Chapter 10

The Taming of the Snake

This was the second time Harry had shown himself to lack foresight. He had thought of catching a wandering house-elf and kindly asking it if it would point him in the direction of the Owlery, which would require he reveal himself. But this went into a large repository of boyish deficiencies about which he could not care to be embarrassed. And he was almost certain his execution of an Unforgivable curse would garner Ministry attention. He had not been in enough wizarding dwellings to know if wards were a fixture of all of them or just some. But he made up his mind quickly and re-entered Malfoy's room.

Removing his cloak, he bent low to Malfoy, whose face was frozen in the middle of his scream for his mother, lifted his spell and quickly muttered a Silencing Charm to strangle off the continuing yell. Malfoy began to struggle in his shock at suddenly finding himself facing the ceiling on his back and being Silenced without warning. Harry held him down and quickly said, "Imperio!"

The Slytherin's attempts to get on his feet ceased, his grip on Harry loosened and all the stress in his face cleared. Left behind was a surreal expression, his silver eyes sparkling in oblivion. These were the consequences of being taught by an ex-Auror who had a shaky grip on the concept of reason and performed all three illegal curses to a class of fourteen-year-olds.

Harry half-heartedly waved his hand in front of him. Malfoy did not follow it. Harry sheepishly hauled the other boy up onto his feet. "Malfoy," he said, "can you hear me?" He was hesitant to let go of the boy lest he collapse back onto the floor.

"Yes," Malfoy answered, taking Harry aback slightly. Malfoy moved his eyes onto Harry, though they were still appeared defocused.

"Okay," Harry said, thinking fast. "Does anything happen if you cast a curse in this place?"

Malfoy did not answer.

"I mean," continued Harry, who correctly suspected his question was unclear, "what happens when you cast an Unforgivable? Are there wards here that detect them or mask them or what?"

Malfoy shook his head. "The manor is not connected to the outside because of the wards. No one will know if you cast an Unforgivable."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Um..." He looked about himself, still holding needlessly onto Malfoy. "Show me to the Owlery."

Without another word, Malfoy gently went around Harry towards the door. Harry followed him after grabbing his Cloak from the floor and putting it on. They must have crossed the entire manor; Harry did not know one could do this much travelling in a closed structure ostensibly serving the purpose of a house. They approached the west wing and arrived in a small room the size of a single bedroom with a patina of hay on the floor littered with bird droppings. The opposite wall had tall, slender gaps opening to the outside of the manor, and at the furthest corner from the door was a square opening which presumably allowed the owls entry. Two ceramic tubs filled with water sat on top of the two banks against the two longest walls. Sprinkled directly on the banks was what Harry presumed to be owl food.

Harry closed the door behind them and took off his Cloak.

"This is it?"

"Yes," Malfoy answered, again unexpectedly to Harry.

"Right," Harry said, looking around. "Now I know where it is. I'm gonna have to start softening you up before I can tell you about Blaise 'cause you won't believe me. I need to be your friend first, start sending some owls, we go back and forth. I apologize for being a twat even though you pushed me there. You certainly deserved getting turned into a giant slug for what you said about Cedric... I'm gonna pretend I'm sending Hedwig from Ron's..." Harry's heart sank as he realized the obvious. "...It's going to take forever to do this... Isn't there another way...?"

"There is," Malfoy said quietly.

The question had been slightly rhetorical as Harry had been thinking aloud, so again Malfoy spoke when he was not expecting it.

"You could use a FlooPort. There is one in my room," Malfoy said, staring blankly at the wall facing them.

"A what?" Harry said.

"A FlooPort – Feidhelm FlooPorts. You use them to communicate as you would in a normal Floo call and you can send stuff instantly to someone who has one."

Harry ogled at Malfoy. "I've never heard of them."

Malfoy said nothing.

"Why haven't I heard of them?" Harry asked, his lips twitching. He was getting the hang of this.

"They're generally used by organizations or businesses. You also find them in large homes like castles or manor houses."

"I see," Harry said. "I didn't see one in your room though, whatever it looks like." Harry shortly clucked at himself in annoyance. "Why didn't I see one in your room?"

"The FlooPorts in the manor are concealed by magic because they look like toilet basins except that they are in the bedroom."

"All right," Harry said vaguely and a little sceptically.

Malfoy said communication and sending stuff by this FlooPort required the recipient to have one as well, and the Burrow, as far as Harry knew, did not. Just when there was hope of faster correspondence it was dashed. For Merlin knew he did not have time on his hands: the timeline he had left behind still persisted, which meant Malfoy's parents were probably already at Hogwarts being shown the body of their dead son, the Ministry had arrested Zabini and perhaps bundling him off to trial, and Dumbledore was still planning to resign from the headmaster position. Sending owls back and forth across such great distances was going to take forever. And knowing how much Malfoy despised him, their correspondence would either be an unhelpfully very long one or a very short one.

But just as he had lost nearly all hope, in a moment of shining beauty, he experienced another stroke of genius.

"Are there any more FlooPorts in the manor?" he asked Malfoy breathlessly.

"Yes," Malfoy answered. Harry's heart soared. "There're twenty-one FlooPorts in the manor."

"Okay," said an extremely relieved Harry. "Can you send an owl—I mean, you know, a message between them? And can you know if—Okay, answer that first one."

"Yes."

"And can you know if it's sent from a FlooPort in the same manor, or building or whatever?"

"No."

"Brilliant!" Harry rejoiced. "So there're FlooPorts in every room?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely brilliant!" And Harry knew the perfect place from which to send his messages. Standing in high spirits, he said, a little wonderingly, "Okay, I guess I'll need some ink and parchment. Can you get me some?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Harry made to turn around and open the door when he noticed Malfoy had not moved. He stared at the silver-blond locks falling on the back of the peacock-blue shirt. "Oh, right. I mean, get me some ink and—Fuckin' hell, never mind, I'll take some from yours. Let's go."

He threw his Cloak back on, opened the door and they stepped outside. He followed the Slytherin back to the other side of the manor into his room. There, while Malfoy hovered by his door like a stranger in his own room, Harry picked up the metal quills which had fallen to the floor when he had startled Malfoy and took one, grabbed a greedy amount of parchment sheets from the drawer in the escritoire (he did not know how many messages it would take to convince Malfoy that he was truly sorry for being a git to him – even though Malfoy had been a bigger git to him), as well as the extra glass inkwell he found.

"Okay, Malfoy." Harry bundled up the stationery in his arms and closed the drawer with his knee. He looked around the room. "Um... You're going to sit over here..." he ordered, looking at the tall-backed chair before he cursed softly and corrected himself. "Sit in his chair and... read that book." He ran out into the room opposite Malfoy's, went over to the escritoire, dropped the items, and just as he turned around to head for the door his stomach gave a vociferous growl. Harry grimaced. Now that he was much calmer and he had the peace of mind that came with a plan, his adrenaline had subsided, uncovering his hunger in the process. He had not eaten since supper in the Great Hall the previous day and he had not slept either.

He returned to Malfoy's room and found Malfoy bent over his book, arms folded. Harry felt a pang of guilt and disgust with himself for using the Imperius Curse to control Malfoy. He looked so obedient... It was unnatural, both for the fact that it was achieved by an Unforgivable and that he knew Malfoy would never have obeyed or listened to him, let alone so unquestioningly.

"Malfoy..." The Slytherin stopped reading and turned to him. "...Can I get—I mean, get me some, um, food…" Harry blushed at the directness of his order. He felt as crass as a belly-scratching, beer-tossing husband who had arrived from work and ordered his wife to serve him like a king while he sank himself into the couch. And the readiness with which Malfoy responded to his order worsened his flush to a screaming scarlet. This was wrong.

"Can't you, like, um..." Harry flustered. "You're going to walk all the way to the kitchen?" he asked when Malfoy stood up and was heading for the door. He suspected the kitchen was as far from here as the Owlery. "Can't you call a house-elf? What's her name, Mickey?"

"I can," Malfoy answered.

"Okay, call her. Let me get under my Cloak first. And don't say the food's for me... Um... are you hungry too?"

"No. I'm thirsty."

"Okay, get yourself a drink and I'll take a meal. Say the food's for you, yeah?"

"Yes."

Harry sighed as he threw on his Cloak before going over to sit at the bottom of the edge of the bed, away from potential movement. When he felt secure, he commanded, "Okay, call her."

"Meeky."

POP!

"Meeky is being glad to be serving Master Draco," squeaked the elf. Harry spied a frown twitching on her forehead which, he suspected, probably came from her noticing that her master was not all there.

"Get me some food and a drink," Malfoy ordered.

There was a slight pause of astonishment before Meeky responded with, "As Master Draco wishes." With these words she disappeared.

Harry sighed under his Cloak. Though the danger was gone he still could not risk taking off his Cloak – he did not know how long it would take to prepare the food.

Not long, it turned out, and Harry had been prudent remaining hidden. Meeky returned in less than ten minutes, carrying a tray. After she disappeared Harry revealed himself and began with his lunch, and a little self-consciously: he had Malfoy bent under his will and was eating in his room. He also felt really awkward being the only one to eat while Malfoy in a subdued fashion sipped at whatever it was he was sipping.

"What's that you're drinking?" Harry asked, taking another greedy bite of his smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich. He forced the dry mouthful down.

"Cider," Malfoy answered.

Harry nodded, taking another huge effort to swallow. "What does it taste like?"

Once again Harry was appalled with himself when it came to communicating with someone whose cognisance was in some ways reduced by the Imperius Curse. By the question he had posed he had intended to imply to Malfoy his desire to have a sip. Honestly a lot more than a sip.

"Apple juice."

"Oh." Harry munched on morosely. So dry was his full mouth that the very sight of Malfoy meekly sipping his cider had even taken an erotic turn. When he brought up his hand for another bite he noticed a grey tinge to the tip of his finger. He wondered when he had last held a pencil and its lead might have rubbed off on him. Then again he had not washed for more than a day.

"So, how do you reveal a FlooPort?" he enquired.

"The universal counter spell."

"Finite Incantatem?"

"Yes."

"So with a spell," Harry observed. "Do they stay concealed forever?"

"Most of the FlooPorts in the manor aren't used, so yes, they stay concealed forever."

"But… how can they last forever? I mean, I think unlocking charms and small spells like that can last forever or a long time or whatever but... what about these big spells?"

Harry very much felt like an outsider now wading through darkness. He figured if he had been raised in the Wizarding world he would have a better grip on these matters of magic.

"Spells cast don't last forever," Malfoy replied, "but can last for a long time depending on their complexity and the size of their object." Was it Harry or did Malfoy sound more intelligent when he was Imperiused? "Unless one uses Netrogy. Then the spell can last forever."

Harry remembered this term when Malfoy referred to it in his nauseating conversation with Zabini. Suddenly he had no desire to know more about it beyond what he had already learned – he did not want to touch any part of Malfoy and Zabini's conversation. Because, firstly, he felt that Zabini had taken the novelty out of it and Harry would feel like sloppy seconds. And secondly he despised anything that had to do with or reminded him of Blaise Zabini.

"So where are they in a room?" Harry asked.

"Right next to the escritoire, on the side away from the door."

Harry nodded. He glanced at Malfoy's cider again. When the level in his glass began dropping alarmingly towards the bottom Harry forced his sensibilities aside and mustered the courage to ask Malfoy if he could spare some for him. Malfoy, damned be Harry, unquestioningly agreed. After he wolfed down the sandwiches he gulped down the drink and thanked Malfoy. It only then occurred to him that he could have ordered Malfoy to ask his elf for another glass and would not have to share. But that would have wasted time and would have required he again put on his Cloak, of which he was growing quickly tired.

He ordered Malfoy to resume reading, threw back on his Cloak, walked out the room and with the door ajar lifted the Imperius Curse. He quickly withdrew his wand and scuttled into the opposite room. He locked the door, grabbed the stationery off the table and time-travelled with them under his Cloak back to the time just before Zabini would walk in.

He waited for Zabini's footsteps and heard them several minutes later announcing his arrival. A few more minutes later they sounded again, moving away from Malfoy's room after Zabini angered Malfoy for talking down to him. Harry sat at the escritoire sandwiched between an empty bookstand on the left and the concealed FlooPort on his right, and began drafting a letter addressed to Draco Malfoy.

Most importantly he needed to be believable. An apology and an extended hand of friendship from Harry Potter coming straight out of the blue would not seem so to Malfoy. So Harry needed to start small and slow. He twirled the quill in his hands, thinking hard, biting the corner of his lower lip.

"Okay," he said softly to himself when he was finally decided. He dipped his quill into the inkwell. Five seconds later he begged of himself, "Harry, are you serious?" before scratching out the few lines he had penned (which included "Dear Draco"). As if. He began afresh. He noticed that the grey tinge on his index finger had spread further down and had also tainted the tip of his fourth finger. Harry was floored. Was his Cloak washing out?

It took another few minutes to arrive at the conclusion that he needed to provide a reason, implied or explicitly stated, why he was reaching out. He also had to keep in mind that the letter would arrive between the end of fourth-year and the start of their fifth year and after the return of Voldemort.

It took half an hour to come up with four lines with which he was satisfied and which he thought could begin to open the conversation between two school rivals.

Malfoy,

I'm writing this letter to you because I want to start afresh. I just want to forget all the bollocks that has happened between us – there's no need for it. We're bloody fifth-years now, Malfoy, we need to grow up. It was a long time ago that moment in the train. But I apologize for being so blunt with you then and turning down your friendship. I should have been more understanding and open to things.

Sincerely,

Harry

It was minimal and utilitarian but it would have to do – Harry had no time to waste. He knew the bit about being open to his friendship was utter rubbish because before Malfoy offered it he had referred to Ron as the "riff-raff" sort, and by then Harry had grown fond of Ron, having shared Chocolate Frogs with him while Ron repaid him with a few titbits about the Wizarding world.

After folding the sheet of parchment and tearing off the inked piece, he went over to the stretch of wall between the escritoire and doorway leading into the bathroom. "Finite Incantatem," he said, whereupon there appeared a gilded object standing three feet above the floor and resembling almost perfectly a basin, complete with a large drain. Directly above it was a neat square depression into the wall. On the floor of this chamber lay logs. The features of the FlooPort were quite self-explanatory.

One thing that was not, however, was how to make sure the letter arrived at the right person.

Harry looked around the object. There were no controls, just a golden bowl with a gaping hole in the centre asking to be fed.

"Um..." Harry floundered. Of course he had grown less self-conscious speaking to inanimate things like this FlooPort as he had been throwing passwords at Dumbledore's gargoyle for years. The Fat Lady was of course far from inanimate. If only.

"Malfoy's room? Malfoy's room." Immediately after he spoke authoritatively red sparks gently shot up out of the drain. This was too positive a sign to deem nothing. It must have been a kind of confirmation.

Harry bet his life on it and, licking his lips nervously, dropped the folded letter into the drain, which sucked it down impatiently. A soft puff of blue sparks shot upwards this time as though the drain was burping. This brought Harry confidence.

"There you are."

What was left now was for Malfoy to be as easily agreeable as this FlooPort.

The loud and undoubtedly incredulous yell of "Ha!" that came a few seconds later from the other room dashed this possibility. Harry had not planned to do this but he could not resist taking his Cloak and flying out the room. To his dismay Malfoy's door in this timeline was closed. Harry hesitated for a moment but he threw caution to the wind and he opened the door and slipped inside. Malfoy was still so deep in his rapt disbelief he had not seen the door swing open and continued to gape at the letter in his hand. It seemed he was reading it over several times, and the amused disbelief in his face never cleared.

"This is amazing," he said in a high voice. He hastily threw himself onto his chair, slipped a sheet of parchment out from his drawer, grabbed a quill, dunked in his inkwell and began scribbling down a message. Harry crouched back into the opposite room over to the FlooPort and fished the note out from the FlooPort.

He had expected it but he still sighed in disappointment. Yes, this was going to be a long and bruising undertaking.

Potter,

I have to say I'm shocked you can afford such quality parchment and to gain entry in a place with a FlooPort. Or did you break into it and the owners not only turned a blind eye but kissed your arse for good measure? What makes you think I'm interested in starting afresh with you?

-Malfoy,

You'll be surprised. I'm loaded. I have a lot of money left to me by my parents-

Referring to his parents, Harry thought, was begging for a stinging retort from Malfoy. Harry was beginning to do something he thought was going to be necessary: he had to think for Malfoy and direct him away from his classic reactions, thereby easing the exchange and giving more room for at least cordial, if not even reconciliatory, tones.

-Malfoy

You'll be surprised. I'm loaded. I have a lot of money left over to me. And no, nobody kissed my ass because I never broke into any place...

"Accept for the Ministry of course," he said to himself.

...Because you need to get over yourself, Malfoy. I said I was sorry, what more do you want? I want things to be fine between us, even become friends. Malfoy, I'm so over the shit between us. There are bigger things to focus on right now. I'm sorry for what I said about your mother. I'm sorry for turning down your hand in friendship. That's all I can do for now.

He caught Malfoy back in his room in the middle of a wheeze sounding like it were from a man dying from laughter.

"This – is – simply amazing!" he exclaimed. "Potter, are you kidding me? Are you seriously shitting me right now? He can't be serious... He can't be serious!" Malfoy reached for his quill.

You sound like you're dying, Potter. I supposed that's right enough – the Dark Lord has returned after all. Is that why you're trying to make amends? You want to leave this earth with everything in order?

Harry's head fell against the escritoire. He needed a miracle.

-I'm not preparing for anything. I just want to settle things with you.

What's in it for me?

-I don't know. I'm prepared to do anything reasonable to show you how serious I am with you.

You must be having me on. I am stupid to even let this thing continue up to this point. Allow me to get this straight. You, Harry Potter, snottiest, most obnoxious git ever to touch this earth whose arse everyone likes to kiss and who has made it a habit to embarrass me in front of the entire school, is sorry and wants to be my friend.

-Yes.

Fuck off.

"Dammit, Malfoy!" Harry growled, glaring at the note as he stood in front of the FlooPort. If he were honest with himself Malfoy's resistance was not surprising, but its strength not entirely expected. He ran through his previous notes to Malfoy in his head and concluded he was perhaps coming too forward, too strongly, too impatiently at Malfoy. It was only justified: he had no time. He went to his last resort.

-Tell me what to do to show you I'm serious.

He stomped over to Malfoy's room under his Cloak to watch his reaction. Malfoy read the letter repeatedly, biting his nail, staring at it. Harry could tell his brain was working furiously. Several minutes later Malfoy bent over his escritoire and took his quill.

You're serious about making it up to me? Tell me how you got away with half of the things you've done at Hogwarts.

-Luck, Hermione, and a good concealment charm...

Harry looked at his note. He was hesitant to put "and my trusty Invisibility Cloak" for he could not be more certain that Malfoy would have it in his mind to at some point demand it or use it as leverage. But he was desperate. Perhaps he should give it up – it would doubtlessly go a long way in convincing Malfoy of his earnestness even though it would leave him, Harry, frighteningly vulnerable.

It was worth the risk, he concluded.

-A great deal of luck, Hermione, and my trusty Invisibility Cloak.

That's it? Were Dumbledore and your Head of House McGonagall colluding with you?

-Of course they weren't, they're professors. And my Cloak did get me into the Restricted Section in first year, snuck me into Hogsmeade in third year, I saw the dragons I had to beat for its egg in the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year before the competition, and I snuck into the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic.

That's bollocks. I can see the Triwizard Tournament and the Restricted Section, but the actual Ministry of Magic? You broke into the Ministry? Now I know you're yanking me.

-I'm not lying. I got into the Time Room.

The "Time Room"? Sounds like something I could find in a mo'strip if I was juvenile enough to buy one.

-I don't know what a mo'strip is and I don't know if that's what it is – it could be the Clock Room for all I know. But there is a room with all these sorts of clocks and watches, and at the back is this huge bell jar the size of the Entrance Hall doors. There were other rooms I saw too because before I got into that room with the clocks you get into this chamber that has twelve doors and spins and leads you to a different room each time. There was one with a tank full of brains. It just fits, doesn't it? That kind of room to be in the Department of Mysteries? A lot of people don't know about it because Ron says his father calls the people that work down there the Unspeakables.

Wait, I'm asking Mother.

She said it's highly likely; the Ministry is known to experiment with a few wild things. Right, Potter, you said you'd do anything. It seems like your Cloak is a little bit stronger than anybody else's - of course you know Invisibility Cloaks are everywhere, almost every student at Hogwarts has one. Unfortunately they're not very good and they can't do a lot of stuff we'd like to them to do. I want yours, and don't even think of copying it - it will lose some of its power.

Harry's spirits unexpectedly lifted at those last words. It had not occurred to him that he could simply copy the Cloak, and he was familiar with the idea as it had come up when he, Ron and Hermione were brainstorming ideas to bypass Ministry building security measures. His confidence in the immense power of his Cloak has never been greater – it had got him this far – and even after duplicating it he was sufficiently assured that the resultant Cloak would still be quite powerful. Without wasting another minute he took his Cloak from the escritoire and copied it. And he thought it a nice touch to show some hesitation.

-Malfoy, you have to promise to give it back.

You're kidding me. I'm not giving it back. You can buy a new one at Zachary's. It might be weaker but it's still an Invisibility Cloak. Unless you can afford the better ones at Maserow. Unfortunately they're only complementary and go with some garment your friend Weasley couldn't afford even if he pooled his family's entire lifesavings.

-I got it from my father – it's an heirloom. I want it back.

Tough luck, Pottyhead.

Harry waited several minutes pacing in his room with a smirk on his face. It had to seem like he was thinking very long on it. He threw the Cloak copy into the FlooPort, which sucked it in like a noodle with no accompanying letter for dramatic effect.

Now I know you're shitting me. You wouldn't give this up if it was really an heirloom. Either you're lying about that or you've had me on all this time.

-Malfoy, can't you for once take something for what it exactly is? I gave you my Invisibility Cloak, what more do you want? Fine. I admit I thought I could convince you down the line to give it back when we're less of enemies.

Harry was no longer running between rooms to catch Malfoy's reaction, he was getting tired and he was flirting with danger after Malfoy began shutting his door. Once the Slytherin had even summoned Meeky to ask her if she had tampered with it.

Right. Well, I guess I'll be seeing you when term starts. This is going to be a different story altogether when we see each other then. It'll sort of be like being Obliviated and starting clean.

-It doesn't have to be. We'll know where we stand. We're on a clean slate, yeah?

What made you just do an about flip like this?

-I told you I am tired of bullshit. And yes, fine, nearly dying by Voldemort's wand has something to do with it. I've no need to lie to you.

Tell me what happened when you say you nearly died by the Dark Lord's wand.

The curiosity was unmistakable in these words, and Harry rather suspected Malfoy found he could not ask the question or say something that would garner a response from Harry about that perilous night without betraying his curiosity and so simply chose to put aside pretence and ask the question directly.

-If you want to know then promise me you will at least consider giving my Cloak back.

Fine.

-The Triwizard Cup that we had to win by going through that ridiculously elaborate maze was a Portkey. It was made into one by Barty Crouch Junior. He had fooled everyone into thinking he was Mad-Eye Moody. Remember the hip flask he was always sipping from? It was filled with Polyjuice Potion, not Firewhiskey. So me and Cedric claimed the Cup at the same time so we could draw but it took us to this graveyard. Wormtail – Peter Pettigrew, one of Voldemort's people – roped me against a tombstone and took my blood and his own and used it to make a potion that revived Voldemort. After he was revived we duelled. I was able to pull out and reach for the Portkey and go back to Hogwarts with Cedric's body.

The words he had written sent chills down his spine. It would be the first time he spoke to anyone about that night. He was in more than half a mind to crush the parchment and tell Malfoy to fuck off and not intrude in such personal matters. But his selfishness would be unhelpful – Malfoy did not need it, he was trying to save him. Still, his hand was shaking from giving the awful memory in his head such physical form. Without rising from his chair he threw the note into the FlooPort quickly before he could change his mind.

Merlin, Potter...

Harry snorted. This was a positive sign, however: Malfoy was at a point where he was showing emotion, this one being incredulity, and divesting pretence.

Harry did not receive a note for the five minutes that followed. He decided he would not push things but allow Malfoy to come to him. Harry needed to go delicately about things, after having slipped and made a few rash actions before. They would be forgiven if the signs were anything to go by. Malfoy seemed poised to inquire more and open up a bit more. Should he express curiosity for Malfoy's life as Malfoy had in his? Probably. But he thought he should still wait for Malfoy to make the next move.

An hour passed. Harry's calm was disrupted by his heightening anxiety over what Malfoy was thinking or doing. Perhaps he should have continued the communication and asked Malfoy how rich his family was exactly. Or something like that. What if Malfoy came into this room under his new Cloak and discovered him? What if Malfoy suddenly realized Harry was playing a huge joke on him and he and his poor friend and Mudblood friend were having a really good laugh at his expense? Harry had reached for his quill when the drain of the FlooPort spat out of a note. He unfolded it quickly – his heart stuck in his throat – and read it.

Was the great Harry Potter scared shitless?

This brought a smile to Harry's face.

-Quite.

What does he look like?

-First, tell me exactly how rich you are. I can only tell from your dragon-hide school shoes, that ring on your finger and those sets of brooms your father brought the Slytherin team in second year.

Have no idea. Father only says we get richer by the day.

-Fuck me. You're lying.

I don't need to lie. How rich are YOU? You say you inherited it.

-I saw the fortune in my Gringotts vault. You know I was not raised in the Wizarding world so I can't gauge how much it was. I think even if I had an idea of Wizarding money I still wouldn't give a good guess.

Just one vault? You can't be that rich then. And you're still speaking of vaults?

-It was a pretty big vault.

Property, Potter, that's all I've got to say. And land. The big money is the money you cannot see – it floats, it's in assets. For your own good I suggest you toil away because your small fortune (and there wasn't a finer truth) is not going to last forever.

-I suppose.

Father says the lower classes say we have purple money, the old money of the nobles.

These words sounded braggadocios; Malfoy had definitely loosened up. Harry had certainly never heard him brag about his family's riches at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was cardinal rule not to break.

-Right. So where do you live?

Wiltshire. The manor is Unplottable, which means you can't find it on any map. There are only a handful of people who know where it is. Where do YOU live? Do you living permanently in the Wizarding world or only come back for school?

-I come back for school. If not, I stay at Ron's. Are you a virgin?

Potter, that is hardly an appropriate question to ask. And that's quite a jump: from where we live to virginity.

-Virgin then.

Fool yourself. I've had my fair share.

-I doubt it. Hermione says you have no hope in hell for hitting a skirt because you're too busy being obsessed with me.

Oh Harry would kill to see Malfoy's reaction to this one. Unfortunately Malfoy's door was closed, and should it open itself for the third time it would break the camel's back.

Your Mudblood friend doesn't know what she's talking about.

The shortness of the note told Harry Malfoy was looking to hurt him in a tart, incisive way: classic Malfoy. Harry would not bite.

-It's what everyone says, really. Parvati and Lavender – you know those two girls who can't keep their mouths shut for the life of them – say it's like...

Harry bit onto his fist.

...the whole school is waiting for you to mature or whatever so you can stop obsessing over me and get on with shagging them.

He did not receive a note for the rest of the day.