Only Ash Remains

Chapter 9

Harry and Narcissa were restoring the threadbare floral tapestries on the east wall of her sitting room when he noticed Malfoy's pale face peeking around the door. He bit his lip to hide his smile as an idea occurred to him.

"Hey Malfoy," he called, "Why don't you stop skulking about over there and make yourself useful?"

Malfoy poked his head farther into the room and sneered at him, then vanished back around the corner.

Narcissa lowered her wand and sighed. "I do wish you wouldn't bait my son like that."

"But it's so much fun," Harry replied, grinning.

Narcissa shook her head and returned to the painstaking process of restoring the colours of the tapestry she was working on.

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"Are you going to help us, Malfoy?" Harry called a few days later, as they repaired the intricately patterned rug in the dining room.

"I doubt you're being helpful, either, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "In fact—"

Narcissa cleared her throat. "Draco, darling, will you please bring me that book on textile restoration from the library? You might check the study if you don't find it there — there's a chance Lucius may have borrowed it."

Malfoy sneered at Harry once more, then headed down the hall toward the library.

Harry turned his attention back to the restoration, but he soon grew restless.

"Malfoy should have been back by now, shouldn't he?" he said, turning to peer toward the door.

"Hmm," Narcissa replied, biting her lip as she concentrated.

A few minutes later, Harry tried again. "I'm sure he should be back by now. He's probably skived off and—"

Narcissa heaved a sigh. "Why don't you go and fetch him, then. You'll be no use to me until you've found out where he is."

Harry stuffed his wand in his back pocket and headed toward the library, seizing the excuse gratefully.

It was empty, as he'd expected, and, after running upstairs and poking his head into the study and finding it also empty, he started wandering around, opening doors at random.

After a fruitless search of the other rooms, he tried the storage room next to the study, where he and Narcissa had been putting the non-dangerous and less-than-useful things they'd found while cleaning. Malfoy was inside, pacing and limping.

Harry marched inside, letting go of the door just as Malfoy shouted "No! Don't—"

"You idiot," Malfoy sneered as the door swung shut behind Harry. The unmistakable snick of the lock was loud in the sudden silence.

Harry struggled with the door, puzzled, until Draco sighed. "It's no use, Potter. We're stuck here until she decides to let us out."

"She? You don't mean to say that your mother locked us in here?"

"No, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "I mean the house. Though, Mother did send us up here so she's probably in on it. Interfering old biddies!" he shouted, turning to look at a painting leaning against the wall behind him.

Harry blinked as a figure slid out of view behind the frame, tittering.

"Now what?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Now? Now we wait for either the house or my mother to let us out. Who knows which of them will cave first. Why don't you go wait over there so I don't have to look at you?"