It had been three days since their fight, and Harry and Hermione still weren't on speaking terms. Hermione had stopped talking to him, except for muttering over-loudly about cruel and unusual punishment and unfairness whenever Harry was near, while giving him dirty looks. Harry found all of this highly irksome, and was hanging out with Ron and the twins, discussing what to do with the Malfoy estate.
They'd all come up with lots of highly enjoyable ideas. Since Harry already owned his own house and had plenty of money, their notions didn't tend so much towards making use of this as to finding ways to use the Malfoy homes and fortune in ways that would give its patriarch palpitations. Currently tied for Harry's favourite was building an luxurious Home for war orphans and wanking on Lucius' desk.
But Harry couldn't do anything of those things if he didn't taken the Ministry's offer, and he was still crippled by indecision over it. Which is why he was currently standing just outside Malfoy Manor's gates, having Apparated there with his Ministry guide.
Mr and Mr Weasley hadn't been much help in making the decision either, despite wanting to be of use. Mrs Weasley had been worried at the amount of Dark magic tied to the place, despite Harry's skill with it. Mr Weasley had merely quietly asked if he thought the place could feel like home, and said Harry's decision should rest on that. Harry thought he might have a point, but he honestly didn't know if Malfoy Manor could ever be a home to him. Still, by the end of this tour he should at least have an idea.
"I'm Dominic Woodrow, Mr Potter, and I'm going to be showing you around the place. I'm an Auror, but I know the place well – I specialise in Dark artifacts and I've been looking it over."
Harry nodded distractedly, wanting to get on with this quickly. "Yeah, hi, call me Harry."
Woodrow spluttered a bit and flushed, obviously terribly flustered by showing the great war hero around and being asked to call him Harry. The younger man barely noticed, too busy looking up at the gates of Malfoy Manor. Harry had expected something pretentious, possibly with an ostentatious "MM" in the middle. Instead, the iron gates were gothic and interesting, with the only mark of ownership the metal snakes and wyverns that wound their way through the design. The house, too, was large but not overly ornamented, formed out of the local grey stone.
"Come this way, Mr Po – Harry," he corrected quickly as Harry looked around with a slight frown. "Is there anything you're particularly interested in seeing?"
Harry considered asking about the secret room under the dining room floor, but changed his mind. "Can we see the bedrooms first?"
"Of course," Woodrow said obsequiously, and if there was a faint shadow of an uneasy frown on his forehead, the official quickly wiped it away. They moved swiftly up the drive and into the Manor proper, through a predictably impressive set of ebony doors.
Harry's eyes widened as they entered the foyer. The floor was blue-grey marble, and so was the staircase that swept around the back wall. The room was about half the size of Hogwarts' Entrance Hall and similarly populated by portraits. Most of them were empty, and Harry assumed they'd taken refuge where possible from the invading Aurors. Judging by the predominantly blond subjects of the portraits, Harry assumed these were ancestral Malfoys.
Harry looked around, raising his eyebrows. He'd have to think about what to do with these portraits. It was possible they could all cohabit peacefully, but if any of them behaved like Mrs Black he might consider burning.
Woodrow was already heading for the gorgeous, if cold, stairs, and Harry hurried to keep up. Anticipation was rising in his chest at the idea of seeing Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom, and Draco's too. He could scarcely imagine it. The idea of black walls and skulls instantly came to mind and Harry rolled his eyes at himself. Those Muggle cliches of bad wizards' lairs were hardly likely to be accurate. Considering the legendary vanity of all three Malfoys, full-length mirrors and ridiculously large wardrobes were much more likely.
The stairs carried on to at least one more floor, but Woodrow led Harry down a corridor once they reached the first floor. "The master bedroom's in the west wing," he explained as they went. "There are some little rooms around it – the dressing room, the en suite, the son's old nursery. Draco's bedroom is in the north wing and quite nearby, actually. I understand his mother was very protective."
Harry nodded, not really paying attention. At the end of the corridor were a set of doors with the Malfoy crest set in them – a wyvern, with two snakes curled around it and the family motto engraved beneath it – aurum potentas est. This was surely the master bedroom. Harry unconsciously increased his pace, and Woodrow matched it. The two men entered the room together.
Harry stopped and blinked. Light was his first impression – much more than in the corridor. One wall was covered by three large windows, and another had impressive ones too. The view of the grounds was absolutely amazing. Harry was surprised – he'd not have expected such apparent adulation for light from a family of Slytherins. But then perhaps that was why; the contrast must be nice after school years spent largely underground.
He looked around some more. The centre of the room was the bed. It was king-sized and comfortable looking, with a thick mattress and a soft looking duvet. Harry hadn't expected the colour scheme either – he'd thought there would be lots of green. Instead, the predominant colour was blue. Robin blue for the walls, navy for the curtains, cobalt blue for the bedspread. The closest anything got to green was the teal hue of the carpet. But Harry did note the silver embroidery on the bedding, and the silver frame to the – yes – large mirror. Not completely free of their Slytherin roots, then.
Or maybe it just looked nice. Sometimes Harry wondered if the cynicism Snape had engendered in him went too far. He didn't think so most of the time; he usually felt his old self had remained, just with more skill at Occlumency, and an understanding that really, really unpleasant didn't mean evil. Snape's training had got Harry through his battle with Voldemort and the Gryffindor was well aware of it. He seemed to have changed as a result of it, though. Or perhaps that was the other things Snape had taught him.
Things about what Snape had had to do to be trusted as a spy. Things about bitterness and grudges eating people (him) up inside. About how Voldemort used the Cruciatus and Imperius to make people do as he ordered. How he threatened their families.
This last had been what really stayed with Harry. The only time he and Snape had ever really talked – and probably would ever really talk – had been after they destroyed the real locket, stolen by Regulus Black.
They'd gotten pissed on Firewhiskey. Snape had become rather loquacious after a shot or six, and what he'd heard had almost been enough to sober Harry. After the flight from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had run away from him, terrified of Voldemort's wrath and knowing his mother was most likely dead already. Snape's Vow had finished with the completion of the task Malfoy had been set, but he worried about the boy still. He had no idea where he'd ended up, and felt if Draco were dead or hurt or exploited, it was down to him.
"Harry? What do you think?" He was pulled out of his reverie by Woodrow's voice, and looked round once more.
There were two large wardrobes in the room, in opposite corners. These were the only pieces of furniture aside from the bed, mirror and nightstands; Harry supposed the rest was in their dressing rooms. The wood was teak, and engraved. It was all very attractive, but not particularly him.
"I like it," he replied at last. "I could see myself sleeping here. It's got a great view, very Gryffindor Tower. Can I see Malfoy's room?"
"Draco? Yes, of course."
They left the master bedroom and then the wing, coming surprisingly quickly to a door with a little wooden tag with Draco's Room written on it, surrounded by little dragons. One gave him a toothy grin and Harry smiled back as he pushed the door open.
Harry looked around the bedroom of his schoolday nemesis, laid completely open for him to enjoy at his leisure. His first, traitorous thought was that it was nice and cosy; his second that this was actually very similar to Ron's room. Harry allowed himself a small grin at the mental image of Ron's face if he ever heard that.
The walls were smothered in Quidditch posters. But where Ron's room blasted the eyes with the bright orange of the Cudley Cannons, Malfoy's pierced with pale blue and bright silver. The Appleby Arrows grinned and played all over the place, the silver arrows on their chests glinting. Above the bed was a large poster of an Arrows Beater sending a Bludger smashing towards a Wimbourne Wasps Chaser.
The bed was queen size, and covered in a comfy looking duvet with Snitches on it, and soft blue sheets. Harry saw something nearly hiding behind a pillow. He went over curiously, and grinned as he saw a soft blue dragon with orange scales sitting there. It regarded him with a stitched smile. Harry decided it was really very cute, and no doubt Malfoy's favoured childhood toy, if it still had a place on his bed. He picked it up.
Instantly he was hit by a wave of Malfoy's scent. He wouldn't have thought he'd even register it, let alone recognise something as intimate as that. But it rolled over his nose and before Harry even knew what he was smelling he was hit by a powerful sense of pure Malfoy. It took him a moment to work out the components: musk and broomstick and expensive shampoo. It was missing the school edge of ink and dust that always permeated Hermione, but Harry would have known it anywhere.
He suddenly had a moment of worry about what had happened to his old enemy. Obnoxious and cruel as the other boy could be, he'd suffered under Voldemort as much as any of them. Besides, Snape had been concerned, and he was hardly sentimental. If he believed Draco Malfoy to be worth saving, that meant more than the same assertion from Dumbledore. Still, it was certainly too late now; the youngest Malfoy was most likely dead.
Harry sighed a bit and looked around some more. A well-thumbed (not to say battered, with half its spine coming off) copy of Quidditch Through The Ages sat on the nightstand next to a couple of poisonous-looking orange candles.
There was a wardrobe, a mirror, and a chest of drawers around the room. There was also a wide bookcase. One of the rows of books had large, impressive-looking tomes that were all immaculate. The other two rows were filled with smaller books, probably novels. Their spines were hanging off and they were badly bent, but they looked well-enjoyed.
Harry turned back to Woodrow. "I'm done here, thanks. What else should I see, do you think?"
"Would you like to meet the staff now, Harry?"
Harry blinked. Staff? For a second he felt completely blank – then he twigged. The house elves. He nodded and they made their way to the immense dining room. It too was marble, and completely devoid of furniture. The emptiness made the room seem chilly, and it was odd when upstairs so many luxurious appointments remained.
Woodrow called out elf names as the two men walked to the centre of the room. Instantly three house elves appeared with the characteristic crack of elf Apparition.
"These are Heggy, Etsy and Ingrid," Woodrow said quickly, pointing to each one. Heggy was male and the other two female; they all wore similar uniforms to the Hogwarts house elves, tea-towel togas with a crest. The house elves were looking at him with a tremulous sort of adulation that made Harry swallow. He didn't think he could handle living with three Dobbys.
"Uh, hi," he started, but was interrupted by an enormous BANG!
Woodrow's Auror instincts took over. He grabbed a handful of Harry's robes in one fist and his wand in another, dragging Harry backwards towards the doors they'd come in by. The elves remained frozen in place; the slight twitching of ears was the only indication they were even alive.
The bang was the opposite set of double doors being thrown open. Harry looked, and instantly froze in sheer astonishment.
Malfoy. Here?!
Draco Malfoy was being carried into the room by two Aurors. He was struggling and wriggling and fighting viciously, kicking out at the Aurors at every opportunity. The men looked tired and flushed, and distinctly irritable. This was no wonder, as in addition to his fighting Malfoy was screaming invective. He was insulting the Ministry, Scrimgeour, the entire Auror corps, these specific men and their mothers, seemingly choosing targets at random. He swore and spat and scratched and struggled, face bright pink with exertion and twisted in fury.
"And your mothers lie with centaurs and they're probably Mudblood bitches and – "
Malfoy had seemingly used up the last of the Aurors' patience. A few metres into the room they looked at each other, nodded, and dropped Malfoy. His body smacked onto the floor before he'd had a chance to react, and despite himself, Harry winced. Slamming onto a marble floor like that had to hurt.
Malfoy fell on his side, and Harry heard the chuff of air as he was winded. He noted how the blond hair fell in his eyes – it was scraggly and too long, and filthy besides. Malfoy's expression showed pain, but almost instantly he wriggled and started pushing himself to his feet again, pink spots on his cheeks formed by fury.
He'd only begun to lever himself up when one of the Aurors' wands swung down and kissed his throat. Instantly Malfoy stilled, and lowered himself very carefully back to the floor. Harry could see his hands were curled into fists, but Malfoy wasn't stupid. He stayed silent.
"Robards has no problem with us using Unforgivables on Death Eater scum, Malfoy." The voice was quiet, and all the more threatening for it. Harry saw the blond's lips purse. His body stayed rigid for a second longer, though because of tension or because he was considering fighting anyway Harry wasn't sure. Then his shoulders relaxed.
"Stand in line and keep quiet." Even from across the room Harry saw Malfoy's jaw clench, but he stayed quiet and got up, walking quietly over to the house elves and standing next to them. One of them. He stared straight ahead determinedly, apparently not wishing to meet the Aurors' eyes; he seemed completely unaware of both Harry and Woodrow's presence.
Harry turned to the Auror and hissed, "what the hell's he doing here? I thought he was dead, or something!"
Woodrow grinned a bit. "He comes with the place, like the house elves. If you decide to take your reward, he'll be your slave."
Harry's eyes went wide. He turned to look at Malfoy again. The blond was standing sullenly with his arms crossed, his mouth working but closed, pink spots of colour on pale cheeks. He turned to Woodrow again and grinned. "I'll take it."
Woodrow's face was carefully, almost totally, blank as he said, "well now, do you want to finish inspecting the staff? Especially now they seem so...obedient."
Harry grinned back. They moved silently along the marble floor towards the elves and Malfoy, unconsciously shifting into a silent predator's gait. The blond couldn't hear them, and he couldn't see them either as he was now engaged in a glaring match with the Asian Auror that seemed to involve quite astonishing depth of feeling. The other, a sallow man with brown hair standing behind Malfoy, smiled thinly.
"Look at your master, Malfoy," the brown-haired man sneered. Malfoy jerked his head, raising his chin to give the Asian Auror one final glare. Then he turned with a contemptuous sneer...a sneer that instantly shifted into an expression of blanched, pants-wetting terror on seeing Harry.
"You're kidding," he stated flatly.
"Show respect to your master," the Auror commanded, malicious glee mixing with scorn in his watery eyes.
Malfoy spat, "oh, like hell – "
Instantly he was cut off as the man behind him whacked him hard across the shoulder. Malfoy fell instantly to his hands and knees, joints smacking the marble painfully. Possessiveness welled up in Harry and he glared, barely knowing where it was coming from. He rapped out, "don't touch my property without my permission."
All three Aurors' heads whipped round in surprise. Malfoy's head jerked up to stare up at him from the floor, wide-eyed. He looked as if he couldn't quite decide if this was a good or bad thing for him.
Harry flushed under the stares, suddenly aware of his snapped order. "I didn't mean to be rude, sorry," he said uncertainly. "I just – "
"No, I apologise," the Auror who'd hit Malfoy interrupted. "You're quite right, Mr Potter. He'll be properly yours soon, and the right to punish him is yours."
Malfoy started spluttering. Harry noted, with a certain amount of amusement, that apparently no one had informed him of his fate yet. "What the hell?! What is going on here? Why the hell would I – belong – " his face twisted in revulsion as he said the word, "to him?" He finally stood up as he spoke, apparently convinced no one was going to knock him down again.
Harry looked at him, green eyes starting to glow with a predatory light. He moved forward, smiling slowly. Malfoy lifted his chin in response, grey eyes lighting with defiance, but he couldn't quite stop himself backing up. He found his upper arms gripped firmly by his two guards, holding him firmly in place as Harry stopped in front of him.
"The Ministry felt it owed me something for destroying Voldemort," he smirked. "They're giving me Malfoy Manor and the grounds, and you're a lovely extra."
Malfoy gaped at him in blank horror, body going limp for a moment in the Aurors' grip. "No," he said blankly. "No, you're lying." His tone was almost disbelieving. He didn't believe it; wouldn't believe it.
Harry grinned wickedly. "Do you really believe that?" Malfoy started to shake, body trembling with adrenaline, shock and fright. His grey eyes had lost their almost unfocussed look; they were alight with fear.
Harry decided he'd definitely won this round, and turned to Woodrow. "I think I've seen everything I need to see. Shall we go?" Woodrow nodded, a look of lingering surprise in his blue eyes at Harry's blatant deliberate attempt to scare someone unable to defend himself. As they left, Harry heard an unintelligible yell from behind him and the sounds of a struggle, before a blow and a whump as a body hit the floor hard.
He smirked.
By the time he went to bed that day, Harry was no longer smirking. On his return to the Burrow he'd been instantly beseiged by questions, naturally. Hermione asked no questions, but sat in the corner of the living room and listened intently to his answers, radiating irritation. She'd opened her mouth to say something when he revealed that he planned to take the place, but shut it again, brown eyes smouldering.
He didn't explain it all at first; he wasn't sure why. But after a few minutes he blurted out: "you'll never guess what. Malfoy's not dead. He was hiding in some family holding in France the whole time. They captured him after the war, and I guess they wanted to punish him for what happened at Hogwarts. He comes with the place. He's going to be bonded as my slave at the same time as the house elves become mine."
Silence descended. For long moments, the Weasleys stared at Harry, and Harry stared back. Then Ron gave a great whoop, breaking the tension as his brothers started laughing. "That's fucking brilliant!" Ron exulted. "You're actually going to own the ferret! You can make him do whatever you want! He'll have to call you sir!" Ron collapsed on the sofa, cackling madly. The other Weasleys all started chiming in with laughs and ideas, though Mr and Mrs Weasley were strangely silent.
Harry grinned back at Ron. "You'll have to come over to the manor. I'll make him serve you drinks like a good little housemaid. You can even order him about if you like!"
"Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the babble like a knife, and the Weasleys turned to look at her as one. Not because her voice was especially loud, or angry; because it was slightly rasping, and full of shocked hurt.
Harry looked at her uncertainly, not saying anything.
"Harry!" she repeated, eyes sparkling with tears. "You're not serious, are you? You're not really going to do this."
Harry stared at her. He'd never seen an expression like that on her face. It was awful; she didn't look angry so much as betrayed. Written all over her pale face was how could you do this?
"You musn't, Harry. Please. It's wrong. No matter his crimes, Malfoy shouldn't be a slave. He should be sent to Azkaban and eventually released. You know that! If not for him, do it for me. Change this. I know you can."
Harry couldn't meet her eyes. "It's not like that."
"What is it not like?" she almost screeched. "It's slavery, isn't it? You know, this is half of why I started S.P.E.W. in the first place. A society that accepts slavery in one species is always at risk of accepting slavery in general! You have no idea what this could start, what it could mean!"
"It's just Malfoy, Hermione! Just one person!"
"Why are you letting this happen? Are you so desperate to have him do as you say? Are you really that petty, after everything that's happened since school?"
Harry shrugged. "I never got to choose punishment for any of my other enemies. But I can do whatever I like to Malfoy and no one's going to stop me."
Hermione stared at him, then screamed, "you bastard!" She ran to the kitchen in a fury, and seconds later they heard the whoosh of the Floo.
Although the row hardly did anything for the atmosphere, soon enough things relaxed again. The subject of Malfoy was left alone by tacit consent, although Harry did tell Ron quietly that he was due at the Ministry in a week for the bonding ceremony.