Picking up the Pieces

Harry felt like he had fallen down a rabbit hole, but even the idea of Draco Malfoy as a white rabbit, complete with floppy ears and a cottonball fluff of a tail failed to evoke a humorous thought in Harry's mind. It wasn't until after Draco had scrambled to his feet, balling up his discarded robe under the girl's head as a makeshift pillow, that Harry remembered Remus' visit and that Malfoy was his enemy. He quickly took several steps backwards and glared at Malfoy, sensing a trap. Why else would Draco Malfoy be in Surrey, of all places, on a sunny summer afternoon when he could be back at Malfoy Manor plotting his ascent into Evilness with the rest of his Junior Death Eater friends? The Ministry was worried about Harry running into full-blown Death Eaters or the Dark Lord himself, but instead he was now facing his personal adversary without the aid of a wand, and with no one knowing where he was since he had been ordered to stay inside the Dursley's house and Mrs. Figg (who he knew had been not-so-surreptitiously keeping him under watch all summer) had gone out this morning shortly before he had and therefore had not seen him leave the house.

Draco, on the other hand, had never thought he would be happy to see Harry Potter, of all people, but facing Harry was definitely preferable to facing down his father. Or any other Death Eater. Or even any of the Aurors who would probably throw out a curse first and ask questions later. At least with Potter he would have a chance to get his story told before he was hexed. Hopefully. He had been rehearsing his story to himself, but now the task of actually sharing it with another person made him uncertain. He was embarrassed no only for the way he had disappointed his father, but in the weakness that he now realized had composed the entire foundation of his past.

Harry shook his head, emerging from his daze. "What the hell, Malfoy?!" Was it wrong to feel a blaze of emotion as the animosity and resentment that had always linked the two of them surged through his veins? Harry was surprised that the anger he harbored towards Malfoy was the first emotion he had actually felt in months; it was an unsettling change from the nothingness that was his constant companion nowadays.

Draco started to speak twice but both times closed his mouth before any words escaped. He noticed the confusion and anger in Potter's eyes and sighed. Was it even worth trying to explain? "Look, Potter, you have to help us. I can explain, but we cannot stay here. Do you have a way to contact Professor Dumbledore?" Draco wasn't particularly fond of Dumbledore, but he knew the old man suffered from the delusion that almost everyone was capable of redemption. A trait Draco expected to use in his favor, and also one that he feverishly hoped he had passed on to Potter.

"Malfoy, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, or what you're doing in Surrey, but--" Harry stopped suddenly as he caught sight of the girl staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Eyes filled with the same grey-silver swirl as Malfoy's, even though hers were less guarded despite her obvious fear. This had to be the same girl Remus had been talking about. Harry wondered briefly if this entire morning was a dream. It wouldn't be the first time he had suffered fever-induced hallucinations as a result of a beating.

Draco reached down to help the girl--her name was Karissa, he had learned this morning when she had wakened for a few disoriented minutes before going back to sleep. He had once read somewhere that sleep was often an aftereffect of shock, or maybe a defense mechanism against the reality of what had happened. Besides, he was so caught up in his own musings that her sleeping worked to his advantage. "It's alright," he told her, loosely wrapping his arm around her and thinking again how short she was beside him. "He is going to help us." Draco looked at Potter, daring him to deny it.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He didn't really have a choice. "Yeah, I'm going to help."

Karissa eyed him nervously then shifted her gaze back to Draco. "But you said not to trust anyone," she reminded him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That was last night, and if we got separated. This is different. You can trust Potter."

"Potter?" she repeated, her eyes now considerably brightened. "As in Harry Potter? I read all about you in the new version of Hogwarts: A History that Professor brought me yesterday!" She was clearly excited.

"You read Hogwarts: A History?" Harry asked at the same time Draco asked "Potter's in Hogwarts: A History?"

"Well, I just got it yesterday, so I skipped to the end and read the most recent chapters--there's lots of stuff in there about Harry!"

Draco rolled his eyes again. Karissa had been a witch less than a day and was already a member of the Harry Potter fan club.

Harry looked at Draco and grinned, seeming to forget for the moment that they weren't friends. "Hermione is going to love her." He offered his hand to her. "Seems you know who I am. What's your name? And how did you get mixed up with him?" With the last question Harry indicated Draco with an incline of his head.

"I'm Karissa Thompson. I'm going to Hogwart's this fall," she told Harry proudly, shaking his hand. "And Draco saved me last night. But my aunt and uncle..." she looked at Draco, tears filling her eyes as her expression faltered, "what happened to them? Are they okay too? They're all I have left since Mum died." Draco pulled her in for a hug, an action that was completely foreign to him since he could not remember ever being hugged in his life, but it felt right to hug Karissa.

Harry was surprised to see Draco embrace the girl and wondered if he felt a bond to her without knowing who she was. "Malf--I mean, Draco," (Draco almost laughed as Harry stumbled over his given name) "I think we need to get out of the park. And I have chores to finish anyway. Come on, let's go."

Draco made sure that Karissa was between himself and Harry as Harry led the way quickly to a house that looked like a carbon copy of all the others on Privet Drive except for a large orange-striped tabby cat that was sprawled across the front step and cast a lazy-eyed glance Harry. Harry greeted the cat with a solemn "Good morning, Nicodemus," and stepped lightly over him to knock on the door. He looked over his shoulder at Draco and Karissa, who were standing on the walkway several paces back. "Don't say anything until we're inside. And behave." The last comment was directed at Draco through narrowed eyes.

The door was opened slowly by an old woman with grizzly grey hair wearing a tatty multicolored bathrobe and matching slippers. She looked at Harry in surprise. "Mr. Potter! What are you doing outside the house? Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

"Mrs. Figg, I'm so very sorry to bother you. I need your help, please. May we come in?" Harry asked politely.

Mrs. Figg leaned around Harry and gasped when she saw Draco and Karissa standing there. She quickly swung the door open and ushered them all inside. She showed them into a homey-feeling parlor before studying each one of them in turn. Harry wondered if she had ever encountered the senior Malfoy, and if she recognized Draco as potentially being more dangerous than the dementors Harry and Dudley had encountered the previous summer. If she did she didn't show any signs of it as she settled on Karissa and reached out for the girl, herding her down a short hallway. "My dear, why don't you come with me and wash up a bit."

The two of them alone for the moment, Harry turned to Draco, who was studying the room. "Do you want to tell me now or wait for Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, frowning when he noticed that Draco had his arms tucked close to his body, similar to the way he had held them when he had first stood to talk to Harry in the park. Did he feel the need to protect himself? Or was it something else--like hiding the mark? After the past five years together at school, Harry thought he knew Malfoy pretty well--it was always wise to know your enemy better than your friends--and Harry honestly thought Malfoy was more intelligent than that. Had he actually been stupid enough to take the mark? Malfoy may be a horrible little ferret, but Harry didn't want to think of anyone he actually knew as being on the opposing side. Of course, Malfoy had always been big on family loyalty--and following in his father's footsteps was probably a rite of passage. And with his father being in Azkaban for much of the summer (he and several others had escaped only two weeks before; according to Remus there was still an ongoing investigation as to exactly how it happened), Harry could imagine Malfoy looking for a way to get back Harry/the Order/the Ministry for the part they played--never mind the fact that Lucius Malfoy was a complete git who deserved to be in Azkaban. Had his father's imprisonment driven Draco Malfoy to declare his loyalty to the Voldemort? Didn't he know that it was a lifetime commitment? What had Sirius said about Regulus? "It's a lifetime of service or death." But if Malfoy had decided to give his life over to evil, why had he saved Karissa? And why did she so obviously trust him? None of it made any sense. But of course, Harry had learned a long time ago that there was no logic in reality, and even less in his life.

"So you do have a way to contact Dumbledore?" Draco looked pointedly out the window, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry snorted. "Mrs. Figg called him before she opened the door," he predicted, knowing that Dumbledore had installed a system that worked through the Floo network that would allow Mrs. Figg to contact him in an emergency even though she was a squib.

"Now, Harry, quit being disrespectful," reprimanded a soft voice from behind the boys. "Mrs. Figg is part of the old group. She's accustomed to watching out for you and knows that you would not have come here if there wasn't a real problem."

Draco took a step backwards when he saw who had entered the room. "The werewolf!"

Harry rolled his eyes expressively. Leave it to Malfoy.

"What is Mr. Malfoy doing here?"

Harry smirked, an expression that looked out of place on him. "I think he's gone mental. Asking politely for help to contact Dumbledore, rescuing little girls..."

"Little girls?" Remus repeated quickly, a question in his eyes as he looked at Harry.

Harry was about to respond when Dumbledore appeared behind them. "Remus, walk Harry back to the Dursley's and help him pack," he ordered without a greeting to anyone in the room. "He'll be coming back to Grimmauld Place with you. Mr. Malfoy, you will come with me."

Draco didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified as he watched Harry walk away. He knew Dumbledore would help him, but taking that final step across the line in betraying his past was a daunting prospect. He started to walk with Dumbledore out of the room but stopped short. "Where's Karissa?"

Dumbledore attempted to hide his smile but the twinkle in his eyes never dimmed. He had known Draco would ask a question before they left the room, but this was not the one he had expected. He thought Draco would ask about himself, where he was being taken. Instead he was asking about Karissa. It lightened Dumbledore's heart to know that Draco was capable of caring for someone else. He waved away Draco's concern with a flick of his hand. "She's fine. She's understandably upset, but she's having tea with Mrs. Figg at the moment and she will meet us later at Grimmauld Place. You have some questions to answer first."

Draco nodded and followed Dumbledore to the Floo. He had some questions he'd like to ask but kept them inside. Who was Mrs. Figg? Where, or what, was Grimmauld Place and why were they going there? Why had Professor Lupin acted the way he did at the mention of a little girl? Why was Dumbledore not surprised to see Draco there? Why was he suddenly worried about someone other than himself? He knew he was a self-centered prat; he had been raised to believe that was part of his birthright! Why did he feel the need to protect Karissa?

Draco looked up as Dumbledore handed him a scrap of parchment, telling him, "It's not safe to say this aloud. You have thirty seconds to memorize it." On the parchment was scrawled: The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. Draco read over it several times, confused, before the parchment dissolved into ashes that flitted between his fingers to fall to the floor. "You memorized it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think so, sir," Draco answered quietly.

"Good. I should hate to think where you will end up if you haven't. Come." He led Draco into the Floo (a tight fit for the two of them but Dumbledore wanted them to make the journey together) tossed a bit of floo powder into the flames, and intoned, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place." Several long moments later, the Floo expelled them into a house that Draco got to see very little of as he was led up a set of stairs and into a drawing room where Dumbledore sat down in a chair and gestured for Draco to sit across from him. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, why don't you tell me what happened last night?"