It had been thirteen months and three weeks since Harry had found, and saved, Malfoy from a dark, icy corner in the crooked streets of Knockturn Alley.
For thirteen months, Malfoy had not stepped foot outside of Harry's cottage. He'd spent his time sleeping, ignoring Harry, reading his way through Harry's modest book-collection, making sullen conversation with Harry, and teaching himself to cook.
It hadn't been a bad thirteen months, Harry thought. He ate a lot better now. Malfoy too. The sour, skinny git had actually turned out to be a pretty good cook and baker.
Harry couldn't complain about his life. He left that to Ron, who still bemoaned the fact that Harry had brought home a stray Malfoy and kept him and even occasionally bought him a new book or a new jumper. Harry didn't mind. It was more than worth it to see Malfoy's thin, dull face brighten.
After months, Malfoy had begun going out on walks by himself every evening. The first time he'd gone, it was after yet another shouting match with Harry and to Harry's utter shock he'd stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind himself.
He'd been sure Malfoy wouldn't return and had spent the whole evening with his stomach churning with something awful, thinking about going back to a life without that grumpy fuck.
But then, just as the sun had set, Malfoy scurried in through the small, arched front gate, his cloak held closed around himself.
Harry planted himself before the front door, fists clenched, and prepared to yell some more, this time about Malfoy just leaving him. Then, Malfoy burst in, looking around wildly, and had proceeded to produce a baby bunny from under his cloak.
"We have to save it!" Malfoy shouted, as if he was about to sacrifice his own life or something.
They bathed and fed it. Harry firecalled Hermione to ask her about raising baby bunnies. Malfoy named it Buttercup. That was three weeks ago.
Harry now sat with Buttercup the bunny on a bundled up blanket next to him on the sofa, a mournful, old, and partially deaf bloodhound that Malfoy had met on his way back from the shops and brought home sitting by his feet, and a cat with one eye missing curled up on a cushion on the windowsill. The bloodhound, Malfoy had named Wilson, and Harry had the uncomfortable, nagging suspicion that Malfoy had actually stolen some careless sod's old dog with the firm belief that it was an underfed stray. The one-eyed cat, Malfoy had permitted Harry to name, and had immediately regretted it when Harry had named him Mad-Eye.
Harry now saw Malfoy appear at the gate and pass through it inside, his gait as hurried as ever, as if permanently late to be somewhere. Then Malfoy let himself in, saw Harry sitting and staring at him from the sofa, and turned away towards the stairs, his cloak bundled around himself.
"Where are you going?" asked Harry at once.
Malfoy scowled. "To take a piss. Merlin."
"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously, getting to his feet.
"What's what?!" Malfoy snapped, still not fully emerging from under his cloak.
"What do you have there?" Harry pressed, walking up to him and plucking at his cloak.
Malfoy took a step back, his cheeks pink. "Nothing. What do you mean?!"
"What's under there this time, Malfoy?" Harry asked wearily. "Not another rabbit. The dog keeps trying to eat the first one."
"Wilson's not going to eat Buttercup, don't be an idiot," Malfoy said, impatient and rude as ever.
"What do you have?" Harry said loudly, tugging at Malfoy's cloak more forcefully.
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, jerking farther away from Harry, when there was a tiny, very shrill mew.
Malfoy froze, eyes huge in his face. Harry's mouth fell open and he tugged, yet again, at Malfoy's cloak.
It fell away to reveal an extremely small, very dirty white kitten held carefully in Malfoy's bony hands. It was shivering uncontrollably, and continuously emitted small, pitiful meeps.
"You want me to leave it outside to die?!" Malfoy burst out before Harry could even say anything. "You want it to die?!"
"Well, you make me take it away and it's going to die, Potter."
"It needs a home, and your stupid house is so big, and we can save it before it dies."
"Can you stop saying "die"?!" Harry said exasperatedly.
"If you make me take it back, I'm going with it," Malfoy said, jutting his pointy chin out at Harry.
That made Harry grin - because Malfoy was threatening to leave with the sort of confidence that one has when they know they would never be allowed to go.
And that made Harry's tummy flutter happily for some reason.
"Well, in that case, I'd better let you keep it," he said solemnly. "What would I do without you, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's face, already tinged pink, now turned scarlet. Shoulders rounding inwards a bit, Malfoy looked down at the raggedy kitten before sticking his nose up in the air.
"You love it already, Potter," he said loftily. "You love everything you save."
Then, as he processed what he'd just said, Malfoy's face turned so hot that he looked faint for a second.
Then he hurried away into the kitchen, cloak billowing behind him, calling out over his shoulder,
"Clean towels and tic medicine, if you please, Potter."
Grinning, Harry went upstairs obediently. He had a kitten to save and a whole lot more to love.
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