The place screams arrogance. Paintings mock his clothing as he walks through the dwindling hallways, its walls embroidered with silver patterns. Windows are draped with silk and velvet curtains, yet more silver etched into the foundations of its fabric. The carpet below his "ugly excuse for shoes" mute his footsteps.

It's laughable, really. A decade away from England and now he's here of all places — oh, yep, this is the door.

He raises his hand to knock, but before his knuckles can graze the polished wood it swings open, revealing a hollow study, a desk and a lanky man sitting behind it. Not much has changed since he'd last glimpsed him, standing stock still in the arms of Voldermort, whilst the battle-worn students of Hogwarts eyed him dispassionately. If anything, he's wearing the exact same expression from their school years; his lips are twisted into his signature sneer.

"Took you long enough, Potter," Draco Malfoy drawls. His immaculate shoes rest atop crumpled parchment and worn out quills. There are empty firewhisky bottles littered around it. The desk in fact is the only part of Malfoy Manor of which Harry could describe as messy. "I should report this to the Ministry. The Messiah of the Wizarding World can't even be punctual for a simple job."

"I could walk out and call a more time-efficient auror, if you'd like." Malfoy scowls. They both know that he wouldn't be standing here if that was an option.

Dragging his feet off his desk, Malfoy lifts himself from his chair. Almost a head taller than Harry, he stares sharply across the room.

"Got bored of your holiday?"

"Let's get on with it Malfoy."

"Missed Weaselbee? How about Granger?"

"Missed talking to someone?"

"Hardly." Malfoy sniffs disdainfully, slender fingers diving into the collateral of his desk. "Why talk to people when you can talk to portraits? They're well-educated and don't get offended by simple remarks."

"Right."

"Don't 'right' me, Potter." Starting to regret taking the case in the first place, Harry watches the progress on the desk. "Merlin. How do muggles do this?"

"I'm amazed you're still not used to it."

"I grew up civilised."

"Clearly the war hasn't changed you much." Malfoy's hand pauses. Jaw clenching, his steely eyes side-glance him before resuming the digging through the parchments. They lapse into silence until he finally retrieves what he's looking for.

"Took you long enough."

"Shut up, Potter." He tosses the parchment across the room, which Harry catches with his seeker reflexes. Unfolding it, he scans the cursive writing.

"You put so many wards around here… I have an idea of your daily routine… no visitors… nobody that cares… I'll slit your throat, the muggle way, you prejudiced motherfu—"

"Yes, I've read the note," Malfoy snaps. "This has been going on since my trial, the same handwriting and the same type of parchment." Harry whistles.

"Ten years of death threats. Surely you don't take them seriously anymore?"

"I used them as fuel for my fireplaces," he indicates a particularly extravagant looking one attatched to the wall of his study, "until, a couple hours ago, when there was a breach on one of my wards." Harry frowns.

His boss, a muggleborn wizard with a good sense of humour, had described his first task when assigned as "the equivalent to giving parking tickets." As a result he was expecting something like a manic house elf in need of a calming draught. Ron had complained about the amount of times he was owled into the manors of upper class families because of this, and Hermione had insisted it was because nobody was treating the elves properly.

"A security breach. Huh. Whereabouts?"

"The front grounds. The solis praesidium ward." No wonder none of the aurors take his requests anymore. Another thing that hasn't changed about this man: he is still melodramatic. Harry vividly remembers the little scratch that Buckbeak gave him, and the arrogant Slytherin carried his arm around like he was a war hero, and nearly executed the hippogriff, too. Despite his best effort, he starts snickering.

"You think this is funny, Potter?"

"Solis praesidium is the same spell I used whenever I went out in Hawaii."

"Yes, very nice, Potter, I see the relevance here."

"My point is, they broke a sun protection spell; a simple one that doesn't take a lot to infiltrate. It took them a decade to achieve this. They're not coming into the Manor anytime soon."

"I thought the Noble One would have more common sense than the headless fools that work at the Ministry but apparently not."

"'Noble One'. That's new."

"If they've learned to break one ward, they can learn to break another, and another, until they well and truly will slit my throat like some sheep in a muggle farm."

"And the world will rejoice."

"I don't doubt it." Malfoy scoffs. "I'm paying you for this, Potter."

"It's a waste of money if you ask me."

"I didn't ask."

Harry sighs.

"Alright. Take me to the front grounds, show me the general area where the ward was broken."

o0o

The front grounds of Malfoy Manor consists of vast, empty fields which rolls for miles. At one point there's some immaculately arranged hedgerows dotted with roses, probably forming one of those fancy mazes Ron's always insulting. Peacocks march to and fro, frolicking about the grass without a care in the world. As far as house prisons go, it's starting to become more understandable how Malfoy is content with merely socialising with portraits.

The man himself marches ahead, head turned determinedly upwards at the sky. Eventually, somewhere in the middle of the field, he comes to a halt, pointing to a spot right above his head.

"There." Walking to his side, Harry looks upwards. The naked eye can't see a spell, just like it can't see microorganisms. But since Malfoy's wards are undoubtedly blood wards, he can probably feel something that the auror can't. Harry raises his wand to the direction of the pointed finger, muttering some incantations. The ward is rectangular shaped, boxed over the Manor. The spot above looks almost identical to the rest of it, except that it's slightly stained against the tufts of light grey clouds above. It's a little more serious than he thought.

"I'll assign some volunteers to cast extra protection spells over that. It could pose as a weak spot."

"I would like solis praesidium back too. I don't fancy getting sunburned one day because I didn't remember which spot not to sit on."

Harry attempts to suppress a cackle — mostly at the fabricated mental image of Malfoy laying on a deckchair with a pair of sunglasses on — and ends up passing it off as a violent cough; he suspects the other man is not convinced, but no remark is made.

"Just locate it like you did now."

"Wandless magic with this," he lifts his trouser leg to show the anti-magic brace on his ankle, "gives me headaches. When I want a relaxing day to myself I don't need a migraine to accompany me. "

"You could always mark it."

"Yes, you're right. I like the fields the way they are, so I'll just order a house elf to sit there for the rest of its life and Granger can come to my Manor and entertain me with her bizarre speeches."

"I see you've been keeping up with the Prophet."

"When Granger makes the front page you can tell the world is dull." Harry rolls his eyes. "As tempting as this idea is, the house elf would just make for ugly aesthetic." He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

"Right. Well. I'll make sure to get them to work tomorrow, to do all the spells. Shouldn't take more than half an—"

"This maniac could break in and kill me overnight!" At this, Harry doesn't even try to hide his laughter.

"I've already told you—"

"Don't patronize me, Potter."

"Don't interrupt me, Malfoy."

"I'm your client. I can do what I want."

"And I'm really your only option, mate. Nobody else is going to help you." The latter statement sounds very similar to the words on the note, and judging from Malfoy's glare, Harry's not the only one thinking this. Inhaling steadily and rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, he then slowly exhales. Finally, he looks back up at Malfoy; trying to read his expression is like trying to read Japanese (which, unfortunately, Harry doesn't have the willpower to do. That's Hermione's strong suit).

"Listen. It's not that easy to get volunteers… everyone's got their own problems to deal with. I'll try to get some for early next morning, but that's the most I can do." Malfoy regards him. For a while, the only thing to be heard is the birds ruffling their feathers and making self-important calls. Until, abruptly, there's squawking and the frenzied flapping of wings. An eyebrow raised, Harry looks past the other man to the frantic peacocks.

Malfoy stumbles backwards, drawing back his attention; his jaw is slack and eyes widened, staring at the sky. Sharply, Harry whips his head up. It's just a pebble-sized black dot, but it's growing larger and larger with each heartbeat. It's heading straight downwards, where the broken ward waits. As he takes rapid steps away, the spot becomes clearer to see; a mass of spells tangled together, hurtling towards the weak area.

"What did I say?" screams Malfoy, a second before the cluster of spells make contact with the ward.