It was an unusually cool morning for June. Dull, grey clouds hung heavily in the sky, making the air thick, and wet, and though the sun had not entirely risen, one could already tell that rain was beginning to the form in the firmament above the pristinely manicured lawns of Privet Drive, and the equally stuffy neighbourhoods that surrounded it. At present, all members of number 4 slept – some more soundly than others – unaware of the goings on outside. An owl – a large white one, named Hedwig – was the first to become aware of a possible disturbance. Hearing rustlings coming from the lawn below, she let out a loud, screeching hoot, and began attempting to peck at the window from within her cage. On the bed, a boy stirred.

"Urgh… Hedwig… Hedwig, hush, you'll wake the Dursleys!" Awoken by the owl, Harry Potter groped about blindly for a moment on the nightstand beside him before he caught hold of his glasses and then shoved them, crudely, onto his face. "Hedwig!"

Climbing – unsteadily – to his feet, Harry half walked, half stumbled, across the threshold of the small room, and peered groggily out the window at the street below. Swearing beneath his breath at the realization that it was not quite sunrise, he nearly missed the sight of a tall, thin, bearded figure as it crossed the driveway of Number 4, headed – unmistakably – toward the front door of the house. What was more, the tall, thin figure was not alone. It was accompanied instead by another thin figure, wearing dark robes, and an immediately recognizable shock of platinum white hair, which could be seen even through the half-darkness of the morning.

Harry assumed, momentarily, that he was dreaming. After all, it had only been a fortnight since he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer. He had had no contact at all with Dumbledore since he had gotten on the train and – besides all that – if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, it appeared that the person who was accompanying him was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell?" Harry heard himself mutter. Before he could contemplate any further what was happening, the sound of a doorbell rang out. There was silence for a few moments – in which Harry questioned, again, whether he was dreaming – and then the bell again echoed off the walls of the previously silent home. Down the hall, Uncle Vernon swore, loudly. Angry, booming footsteps rumbled in the hall and then down the stairs. Allowing curiosity to get the better of him, Harry waited a moment before following his uncle down the stairs, stopping at the kitchen, so he could see the door without having to be a part of the action.

What he saw before him was surreal. Despite all the evidence to the contrary he thought for the third time that he must be dreaming. Uncle Vernon was standing, his face the usual color of angry violet, with a wide, (Harry supposed) intimidating pose. He had spread himself out wide so that his large, unrobed, potato-shaped body very nearly eclipsed the entire doorway. Harry could see the outlines of his mustache as it quivered.

"How dare you arrive at my doorstep at such an hour?!" He was screaming, "Have you no decency?! And dressed like a ruddy lunatic! The neighbours will be on our case for weeks!" The person at whom Uncle Vernon was yelling was, indeed, Albus Dumbledore. He stood, catching sight of Harry and offering half-smile, with a patient and unperturbed expression. He waited quietly for Uncle Vernon to be finished shouting, and then said, quite quietly:

"I do apologize for the early arrival, Mr. Dursley, but I can't help but think: If the neighbors are your concern would it be exactly prudent to be speaking at such a level? I daresay you are right in that none of us are properly attired for the occasion." He nodded toward Uncle Vernon who for a moment did not understand. Following the direction of Dumbledore's gaze, he saw – for what seemed like the first time – that his robe remained open, exposing his knickers to the darkened street beyond. Flushing an even deeper shade of plum, one that Harry had never seen before, he snapped the opening shut with his fist. Harry found himself wishing that he could see his face more clearly. His response was marked by a distinct choking quality, as though someone were holding him by the throat.

"I – this is my house and I shall dress how I damn well please! I was asleep, I'll have you know!" His head cocked from side to side as though he were checking the street for neighbors. "What do you want?" He barked.

Harry had shifted his gaze from Dumbledore now, and was instead closely studying Malfoy, who was standing slightly behind the headmaster. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His back – usually straight and confident – curled in as though he were trying to make himself as small as possible. His usually immaculate blonde hair was disheveled and dark, and heavy bags were weighing down his eyes. He seemed thinner than Harry had ever seen him. Harry didn't think that Malfoy could see him from where he stood, and for this he was grateful. Aunt Petunia joined into the commotion, approaching Uncle Vernon and standing at his shoulder.

"Oh. Its you." She said, when she had caught sight of Dumbledore. Dumbledore merely smiled, pleasantly.

"Good morning, ma'am. I was just explaining to your husband that I must ask to speak with both of you inside. As it seems, the daylight is rising, and we wouldn't want to raise unwelcome questions from your neighbors." Very reluctantly, Aunt Petunia agreed, and stepped aside to allow them in. With a quick intake of breath, Harry ducked behind the doorway of the kitchen. Had he been seen?

Dumbledore strode down the hallway, looking odd and out of place in such an ordinary household, and Malfoy trailed, slumpingly, behind him.

The four of them headed into the living room, and Harry, transitioning from one kitchen door to the other, stood on the other side of the entryway and listened.

"Who's this?" Grunted Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard his strained noises as he struggled to lower himself onto the couch.

"This," said Professor Dumbledore, pleasantly, "is Draco Malfoy. He's a schoolmate of Harry's."

"W-wait, what? Harry who?" Were the situation not so entirely bizarre, Harry would have laughed at the note of panic in Malfoy's voice. Even without seeing his face, it was clear that he had been unaware of just exactly who lived at Number 4 Privet Drive. He was so busy wondering why Dumbledore would have kept this from Malfoy that he very nearly missed the next thing that was said.

"I'm unsure how up to date your nephew has been keeping you on the goings on of the wizarding world, Petunia," Said Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter? Are you talking about Harry Potter?" Malfoy's voice cut into the conversation. "You're joking, right professor?"

"but there has been a very dark turn of events as of late," continued Dumbledore, as though Malfoy had not spoken. "and it appears that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned."

"Professor!"

"Mr. Malfoy, here has had the unfortunate luck of being born into a family who are proving themselves to be adamant supporters of Lord Voldemort, and in the early hours of this morning, he made it clear to his kin that he had no intention of following in their footsteps." Harry was now listening so intently to the conversation that he nearly fell forward through the swinging door and into the living room. Malfoy denounced the Death Eaters? He had defied his family? This had to be a trap, hadn't it? How could Dumbledore believe this?

"Professor, Harry Potter?"

"Yes, boy!" Boomed Uncle Vernon's voice, suddenly. "And I'll ask you not to remind us! The adults are talking and in this house, your mouth will remain shut!" Malfoy stopped talking. Harry couldn't resist a smirk, as it spread across his face. "What does this have to do with us?" Snapped Uncle Vernon.

"Well…" began Dumbledore slowly. "As it is not safe for Draco to remain at home, the safest place for him is here, under the protections already put in place in order to guard Harry." It was difficult to tell who was more outraged by the statement. A cacophony of complaint rang out from within the living room; Uncle Dursley's infuriated growl, Malfoy's incredulous shout that Dumbledore had to have lost his mind, Aunt Petunia's indignant protest, and Harry's own shout of:

"No, Professor, please!"

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Said Dumbledore, brightly. Harry looked around, feeling dazed. He hadn't realized that he had stormed into the living room. Both Dursleys stared at him with expressions of scandal, as though he had stormed into a wedding ceremony and ruined the entire thing. Malfoy, pink faced and appearing on the verge of tears glared at him from his positon beside Dumbledore, who turned to address the entire group. "This arrangement is ideal for no one." The words were uttered with an air of finality. "Unfortunately, there are no other alternatives in which Mr. Malfoy would remain safe. The boy will stay here." He turned to Harry.

"Harry, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Malfoy the guest room? Your aunt and uncle and I have a few more things we must discuss." Though phrased as one, Harry could tell that this was not a question. Grumbling to himself, he gestured at Malfoy, signaling him to follow. Malfoy did, giving him a look that suggested he did not trust him at all.

"This way, Malfoy. Up the stairs. Let's go." He bounded roughly upstairs without checking to see if Malfoy was keeping up. He felt as though his head had been filled with steam. It was only June. Summer had only just begun, and now, on top of spending it with the Dursleys, he had to spend it with Malfoy, too?

"I'm sorry this is an inconvenience for you, Potter." Drawled Malfoy, behind him. "But I thought you'd be thrilled I'm not a bloody Death Eater." The venom with which Malfoy said these last two words stood out to Harry, who snapped in his direction,

"Yeah, Malfoy? And how am I supposed to know you're not just planted here to get to me?" Malfoy glared.

"Dumbledore is the one that brought me here, Potter. Are you saying you don't trust your precious headmaster?" Harry had no answer for this. "And what's more, scarface, I had no idea you even lived here before 10 minutes ago, so why don't you start thinking before you open that big mouth of yours!"

Rage suddenly surging through his body like lava, Harry stopped dead at the top of the stairs. Malfoy bumped into him and swore.

"You know what, Malfoy?" He barked. "Fuck you. You can stay in my old bedroom." Malfoy rolled his eyes and was about to make a comment when Harry took a hard grip about his wrist and began dragging him back down the stairs.

"Argh! Let go of me! Potter let go of me right now; you're hurting me!"

"Stop being so dramatic, Malfoy." Snapped Harry. "You're fine." They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Dragging Malfoy to the cupboard that he had slept in for the first 10 years of his life, he reached out a hand, yanked it open, and shoved Malfoy inside. He slammed the door, leaning the whole of his weight against it so he couldn't shove his way back out.

"Potter! Potter, when I get ahold of you you're going to regret it! Potter please!" Malfoy's voice was beginning to hold a note of panic. Harry glanced nervously in the direction of the living room door; any minute now his aunt and uncle and maybe even Professor Dumbledore would storm in and hand it to him for locking Malfoy in the cupboard. "Potter, please! Potter you've got to let me out!"

A booming thunder sounded from the wooden stairs. Harry froze. Catching him off guard, in one, huge, push, Malfoy freed himself of the cupboard. He fell forward, causing Harry to collapse to the ground beneath his weight.

"Argh! Get off me! What's wrong with you?" Harry looked up into Malfoy's face. His blonde hair was matted by sweat and stuck in places to his forehead, which – like the rest of his face – had turned a bright red. Malfoy didn't seem to be in his right mind. He scrambled, messily, trying to climb to his feet, but his hand slipped beneath him and he fell, hard, on top of Harry again. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated, and as he searched for a hand-hold, Harry saw that his fingers were shaking. Before he could think much more of this, however, Malfoy was suddenly gone. The weight of him was removed so quickly and completely that Harry nearly choked on his next breath, finding it so deep and full of air that it caught him off guard. He quickly identified what had been the cause of Malfoy's sudden departure.

"This your boyfriend, freak show?" Towering above Harry, the back of Malfoy's robes bunched up tightly in his hand, was Dudley. And he was angry. "You woke me up, you fairy freak!" He growled. "I don't like to be up before noon on Saturdays and you know that!" Harry pushed himself into an upright position and began to climb to his feet. Malfoy appeared to have frozen. A look of fearful disbelief was written on his face, and – to Harry's surprise – he said and did nothing to his own defense. Then again, thought Harry, this could be the first time in Malfoy's life that he had ever been picked on by someone bigger than him. He didn't know what do. Perhaps this situation would be good for him.

"No, Diddykins," laid out Harry through gritted teeth. He was feeling just as angry as Dudley looked. "He is not my boyfriend. He's not even my friend. In fact, I hate him." Harry tried to pull his wand, but found that it was not in his pocket. Malfoy closed his eyes, looking oddly as though he were simply waiting for his fate. "I'm just as angry about this situation as you are so how bout you go find a nice 6 year old to pick on and leave me the fuck alone before I curse you so you can't eat shit but lettuce for a week." His voice came out low, even, and threatening enough that Dudley released the back of Malfoy's sweater, shoving him hard into Harry.

"You best keep your boyfriend away from my stuff." Dudley growled. He then galumphed his way into the kitchen, seeming to decide that – if he had to be awake – he may as well take the time to eat. Jumping away from Harry as though he had been given an electric shock, Malfoy forced a hostile expression on his face and opened his mouth like was going to say something, but Harry cut him.

"Shut it, Malfoy." Some of the disgust he was feeling toward Dudley had begun to seep over onto Malfoy. "Getting kicked around will probably do you some good anyway. See what it feels like for a change. Come on, lets go. Before Dumbledore tries to get involved." He started back up the stairs. As they climbed, Malfoy made a few more visible attempts to speak, his grey eyes staring at Harry with an unusual shiny quality to them that Harry had never seen in Malfoy before. As they reached the landing, he finally found the words, and they were not at all what Harry had been expecting.

"You used to sleep in there?" His voice sounded odd. Harry stopped, feeling incredibly annoyed.

"Yes, Malfoy." He answered, irritably. "From the time I was a baby until just before first year. You want to compare it to the broom cupboards in your glorious mansion?" Malfoy took a step backwards now, all hostility having drained from his expression.

"Who was that boy?" He asked. "That grabbed me?" It struck Harry that Malfoy's voice sounded different. Perhaps it was missing the usual bored drawl or the snide aggression that he was used to hearing, but standing here on the landing Harry felt as though he were having this conversation with a stranger. Somewhere between here and the bottom of the stairs, Malfoy had changed.

"My cousin." Replied Harry shortly. "Dudley. Lovely, isn't he? Get ready because he'll be calling you a faggot all summer, now. Come on." He lead Malfoy down hall, showing him each room, and warning him not to go near any of the Dursley's if he could possibly help it. They reached his own, and Malfoy eyed the cat flap in the door.

"I didn't know you had a cat." He said. Harry wished he would stop talking. This was not a subject he wished to be discussing with him.

"I don't." He didn't elaborate, and to his relief Malfoy didn't ask him to.

They reached the guest room and Harry turned on the light. To his mild surprise, a Slytherin House trunk sat beneath the window, clearly conjured there by Dumbledore in anticipation of their arrival.

"And this is you." Said Harry enthusiastically. "And since I was also woken up by your appearance here, I'll be going back to bed now." He didn't wait for Malfoy to give a reply. He closed the guest room door behind him and went back into his own room, hoping, vainly, that this entire morning would turn out to be a dream.