someway to pass the time in this deserted town. That had Harry wondering if she saw what had been going on with Chris and the two men last week; they weren't far from the back of her house after all and if she was so keen on watching the comings and goings from the front of her house, perhaps she did the same towards the river. If that were true, there was a distinct possibility that the woman had seen Harry's pseudo-involvement that day. He made a mental note to keep track of the elder's windows on the river facing side, and listen for any sign that she mentioned something about it to his parents; especially his mum since she liked to spend time with her.

"This one?" Draco asked with his face contorted in disgust because it was obvious from the outside that Mrs Figg's home was in worse condition than Harry's. "Seriously, who would choose to live here?"

Harry didn't validate that with a response, he just ignored the Malfoy heir - whose plentiful staff probably lived in better quarters than the Snape family did - and walked up to the door; not even caring if Draco followed him or stayed on the broken sidewalk.

As expected, Mrs Figg answered the door a second after the young wizard knocked, meaning she had likely seen them approaching from her window.

"Harry, dear," Mrs Figg answered in her soft, crackled voice. One of the cats - Harry could never keep them straight, but this was one of the tabbys - ran from the door and immediately started circling his ankles. From his peripheral vision, he saw Draco startle at the small pet's appearance, and he chuckled a bit at the odd response. "What brings you by on this lovely day? And who is this you've brought with?"

"Erm," he started with, turning towards the Slytherin standing behind him, to give himself more time to come up with a logical lie. He turned back to the elderly muggle, where he held out the basket of treats for her, "my mum was baking this morning and made some extra for you."

"How very kind of Lily," Mrs Figg replied, taking the basket of treats. "Please, come in. I have something for your mother."

Harry turned back to Draco, who's eyebrows shot up into the air at the offer to enter her home and slowly shook his head back and forth. Weighing his options, Harry gestured for Draco to follow him inside; it wasn't like he could leave the Minister's son out on the front stoop on Spinner's End - of all places - even if this was a muggle town who wouldn't know Draco as such an important figure.

"I'm sorry," Mrs Figg said once they'd entered the same tiny entryway as Harry's house. If the young wizard had to guess, the interior of the Figg's home was closer to what the original house had looked like when it was built and probably what Severus's did before his mum got in there and put her own touch - with magic, no doubt - to it. "I didn't catch your friend's name."

The way she said it made Harry instantly on alert. He hadn't mentioned a thing about Draco, and therefore she wouldn't have known his name. It could have been some of Severus's own paranoia rubbing off on the Gryffindor, or had to do with this morning's news of the war, but suddenly his instincts told him he shouldn't let her know his real name; besides how unique it would sound to a muggle.

"Sorry about that," Harry confidently replied, "this is Thomas. He's a friend from my school who was visiting for lunch."

Mrs Figg smiled at him and again, it made the Gryffindor uncomfortable, "A friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. Come in, come in."

She led them through the small entryway to the sitting room, telling them she'd be right back, and then continued on into the kitchen; most likely to put the basket of biscuits in the kitchen. Draco, still with disgust planted on his face, looked around the room that was far emptier than the similar room they had just eaten in at Harry's house.

"How well do you know her?" Draco asked, leaning in close to Harry's ear in a move he'd seen done a countless number of times at the gala when high ranking officials didn't want their conversions overheard.

"She's lived here for almost five years," Harry whispered back, "my parents used to ask her to watch me when they went out, but it's been years since they needed to do that. Why?"

The blonde frowned and shook his head, just as Mrs Figg reentered the sitting room.

"Your mother is one of the kindest people I know," she said, waving her pointer finger at him like she was lecturing him over something bad he'd done.

Harry couldn't help smiling at the compliment to his mum. Since she had been unable to find work that Severus was comfortable with her taking - as a security measure, of course - she'd taken on several volunteer roles with Narcissa throughout the years to fill her time, especially now that Harry lived at Hogwarts most of the year. This had earned her quite the reputation throughout the neighborhood. Most of it was positive - about her kind nature - but since many of the residents in the neighborhood couldn't live off a single income like they were, not everything said was so good and he'd heard some really awful things about her said behind her back when people thought he wasn't listening. It hurt him inside when he heard those things because his mum was doing the best she could given the situation she'd been placed in, and they had no room to judge her for it.

Without any other words to the pair of wizards, Mrs Figg walked to an old rickety desk tucked away in the corner and started rummaging through it. She was murmuring things like "it was right here the other day" and "give me just another minute". Beside him, Draco was nervously patting his hands on the sides of his expensive black trousers and giving the Gryffindor a look that said he was ready to leave the moment they had entered her home.

"Here we are," the muggle exclaimed. When she turned around, in her hand was a book; a cookbook to be exact. She held it out to him and said, "your mother lent this to me last month. I've copied down my favorites and I'd hate for her to be missing one of her books."

At this, Draco gave a hard chuckle and Harry did the unthinkable - at least if they had been back at school - and elbowed him in the side.

"Of course, Mrs Figg," Harry politely replied, "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear you enjoyed them."

"Tell her the beef stew was my new favorite," she tapped the book with her wrinkled hand, and gave him a warm smile before walking them back to the door where she bid them farewell.

The second the door closed, Draco turned to Harry and exclaimed, "What the bloody hell was that?!"

Unable to contain his laughter, the Gryffindor simply shook his head at the ridiculous declaration and continued on walking home.

They were almost back to the other side of the row when Harry was stopped by Draco's arm reaching out; similar to Harry's own on their way to Mrs Figg's house.

"Are you sure she's a-" Draco looked around and lowered his voice, leaning in as he did back at Mrs Figg's sitting room, "-a muggle?"

"Why would you think she wasn't?" Harry asked, equally intrigued as he was amused. Everything about that encounter was so muggle, he could feel the wariness radiating from the Malfoy heir the moment he knocked on the door. Now to hear the blonde asking such a question was almost too much for his overwhelmed mind.

"Just a feeling I guess," Draco replied. "And she kept looking at my arm-" to make a point, he patted his left forearm, "- where I keep my wand holstered."

"You're as paranoid as Severus," Harry responded, "I think you were so uncomfortable with that whole encounter, your brain is making up things to worry about."

"I don't think so," Draco thoughtfully replied.

Harry never thought twice about Draco's observation or his accusation that Mrs Figg was somehow magical. It had to be nonsense since the young Gryffindor had seen her dozens upon dozens of times over the years and never had she done or said a single magical thing. He didn't think about it again, not even when he gave the borrowed cookbook back to his mother, who laughed saying she had never lent it to Mrs Figg; that elderly lady must have gotten it from someone else, and it had simply slipped her mind.