'You live here?" Draco exclaimed incredulously.
They were standing in the middle of Harry's apartment, having just Apparated there. True, Harry thought, slightly uncomfortable, it was not the tidiest of places. Okay, the floor was littered with parchment, books and quills, there were magazines and newspapers on the sofa and a pile of CDs and DVDs by the TV. It wasn't exactly dusty or dusty – it was imply a house whose owner never really had the time to put anything away.
'I work all day,' Harry said coldly, 'and you are free to totter off to your Manor anytime, Malfoy.'
Malfoy sighed.
'What, and be killed?' he sneered, 'no, thank you very much. I'm staying here,' he flopped onto the sofa, pushing the newspapers aside, 'where you will protect me like a good little Auror.'
Harry clenched his teeth, praying for patience. Why did Tonks – the present Head of the Aurors – have to pick Harry to be Malfoy's protector? Well, the answer was easy enough, harry admitted to himself. Who else would have been crazy enough to let Malfoy live in their house!
Harry pushed Malfoy's feet off the sofa and sat down, too.
'You gonna tell me what this is all about, Malfoy?' he asked wearily.
'I already told that Tonks woman. And Arthur Weasley. And the Minister.'
Harry threw him a particularly nasty look.
'Okay, Potter, chill. When I turned seventeen right after our graduation, I was put before a choice. Either join Voldemort – become a Deatheater – or... well, the other option was pretty much to die. I'd seen to much over the years, heard too much.
Anyway, since I am not yet a suicidal lunatic, I told my father to stuff his kind offer up Voldemort's butt, and then I had no choice but to run. I lived in Paris for some years – lovely chocolate there – and some time in Rome, Brussels, New York, Moscow...
What I didn't know was that my parents were hiding something for Voldemort in our Manor. Dunno what, but they were, since after they murdered the house was turned upside down. Pillows cut open, mattresses shredded, wine bottles smashed. Whoever killed them was obviously looking for something. Something small. And no, I don't know what really happened, but I do have my suspicions. Maybe Father didn't want to give that item back. Maybe Father displeased Voldemort in some way so he had my parents killed and then wanted to take his treasure back.
Obviously the Deatheaters didn't find whatever it was, because a year ago I ran into a very mangy band of criminals that told me to give it back if I valued my life. Or, I dunno, maybe Voldemort wants to do me in 'cause I know too much... Eh, anyway, I don't know anything more than that I have to hide. Especially after that lovely encounter three hours ago.'
'What were you talking to Tonks about? You were there for an hour. Were you telling her what you know about Voldemort?'
'I help the Ministry, the Ministry helps me. I told them what I know, they provided me with a bodyguard. Fair, innit?'
'Wait, Malfoy, since when are you helping the good side?'
'To tell you the truth Potter, I've had my taste of the Dark side. And I did not like it. So -'
Malfoy shrugged, then sat up.
'I'm exhausted,' Malfoy drawled, 'where do I sleep?'
'Right where you are lying now,' Harry got up, and began walking towards his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. 'Good night.'
He dropped onto his bed, and was just about to switch off when Malfoy sat down on the other side.
'I am not sleeping on the couch,' he said in a whiny voice, 'I've got back problems, and anyway, I am a Malfoy. I get the bed, you get the couch.'
With that, he lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.
Harry clenched his teeth again, but found that such positive brat-iness had rendered him speechless.
Then he lay down too, and pulled the blanket in his own direction.
'You're not staying,' Malfoy said, curtly.
'I am,' Harry answered.
'No.'
Yes.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
'No.'
Yes.'
'Git.'
'Jerk.'
'Saint Potter.'
'Ferret-face.'
'Idiot.'
'Ponce.'
This continued for some time, developing into expressions that are in now way suitable for... repeating.
Hours later, Harry, livid and still exceptionally tired, thought that if before he suspected that letting Malfoy to live here was the greatest mistake of Harry's life, now he was sure of it.
