There was a sour sort of smell in the kitchen, like unwashed dishes. It took him a moment to spot Harry. The little dove was roosting on top of a kitchen cabinet, head pulled toward his shoulders in an attitude of repose.
"Oh hello," Draco said in a low voice, as if he really were talking to a turtle dove. "There you are. Sorry to intrude. I er. Heard you were rather poorly and might want someone to look in. I'll go if. If you'd rather." Without exactly meaning to, he'd raised his arm out to offer his hand for Harry light on.
After a moment, Harry fluttered down from the cabinet and landed on Draco's proffered hand, gripping at Draco's palm with his tiny claws to get his seat. When he was settled, he cocked his head and looked up at Draco with first one bright black eye, then the other. Draco looked steadily back at him.
He wasn't sure how he knew he'd gained Harry's permission to stay, but he was certain he had.
Draco cleared his throat, "Well erm. Excuse me being such a forward guest, but I suppose I may as well make myself useful, as you don't seem in the mood for a chat." He passed Harry carefully to his shoulder, then went to the sink and filled it with steamy, sudsy water, and did the washing up.
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Excerpt from my new ficlet The Tune Without The Words. Get the rest of the story on AO3!












