Harry Potter woke to loud thumping noises. At first, the young raven-haired teen thought there was an earthquake in Little Whinging. But as the loud thumps grew closer, he knew that to not be the case. As if the smothering June heat wasn't enough, Vernon Dursley thought it the right time to berate him for something….and at eight in the morning, no less.
"Boy," he could hear his uncle snarl outside his bedroom door. Harry hurriedly put on his glasses just as the fat whale came through the arches of his door, knocking Hedwig's cage over in his rage. The white bird hooted angrily, flapping her wings as she flew from the window in his room. Vernon's rage did not settle with this; no, it seemed it had only made it worse. "Blast that ruddy bird…it's gone! I don't want to see it here again!" he yelled in frustration.
On his bed, Harry sighed as Hedwig easily avoided another confrontation with his uncle. Unfortunately, for him, he was not granted that choice. Green eyes darted back to where his uncle was standing, looking murderously purple in the face. Harry knew better than to say anything while his uncle was like this, so he just kept his mouth shut and instead of verbally asking, he wondered what he could have possibly done before breakfast that morning.
Downstairs, his aunt's voice could be heard speaking to someone; anyone besides Dudley, whom Harry knew was still at his boarding school for "special privileges" week. As if, Harry thought to himself humourously. Meanwhile, his uncle's face turned from red to purple and back to red after hearing Petunia's voice. "Telephone," Vernon said, as if the device had become a pest sometime before.
"For me?" Harry clarified. Vernon scowled but didn't answer, instead leaving the room and heading surprisingly not downstairs, but to his own room at the end of the hall.
Harry jumped up from his bed and went downstairs the moment the door to his uncle's room shut. It was peculiar that someone would call him, especially when his aunt and uncle were home. Petunia was in the kitchen with the phone to her ear when Harry walked down the hall. Seeing him, she spoke into the receiver cautiously. "Here he is now," she said lightly, as if she and the person on the other end of the line had been speaking. After handing him the phone, Petunia busied herself in the kitchen, as she'd taken to doing when Dudley wasn't home to distract her.
The phone felt like dead weight in his hands as Harry put it to his ear. He wasn't fully awake yet, but the adrenaline rush to his brain made him easily alert enough to focus. "Hello?" he asked curiously.
He may have expected someone from the Ministry of Magic, he may have expected someone from the Wizengamot, but who he did not expect in the least was his own friend, Hermione Granger. "Harry?" she asked into the phone hurriedly. "Harry, are you alright? What took you so long?" she asked; Harry could hear the panic in her voice.
"Hermione..." he began, smiling widely beside himself. On the other end of the kitchen, Harry was oblivious to Petunia's halting of the dishes; she was too busy listening intently to what Harry was saying. "How…where did you get this number?" asked Harry, ignoring her previous questions unintentionally.
A small giggle greeted his ears, courtesy of his friend of going on six years. "The phone book, silly." said Hermione. "I didn't get you into trouble, did I?" she asked with worry lacing her voice. Harry sighed and looked up at Petunia, noticing she was busy with her dishes. "Oh Harry, what did they do?"
"Nothing Hermione, it's fine." Harry reassured her. He bit his bottom lip gently. "This must be important if you couldn't owl." he began on a new topic. On the other end of the receiver, Harry could tell that Hermione's breathing became erratic and that she was thinking over her words.
"Mr. Weasley thinks the Ministry is intercepting your owls, Harry." She said, pausing for a moment. Harry sighed. "We think it might have something to do with your turning seventeen next month," the brunette continued. Harry looked up at the calendar posted on the kitchen wall. It was June fourth; sure enough, in a month and a half he'd be seventeen.
Giving another soft sigh, Harry spoke once more. "Good thing we never discussed much." He murmured, weary of his aunt in the room.
"Exactly." said Hermione. "Would it be okay to come over? I want to speak to you in person, and with the wards around your house, it'd be easier for me to go there than you to come here." she said.
The raven-haired boy bit his lip hard at that. "You want to come over?" he asked lowly. Petunia, of course, heard him and turned around.
"Who is it?" she asked, looking up as if determining whether Vernon could hear her from the floor. "One of your friends from school?" asked Petunia. Harry nodded instinctively, biting his lips. Petunia's own lips pursed and she stared hard at Harry. "We're leaving at four for a boating expo. We'll be back Monday." She said quickly, going back to her dishes.
Hermione listened intently while Harry was silent, hearing Petunia speak about leaving. "I'll be there at quarter past four, Harry." she said happily, "Meet me out by the road; I may need your presence to get past the wards."
"Sure thing, 'Mione." Harry said. He couldn't believe his aunt was letting him have company, let alone setting most of it up for him. Hermione said her goodbyes and with that, Harry put the phone back on the receiver. His aunt was busy putting the dishes away, but Harry looked at her and smiled softly. "Thank you," he said, causing Petunia to look back at him. "For letting Hermione come over, I mean." said boy clarified.
Petunia nodded curtly, rubbing her wet hands on her apron. "You'll be leaving us next month, so I don't see the big deal about letting you have a friend over…and any friend that knows how to work the telephone might be a little more discrete."
Harry nodded to that and watched Petunia leave the kitchen. He instantly grabbed some cereal from the cupboards and headed back up to his room to see if Hedwig had made it back yet.
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At precisely four o'clock, like clockwork, Vernon opened the door to his room where Harry was reading a book. The book, while in reality his Spell Book from the year before, looked to be a book that Dudley had discarded like the many that he had on a bookshelf above his desk. "We're leaving," said Vernon, glaring at Harry. "No funny business, you understand?" he asked. Harry didn't bother answering; Vernon didn't expect one. "We'll be back Monday and I expect everything in order, boy." Vernon narrowed his eyes and wagged a large sausage-like finger at Harry before slamming the bedroom door shut.
Without even listening in, Harry could hear Dudley leaving his room with something – a suitcase, Harry thought – rolling behind him. So they were leaving for the whole weekend. Dudley had just gotten back from his boarding school a few hours before and unsurprisingly to Harry, he was bigger than ever. About ten minutes later, the Dursley's car drove down the street and Harry immediately ran downstairs, startling Hedwig, who'd come back a few hours previous. The house was spotless, needless to say, but Harry's heart was still pounding. No one had ever seen the house he lived in besides Ron, Fred, and George; but even then they'd only seen his bedroom.
After walking from the house, leaving the door cracked a little, Harry stood at the end of his driveway and looked up and down his street. Mrs. Figg, the Squib, waved to him while checking her mail. He gave her a small nod, watching her go back into her home. Surely she wouldn't say anything should she see Hermione come, would she? Dumbledore would understand nonetheless, Harry told himself. Then again, Dumbledore had been acting strangely since the year before.
Sighing to himself, Harry looked up as he heard the distinct snap of Apparation. There, at the end of the street, was a bushy haired girl. Hermione checked herself over, making sure she didn't splinch a body part, then looked up and locked eyes with Harry. "Hermione!" Harry grinned, running from his post at the end of his driveway.
"Harry!" Hermione returned, running into his embrace and hugging her friend tightly. Hermione's eyes lit up as she pulled away from the boy, smiling brightly. "Good to see they haven't gotten to you, Harry." She said, looking him over quickly.
A small smile flit across Harry's face, but he remained silent right then and decided to just hug Hermione once more. "They haven't gotten the chance yet," he murmured into her hair. Hermione nodded into his shoulder. She sighed and Harry let her go a bit. "You should come inside. They're gone until Monday." said Harry.
"Where did they go for four days?" asked Hermione, following Harry back to the Dursley's home. On her shoulder she carried a bag similar to her Gryffindor one; Harry suspected it might have had a glamour on it. "They trust you to stay home alone?"
Harry laughed at that. Ever since the summer before, the Dursley's had a way with knowing that Harry was always watched. Maybe Petunia had been warned, he thought, because Dumbledore had warned her before about other things. "They went to a boating show," Harry informed her, rolling his eyes. He pushed the front door open and led her inside, immediately going to the kitchen at the end of the hall. "I really don't think they trust me, but having old Mrs. Figg babysit me isn't in the question anymore…not after last summer." he laughed again.
"Good point," said Hermione, examining the pictures. Noticeably, there were no photos of Harry with his relatives. While it didn't surprise Hermione, after hearing how badly they treated Harry when he was little, it still shocked her that his aunt could be so cruel. She decided to not bring up that subject, however, since she did allow Hermione to sneak over. "It's weird, seeing you during the summer." said Hermione, looking up at Harry again. A smile flit across his face and Hermione continued. "Especially here..and next month you can move into Grimmauld Place."
A genuine smile lit up Harry's face at that. Sirius would be waiting for him at Grimmauld Place after his hearing, only a few short months from then. "Yeah," he agreed, "The sooner I get out of here, the better." said Harry.
"You'll be out of here in no time," Hermione assured, patting Harry's arm. Together the two of them left the house once more, walking side by side down Privet Drive. Their talk turned mutual, of things such as Hermione's summer and where her parents had gone on vacation this time. They talked about Sirius' court hearing, of Ron's love issues with Lavender the year before, and of Ginny, whom Harry wasn't too excited to hear about. "She's got quite the crush on you, Harry." Hermione had said, much to Harry's dismay.
Sometimes, when Harry didn't sleep from being too thoughtful, he could sit on his windowsill in his bedroom and think about his future without too much disturbance. The Dursley house was always eerily quiet after ten, giving Harry plenty of thinking time. He always thought about his future and how unsure it was; after his seventeenth birthday, not even the Dursley's house could save him. He surprised it still could shelter him after Voldemort used his blood to regenerate a body nearly three years prior.
Ginny was always an uneasy subject when he thought of his future. He supposed it would be highly expected to marry Ginny, like in a fairytale when the hero got the girl. Marrying Ginny, he thought, was on his to-do list at one point, but hadn't been for years. In his second year, it seemed like a good idea. In third year, it seemed almost practical. In fourth, he started losing interest with her flirting and overdoing of trying to impress him. Fifth year hadn't been the best either, since she dated half the male population, and last year after Dumbledore died, things went completely downhill even though he'd tried to make it work.
Ron didn't stick too much to the idea of them staying together either, it seemed like. After Harry broke up with her, Ron hadn't said much about it. It was as if it'd never happened where Ron was concerned; where Ginny was, however, it seemed like a tornado had gone through and ripped her world to shreds. And with the news that Ginny still liked him, Harry wasn't so sure this year at Hogwarts was going to be pleasant in the least bit.
Looking over at his friend of nearly seven years, Harry sighed and basked in her presence, knowing she was probably one of the only people he would ever meet to not judge him. Sometimes Harry felt he could tell Hermione anything, even more than Ron in some cases, because he knew she'd keep a level head. So when his culture shock in fifth year had come out, of him liking blokes, Hermione had been there for him first and foremost, followed closely by Ron who, unexpectedly, admitted to being bisexual himself.
Shaking his head of thoughts, Harry tuned back into Hermione's talking long enough to gather that she had asked him where a good place to sit and chat was. As he lead her towards the park on the street past Privet, he brought up the subject of Malfoy. He was quite the topic between the two of them; there was much speculation to him and many rumors, truth be told. He was almost more well known than Harry himself.
Hermione, much to Harry's amusement, always had an opinion on the blond. It wasn't always negative, but all of her statements couldn't be used to defend him either. So when Harry started the conversation with "Malfoy was in the paper yesterday", Hermione immediately had to put her three cents in.
"He turns seventeen tomorrow, I'm sure that's why." She acknowledged. Her face was blank, stony even, so Harry couldn't tell what that was to her: a good thing or a bad thing. "With his parents gone, I'm sure he'll be getting a few articles in tomorrow's paper." she continued.
Harry nodded. It wasn't unlike Malfoy to be in the paper anyway, and tomorrow would be his coming of age. Something he never thought to ask Hermione, however, was how she knew what his birthday was. "Even he doesn't deserve to spend that alone," said Harry thoughtfully, thinking of his many birthdays he'd spent alone in his cupboard.
A soft touch to his arm let him know that Hermione felt the same, about he and Malfoy. Looking up at his best friend, Harry smiled and sat down on the swing next to hers. The day was still bright and with the Dursleys gone until Monday, Harry felt better about being home for the summer than any year before. Something he'd learned with being happy though, was that there was always something to go wrong shortly after.
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Around six thirty that same day, Harry took Hermione back to the Dursley's home to make dinner. He hadn't offered for her to stay the night, thinking that might be a bit awkward. Luckily she hadn't brought it up either, so he expected she would be leaving soon after they ate. Together they made a pasta dish and as they ate, talking continued. "With your owls being intercepted, Harry, you're going to have to use code again. Especially to Sirius." Hermione told him as she sat down with her food.
Harry thought this over. Even though Sirius was in the process of regaining his freedom, he was still technically a mass murderer until proven innocent, since he was claimed guilty years before. "Alright, Snuffles it is then." said Harry, bringing his own plate and a piece of garlic toast for Hermione. She thanked him and began eating. "How's Ron?" The subject hadn't been brought up for a while; Harry figured it was because Hermione felt awkward about Ron's love interests. Last time Harry had brought it up, Hermione digressed and never returned on topic.
"I already told you, he's with Charlie in Romania." said Hermione, taking another bite of food quickly. Harry did the same, letting the subject hang. Apparently it was too touchy a subject. "He's supposed to come back next week, but we'll see." Hermione continued, shrugging.
A small, gentle smile pulled at Harry's lips. "If you want to talk about it, you know I'll listen," he said, patting her hand gently. His fingers curled around her hand and she looked up at him. There was a smile on her face but her eyes were dim. It wasn't a look she gave in public; the greater Hogwarts knew Hermione as a strong, smart individual. Harry knew her as a self-conscious girl who liked an oblivious boy. It really was too cliché.
They finished their supper in moderate silence, only talking about brief mild subjects such as NEWTs and when they were going to meet up in Diagon Alley. If Harry had his way, he would be going with Hermione that very night back to her parent's home. They were in Paris anyway, they'd not mind to have him as Hermione had mentioned every year on the Hogwarts Express. But for another month, he was stuck with the Dursleys. How joyful, Harry thought blandly. Even Hedwig left most of the time and came back at unruly hours of the mid night and mid morning.
"Do you want me to come back tomorrow?" Hermione asked as she hugged her raven-haired friend. They stood out on the corner of Privet Drive, where Hermione could safely Apparate without being seen by any of the Muggles. "I'm going to give Ginny a visit in the morning, she's been quite lonely she said, but I could come visit around one –"
"No, it's fine." answered Harry, cutting Hermione off. "If you find time, you can, but don't waste your entire weekend on me." he laughed, rubbing her shoulder. Hermione gave him a look, but didn't comment on it.
She touched his shoulder softly, smiling at him as if memorizing his lean face. "You owl me if you need me." said Hermione, "I'll be here in a flash."
Harry nodded and gave her one final hug as the sun set below the trees. It was completely dark before he heard the snap of Disapparation and Hermione was gone, leaving him alone once more.
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Green eyes opened slowly, but a hazy blur of colors was all he saw. Yawning, Harry grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, noticing Hedwig missing from her cage. He wasn't sure if she'd never came back, or if she'd already come and gone again. Harry shrugged and gathered fresh clothes he'd washed the night previous and bee-lined for the shower. It was early, around seven or so was the raven-haired boy's guess. He had a bad habit of waking up early lately, much to his dismay.
Leisurely taking his time in the shower, glad that he didn't have to do anything to do since his aunt and uncle were gone, Harry sighed and rubbed at his scar. It'd been burning lately, especially last night. And to think he'd only been out of school for a little over a month. In that amount of time, Hermione had called twice and of course, visited, and Ron owled him on average of thrice per day from Romania. He reckoned it was because he'd be seventeen in July, something that hadn't gone unnoticed in Harry's book. Ron had turned seventeen in December and Hermione in January; both were very joyous occasions that Harry couldn't wait to experience for himself.
Harry stepped out of the shower, drying off quickly and slipping on his clothes before heading back to his room slowly. He had light footfalls, something he'd acquired living with the Dursley's so long. If it was one thing they hated almost, Ialmost/I as much as magic, it was being woken in their precious beauty sleep. Merlin knew they needed it. Closing the door behind himself silently, a soft hoot from his windowsill alerted Harry to Hedwig's arrival.
"Hedwig," Harry smiled brightly, grabbing a treat off his nightstand for her. She hooted once more, lifting her leg that carried the IDaily Prophet/I. An eyebrow rose curiously, but he took the paper and handed her the treat. A final hoot in thanks was deaf on Harry's ears as he unraveled the paper; it was strange for more than one reason. First, Hedwig never delivered it, a mail owl did. Second, it was about four hours early: in Muggle areas, the Daily Prophet ran two hours behind. So Wizards didn't even hold what he did right now. The front article, coincidentally, made Harry even more shocked.
With his brows furrowed together, Harry read the headline once, twice, then thrice to make sure he'd read correctly. The Wizarding photo beneath it was of a boy, in front of a podium, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic. But this wasn't just any boy; no, this boy had flashing silver eyes and nearly white-blond hair, a slim face and a smirk planted firmly on his lips. "Malfoy," Harry seethed. The large headline at the top flashed and Harry sat on his bed to begin reading the article.
bcenterMalfoy Heir's Grand Inheritance./b
By Marsha Gimolii
iToday marks a wonderful occasion for the oldest Pureblood families in Britain, as one of the most powerful family heritages and fortunes was passed to a new generation early this morning. Lord Draco Malfoy has taken rightful ownership of his family's wealth starting immediately. His seventeenth birthday, today, June fifth, 1997, marks a date which will go into pluses of books to come. Lord Malfoy has been named not only the richest teenager alive, but wealthiest wizard alive as well, with nearly seventy billion gallons to his name. Insiders tell us he's planning a large ballroom party this evening, promising to have a fabulous date on his arm./i/center
"Bloody Malfoy," Harry sighed, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Seventy billion gallons he knows absolutely nothing to do with." But Harry knew that Hermione had saw this coming, so he just continued to stare in loathing at the picture of his arch-enemy. He looked cocky, like normal, but no more than he had during his schooling. Harry figured he was used to being center of attention lately, especially with Lucius in Azkaban and his mother in St. Mungo's on the fourth floor.
Harry sighed, tossing the picture on his end table next to the photograph of his parents. They smiled and held each other close, just like always. He touched the picture gently before standing up and leaving his room. Hedwig hooted and flew out the window again, unknowingly to the boy hopping down the stairs, heading to the kitchen to get something for breakfast.
It was a quarter past eight when Harry finally made it back up to his room, where he grabbed his spell book and wand. He'd gotten the jest of a few new spells he'd not been able to perform last year, and since there were no Muggles in the house, he could perform a few spells without the Ministry breathing down his back. Dumbledore's magic was all over the place in the Dursley's home, so they couldn't blame him. For about a half hour or so, he sat and practiced iDeletrious/i and iDissendium/i, two charms he'd not grasped as well as he'd liked.
"iWingardium Leviosa!/i" said Harry, casting the spell at a vase of his aunt's in the living room. He suspended it in the air and twirled it around, then moved it from the windowsill to the mantle on the fireplace. "iDissendium!/i" was followed right after it, making the vase split evenly in two. Harry grinned, proud to have done it without any help besides the book, and cast a quick 'iReparo/I' on it as the doorbell rang.
Harry looked back at the hallway, then stepped into it and looked toward the door. Not another knock came, even after Harry hesitated for a few seconds. That told him it wasn't Hermione, as he thought before. If Harry wasn't there in three seconds, she'd have rapped again. Immediately he thought it was probably one of Dudley's friends who didn't know he was gone. With his wand in his pocket, Harry yawned and stretched his muscles, opening the door without a second thought.
"Took you long enough, Potter." came a snide drawl from his front step. Harry's eyes widened and he looked at the platinum blond, whom of which coolly looked back at him. "Seen a ghost, Boy Wonder?" asked Malfoy, his lips formed up in a smirk.
Classic, Harry thought. His eyes narrowed and he immediately went to shut the door, only stopping when Malfoy's foot caught it in the doorway. He opened the door once more, glaring at the blond from head to toe. "Are you barmy? Do you know where you are?" asked Harry, staring at Malfoy as if he'd really lost his marbles.
"I must admit," Malfoy began, looking at the Dursley's home with an upturned face in disgust, "I didn't believe my sources when they said I could find the famous Harry Potter in Little Whinging. When I Apparated, I was sure they had the wrong address." he said. Malfoy's eyes returned to Harry's face, the smirk returning once more. "But they were right apparently, because here you are."
If Harry's temper could have rose any further, which he supposed it could to dangerous levels, it would have had Malfoy spun anymore words from that arrogant mouth of his. "You've gone completely bonkers. If you're here looking for a happy birthday song, you've got the wrong house." Harry muttered, moving to shut the door again.
Malfoy's hand caught it this time. It was then that Harry realized the blond hadn't removed his foot from the doorway yet. Malfoy's face was calm, but Harry could tell from his eyes that he was getting aggravated. Perfect. "You and I both know I wouldn't be here without a damn good reason, and on my birthday no less." he said, as if challenging Harry with that statement by staring at him.
Harry stared back for a few moments. That did make sense; Malfoy would need a pretty good excuse for coming. "Then what is it?" he asked expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
"I'd appreciate it if we could act civil for a moment and talk indoors, unless you'd like for your nosy neighbors to continue to gawk upon a boy in robes outside your house." said Malfoy, gesturing to Mrs. Number Six, as his aunt called her, whom was peeking suspiciously out of her kitchen window. Harry opened the door and ushered him inside quickly, closing the door behind him. "Much better, Potter. We'll work on manners later." he said, looking around the house. His nose was upturned once more as he observed.
Harry felt like hitting his head on the door. It was only then that he pivoted on his heel and looked straight at Malfoy, who looked back boredly with an eyebrow raised. "How did you get past the wards? And how did you know I lived here? Who told you?" It was like word vomit, Harry realized. He wanted answers to all of the questions, but he didn't necessarily mean to ask them all at once.
Luckily, Malfoy seemed to anticipate these questions. "I have my sources for where you lived. I didn't believe you'd be here, as I've said, but I never thought of looking elsewhere." he said.
"So why don't you go look for me on the other side of England?" asked Harry blandly, looking away from Malfoy for a moment to look at the door. It was shut, enabling the wards again. That was what he was really wanting to know: how Malfoy got through the wards.
Malfoy must have thought what he'd said was funny, because when he looked back there was a large smirk on his face. "You've got a sense of humour, Potter." he granted, waving a hand at him. Malfoy leaned against the door to the cupboard under the stairs, giving Harry a chill. "I got past the wards because Dumbledore granted me permission to come here, and I'm unmarked." he continued.
"Unmarked?" Harry repeated curiously, "As in –"
Malfoy pulled up his sleeve and extended his arm toward Harry. "Go ahead, Potter, check for a glamour." he said, curling his fingers into his palm.
Weary of touching any part of Malfoy besides his knuckles to his jaw, Harry took the boy's arm in his hands and ran his fingertips over the inside of his forearm. Little blonde hairs stood on end as he did, letting Harry know he'd given Malfoy a chill from the feathery touches. He dropped the arm immediately, content in not seeing a shimmer, which would have meant a glamour was in place. "Voldemort could have sent you…" Harry muttered in his defense.
"I know," said Malfoy. "But as it is, I'm here of my own accord. I need something," he said, looking at Harry intently.
To say that the look Malfoy was giving him gave him the creeps would have been the understatement of the century. Harry looked up at the blond, too disturbed by his look to say much at all right then besides the obvious. "You have seventy ibillion/i gallons and you –"
"I can't buy a date, Potter." Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. He stood straight again, keeping his eyes on him. "I mean, I could go with a love sick fourteen year old, but that wouldn't be very flattering. I need redemption." the blond clarified.
Now this was something new, Harry thought. Malfoy needed redemption from what exactly? "Redemption?" repeated Harry. It occurred to him how much he was parroting the blond boy just then.
Malfoy's face continued to be calm and collected, but his eyes gave off the faintest hint of worry. Harry caught that glimpse before it was gone a moment later. "The Ministry," he clarified quietly, his eyes moving from Harry to a spot on the wall to his right. Harry knew he was nervous now, even though his posture didn't show it. The Ministry was cracking down on all the children of Death Eaters; even the ones without the Mark, apparently. "They've got some kind of fishy evidence that I'm an unmarked Death Eater secretly spying on who knows what for Him."
While he spoke the last word, Malfoy's eyes flicked back to Harry; to his scar. It didn't burn like it would have if Malfoy had the Mark. For a moment, Harry almost forgot who this was standing in the Dursley's home in Little Whinging, Surrey. For a moment, he forgot that he hated this prick for tormenting him for nearly six years. He could only think of how unfairly Malfoy was being treated for a moment; he remembered how the Wizengamot had treated him. But then reality hit him; this was Malfoy, the richest Wizard alive and sole owner to more than forty percent of England's riches alone.
"So showing up to your birthday bash with The Boy Who Lived solves everything?" Harry asked, realizing that was what he wanted now. His eyebrows narrowed in disgust at Malfoy then, but Malfoy didn't waver. "Get out." said Harry forcefully.
Malfoy smirked a little. Harry wondered how he still had the gall to do that after spilling his guts about the Ministry after him. "It's not as bad as you probably think, Potter." he said.
"I'm not going to be your arm candy so Scrimgeour will get off your back, Malfoy. Just bribe him and get it over with." Harry said unpleasantly. He was tiring of having Malfoy there; he knew something would ruin his weekend.
The smirk never left Malfoy's face. He stepped closer to Harry, making him dangerously aware of how close and how weird this situation was. "I didn't expect you to do it for free," Malfoy started. "And I'm not going to treat you like a whore and pay you. I've got something you want." he told Harry.
"As much as I doubt that, Malfoy, what makes you think I like blokes anyway?" Harry asked quickly. In his defense, he'd not thought of dating Malfoy before. How absurd. "And what will the Ministry think if the last Malfoy heir liked blokes?"
"You're daft, Potter." was Malfoy's reply. Harry narrowed his eyes but didn't rebut, not exactly sure what question that was supposed to answer. "I know you're not straight because of the way you carry yourself. Plus that Irish nitwit, Finnigan, talked about your ass constantly." Malfoy told him. Harry was proud to say he kept his blush from rising too much. "As far as the Ministry on my tail, I think they'll accept whatever you and I do as law about now. You have to save their asses and I'm too rich to argue against."
Harry rolled his eyes at that, but somehow Malfoy had a point. It was true that Harry undoubtedly had some advantage over the Ministry, and with Malfoy controlling nearly half of the England's wealth, he was sure to get a word in where the Ministry was concerned. "So this is about power," Harry clarified with an eyebrow raised.
He could see a small twitch in the blond's lip at that. "I think you completely missed the part about how I need redemption, Potter." he smirked. "So what have you? What could you lose?" Malfoy asked, crossing his arms.
"A lot of trust and respect." said Harry. "From people that look up to me and trust me to make good decisions."
Malfoy considered this for a moment. "But I'm not guilty. Isn't it your job to defend the innocent?" he asked.
Damn, Harry thought. He had a point, Harry was the do-gooder lately, and he did try to stick up for those wrongly accused. "Prove it." he challenged.
With a fair shrug, the blond reached a hand into his robes and pulled out something wrapped in what looked to be finely-woven blue silk. He handed it out to Harry gently, urging him to take it when he looked skeptical. "Don't touch it, just the silk." Malfoy warned.
Harry did as told and carefully unwrapped the surprisingly light-weight package. Inside the smooth silk rested a golden crown with sapphires embedded in the arches and smooth encryptions that looked unique and in extreme detail. "What is it?" Harry asked softly. The crown was giving off a suspicious soft glow that reflected off the blue silk. Suddenly his hand was going to rub his scar, which started to burn. Harry lift his head immediately to meet Malfoy's stare, his eyes wide. "Where did you get this?" he asked, hurriedly wrapping the crown back up. He knew what it was as soon as his scar began burning. It was Ravenclaw's diadem; a Horcrux.
"It was passed along to my Father in a trade of some sort a long time ago." said Malfoy, "I realized it was a Horcrux about two years ago. Father always had it in a case that prevented the soul from escaping."
Harry gently handled the silk now, afraid to manhandle it now. "All I need to do is go to this party with you tonight?" Harry asked quietly, looking down at the Horcrux in his hand. His scar didn't burn as much when it was covered, but knowing that part of Voldemort was in his hands gave off an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Malfoy gave a short nod, though he was sure it looked a little forced. "One Horcrux, one night." he agreed. "You might have to answer some questions from reporters if it's not too much trouble. I can't say all of it will be on my behalf, but the question will arise." he continued.
"How many other Horcruxes do you have?" Harry asked then, looking up at the blond. Malfoy put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and shrugged. "Do you know what all of them are?" Harry tried. He knew Malfoy would play hardball; this was Malfoy he was talking about. Nothing would come cheap.
A pink tongue darted out to lick equally pink lips. Malfoy seemed to think for a moment, but he nodded shortly after. "I do," he said. "The diary, the crown, Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, and of course, the gem in Gryffindor's sword, among others." he said with a shrug.
"We've destroyed the ring and the diary," Harry said. Malfoy nodded as if he'd known that. "The gem in Gryffindor's sword was smashed by Professor Dumbledore a few years ago…we've yet to find the cup, Slytherin's locket was destroyed –"
"Destroyed by whom?" Malfoy asked skeptically. "It was the one heirloom Father could never find."
Harry looked up at him. "I destroyed it the summer before fifth year." he said. "Does it belong to your family?" As if unsure about why he'd asked that, Harry stopped and just ran his fingers over the blue silk covering the diadem. He had a very bad case of the word vomit as of late.
He watched as Malfoy shrugged again, his mouth doing a sort of gape-and-sigh movement that he'd not seen him do before. The blond looked hesitant to say anything more; it was clear that he only gave answers to Harry in hopes that he'd accompany him to his party. "Let's just say it belonged to an ancestor of mine." he said.
A very diplomatic answer, Harry thought blandly. Polite, but vague. He nodded though, scratching the back of his neck with one hand; the other still holding the silk. "Where's the party at?"
"The Manor, naturally." responded Malfoy. "We should be leaving soon, it starts soon." Harry looked at the clock on the wall in the kitchen that was visible from the hallway. Malfoy's gaze followed his. "It's nearly nine now, so the party is in less than eight hours. We have business to attend to." he said.
"Like what?" Harry asked naively, not waiting for an answer as he headed upstairs. If he was going to Malfoy Manor alone, he was sure to have someone know he was going. Like Hermione and Ron. Malfoy followed him, sure enough, into his bedroom where he took off his shirt and grabbed a white button-up from his trunk. "Are we going to hang decorations or boss your house elves to do it for us?" he continued mockingly, turning to get his robe to put on over his white shirt.
"Very funny, Potter." said Malfoy as he continued his earlier observations of the Dursley home. Harry rolled his eyes and put his wand in his robes, taking off his jeans to replace him with the slacks he bought for school. He was, naturally, oblivious to the blue eyes that watched his undressing, instead paying more attention to gathering parchment to scribble two notes on after he'd dressed. "We'll alert Granger and Weasley after we get to the Manor. The Ministry is intercepting your owls." Malfoy said.
Déjà vu, Harry sighed. Hermione suspected as much. It was a waste asking Malfoy how he knew; Harry expected he found out from insiders or even from the reporter who interviewed him for the article in that day's paper. "Whatever, Malfoy." Harry flicked his wrist at him, shrinking his spell book to stuff in his pocket.
Malfoy seemed to find this funny. "Hurry up, Potter. We have to get going." said the almighty. Harry rolled his eyes and led the blond prat downstairs, locking the Dursley's door behind them once they'd left. They walked to the end of the street, eerily familiar to Harry, who'd just yesterday watched Hermione Disapparate from the same location. It was then that Malfoy held out his arm for Harry to hold. "I'm sure you're familiar with side-along Apparation?" Malfoy asked rhetorically, giving Harry a curious look.
With pursed lips, Harry took hold of Malfoy's arm with a single hand. Malfoy chuckled but shrugged to it. "Just Disapparate." muttered Harry.
"I'm glad you trust me so much, Potter." Malfoy laughed haughtily, "But I'm not Dumbledore. You might get splinched."
Harry hesitantly draped his arm through Malfoy's, sighing. "Please, just do it. Before someone comes outside." he nearly pleaded. Mrs. Number Six was watching out the window as they'd passed her house and Harry didn't want to take chances. In the next moment, Harry felt the familiar tug on his naval and watched as Privet Drive disappeared from his view. The only thing he could concentrate on was Malfoy's arm that had draped across his waist.