On the banks of the Thames, as the hour hand of Big Ben pointed to the number eight, the persistent fog still stubbornly lingered over the newly awakened city.
With a soft pop, two slender, hooded figures appeared out of nowhere in the narrow square. They hurried along, trying to cross the gloomy houses in front of the square.
"Draco, watch out for those rubbish bins!" A woman's pleasant voice came from under a tall hood.
Another figure nimbly leapt over the clutter piled up outside the front steps of the house, and a clear boy's voice rang out from under the hood, "It is all right, Mum, I saw it."
Finally, they stopped in front of an ordinary-looking house. The woman looked up to check the house number and whispered to her son, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, this is it."
Draco followed his mother up the broken stone steps and noticed the black door, its paint chipped and covered in a jumble of scratches. Narcissa gently knocked three times on the silver knocker, which was shaped like a coiled snake.
A few seconds later, there was a noise at the door.
A man as thin as a withered lotus leaf peered warily at them through the crack in the door. He had gloomy eyes and black hair that hung elegantly in front of his eyes. Although his face was thin and haggard, Draco could still tell from his features and bone structure that this face had once been very handsome.
Narcissa pulled her hood up behind her head.
Her face was very pale, her lips were painted in the latest trendy fuchsia colour, and her carefully styled golden hair was draped down her back, as if she were going to attend some high-class banquet.
"Narcissa—" The man opened the door a crack, chuckled briefly, and glanced at the face of the boy under the hood behind her, not ignoring his platinum blond hair. "And Draco—" He turned and invited them in. "What rare guests!"
"Sirius," Narcissa greeted simply, then led her beloved son through the door.
As soon as Draco entered, he smelt a damp, dusty odour, along with a sweet, rotten smell. He was quite suspicious that he might be poisoned or have an allergic reaction.
"Draco, do not touch anything," Narcissa said warily, wrinkling her nose at the swirling dust around her.
"That is a nice way to put it," the man in front said lazily, with a hint of sarcasm. "You have been around here a lot before."
Narcissa pursed her lips and said nothing more.
As they walked through the long hallway, the old-fashioned gas lamps on the wall flickered to life with their voices and footsteps. In the dim light, Draco could barely make out the darkened objects on the wall—a row of crookedly hanging portraits.
However, what concerned Draco most was the man in front of him. His long legs, dragging a pair of high-top leather shoes, made him look like a long-legged heron as he walked wearily into the depths of the hallway.
"Harry!" he called towards the end of the hall, "Look who is here!"
With a series of hurried footsteps, Harry ran out from a door in the foyer.
"Draco," Harry said cheerfully, "it is so good to see you!"
Then he saw Narcissa beside Draco and hesitated for a moment. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Malfoy."
Narcissa did not put on her usual haughty demeanour. She curled her red lips into a smile that could be described as amiable, and gestured for Draco to take out the beautifully wrapped dark green box. "I heard it was your birthday a couple of days ago. Here, take this."
"You do not need to be so polite," Harry said hesitantly, glancing back at his godfather.
"It is just a little toy," Narcissa said with an unquestionable tone.
"Take it, then take Draco upstairs to play." Sirius smiled at Harry, a look of suspicion on his face.
What was Narcissa Malfoy's purpose in suddenly showing up at his door? He did not believe she was simply trying to reminisce. Unsolicited kindness often had ulterior motives.
Harry tiptoed and led Draco through two long, worm-eaten velvet curtains. Draco lifted his eyelids to examine the curtains, thinking to himself: I wonder which curtain that foul-mouthed Great-Aunt Walburga might be under.
They could faintly hear Narcissa complaining, "Sirius, this place is a dog house..."
Draco followed Harry up the dark staircase, chatting as they walked past a large umbrella stand that resembled a giant leg and through a panel made of house-elves' heads.
"I heard that the day Sirius came to pick you up, you inflated your Muggle aunt?" Draco asked.
"Oh, you found out too? To be precise, she is not exactly my aunt, she is my cousin Dudley's aunt," Harry said quietly.
"That is pretty creative, I have to say—" Draco suppressed a laugh.
"Sirius said the same thing later," Harry grinned. "He told me 'well done,' given that she had said something insulting about my parents."
Draco shrugged.
"Even so, I reckon they sent you a warning letter. You cannot do this twice, or you will get expelled," he reminded Harry.
"I know, I just could not resist. But I do not regret it. I reckon I will not have the chance again. Judging from how angry my aunt and uncle are, I probably will not have to go back there for summer holidays again," Harry said cheerfully.
"Congratulations." Draco chuckled and continued following him upstairs.
Harry was clearly familiar with the place, and it seemed he had explored this dark and gloomy mansion quite a bit.
The Black family's old house was unusually filthy.
As they passed a high-ceilinged sitting room on the second floor, the frantic scurrying of rats filled the air. Draco glanced into the room and saw that the olive-green walls were covered with dirty tapestries. Dust billowed from the sitting room like smoke, causing the two passersby to sneeze several times.
"I hate dust," Draco said, covering his nose. Now he was certain he was going to have an allergic reaction.
He frowned and continued climbing, listening to Harry cough amidst the creaking stairs, "Indeed, Sirius said this place has not been cleaned in a long time. We had better not go in; it is full of dangerous Dark magic items. He said yesterday he wanted to find some time to clean it up properly."
Finally, Harry stopped at the room on the right side of the third-floor landing, opened the door, and said, "Come in."
Draco entered the room and found it dark and damp, with a blank canvas framed in an ornate picture on the wall. Apart from that, there were large patches of peeling, mottled paint.
He looked out the window, but the sunlight was not shining in completely because the window was covered with a thick layer of dust.
Several newspapers were scattered haphazardly on the table by the window. Draco could vaguely make out: "The Ministry of Magic confirmed today that Peter Pettigrew is still at large. He is probably the most wicked prisoner ever held in Azkaban..." The last words were blurred by a clump of tea stains.
"How is it?" Harry asked him, a hint of smugness in his voice. "I must say, this room is much bigger than the one on Privet Drive. And, most importantly, it is free."
However, Draco could not bring himself to say the compliment.
The living conditions were completely uncomfortable for him. Even the quilts on the carved bed felt cold to the touch.
The only bright thing in the room was a framed wedding photograph of Harry's parents—it was placed on the only relatively clean bedside table—a recent birthday gift from Draco to Harry.
"Are you settling in comfortably here?" Draco asked casually, glancing at the unsettling bedroom environment out of the corner of his eye.
"It has never been this good," Harry said with a wide grin, genuinely.
Draco gave him a faint smile.
Harry's cheerful demeanour seemed genuine. What kind of life did he lead in his Muggle home? Was it worse than this? But according to Dobby, at least it was clean and tidy.
"It seems you and your godfather get along well." After a few seconds of silence, Draco made the most likely conclusion.
"He is cool, even better than I imagined." Harry's face lit up with undisguised joy. "He told me a lot about my parents."
This remark evoked a secret sympathy in Draco. This silly child—so easily satisfied.
He weighed the box in his hand and tossed it to Harry.
"Look at my mother's gift," Draco said.
Narcissa was always very polite when asking for favours; coincidentally, Draco knew a few of Harry's little hobbies and offered his mother some suggestions on what gifts to give.