The next morning, Harry woke up at 6 am, feeling better than he had in a long time. Although the living room sofa wasn't exactly blissful, Aunt Petunia had picked the best one she could find ("Nothing is too good for our guests," she had sniffed), so it was oceans more comfortable to sleep on than the cot in the cupboard under the stairs, and, if truth be told, even better than the bed in Dudley's second bedroom. (Harry smirked as he thought of Aunt Marge tossing and turning there all night.)
Still, he didn't want anyone to know that he'd actually had a good night's sleep for once, since he didn't think any of the Dursleys would be very pleased with that bit of information. So he crept back through the living room and opened the door to his cupboard, only to let out a gasp of surprise. There, sleeping soundly, was Draco Malfoy.
Harry's mind played with the possibilities for a few minutes. He could wake everyone up to see the boy wonder slumming it, but that probably wouldn't be a good idea. Then they'd know that he himself hadn't slept there last night, and that wouldn't make anyone very happy. Then another idea came to him. As soundlessly as possible, he rummaged through one of the shelves until he found Dudley's old Polaroid camera. A decidedly Malfoyesque smirk crossed his lips. This could be interesting after all.
An hour later, the rest of the family awoke to the smell of French toast, bacon, and coffee. Harry had used the extra time after Draco's unwitting photo session to cook a big breakfast for the family. Partly because it had become a habit with him, and partly because he was hoping it would help get Aunt Marge out of the house a little bit faster.
Dudley was the first one to come galumphing down the stairs. For someone who supposedly hated Harry in all aspects, he certainly appreciated his cooking. Without a word he sat down and started shoveling food into his mouth. Aunt Petunia followed a few minutes later. She looked utterly exhausted and confined herself to a cup of coffee for the time being.
Draco was the next to appear, looking resplendent as ever in his second Mugglest-looking outfit. "Thank you for cooking an excellent breakfast again, Harry," he said meekly, causing Harry to wonder what was going on him with lately and feel a little twinge of guilt about the incriminating pictures he'd just taken.
Uncle Vernon came crashing down the stairs next, muttering about being late for Grunnings and making a sandwich out of French toast and bacon to eat in the car. "Tell Marge I hope she has a safe trip," he muttered vaguely as he rushed out the door.
Finally, as everyone else was finishing up, Aunt Marge traipsed in. Her hair was all mussed, and she looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep at all. She had an odd expression on her face and was holding something in her hand. On closer inspection, Harry saw that it was a wand, but not his own. It must be Draco's.
"I found this stick on my bedside table last night," Marge said crossly. "You know how boys are always squirreling away odd little treasures, but something seems different about this one. I wonder what it is."
"I'm sure it's nothing important, Marge," Petunia said quickly. "Let me just take that from you now and dispose of it later." She grabbed the wand out of Marge's hand rather abruptly, and the whole room became very quiet as a stream of red and gold sparks came showering out of the end.