LAST LINE OF PART TWO:

and with that, Malfoy had left the building, folks.

PART THREE OF 'FLYING THE NEST':

Harry stared at the door. The door just hung there. Being a door. "Brunettes." said Harry.

The first thing he needed to do was check Malfoy's room. As Malfoy had unwittingly admitted to being an underage wizard still, and therefore unable to do magic outside of term-time, and apparently unaware of Harry's age, Harry found himself with the upper hand here. For once. He pushed the door open with the tip of his left index finger, aware that he was holding his breath. There was a pause. Here was nice little Harry, Dumbledore's 'Golden Boy' as Malfoy had called him on countless ocassions, breaking and entering. Of sorts. "Come on, there IS no one to turn to anymore," he muttered, and with this resolve, gave the door a shove.

He didn't feel too guilty, prying. After all, Malfoy could well be back at any second with a troupe of very happy Deatheaters. it could still all be a trick. But Harry soon began to realise, that it wasn't.

The bed was unmade, characteristic of a guy living alone, especially one who'd had house-elves such as Dobby running round after them their whole lives, picking up after them. Wizard robes were piled up on a desk chair, and when Harry peeked into the wardrobe he found this one crowded with school robes, several colours of dress robes, two Slytherin Quidditch uniforms, and an array of cloaks. he closed the doors again carefully before opening the chest of drawers. He was surprised. Apart from the necessities such as socks and boxers, Malfoy seemed to own a lot of muggle clothing, which for someone who apparently hated muggles, was kinda weird. On top of the wardrobe was Malfoy's Nimbus 2001. Harry stared at it. Obviously this broom wasn't anywhere near as good as his own Firebolt, but even if it was a public image malfoy's father was upholding, the Dursleys would certainly never have forked out for a racing broom simply to ensure inclusion in the house team.

It was the photos that made Harry start to really believe what Malfoy had told him. Wizard photgraphs, of course, not only move, but their characters take on the feelings of the people at the time. On the windowsill was an untidy heap of wizard photos, as if Malfoy had been interupted looking at them. he didn't dare touch them, but two had come out of the pile so that he could see them clearly. the first one showed Malfoy and his parents in dress robes. Malfoy looked very uncomfortable, and his father very smug. His mother wasn't paying attention to either of them; she was absorbed with her reflection in a tall vase that stood on a table close by. As his father moved his hand to smarten his dress robes, Harry distinctly saw Malfoy flinch, as if he had thought his father was going to hit him. Harry swallowed. He himself usually gave the same reaction whenever Vernon Dursley made a sudden movement. Narcissa Malfoy stopped preening and went to stand with her husband, shoving Malfoy out of the picture. In a few seconds he came back into view, but remained at the side, watching his parents as they looked self-importantly out of the photo.

The second photo was of Malfoy on his own. This time he was dressed in Quidditch robes, but this wasn't the sneering, slimy little git Harry had played against since the second year. This Malfoy was not so much sullen, as damn well depressed. his eyes had a hollow, lifeless look to them. Harry was about to abandon the photo as it didn't seem to be doing much, when long pale fingers suddenly grasped Malfoy by the upper arm. He stared at the person out of shot, who Harry could not see with an expression that could read nothing other than terror. And then he was yanked out of the photo. Harry waited a while for him to return. But Malfoy didn't.

Harry decided he'd done enough snooping. Clearly, Malfoy had indeed moved out. He glanced at his watch and slouched into the sitting room area. He was surprised that everything was so muggle still. Even if Malfoy was under age, it would not be beyond Dumbledore to sort this place out. He slumped onto the sofa. It was nearly half 5 in the morning. Malfoy would return in and hour and a half. He was just wondering what on earth he was going to say to him when his DID return, and even more importantly where these tall brunette muggle girls were going to get there, when the intercom started buzzing and his stomach jumped into his throat.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Hi thanks to Suzakugrly –don't worry Suza it didn't end after part 2! It's still a WIP n thanks for your great pointers, this story is still developing I promise and I'll check what went wrong on chap 2 –ta!

Secondly: to the very rude flamer who was trying to impress me with their poetry awards or something and had absolutely nothing useful to say: No I'm not American, therefore 'American-izing' things would be pretty difficult I'm already a published author so don't try to pitch yourself higher than me CHILL OUT! This is meant to be FUN!!!
Keep all your eyes peeled for part 4, and thanks for the reviews, if you want to flame me I really don't mind as long as you have something constructive to say. Ta. xxxx