Chapter Five - A house elf and a Weasley

Harry got out at the end of his street, glad to be rid of anything to do with Malfoy. Hoping that Hedwig would come home soon, Harry decided to write to Ron and Hermione to tell them where he had been. Sprinting up to the front door, Harry tiptoed upstairs to find his room just as he left it. The Dursleys usually didn't wake up on a Sunday until the late morning - they always expected Harry to do some chores and make breakfast, however. Grabbing a piece of parchment from his open trunk, Harry began to scribble furiously.

Ron, Hermione,

You'll never guess what happened to me. It's all happening so quick, I hope the school year is just as exciting as this.

Well to cut a long story short (I'm not making Hedwig suffer) MALFOY invited me over to his Manor to help him with a problem. What a prat he turned out to be. He got all huffy and booted me out a few hours later.

Oh and Ron - Malfoy has a dressing table. I think he even had make up on it! Git.

Just send Hedwig back with a date for The Burrow and we'll see what we can do. I really want to come.

Harry.

Harry smiled guiltily and sealed the letter. He hadn't given them all the details - he didn't want to. It wasn't like his views of Malfoy had changed - he still disliked him intensely - but he had also seen a different side to Malfoy. A towel-wearing sleep-with-me side.

Just as Harry finished tidying everything away and was about to get a few minutes sleep, there was a knock on the door and Uncle Vernon shuffled in, his moustache ruffled up from sleep.

"Boy," he began, "start making breakfast, we ... what the devil are you wearing?"

Harry realised he was asking about the silk paisley pyjamas and his face reddened. He forgot to give them back to Malfoy when he stomped off earlier this morning.

"I ... uh ... they're a birthday present," Harry stated. "It is my birthday you know."

Uncle Vernon glared evilly at Harry, but he seemed to accept the explanation. He didn't want to bring up the subject of birthdays again, in case Harry wanted something. With the Order on his side, Harry could demand anything from the Dursleys.

"Last night," Uncle Vernon began, "there was a bang. I didn't hear it, but Petunia did, and she was too terrified to investigate. What happened?"

Harry froze. Deciding it would be a stupid idea to tell the truth ('Oh, it was another flying car, they kidnapped me last night and dropped me off home this morning,') Harry tried to think of a good excuse.

"I fell out of bed," Harry lied.

"Oh really? Well, don't be so clumsy next time. We want breakfast in twenty minutes," Uncle Vernon snarled. "So hurry up."

Alone again, Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he realised Uncle Vernon hadn't realised he had disappeared and also at the fact Hedwig was standing outside his window.

"Hedwig!" Harry grinned, opening the window for her. "Listen, I know you're tired but this is a letter for Ron and Hermione. Could you take it to The Burrow for me?"

Hedwig glanced at him, obviously tired. She reluctantly stuck out her leg and hooted softly with weariness. Harry grinned again and tied the letter to her leg. She nipped his fingers affectionately before taking off, dropping slightly every now and then, trying to stay awake. Harry pulled on some old clothes (Dudley's old clothes) and trampled downstairs, shuffling about in the kitchen as he made breakfast. He was tempted to write to the Order and tell them he was still being ordered about, but Uncle Vernon had hissed that he had to earn his keep in the house, so he agreed to make breakfast and do general cleaning every now and then. It wasn't until the bacon was spitting ferociously that Harry fully understood that he had slept with Malfoy. Malfoy! Ugh. That platinum blonde twit had yearned forHarry to sleep alongside him.

Harry felt bored as the next few minutes passed with nothing exciting happening, until Dudley tripped downstairs on his way to nab some bacon - resulting in huge holes in the last four steps. After a lot of kicking and screaming, he accepted the sat down in front of the television in the kitchen, scoffing loudly. The newsreaders on TV were gabbling about something, but when Harry recognised a very familiar face on it he froze.

"Dudley, turn that up a minute," Harry ordered quietly.

Remembering last night, Dudley turned it up and edged away from Harry. Harry sat down on a chair and looked at the screen with mixed emotions, both horror and glee.

"- We're happy to announce we have a new reporter with us! Please welcome Rita Skeeter!" A newsreader cried.

Harry laughed coldly. If only they knew she was capable of tearing peoples lives apart with her Quick Quotes Quill. Then he felt a chill down his spine. What if she blabbed about the wizarding world to them? Surely not. She looked very weak and slightly flustered.

"Today," she began, sighing impatiently, "The Minister for the Agricultural Department stated that-"

"Boring," Dudley sighed, switching channels. Harry glared at him. Dudley returned the glare, though half-heartedly. "You bore me too. All you do is whine and complain."

Harry seethed with rage. What a hypocrite! He wasn't in the mood to be insulted. With breakfast made and the kitchen clean, Harry trooped upstairs and fell onto his bed. He couldn't help but wish he was in Malfoy's bed, although it was only for the comfort, not for the company. A slight wind breezed past, and there was a small popping sound from the end of Harry's bed.

"Harry Potter!" a voice cried.

"D-Dobby?" Harry gasped, springing up.

Dobby the house elf had been there to help Harry ever since Harry set him free from the Malfoys in his second year. Most of the time he had been annoying, nearly killing Harry with a rogue bludger and almost getting Harry and Ron expelled. However, he had saved Harry's backside when he stole some gillyweed from Snape's potions cupboard to help Harry with the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. Dobby stood by the window with his multi coloured outfit on, sporting about ten socks on each foot and various t-shirts and shorts. He even wore a bright magenta tea cosy and some rather questionable eighties sunglasses.

"Aren't you a bit hot, Dobby?" Harry asked.

"Not in the slightest, sir! I is able wear anything and I is not feeling a difference!" Dobby cried gleefully.

"So... why are you here?" Harry demanded. "Please don't tell me I'm in grave danger," he added, moaning slightly.

"Oh! Harry Potter is not in grave danger! No sir! Quite the opposite!" Dobby smirked, winking.

Dobby? Winking?

"Dobby, what's going on?" Harry asked seriously.

"Harry Potter, sir, has a secret admirer!" Dobby giggled, squeaking the last two words.

"What?" Harry gabbled. "Who?"

"Dobby is not telling! But Dobby must add: it is a boy!" Dobby squeaked again.

"A BOY!? Dobby... tell me. Now," Harry ordered.

But Dobby merely clicked his fingers and with one final smirk, he disappeared. Harry sat, dumbfounded. Malfoy was the only person that came into his head, but even if he did like Harry, he wasn't about to go and tell a bunch of house elves. He lay on his bed, mulling it over in his head until he drifted off to sleep.

The next few days were very boring indeed. Harry had taken to re-reading all of his school books so he had something to do while the Dursleys treated Dudley to days out to the cinema, trying to keep him away from his friends. They had all been discovered by the police smoking weed, so Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had decided to mollycoddle Dudley to try and break his rebellious phase. This was all very entertaining, and Harry was glad he was left alone in the house. One night he had dreamt about something very strange. Malfoy was standing at the altar, crying in a huge white dress, calling for Harry as Harry ran out of the church, got into a car with Neville Longbottom and sped off to Diagon Alley to buy some dragon scales. He finally awoke to the sound of tapping on his window, and hoping it was Hedwig, sprang up to get it. It was that raven again. Malfoy. Harry noticed how the word 'Potter' had been scribbled and re-written several times.

Harry,

I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about anything that happened.

I'm sorry. For everything.

Draco

Harry sat on his bed in surprise. Why was Malfoy messing around with him like this? When did he start calling Harry by his first name anyway? With his wedding dream still fresh in his mind, Harry felt dizzy. Was it really Malfoy who liked Harry? Even so, it would be a brainless idea. It would ruin the Malfoy pride, he would look stupid dating a Gryffindor, even though the Gryffindor in question happened to be The Boy Who Lived... That was another point. His father was (or had been) a Death Eater, a servant to Lord Voldemort. How would it look if his son was dating the one person who had destroyed his master countless times?

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon yelled, making Harry jump.

Harry approached the top of the stairs and peeked down at Uncle Vernon. He didn't look happy at being woken up so early, but there was also something else to his discontentment.

"There's someone here for you," Uncle Vernon spat.

He thrust open the door for Harry to see his visitor.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron grinned.