Tofu

If he looked in the Mirror of Erised at that very moment, he would see the reflection of anyone but Harry Potter.

He didn't want the scar. He didn't want the black mop of unruly hair. He didn't want the glasses. He didn't want the green eyes. He didn't want any of it.

He had been nowhere else but Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for six months now, and was beginning to understand why Sirius did what he did.

With a pop, the all-too-familiar form of the person he least expected to see in his godfather's family house appeared.

"You don't belong here, Malfoy," Harry growled. In a flash, Harry drew out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy's throat.

"You'd think I'd waste my time on someone so brave he has to shut himself up in my cousin's house?"

"You think it's that easy?" Harry growled, "Come off it, Malfoy. You're not as strong as your Master."

"He's not my Master, Potter. My father's Master wanted me dead a couple of hours ago. My father helped him."

"So you made a death-defying escape and went crying to Dumbledore like the coward you are?"

"You're the one who's holed up in a dark family's old house. Not me. I fought my enemy. You're just camping out here while all your friends die in your fight. Who's the Gryffindor now?" Malfoy sneered.

"So you're playing for the winning team today?" Harry snorted incredulously. "Is that it?"

"No way in hell," Malfoy said with a smirk. "I've just gotten into the funny habit of living and it's kind of hard to break."

"Don't think you're going to kill me. Not even Voldemort can do that."

"You sound like you want him to."

"I'm not giving up. Not after everything that's happened. Not after everyone who has died. And if you think I'm going to let you just barge in and destroy everything Dumbledore and everyone else has worked for, you've got another thing coming."

"Is that what you tell yourself every minute of every day just so you can remember why you're even breathing?"

"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," Harry seethed. "Say one more word, and I swear to God I'll kill you right here."

"Go ahead," Malfoy dared. "Come on, you've wanted to break my neck since first year, Potter. Here I am. Here's your chance. You're armed. I'm not."

"Why are you here?"

"Gods, Potter, Pay attention! Dumbledore told me to hide out here. He also said you were in short supply of food, so..." he trailed off, procuring a duffle-bag. "I brought dinner."

He took out a plastic tin with the word 'Tofu' written on it in bold, black letters. Harry made a face.

"There's no way in hell am I eating that!" Harry objected.

"Would you rather starve to death?"

"Yes!"

"Come on, Potter! Have an open mind. It's the perfect food!" Malfoy crowed, "A lot of protein, very little fat, and very few calories. It also preserves well."

"And it tastes like air."

"You would be unable to appreciate delicacies. I was raised on this stuff."

"That explains a lot," Harry quipped.

"In the name of peace I will choose to ignore that. Maybe I can make a habit of it."

"Could you? Please?"

"Look," Malfoy pointed out, "it's either this or House Elf."

"Kreacher is a pain in the arse. I'd rather have House Elf à la King. According to your father, they taste like chicken."

"How would you know what my father's eating habits are? Been on his plate lately? Tofu's not that bad, Potter. You just have to know how to eat it. You know, dress it up a bit."

"In cse you haven't noticed, Malfoy, this is a hide-out, not a five-star restaurant. And for your information, I don't want to know how to eat it. My Aunt Petunia forced it down my throat when I was a kid because my fat cousin Dudley was on a diet."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Malfoy chided.

"Where is that house-elf?"

"Do you really want murder on your conscience?"

"At the moment?" Harry said, glaring at him, "yes."

"So you can have house-elf if you want. I'm making the tofu."

"Is it poisoned?"

"Oh come off it Potter!" Malfoy roared, "one minute you're suicidal, the next you're dishing empty threats. Now you're making idle accusations. If I really wanted to kill you, I would have brought my bloody wand! Look, this would be a lot easier if you would just quit acting like a ponce, call a truce, and accept food as a peace offering so you don't have to commit murder in lieu of starving to death. The way I see it, it's a win-win situation for you. So shut the bloody hell up and tell me where the pots and pans are."

"The pots and pans are below the sink," Harry said.

"Merlin, Harry, when was this cleaned last?" Malfoy demanded when he got a particularly dusty pot out of the cabinet. "Are Gryffindors always this dirty?"

"The fall before sixth year, I think," Harry answered.

"If you don't clean that, this really will be poisoned," he said, clicking his tongue. "The knives aren't this dirty, I hope?"

Harry shrugged. "Look, Malfoy, I've got better things to do than eat chewy air, alright? Do what ever you want in the kitchen, just don't subject me to it."

"Have it your way. Just make sure I'm off the police reports when you starve to death."

"How can I do that? I'm dead!" Harry called back. Draco flipped him an obscene gesture that Harry couldn't see in the other room.

**************

Harry hated the fact that he was forced to share 12 Grimmauld Place with Draco Malfoy. But, he told himself, not like I have a choice in the matter. About anything.

Draco Malfoy was not supposed to be on his team. Draco was a Malfoy. The Malfoys were Death Eaters. It was that simple.

But then, since Sirius Black fell through The Veil, nothing was that simple anymore.

He was ripped from his reverie by a piercing scream coming from the kitchen.

Wand at the ready and making as little noise as possible, he made his way down the stairs. I knew it! Malfoy's trying something already! Goddamn you Dumbledore! You can't trust a Malfoy.

He was prepared for anything other than the sight that greeted him in the kitchen.

There was Malfoy, cowering in the kitchen, and Voldemort towering over him, back facing Harry, and ready to strike the simpering boy.

It was rather like watching a cat corner a mouse.

This house is supposed to be protected! How the hell did he get in here!

Luckily, it was apparent that Voldemort hadn't heard Harry push the kitchen door open, for he made no move for his usual enemy.

He was not about to risk his own skin for Malfoy, but if he was going to have to defend himself right then and there, so be it.

He took a step forward, and tried to get Voldemort's attention, but Draco did it for him.

"Get the fuck out of the way, Potter!" Draco rasped.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are? My sodding knight in shining armor?" Harry answered.

"Go--be a Gryffindor." Malfoy glowered.

That got Voldemort's attention.

But then, something strange happened.

Suddenly, Voldemort wasn't there anymore.

The room grew rapidly colder.

Where Voldemort had been standing, there was only a cloud, and Harry recognized it instantly.

It's a Boggart...has to be a Boggart, Harry silently tried to convince himself.

But still, it floated closer, and Harry couldn't move from where he stood, and did the only thing he knew to do to defeat it.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed, and the white stream of light came from his wand. The stag appeared, but it wasn't fighting it.

Stand aside, woman! Echoed a familiar voice in his head.

No! Not Harry! Please, not Harry! His mother cried out.

Harry stood firm.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He shouted again. And again, the white stream of light came from his wand, again the stag appeared, and again, the stag didn't fight off the Dementor.

Of course a Patronus isn't going to fight a Boggart, Harry thought to himself. But how else do I fight it?

"Malfoy, get over here! It's a Boggart! It won't know whether to turn into Voldemort or..."

He could smell the rancid stench of Death in his nostrils.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry shouted.

"I'd rather have Voldemort," Malfoy grumbled.

"Malfoy, I don't give a bouncing ferret's arse about what happens to you. You can die from fright for all I care, but you'll make this a lot easier if you'll just get over here and help me fight it off!"

"Easier on who? You? Bugger off, Potter," Malfoy snickered, and then started to walk out.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed.

"Good Lord, you're such a bloody Gryffindor," Malfoy chided.

"There are only two ways to get rid of the Boggart," Harry continued, ignoring Malfoy's grumbling: "being with a group of people, or with the Ridikkulus spell. There's no way in hell a Dementor can be funny, Malfoy. I can do Patronus charms until Kneezles fly, but that's not going to help, because Patronus charms only work with real Dementors. EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

"Give me one good reason I should help you?" Malfoy snarled.

"To stay on the winning team."

"I'm not here to be on the winning team, Potter."

The Dementor turned toward Malfoy's voice and began to change into Voldemort.

Again, Malfoy cowered in the corner.

"That's right!" Harry said, and the Boggart turned back into the shadowy formless shape of a Dementor. "You're just here to-EXPECTO PATRONUM! -save your own neck. I forgot that's the first rule of Slytherin House."

"You know, you could just leave. Oh, wait. I forgot that the first rule of Gryffindor house was to act like a complete idiot."

The Dementor turned towards Malfoy and was beginning to take form again.

"No, if I leave, the Boggart will just pursue me. Look, Voldemort can wear a sodding feather boa, monster slippers, and a baby's bonnet while singing We Are the World and doing the Macarena."

Then a strange thing happened, Malfoy burst out laughing.

"What is We Are the World? And for that matter, a somber-o? And the Mock-Rain-a?" Draco said through howls.

Despite himself, a grin crept across Harry's frustration-hardened jaw line. "Muggles," was all Harry made decipherable through his gales of laughter.

At the sound, the Dementor started to take the form of Voldemort again, and it was as though a switch cut off Malfoy's laughter.

"Come on," Harry said, getting a sudden idea, "picture The Dark Lord in a fluffy feather boa, monster slippers, and a baby's bonnet doing a silly dance and singing a stupid song."

Malfoy remained frozen on the spot.

"It's not that hard. I can see him now. He's not scary. Nobody can be scary wearing a big bright blue baby's bonnet, a fluffy feather boa around his neck, and big fluffy pink monster slippers."

Whether or not Draco could picture Voldemort that way didn't matter. Because right then, Harry could.

Voldemort suddenly was wearing a bright blue baby's bonnet, a big fluffy purple feather boa around his neck and huge bright pink slippers that were shaped like monsters.

"RIDIKKULUS!" Harry shouted.

And the Boggart was gone.

"How in the bloody hell can you laugh at him Potter?" Malfoy scoffed.

"He wants me to be afraid of him. If I'm afraid of him, then he's already won. He's already taken enough from me. I'm not going to let him take everything."

"Do you really think you're a match?" Malfoy said incredulously. "That you can win? "How does it feel to be a dead man walking, Potter?" Malfoy said.

"I should have known you'd be into necrophilia," Harry answered.

Malfoy shot him a murderous glare.

"If I don't think I can win, then what's the point?" Harry answered with a shrug. "I may as well hand myself over."

"I was right, Potter," said Malfoy, getting a frying pan out of the cabinet. "You really are suicidal. Or stupid. Or both, since you're a Gryffindor."

"If you'll excuse me, Malfoy, I'm going to try and find Kreacher. I'm a bet peckish. Cooked medium-well with a bit of salt, it might do nicely."

"Potter?" Malfoy asked, staring down at the frying pan he'd just picked up as though he'd never seen one before. "How do you use this?"

"Pick it up, and apply it liberally to your head," Harry said with a smirk.

Malfoy gave him a look that clearly said he had had enough.

"Sod off, Potter," Malfoy snapped.

Harry was almost out of the kitchen when he heard Malfoy utter something incomprehensible.

"What did you say, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"I can't work the stove."

"Why not?"

"Er...I um... never cooked before," Malfoy admitted.

"Malfoy, you're how old, and you don't know how to use the stove? That's pathetic!"

"What ELSE are House Elves for?" Malfoy said it as if it were an explanation.

"How much do you want it?"

"Er...excuse me?" Malfoy said, suddenly dreading what Potter would say next.

"How. Badly. Do. You. Want. Tofu?" Harry asked again with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

"I didn't put up with you today just so I could starve to death! Potter, if you know how to use the stove...."

"Of course I know how to use the stove. I just want to know how much this Tofu means to you!"

"Potter, if you want me to kiss your arse, forget it!"

"Would you beg?"

"No!"

"So you'd rather starve?"

"No! Fuck you, Potter," Malfoy said. "This could be really easy, you know."

"You're right. It could," Harry said, knowing he'd get what he wanted. "You could just get down on your knees."

"Fuck. No." Malfoy glowered.

"Fine, then," Harry said. "Have it your way. I know life will be a lot more pleasant around here if you starve to death."

"Potter?" Malfoy called after him desperately. "Do I really have to be on my knees?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Tell anyone about this and I will hand you to Voldemort myself," Malfoy grumbled, getting down on all fours.

"That's better," Harry approved. "Now... while you're down there ... "