A/N: Wow, guys... I updated. I actually managed to update. You'd given up on me, hadn't you? I don't blame you... OTL. Uni is over! Finished! So now I have loads more time. Hopefully this fic will now head a little bit closer to my update schedule with Protection (since I wrote that whole damn thing in like a month. Whereas this one is dragging on for so much longer... I'm so sorry... *channels Dobby and pulls out iron*)
Harry could feel Malfoy studying him. He bit his teeth slowly together in an effort not to say anything, but it was no use.
"What?!" he finally snapped, dropping his book down onto his lap hard enough to hurt and looking up at Malfoy.
Malfoy grinned, not even making an effort to pretend he wasn't watching Harry. "This is not a sight I expected to see," he said. He leaned back in the armchair and let the book he was half-reading fall into his lap, abandoned.
"What? Me reading a book?" Harry asked drily, completely used to Malfoy's jabs at his intelligence. "I know it may shock you, but I'm quite good with the alphabet. I can even make full sentences."
Malfoy smirked and shook his head. "No, that's not what shocks me. What shocks me is seeing the Ministry's poster boy familiar enough with a Heroldric text to understand the complicated page order without a reference sheet." He drummed his fingers slowly on the chair and narrowed his eyes.
Harry paused. Malfoy must have been watching him for a very long time to pick up on that. And of course, he was right. Heroldric texts were designed to be read non-linearly, both in page and line order. After four years, Harry was more than familiar with the method, but by just that small gesture he had shown Malfoy that this was more than a simple dark artifact collection.
He shifted uncomfortably. "What's the point in having a collection like this if you don't use it?" he asked.
Malfoy's eyebrows shot up almost comically.
"I didn't mean like that," Harry corrected hastily. "I meant that you need to spend time understanding this stuff so that you can defeat it. I don't want to use it against anyone, but I need to know how it works. I feel safer knowing how it works."
Malfoy was watching him very closely now. "Safer," he repeated, his voice emotionless. "Alright then. Just how safe do you feel, with an apartment full of malevolent artifacts? Out of ten. Give us a rating since you're so sure you know everything."
Harry pushed the book off his lap and stood up, agitated. "Don't be a dick about this, Malfoy. I feel fine. We need to be focusing on this password anyway. I already told you I'd store the collection somewhere else. I'll put it back at Grimmauld Place. I never sold the damn thing anyway." He ran his hand through his hair and moved to stand in front of the fire place.
"Why didn't you leave the collection there in the first place?" Malfoy persisted. "You could have easily stored it all there and simply Floo'd over when you wanted to read something. Why keep it where you live?"
"Because I like having it here!" Harry snapped, glaring at Malfoy. It wasn't until he registered the shock on Malfoy's face - and the slight tinge of fear - that he realised what it was about his words that had sounded strange even to his own ears. He may have lost the innate ability to speak and understand Parseltongue, but it was, after all, like any other language. What he had already learned was stored in his memory, and certain words and phrases resurfaced when needed. And like it always had been in the past, the language came so naturally when his emotions were at their strongest.
"Care to repeat in English, Potter?" Malfoy's face was expressionless once again.
"I like it here," Harry said stiffly. He didn't elaborate. How could he? Anything he said would sound like weak justification. Malfoy didn't understand, that was all. Which was bizarre, really. Of all people, he would have thought he could rely on Malfoy to empathize.
There was a long silence. "Nonetheless," Malfoy said finally. "You should move it. And if you don't, I tell Granger."
"Why don't you call her Weasley?" Harry said, exasperated and latching onto any other possible topic.
Malfoy stood up and made a big show of brushing down his robes. "She'll always be Granger to me," he said airily, before walking to the fireplace.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked with a frown.
"Home," Malfoy said, reaching for a pinch of Floo powder.
"What about the password? We haven't found anything yet."
"Speak for yourself," Malfoy said with a grin, pausing and casting a glance back at Harry.
Harry rolled his eyes. "There is no way you've already found the answer in that random book you picked up."
"Correct," Malfoy said, turning back to face him properly. "The Wizards' Council would never pick some ridiculous dark word as their password." He twisted his fingers into sarcastic quotations beside his face at the word 'dark'. "That isn't how dark magic works. Dark magic works on power, emotion, intent. Words feed it, but by no means shape it."
Harry frowned. "Of course, but we still need to find the words to enter."
"No," Malfoy said with a sigh. "We need to find the blood to enter. I dismissed the idea of a blood oath from the start, since it seemed far too implausible that the Ministry couldn't have succeeded in passing through. But watching you read that book reminded me of something, Potter." Malfoy's eyes turned dark. "Power, emotion, intent," he said quietly. "Those Ministry idiots would never be able to fool the gate keeper into thinking they truly shared the zeal of their predecessors."
"What makes you think we can?" Harry asked.
Malfoy laughed, surprise registering on his features. "I know I say this a lot, Potter, but you really are dense," he said, before taking a pinch of powder and Flooing home.
A brief memory of the Mirror of Erised popped into Harry's mind. Power, emotion, intent. Desire. Only a person who wanted to find the Stone - find it, but not use it - would be able to get it. Harry shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Dumbledore was one of the strongest wizards alive, it made sense that the spell he spoke of so dismissively could be akin to one powerful enough to keep the Ministry at bay for centuries. Harry only wondered why the line between light and dark again seemed so blurred.
Unfortunately, the next day presented no easy opportunity for Harry and Malfoy to escape to the portal. Instead, they were relegated to their office where Wiffleston presided over them at random intervals of the day to ensure their report was "shaping up nicely".
"That's it," Harry snapped, throwing his quill down and standing up abruptly, sometime into their second hour. "I'm getting food. Want anything, Malfoy?"
Malfoy shook his head, frowning down at his parchment. "Would you say we apprehended the smuggler with ostentatious charm or scintillating wit?" he asked without looking up.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Can it be something that doesn't make me sound like a gigantic twat?" he asked.
"Oh this bit isn't about you," Malfoy said, waving a hand dismissively. "You stood off to the side in oafish stupidity."
"Excellent," Harry said. "Just for that, you're getting a tuna sandwich. With pickles."
"Thanks, dear," Malfoy said, still not looking up. "Extra mustard?"
Harry rolled his eyes again and slammed the door behind him.
He had become rather fond of the small wizarding cafe tucked between two Muggle banks across the road from the Ministry. Largely, this was because their popularity meant they had to serve him so quickly that almost no one had a chance to gawk, and partly it was because the staff were so distracted that they ignored him to the point of rudeness. It was the perfect relationship.
Unfortunately, today there was a new waitress.
Harry opened his mouth to give his order, and paused, frowning, as he took in the open hostility on her face. "Two chicken focaccias and two lattes with an extra shot, please," he finished slowly.
The blonde girl behind the counter raised one eyebrow slightly. She looked pointedly at his scar. "And I expect the Saviour will be wanting that extra fast? Is that right?"
Harry blinked slowly. "No," he said. "Harry would like that whenever it comes."
"Do you always talk about yourself in third person?" she asked with a smirk, writing down his order and flicking it over to the barista with a wave of her wand. "Typical. Just as arrogant as I thought you'd be."
After a beat, Harry laughed. "If arrogance is what it takes to get people to leave me alone, sure," he said, turning away to wait near the coffee machine.
To his amazement, the girl winked at him. "Well, now you've just given me the key to how I can annoy you even more. Consider my day complete."
Harry stumbled slightly, since by this point he was no longer looking where he was going. He quickly turned and walked away.
By the time his foccacias were toasted, the blonde waitress had pointed out his inconspicuous waiting position - behind the oversized lamp - to three starstruck customers and one small child. Children were the worst. Harry wasn't sure his hearing would ever return to perfect; noises simply weren't meant to be that high pitched.
When the barista handed over his paper bag and cups, Harry snatched it with a final glare in the direction of the waitress. It didn't even surprise him when she winked again. He opened his mouth to say something - possibly, "Why? Goddammit, why?" - when he decided he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Just before he made it out of the cafe, he saw her smile cheekily and mouth the words "call me".
He sincerely missed the simplistic Hogwarts days when he would have been able to throw a Bat-Bogey hex with repercussions that were no worse than a detention.
Malfoy looked up in surprise as Harry stormed back through the door. Noting Harry's expression, he smirked before quickly adopting an expression of pure sympathy. "They give you skinny instead of full cream? What is the world coming to?"
"That little-" Harry muttered, slamming Malfoy's order down on the desk. "What was her problem?"
Malfoy looked genuinely confused. "What happened, Potter?"
"What happened?" Harry asked loudly. "I'll tell you what happened. That new girl has a stick so far up her-" he paused. "You know," he said thoughtfully. "She was actually quite attractive."
Malfoy's eyes sharpened for a second before he leaned back in his chair. "What are you talking about?" he asked casually.
Harry set his own order down on his desk and perched on the corner to consider. "If she had acted like any other smitten fan, I would have blown her off completely," he said slowly. "But she's definitely made an impression. Maybe that's what she was doing. There's no way she could really have that big a chip on her shoulder about me." He frowned. "Unless I did something to her without knowing. Maybe I did." He shook his head. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to go back and find out. I can't let her get away with acting like such a-"
"What are you dribbling about?" Malfoy interrupted.
"The cafe has a new waitress," Harry said, looking at Malfoy for the first time since he'd walked in. "I might ask her out."
Malfoy's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "You? Ask someone new out? Merlin, Potter. What did she do? Give you a free strip tease with your coffee?"
Harry wrinkled his nose. "No. She insulted me."
Malfoy's eye twitched. "She insulted you."
"Yeah," Harry laughed. "Now that I think about it, it was kind of hot."
"I insult you all the time," Malfoy said drily. "With logic like that, you should be wrapped around my little finger."
Harry laughed. "You're not a woman, Malfoy."
A muscle in Malfoy's jaw ticked, but Harry was too busy opening his lunch to notice.
"What does she look like?" he spat out when Harry didn't say anything else.
"Fiery eyes," Harry mumbled around his food. "Soul of the devil. Blonde. I suppose I do have a thing for blondes after all."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I'm blonde," he said, the words sounding as though he had barely unclenched his teeth to speak.
Harry laughed, looking up at him again. "What are you dribbling about, Malfoy?" he asked. "You should go check her out, she's really-"
Malfoy stood up abruptly and threw his quill down on the desk. He picked up his lunch and walked to the door.
"What the hell?" Harry asked, suddenly sitting up straight and frowning. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing at all," Malfoy said airily, opening the door. "Though I must say, Potter, I'm considering redefining you from 'oafishly stupid' to 'cretinously oblivious'."
With that, he stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.
