This chapter contains some slurs, both fandom-specific and 'real'. Also there is reference to dubious consent. Of course instances of this are exclamation marked, and all can be found towards the end of the chapter.

Harry stood there for a moment, frozen like a deer in headlights.

He knew exactly what had gone wrong — asking about the draught had snapped Malfoy back to reality, when really he should have been eased back into it.
Harry should have mentioned something neutral instead, the bath or so, since that would have distracted him without forcing him to face the state he was in as much.

The cackling might have been unnerving, this was worse.

…and though Harry had seen him cry in a bathroom before, it wasn't the same.

Malfoy had been stressed, then - on edge, pressured, and he'd lashed out like a cornered cat.

Now he was… defeated.

Helpless.

Every Auror who'd spoken about the monitoring duty had called it 'babysitting'… Harry wondered whether they knew how accurate the term was. Or whether 'Johnny' and Quiesko would have had to… deal with this too.

…but, as Ginny had so aptly put it — he'd made it his problem.

Of course that didn't make him a babysitter, but he was on duty while his charge was breaking down. He couldn't just sit back and twiddle his thumbs waiting for log-able stuff to happen, there was no way his conscience would let him.

So first he sent his Patronus for Narcissa.
He had no idea where she was or what she got up to, so he could only hope she wouldn't be long.

Then he looked over the chair at Malfoy, who cried as if he was alone.

He'd probably gotten used to ignoring the presence of …others.

"What can I do?" Harry asked, half expecting Malfoy to cast an Unforgivable on him again.

Malfoy ignored him and had folded into himself, his elbow on his knee and his hand grabbing into his hair as if to find purchase.
Because of how his bloodied shirt hung, Harry could see the black tendrils spread over his chest.

They seemed to pulsate.

…

Having Malfoy go to pieces like this was inappropriate.

Deescalation Tactics offered some suggestions;
One way to 'snap someone out of it' was to remind them of their responsibilities. Unfortunately, Malfoy didn't have any of those, apart from perhaps cleaning the blood off his shirt… but giving him a task would put Harry in a position of authority, and that felt like a dick move.
Besides, he'd gotten awfully close to that by asking where the draught was.

Asking him what was wrong seemed both redundant and not nearly enough… but perhaps an innocuous question would shift his attention to neutral ground.

Malfoy couldn't possibly want to be seen like this.
It was worth a shot.

And if he'd lash out, well…

Harry was pretty sure he knew how to deal with that.
(Not with Sectumsempra, his mind provided.)

"What's your favourite colour?" Harry asked.

Malfoy calmed down quickly — within five seconds he'd stopped crying, his chest making a final shivering motion as he sat more upright. His hand leaned beside him on the edge of the bath, his stump mirroring the movement as far as it could.
He expressionlessly looked at Harry, his face flushed, his eyes red-rimmed.
"Did you say something?" He asked, sounding flat.

This was clearly another one of those mental mood flips. When Harry'd seen him in the bathroom that time he'd also snapped out of it nearly instantly.

Had he already been mad back then?

"I asked what your favourite colour is — you do have one, don't you?"

Malfoy inquisitively narrowed an eye. "Why would you reject an opportunity to pretend you never asked?"

"Why would I?" Harry asked, "It's a harmless question."

"That's because it's pointless." Malfoy sounded haughty and a little wry.

"There's nothing wrong with pointless, though." Harry wasn't sure why he'd put reassurance in his tone.

This situation was weird.

Malfoy didn't respond and instead looked to the side, to a part of the bathroom Harry couldn't see. Probably at the mirror.

He seemed to be considering something.

"Well?" Harry asked after a few seconds.

"Why do you need to know?" Malfoy blandly asked the thing he was looking at.

"Why won't you tell me?" Harry asked incredulously. Why was Malfoy this guarded about something so inconsequential?
Interrogating him had been easier.

"You're wasting time," Malfoy said flatly as he made eye contact again.

"I am? Just answering the question would have taken you two syllables at most!"

"You could be assessing the chair instead of fishing for personal trivia… Oh…" Wry amusement crept onto Malfoy's face. "Right," He drew out the word, a mocking tone of realisation, "You need the memory, don't you?" He continued sardonically. "All right, then. Hand me a vial."

Harry didn't understand why Malfoy was being this… condescending? about the situation.
Perhaps it was his way of exerting some control again?

Possibly… but it didn't seem quite right.

Malfoy could have just lost control of himself entirely.

…neither of these options were comfortable to consider and Harry brushed the thought aside for now. Ridding the house of Residue was his priority, so this… whatever-it-was didn't really matter as long as he'd get the memory.

He had to keep an eye on him, he didn't need to 'fix' him.

Besides, Narcissa would be here soon.

He crammed his FieldScrolls back into their respective boxes, then caught himself when he tried to put them in a non-existent pocket.
He'd dressed casually this morning, and his sweatshirt offered less options for tucking stuff away.

He pocketed the boxes and reached into one of his jean pockets to get out a vial.

The things were sturdier than he had expected — if they would have been made out of normal glass they would have definitely shattered, considering he'd nearly sat on them.

He approached the chair, which was still blocking the bathroom entrance. Its arm supports were compressed by the door frame and the whole thing felt ominous.

Malfoy silently watched him, not making any indication of getting up to take the vial from him.

Harry was a little annoyed by that, but figured he could hardly expect manners from someone who couldn't stick to a single mood for the duration of a sentence.
"…should I throw it? Hover it?" He asked.

Malfoy grinned in his mental way. "Do you remember when you asked me whether I should have an arm attached to my broom so it could catch the Snitch for me?"

Harry did remember that and tried to keep his face neutral. "Yeah…"

"Does the offer still stand?" Malfoy asked mockingly, as he cocked his head to the side.

"I'll just hover it, okay?" Harry suggested.

"Throw it." Malfoy demanded.

Harry looked at the vial and back at Malfoy, who still looked fragile and malicious. The blood on his sleepwear seemed more disconcerting now he was madly amused again.

"Throw. it." Malfoy repeated ominously.

Harry threw it.

Malfoy snatched it out of the air, then went to take his wand from near the sink.
When he sat back on the edge of the tub, he placed and held the vial between his knees, then gave Harry a look as if challenging him to comment.

Harry said nothing.

Malfoy took the stopper off and kept it in his palm, then twirled his wand a single time and placed it against his temple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as the wand curved away.
Wispy white strands trailed after it, intermittently distinguishable from the bloodstained sleepwear. Once they reached their destination he changed direction, moving in a controlled diagonal line upwards. The memory, rather than being trailed along, neatly curved tip-first into the vial.

He then twirled his wand and placed it in his armpit, replaced the stopper, got up and stepped onto the chair as if it were a flight of stairs.
The leather shifted more than expected, considering Malfoy's weight, but he continued undeterred until he stood with both feet on the back support. There he remained, looking down on Harry, dangling the vial between two fingers.

Harry slowly reached up to take it from him.

Malfoy let go too early.

Harry's Seeker reflexes were the only reason he'd caught it.
"Lost your grip?" He asked, then wondered whether it would be taken as a quip.

Malfoy didn't seem to have registered the potential insult. He swayed a bit and raised his hand to lean it beside the door frame, all the while maintaining eye contact. "Now, Auror Potter; I trust your competence completely."
It sounded like a public statement of some sort.

Harry didn't believe it.

"Thanks," He said as he pocketed the vial, careful to sound neutral.

He expected Malfoy to snap again at any moment.

A movement caught his eye — Malfoy's sleepwear was pushed up to his hip by something invisible, revealing black boxer briefs. Malfoy gazed ahead for a second, frozen and expressionless. Then he promptly turned and stepped back into the bathroom, where he began to cast the privacy glamour.

Slow, low, dark derisive laughter emanated from the chair.

The goosebumps on Harry's arms and neck rose and he watched Malfoy, who ignored the sound entirely.

How could he touch that chair twice — first with his shin and now with his feet — when he'd been so uncomfortable about it the other day?

Was this just his madness?

…the manifestations genuinely differed though…

…and there was a fucking theme to them today, wasn't there?

With a sinking feeling he sat back down in Malfoy's desk chair and logged what he ought to, as he mulled it over.

"Did you hear that sound just now?" Harry asked.

Malfoy didn't turn around. "I've not been laughed at by furniture before," He said dryly as he continued to cast.
Elongated bubbles of semitransparent gold floated from his wand, and popped into their honey grate shape when they reached their predecessors. A very gentle chime could be heard each time.

Malfoy'd also been very uncomfortable at the mention of Tristan, hadn't he?

Harry watched for a moment, then asked: "What did you think about handing the memory to Tristan?"

Malfoy froze.
"…blue." He said after a few seconds.
Then he continued casting.

He seemed more guarded.

It took Harry a few seconds to realise what Malfoy meant.
"Your favourite colour is blue?" He asked, wondering whether he had chosen to return to the previous question or whether his madness had forced him to.

Regardless, something dodgy had happened last night.

Harry thought for a moment, wondering how to bend the topic to what he wanted to hear.
"…so why all the emerald for your bathroom?" He asked, to keep Malfoy engaged in conversation so he had time to think.

"It wasn't made for me," Malfoy said, the eye roll audible. "My bedroom and the en suite belonged to my Father's f-Father — …" He'd started off in the haughty condescending tone that had been so usual in school, but Harry had heard his breath hitch near the end.

He hadn't heard Malfoy mention his dad at all since the trial, had he?

Fuck, was he supposed to say something nice about him?

"…and there is nothing as wasteful as undue change," Malfoy finished after a few seconds, sounding strained. He nodded to himself as he continued to cast.

"Fair enough," Harry started carefully, trying not to sound too eager about having found his 'in'. "So… any idea how come the manifestations in your room have changed?"

Malfoy seemed to sag in response, then stepped back as if to admire his glamour.

Water poured over the edge of the tub and clattered onto the marble.
It wasn't until it reached Malfoy's feet that he absent-mindedly charmed the tap closed. Then he walked to the side, out of sight.

Harry stood up and listened intently — he could hear cloth move.
Okay, he was probably undressing — he was fine.

After just over a minute Malfoy walked back in sight, behind the glamour, and got into the overfilled bath. He didn't acknowledge the water cascading onto the tiles.

He sank below the edge of the bath and more water poured out — he stayed down for nearly a minute and just when Harry had decided to leap over the chair to yank him back up, Malfoy resurfaced and gasped for air.

…at least he still had some sense of self-preservation.

Harry decided he was going to try a different tactic for this 'interrogation'.

He was going to be polite about it.
"Can I get you anything?"

Malfoy turned his head and looked at him. "You're not going to let me out of your sight, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope."

"You should know better than to create false hope." It sounded neutral.

…and very fucking dramatic, considering Harry had been referring to getting him a towel from the cabinet or something.

Malfoy's arm hung limply over the edge of the bath, holding his wand loosely.
"…do you want anything?" He asked.

…was Malfoy getting back at him?

"…eh… tea?" Harry asked, half joking. He wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy would summon brightly coloured plastic cups and expect him to drink air.

No — scratch that, it'd probably be silver and fucking emerald.

Or… he could summon a house elf to serve him.

Yeah, that made more sense.

Malfoy moved his wand, which Harry could see clearly underneath the glamour.
It was initially a fast and controlled movement, which curved and became a restrained straight diagonal line, as if there was a weight attached to it.

Then he flicked.

A ceramic teapot appeared in mid-air, silverwork beset with emeralds at its base and rim.

Malfoy flicked again and there was a matching cup.

Harry watched in astonishment.

Malfoy made another curve-like motion and the tea poured into the cup.

He swirled an upwards gesture and a small silver table with collapsible legs appeared on the bed. He hovered both items towards it and placed them upon it with a gentle 'tic'.

Harry was transfixed.

Malfoy sighed. "…I still forget that the tables can't be trusted."

"I — … thought you were getting a house elf," Harry said, forcing his gaze away from the tea.

"…we haven't had one in a while…" Malfoy sighed, as he moved his wand. An amber coloured bottle appeared on the edge of the bath, a golden… stopper? at the top.

The glamour made the details hard to distinguish.

"You see… after Dobby's betrayal, my parents became more careful…" Malfoy sounded a little wistful, which was the only thing that restrained Harry's bristling at the mention of his friend.

Malfoy unscrewed the bottle by hand and through the swaying of the glamour, Harry could see its contents were amber coloured. The bottle itself was transparent and bore a golden seal of some kind.

Was that liquor?

"…so …once the Dark Lord took residence, they… disposed of her."

Fuck, did they kill their own house elf?

Malfoy discarded the lid onto the wet tiles where it landed with a little 'splat'. Then he raised the bottle as if toasting to something invisible in front of him, holding his wand flush against it.
"To Mipsy," He said, then took a swig.

It took Harry a moment to decide what to respond to first.
"It's nine in the morning," He said, not entirely pleased with that being the topic he'd landed on. Then again — Malfoy hadn't killed the elf so… he was better off filing that away for later.

Malfoy put the bottle down on the edge and cast something in front of himself that Harry couldn't see.
"Over ten minutes off? Sloppy, Potter, I thought better of you."

"You can't drink at this time."

"And why is that?" Malfoy asked, mockingly curious. "Do I have engagements for which I need to be of sound mind?" A bitter scoff escaped him and he had another swig.

"Your mum could be here at any moment," Harry tried, suddenly aware of how long it was taking her.
Had something happened to her?

Was she stuck in Residue somewhere?

Fuck, he could hardly go and check, could he?

"Oh no, not my Mother!" Malfoy exclaimed dramatically. "Can't have her see me trying to enjoy myself, gosh, can you imagine?" He smacked his lips. "I should get back to crying, just in case she comes in!"

"That's not what I meant," Harry started, annoyed, but Malfoy ignored him.

"Oh boo, my arm, boohoo…" He said mockingly, then took another swig. "Boo, Father is dead, boo hoo…" He trailed off as if he realised something, then placed the bottle on the edge again and remained eerily still.

Harry didn't know what to do with this, so he gave him a few seconds and decided to cycle back to what he wanted to know.
"…Malfoy… What happened yesterday…?"

"Boo! Potter is watching me bathe!" He exclaimed suddenly, but it didn't sound antagonistic. Just… a bit loud.

Harry waited a moment before he carefully asked: "…what happened with Tristan?"

Malfoy took another swig and seemed to be contemplating something.
"…are you going to tell on me?" He asked darkly.

"…what did you do?" Harry asked, tone firm but careful.

There was silence, not even the sloshing of water could be heard.
"…I was… determined… to have my way…" He trailed off, then sighed.
"…should have known better," He said with a head gesture as if that was fair enough, then took another sip.

Harry sat very still and hoped not to distract Malfoy from talking.

"I'd thought that… since it was new… the Residue would remain… unaffected."
He sounded deflated.
"…but I'm part of it," He added under his breath.

He raised the bottle to his mouth again, hesitated half way, then continued and took a bigger swig.

Harry really ought to stop him, but… he needed to know what happened, didn't he?

Malfoy seemed lost in thought and remained silent.

"…so what happened?" Harry asked, trying to sound somewhat casual.

"We spoke… for hours…" He made a half-hearted gesture of grandeur with the bottle, "Or — he spoke, and I let him…"

That definitely sounded like Tristan.

"He mentioned some of his… flaws…" He gestured with the bottle. "His initiative, I might add…"

Tristan was an Auror — a more experienced one than Harry, so the concern Harry felt was probably unjustified… Then again, Tristan had taken the monitoring duty very lightly.

"So I thought to myself — 'this is a fully qualified Auror, volunteering all this personal information… Surely he wouldn't do that if he didn't want me to know'." His tone was mock-casual and he took another swig.
"…and since stilted knowledge is just wasteful… I thought I'd better use it."
He sounded very fucking pleased with himself.

"What information?" Harry asked, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Oh, you know…" Malfoy sounded as if he was smiling, "Former Auror partners… Education… Hopes… Dreams… Interests…" Malfoy gestured the bottle with every thing he listed, as if to emphasise that he had to think about it.
"Place of birth… Zodiac…" He intoned it as if it was particularly interesting, and thoughtfully took a swig.

"Blood status…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "Oh, and that he was an only child."

The hair in Harry's neck rose.

Tristan's mum was a Muggle.

But… Tristan knew Malfoy was a Death Eater, reluctant or not.
Why would he have volunteered all that information? Would 'Johnny' have told him to?

Was Malfoy lying?

…what could he possibly gain with that?

How did any of this make sense?

Malfoy continued casually: "At some point I offered him a drink… Told him to make himself comfortable…"

There was a pause in which Malfoy slowly and thoughtfully took another swig from the bottle.

Harry impatiently waited for him to continue of his own accord.

"…so he took a chair…"

…why had Malfoy intoned it like that?

Oh…

Oh for fuck's sake.

Harry felt his face drain.

Tristan hadn't taken that chair, had he?

Hadn't Harry warned him about it? Fuck — Why hadn't Tristan been able to sense for himself that it was fucked up?

When Harry'd sensed the Greyback manifestation it had been… eager, and he hadn't even touched it.

"And then?" He asked, dreading the answer.

Malfoy's focus snapped to him — he had apparently forgotten who he was talking to.

"Things escalated, of course." He said, sounding appalled by having to explain.

Harry looked at him, trying to figure out whether that meant what he thought it did.

…if Tristan would have sat in that chair, how much worse would that 'eagerness' have been?

Malfoy shook his head, took a sip, and turned to look at the bathroom wall ahead of him again.

"…did you — …sleep… with him?" Harry asked, mortified.

! "With that mudblood queer?" Malfoy spat in a tone so foul that Harry didn't realise he'd grabbed his wand in response until his grip made his fingers crack.

"Y—…!" He started, unsure of what he was going to say, but Malfoy continued undeterred: "Yes, I did."

He sounded… smug?

What the fuck?

"He is an Auror…" Malfoy said so haughtily he nearly fucking purred, "So he really ought to know better." He summoned a bottle from behind him and poured some of its contents into the bath.

The smell of petrichor spread through the room.

Harry wanted to strangle him.
"Why?" He asked, outraged. "Why the fuck would you — "

! "Potter, Potter, Potter…" Malfoy said condescendingly, "He is an Auror, I am a Death Eater. I'm supposed to push it a little, and he is supposed to be able to handle himself. Besides…"
He turned to Harry and leaned close to the glamour so the details of his face were visible. He looked very fucking malicious "…who is to blame for the ongoing presence of the Residue?"

Harry was so mad he couldn't feel the room around him anymore — he sat still, he had to be sitting still, but it felt like a balance was tipping and he couldn't tell whether he was at its centre or about to slide.

The bedroom door swung open and Harry's attention snapped to it.
Narcissa stood there wearing a travelling cloak, one eye black and swollen.

"Draco?" She gasped, before sinking to her knees on the threshold.