Author's Note 09-06-16: This is a birthday present for the absolutely WONDERFUL Maia (oh-my-drarry/oh-my-fancan). I was toying with the old favourite troupe of 'Oh no! We have to share a bed!' – and I came to the idea of WWII evacuees. It quickly got out of hand though lol, because I've completely fallen in love with this AU, so I'm breaking my own rule and posting this as a work in progress (as I obviously couldn't wait to post the whole thing as then it would have been late for Maia's birthday!)

I promise to update as soon as possible though! I'm guessing there will be 4-5 more chapters after this one :) Enjoy! And once again, happy birthday Maia xxx

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Blackberry Jam

September 1st 1940

Harry stepped off the train onto an unfamiliar platform thronging with people. He fiddled nervously with the cardboard tag attached to his coat button, his only possessions stowed in the small suitcase that he clung to his side as he attempted to prevent it being buffeted by the other children anxiously climbing down from the engine.

"This way, this way!" the billeting officer called, herding the children towards the exit. The train had been packed though, and there were only a few adults that had travelled with them from London, so it was a challenge to move everyone in an orderly fashion. Seeing as he was one of the older evacuees, Harry tried to help as best he could. He had argued sternly with his mother that he shouldn't have to leave at all, that evacuation was for babies and as had turned ten in July that meant he was no longer a baby. But there had been no swaying her, so in order to feel a little less ashamed for running away from London, Harry took the hand of a little girl hair who was crying, the gas mask swinging around her neck almost as large as her head.

"There now," he said in his jolliest voice, pushing up his glasses as they threatened to slip down his nose. "There's no need for tears, we're going on a grand adventure."

He smiled and the little girl sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I don't want a grand adventure though," she whispered. "I want my mummy."

Harry tried to swallow around the thick lump that sprung into his throat at her words, but remained committed to his smile. "I'm sure you shall see your mother very soon. Until then you have to be brave, and make her very proud."

The little girl nodded solemnly as they slowly filed past a sign on the brick wall that announced this was 'Little Whinging Station'. Harry knew they were somewhere in Surrey, but he only knew that was to the west of London, and not much else. He had been so adamant he wouldn't be leaving, that when the bombs had started dropping he hadn't had a chance to check out a map from the library before he'd had to say goodbye.

He bit his lip and stuck out his chin, absolutely refusing to think of his mother waving him off at the station, tears running down her face as she made him promise to write the moment he got to his new home. Harry was a big boy, and he had to look after the littler children who were far more scared than he was.

He refused, too, to think of the way the ground had rumbled, and how the sky had lit up like a furnace where the bombings had taken place across the city. His mother had assured him that their street was perfectly safe, because with fierce Miss McGonagall on the neighbourhood watch nobody would dare let their blackout curtains slip, but when Harry had protested that meant he should be allowed to stay too if it was so safe, his mother had said 'you never could be too careful'.

Harry felt like a coward, leaving his mother behind when his father had already gone to fight in France. He flew Spitfires and when Harry was old enough, he was going to join the air force too and do just the same. But until then, that meant Mother was all alone and Harry hated it frightfully.

He tightened his grip on the little girl's hand, and she smiled back up at him, but the hundred or more children were now arriving onto the road outside the station, and were being directed in different directions based on what schools they came from.

"Hogwarts!" one of the billeting officers called, waving and pointing over to the right. "Anyone from Hogwarts to this bus please!"

Harry looked down at the girl. "Are you from Hogwarts?" he asked, but she shook her head. So Harry refused to leave her until he had paired her up with someone else from her own school, and as a result almost missed getting on the bus.

"Hurry up boy!" a man with greasy black hair snapped as he clambered up the steps, but the driver, a large man with a bushy beard tutted loudly.

"Oh leave him be," he said with the same kind of thick country accent Harry had heard once or twice down the market from the farmers. "He's had a long enough day without you scaring the poor chap!" Harry smiled gratefully at the driver, and dropped into the first spare seat he could find, kicking his suitcase under his legs and hugging his gas mask to his chest.

He may not like it, but there was no going back now. (He'd checked, there was no way to get back into London without a train ticket, and he didn't have that sort of money, only a shilling in his left shoe for safe keeping.) So he was going to have to stir his courage and face wherever he was going now with a brave face.

He had talked with many of the other children on the journey from Victoria, but now he and his companions were quieter, watching eagerly out of the windows as the town of Little Whinging flew by. There were no tall buildings here like in London, and the houses were bigger, all with gardens outside that Harry liked the look of very much with their colourful flowers. It was late in the afternoon and the weather was balmy, so there were many people walking by as the bus passed, and quite often they would wave cheerfully to the children. Harry found his heart warmed a little by their welcoming faces, and hoped he would be going to live with a nice family.

After ten minutes (judged by his father's watch he wore proudly on his wrist) Harry looked on as they pulled into the courtyard of the town's school. One of the reasons his mother had been so keen for him to come to Little Whinging was that they had a Secondary Modern, so he could continue with his education. This, in the end, had been what had won him over, because pilots needed to be good at maths. He looked up at the grand red-brick building and took a deep breath to fortify himself. This, he swore, was where he was going to work his hardest, and make both Mother and Father proud.

There were now only about twenty children that disembarked from the bus, and Harry was able to get a better look at them. They all attended his school in Victoria, but he only recognised one other boy from his year. It was hard not to notice him though, with his startlingly white blond hair. Harry knew his name was Draco Malfoy and that he was very rich, but they had never spoken. His friend Ron had once told him the only reason Draco wasn't in boarding school was because his mother had refused to send him away. The bombs must have changed Mrs Malfoy's mind too though, otherwise why would he be there with the rest of them?

Harry wished Ron was here instead, but him, his sister and all his brothers had moved to the country last year when the war had broken out. Harry had promised to write to him as soon as he had his new address as well, so they could continue swapping letters, but it wouldn't be the same as having a real friend here with him.

He edged closer to Draco as they all walked into the school hall and clumped together in a group. There were a couple of dozen adults there, mostly women; the majority of them looked to be organising the children, but some were just watching eagerly as they all were sorted roughly into a line by age. He and Draco were two of the oldest ones from their school, so they stood out at the end of the line, Draco's blond hair a sharp contrast against Harry's pitch black. "Hi," he said shyly.

Draco turned and looked at him in surprise. His face was pinched and his jaw tight, and thanks to a height difference of a couple of inches he was able to look down on Harry with bright, silvery eyes. "Hello?" he said.

"We go to school together," Harry said, rallying his courage.

But Draco just frowned. "I know," he said. "We all do?"

"I mean-"

"Oh excellent," a billeting officer interrupted. "If you two are together, I've got just the home for you." She bustled off, beckoning over her shoulder for the boys to follow.

Several other men and women were already pairing children with new families, from what Harry could see, mostly just glancing at the faces and name tags before hastily ushering them towards waiting grown-ups.

"I believe she means us?" he said to Draco with a shrug, and started following after her.

The other boy trotted up beside him, tugging on the strap to his gas mask. "What did she mean 'together'?" he demanded. He didn't look at Harry though, he stared angrily at the woman's back as she checked a list and scanned her eyes over the busy crowd. "Mother insisted I be place in a decent home, where are we going?"

Harry swallowed, trying his best not to let him rattle him. "I think we're going to find out shortly," he said, as the woman's face went from tense to happy, spying the person she was looking for.

"This way boys," she said, waving her hand eagerly, probably keen to get back and tend to some of the smaller children. "Mrs Figg?" she called, turning back to the woman who had made her smile. "It says you can take two, is that correct?"

An older lady with brown eyes and brown hair shuffled forward and straightened her beige woollen coat. She had lines around her eyes and mouth, and clutched at a cracked leather handbag resting by her hip. "Oh," she said, eyes widening at the sight of the boys. "Oh no, I said I could take two siblings."

The billeting officer gave her chart a quick glance over. "I'm afraid we only have a few siblings Mrs Figg," she said cheerily. "And they've either already been allocated or there's more than two of them. You chaps are friends though aren't you, you don't mind living together do you?"

Mrs Figg made to speak, and Draco looked mildly horrified, but Harry was determined to make the best of this. He'd promised to be brave and not cause any fuss. "It's absolutely fine," he said brightly with a quick nod. "Draco and I were in the same class in London, and we'll be even better friends now in the country, I'm certain of it."

"There's a good boy," the billeting officer said fondly, pinching his cheek gently. "I'm sure I'll see you both at school soon enough, in the meantime you're free to pop off! I bet you're absolutely famished after such a long journey."

And with that she spun away into the crowd, leaving Harry with the rather awkward company of Draco Malfoy and Mrs Figg. He turned looked between them. "I'm sorry we're not siblings," he said nervously.

Mrs Figg laughed though and ruffled his hair. "Don't you mind now, young man," she said fondly. "Harry is it? And Draco? Well how about you take those tags off now and we'll head home. I've got a beef stew in the pot."

"That sounds wonderful," Harry cried genuinely, tugging at the string around his button until it came loose as they began to wander down the corridor and out into the evening air. "I had sandwiches packed, but we all ate them as soon as we got on the train, and that was hours ago."

Mrs Figg chuckled, but Draco was still quiet, staring at the ground as they walked. "Why did you want brothers?" he asked.

Harry hadn't really thought about that, so he looked to Mrs Figg for an answer. She was too busy waving for a bus though that had just trundled up the road, waving her handbag animatedly so it would stop.

"It's alright," she panted as the doors swung open. "I've got your fairs, it's only a few stops. You'll be able to walk it when you come to school, it's just a bit much on my old knees."

The bus driver tipped his hat at the three of them, and they found seats near the back where Harry and Draco would have enough room to stash their cases.

"Why did you want brothers?" Draco asked again, this time a little louder and with a glance up at Mrs Figg's face. He quickly looked back down at his hands though.

The old lady sighed. "It's not that much of a bother I suppose, seeing as you two are friends, but there's only the one bed you see. I've only got a small cottage, but there's a nice little attic room I thought would be spot on for a pair of siblings who were used to sharing. I hope that'll be okay for you boys?"

Harry felt his ears go pink. He and Draco were going to have to sleep in the same bed? That's what mothers and father did, or brothers when there was too many of them to fit in a house. Ron's family were always swapping beds and sharing with each other, it was normal for them. But Harry had always had his own bed, and the thought of now sharing one with Draco was quite terrifying. How long were they going to have to stay there, surely one of them could move to somewhere where they didn't have to share!

He looked up and immediately felt ashamed. Mrs Figg's face had fallen and she looked upset. Harry remembered his vow to solider on, no matter what (there was a war on after all, he chastised himself) and cleared his throat.

"It'll be jolly good fun!" he said, hoping to get a smile from both her and Draco. "We'll just pretend we're brothers, I've always wanted one after all."

He really wanted Draco to agree and say he'd always fancied a brother too, but he just nodded and said "Okay."

Mrs Figg seemed reassured by his declaration though. "Good boy," she said, pleased with him. "That's the spirit. In war, we all have to do what we must."

Harry felt like telling Draco he was sure another family were sure to become available soon, and maybe one of them could move out. But that seemed rude to Mrs Figg, so he said no such thing. Instead he listened as she told him about making their stew for most of the day, and about how she grew the carrots and beans herself in her back garden.

"You grow them?" Harry asked, stunned. "In the ground, in the dirt?"

"Where else do you think they could come from?" she chuckled as the bus came to a halt and they all hopped off.

Harry scoffed and looked to Draco for encouragement. He was surprised to see a hint of a smile on the other boy's face, so he bullied on. "Why in London Mrs Figg, carrots come in tins."

That really made her laugh, and they ambled up the garden path to the sound of her mirth. Her cottage was indeed small, but it was lovely. Harry liked the many different flowers he could see growing all around the edge of her front garden, and the grass was cut very neatly. The front door was a deep red that made him think of the telephone boxes back home, and he felt it was a good omen, like they'd brought a little of Victoria with them.

"I'll have to get you both keys cut," she said as she unlocked the door. "But for now I'm sure we can share. Now come in, come in."

She ushered the boys over the threshold and into her home. There was no hallway, they just entered into the living room, but Harry had to say it was very pleasant, and reminded him of his own grandparents' homes. Everything was very clean, even though the furniture didn't match, and he thought there was perhaps a lace, white doily underneath every possible ornament.

As soon as they were inside, several different cats awoke from all manner of corners, and meowed loudly as they bounded over to greet Mrs Figgs eagerly. "Alright, alright," she bemoaned, shooing them away. "I'll feed you later, we have guests to entertain first."

Harry and Draco had both jumped back at the sight of the creatures, and now they were eyeing up the boys warily. Harry couldn't speak for Draco, but he had never had a pet, and he was quite put out at being faced with so many of them. His godfather had a big black dog, but dogs were always happy to see you. Cats, in his experience, only ever seemed to want to scratch you.

"Do they bite?" he yelped, hoping Draco wouldn't laugh at him, but if anything he seemed to be hiding behind Harry's back in as just as much fear, if not more.

"Oh heavens no!" Mrs Figg said, toeing off her shoes and unbuttoning her coat. "Though watch out for Tufty, he's a bit jealous that one."

A large, fluffy cat with narrow eyes hissed at them, and Harry decided to keep as far away from him as possible.

"Come on now, make yourselves comfy. Shoes live by the door, coats on the rack – oh, let me," she said as Draco struggled a bit to hang his jacket up, even on tip toes, so Harry had no chance. "There we go, alright, let's have a spot of supper, shall we?"

Harry and Draco obediently left their cases and gas mask boxes near the front door, next to a set of tight stairs that lead upstairs, presumably to their attic room. Harry eyed up where the steps curved around and out of sight, but they were obviously going to see that later as Mrs Figg cajoled them into the kitchen. There were two more doors off of the living room that looked to lead to Mrs Figg's bedroom, and a bathroom. It may have been small and a little lopsided, but Harry had to admit the place had a nice charm about it. He took a long breath as he sat down to the table; so, this was to be his home for however long he was here. All things considered, it wasn't that bad.

Mrs Figg did a lot of the talking during dinner, but Harry was quite good at answering questions, for both him and Draco. He was able to tell her all about their school and the area they grew up in, about their teachers and the football team he played for. Draco wasn't on the team, but Harry didn't miss the way he sat up with interest as soon as Harry started talking about the games they played against other schools. He talked about his mother, how she worked in the factory, and his father and his planes, and how one day he wanted to be a pilot too.

Mrs Figg asked a funny question at that though. "Does your father also wear glasses?" she asked, as she warmed them some bread pudding. Harry and his mother had been rationing sensibly for months, so it had been a long time since he had had anything other than condensed milk for afters, and he was extremely excited by the prospect of proper pudding.

"Um, no," he said distractedly. "He doesn't." His glasses were his most important possession. They had cost a lot of money and he had to be extremely careful with them, otherwise he couldn't really see. Mother had warned him several times not to break them when he was away, as there might not be anyone in the town to fix them. "Mine are great, I can see everything with them!" he prattled on, his stomach, although already full from the stew, rumbled as Mrs Figg poured them custard too. "Do you always have pudding like this?" he asked excitably.

Mrs Figg laughed and shook her head. She liked laughing Harry had noticed, and that made him happy. He didn't like people who were too serious and mean. "This is a special Welcome Home dinner," she said, giving the boys generous helpings. "I'm afraid we'll have to be a bit more sensible on normal days."

"That's okay," Harry said with a shrug, delving into his pudding. "Mmmm!" he moaned with his mouth full, the warm fruit bursting in his mouth in tangy, delightful spurts. Even Draco sighed happily at the hot pudding, and they both finished every last lick of it.

Normally, Harry would stay up to at least eight o'clock, especially when it was still almost summer and the sun was still nearly in the sky. But after their meal he and Draco couldn't stop yawning, and Mrs Figg insisted they go and brush their teeth for bed whilst she did the washing up.

So the boys traipsed back out to fetch their cases. "Um," Harry said shyly. "You can go first." He pointed to the bathroom and, to make his point, took a step back and sat on one of the armchairs. He didn't know why he wanted Draco to like him so much – it wasn't just because they were going to be living together and sharing a room. Harry felt drawn to him. He liked his hair and his eyes, and the way he always seemed to be thinking about something important.

Draco bit his lip at Harry's offer, then nodded. "Thank you," he said, then disappeared behind the door.

Harry though he might fall asleep if he stayed sat on the chair, so he left his suitcase and went to go help Mrs Figg with the drying up. "You're an industrious little fellow, aren't you Harry," she said fondly.

"I help my mother with the chores," he said, and had to blink a couple of times, missing her terribly. He tried not to think of her all alone in their house, or the bombs that could fall again tonight.

"As well you should," Mrs Figg said proudly. "My Bert always did his part," she added with a nod.

"Is that Mr Figg?" Harry asked, carefully stacking another plate on the counter.

Mrs Figg nodded. "It was indeed. He was a lovely man Harry, I think he would have liked you. But he had a dicky heart after the war – the last war – and he was never quite the same since. He passed a few years ago, but I've always had my lovelies to keep me company." Harry looked down as one of the cats wound its way around his leg, as if it knew it was being talked about.

"They seem nice," he said, not really meaning it, but wanting to be polite. He was still scared of getting scratched.

"They are, but they don't talk," Mrs Figg said frankly. "Good listeners, but it's nice to have another voice in the house. And now I have two!" She playfully flicked some suds at Harry, and he giggled happily.

He decided he was going to talk for both he and Draco until Draco found his voice again. He was sure he had a lot to say, he was probably just saving it up for the right time.

Speaking of which, the door to the bathroom opened. "You go on," Mrs Figg insisted. "I'll finish this up, you boys look dead on your feet."

Harry thought he should maybe stay and help until the end, but she took the pudding bowl and dish towel off him, and gave him a gentle push away. "I'll see you two in the morning."

Harry brushed his teeth as fast as possible, then splashed water onto his face. His eyes felt gritty after so many hours travelling, and it was nice to rub cold water into them. He carefully took his clothes off and folded them into his case, changing into his pyjamas after. He wasn't sure when he was going to be able to get new clothes, and he'd only been able to fit two of everything in his case, so he wanted to be extra careful with everything.

He expected Draco to already be upstairs when he re-emerged, but he was sat waiting on the armchair, also in his pyjamas. He didn't smile or scowl, but managed something in between, and Harry wasn't sure what that meant. Was he angry, or just tired maybe? "Shall we go up?" he asked.

Draco sniffed and picked up his case. "I thought it rude to go up alone," he said, as if this was obvious.

"Goodnight boys!" Mrs Figg called from the kitchen.

"Goodnight Mrs Figg," they called back in chorus.

Harry felt nerves in his tummy like butterflies flapping their wings. What would their room be like? Would they both fit?

He went first, climbing the stairs carefully as they were a little on the narrow side, then pausing as he reached the door around the slight turn. "I suppose this is it?" he said, but Draco just huffed, so he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The ceiling was arched, but there was enough room for him to stand fully upright in most of the room anyway, it was just the sides where it got too low. There wasn't anything hanging from the walls, but that was okay, Harry was just mostly relieved by the size of the bed.

"Oh," he breathed out. "It's a grown up bed," he said happily. "We'll have plenty of room."

Draco pushed the door shut. It wasn't a slam, but it wasn't gentle either. "Who cares, we still have to share," he snapped, storming around to the further side and dropping his case to the floor with a thump. "This is ridiculous, Mother said I was to have my own room with a good family, I shouldn't be here."

"Well, we're here now," Harry said, trying to stay cheerful. "It's not that bad. It's better than London."

"Nowhere is better than London," Draco said hotly, ripping back the covers and dropping onto the mattress. "Certainly not the ghastly countryside."

He yanked the blankets back up and turned his back to Harry, who wasn't quite sure what to do for a moment. His throat felt scratchy, and he wanted to tell Draco the only reason he said it was better was because of the war, and the bombs. But he didn't. Instead, he placed his case carefully on the floor and considered fetching out his teddy bear. But Draco was cross with him, and he didn't want him to make fun of his teddy and call him a baby, so he left it where it was.

Trying not to dip the mattress too much, he got into the bed as well, took off his glasses and turned off the lamp, leaving them in mostly darkness. He curled up as far away as he could from Draco, and began drifting off to sleep immediately.

He was almost totally gone, his body weary to the bone, when suddenly he felt a shake through the mattress.

He froze, wondering if he had imagined it, or if his leg had twitched when he'd almost fallen asleep. But then it came again, along with the strangled sound of a sob.

Draco was crying, and he was desperately trying not to let Harry know it.

Harry lay there for a minute or so, completely lost at what to do. When people cried, they liked to be left alone. But he couldn't leave Draco alone though, because they only had one bed. Draco just sounded so sad, and all Harry could think was how sad he was too. So in the end he did the only thing he could think of, and rolled over.

"Don't cry," he whispered, wrapping his arms around him the way he did when Mother cried thinking about Father in France. "Please don't cry."

Draco cried harder though, and rather than pull away, turned suddenly and flung himself into Harry's arms. "I want-" he stuttered. "-to go – home!"

Harry realised he was crying too, all the tears he had so carefully saved up the whole day spilling down his cheeks as he gulped down air.

"Me to," he whispered. "Me too Draco."

They clung to each other until, sometime later, there were no more tears to fall, and exhaustion crept through their bodies. Harry quite liked being cuddled up with Draco though, and Draco didn't pull away to move to the other side of the bed, so he must have found it comforting too, which made Harry glad.

"It'll be okay," he mumbled as they drifted off to sleep in the middle of their bed, two lost boys starting an new life together. "It'll be okay Draco, I promise."

"Okay," whispered, tightening his hand around Harry's. "Okay Harry."