HELLO THIS MAY BE SHORT DEPENDING ON HOW LONG MY IDEAS TAKE TO FORMULATE -I MUST WATCH THE FOOTBALL AT HALF 7!!!!! GO ENGLAND!!!

LAST LINE OF PART 5-

...she disapparated with a loud crack and was gone.
PART 6 OF FLYING THE NEST- (WILL I EVER GET TO THE POINT? WHO KNOWS? COME TO THINK OF IT, WHO CARES? I'M HAVING WAY TOO MUCH FUN, LOL)

Malfoy kicked the bottom of the sofa and glared at the spot where Hortense had just been. Harry twisted his lips together because there was very little he could say at the moment, not really having been on speaking terms with Malfoy for the most part, and then there was also that factor that the larger section of his brain, the bit that usually was pre-occupied with Quidditch and plans to murder Snape, were now all immersed in the millions of questions whirling around his head that were yelling 'HOW?' 'WHAT?!' and 'What The Bloody Hell is Someone Doing Writing Books About ME?!' The books in question, were nestled in his lap, supported by the hammock-like baggy bit at the bottom of the shirt he was wearing. Malfoy kicked the sofa again, rather more savagely, and made for his room.

"Can I borrow these then?" called Harry, a split second before Malfoy kicked his door resolutely SHUT.

"Fuck off, Potter," were his consenting words. Harry shrugged and studied the first page of 'The Philospher's Stone'. It couldn't hurt to read it, really.

Hours passed. Harry, who had been feeling tipsy, and a little reckless in the early hours of that morning, was fully sobered up by 2pm, when he next heard any movement from Malfoy. Harry was nearing the end of 'The Chamber of Secrets'. And he was totally entralled. It was like reading a diary he'd never had to take the trouble of writing himself, like some kind of extraordinarily accurate biography. This Rowling woman seemed to know everything. He was actually pretty impressed. Though this new discovery about his life (which he had got over pretty quickly -after all, as the books could testify, his life so far had held plenty of new discoveries and none of them had brought the world to a grinding halt yet) had freaked him out a little, he had accepted it as he had come to accept so many other odd things -'strange and abnormal', as Aunt Petunia would say. However, he couldn't help thinking that this sort of information could be placing both he and Malfoy in a great deal of danger. Was this woman writing down what he was doing, right at this very instant?

Malfoy emerged from his room at 2.11 pm exactly, and headed towards the miniscule kitched without so much as a glance at Harry. Malfoy looked a great deal less harassed, and Harry assumed he must've had some sleep. He was wearing faded khaki combats and a black t-shirt that said 'this is a slogan shirt' on it. Harry thought they had probably fitted him at some point (Malfoy not having to cope with hand-me-downs), but now he was so thin and worn looking that they sagged a little and made him look kind of...fragile. Which obviously was not something he would want to draw attention to. The t-shirt was short sleeved and Harry had noticed that even though Malfoy gave him no shred of attention, he was walking with his left arm secured to his side so that the half-mark couldn't be seen again.

Harry was famished. He'd tried to raid Malfoy's 'kitchen' and had found an abundance of larger, vodka, a small bottle of tequila, half a loaf of furry bread which he hadn't even bothered to toast, a lump of cheddar, some milk, coffee, three packets of different breakfast cereals and two packs of Benson and Hedges, one of which was opened and had six fags remaining.

Malfoy returned with a large bowl with a mixture of Shreddies, Coco-Pops and Cornflakes it, switched on the TV again and started watching the end of a black and white western.

"Are we being followed?" said Harry, indicating the books.

"We're in an unplottable flat, Potter, of course we're not being written down right this second." {NB- see what I did there? I'M writing them down! just thought I'd point that out, though it's not essential to the tale}

Harry could tell that this was not going to be an easy flat-share. And Malfoy was not going to try to make it any easier. So the best thing to do would be to try and avoid him as much as possible -pretty hard when you're -he grimaced whenever the phrase popped into his brain -shacked up -together.

The tense, unwelcome first day turned into a bitter, clenched jaw week, which would only let go to yell at each other and blame each other when it turned out that Malfoy was angry that he still had to go to work, whereas Harry was keeping well enough with the savings his parents had left him. And to get into shoving and pummelling matches when Malfoy, who was looking increasingly malnourished, had given into temptation and eaten half the food Harry had got in, while Harry had made a day out of going along to Diagon Alley to buy new robes for the term which would start in just under a month.

This clenched jaw-occasionally breaking into violence-followed by angry silences and unresolved arguments week was leading into a very similar week two, when there was a chance to get out. Not a chance. They had to get out.

It happened exactly 13 days after Harry had found himself playing housemate with the one person he has never expected to have to share anything with, and after shelling out quite a bit of money to live in the flat and afford substantial food, as well as his wizarding needs which he was finding more useful now that he was 17, and had still managed to keep Malfoy in the dark that he was in fact a legally qualified wizard now.

On the 13th day, the weather was great. It was sunny and the temperature was pretty high considering English weather patterns. Harry returned to the bottom of the apartment building around 11.30 pm because if there's one thing you should do in that area of London, it's check out the posher bars. Which he had been doing. At first, he didn't look up, because his key was caught on a thread at the bottom of his pocket. He giggled to himself because he was drunk. Then he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He started and swung round, ready to punch whoever it was right in the nose, but it was Malfoy.

"Hello Draaaco!" said Harry happily, swaying on the spot, "my key ish shduck in my pocket! I was shick in the hedge!" Malfoy didn't answer, or notice that Harry had called him Draco instead of Malfoy. He was staring at something above Harry's head. And he looked more than terrified. Harry swung round and squinted blearily at the sky. And sobered up faster than you can say 'Butterbeers on Neville'. "Its- oh Circe."

Painting the night sky, almost luminous against the dark blue velvet above, the Dark Mark hovered over the apartment building like a signpost, marking the whereabouts of what were steadily becoming the most frightened wizards in Britain.

"How did they find us?" whispered Malfoy. Harry may have been drunk as a fish, but the fear he heard was very real. "Father -no, he's in Azkaban still." Harry got his wand out of his back pocket.

"I'm 17. I just didn't tell you. Come on." They edged towards the building and slipped inside. Harry had his wand out in front of him, every fibre of his body was taut. They passed open apartment doors, the rooms beyond trashed, and any muggles within lay dead, their eyes open, as if they had been frightened to death.

They reached the door they sought. But it was intact.
The next part will feature Grimmauld Place so look out for your fave characters (mine are Fred, George and Lupin -hint! lol)

thanks for reading, xxxxxxxxxxxxx