~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~

Harry awoke gradually the next morning with a pounding headache. It took him a minute to figure out where he was. His bedsheets were scratchy and covered in dust, the room was dim and depressing, and somewhere nearby, a portrait was snickering. Then everything that came back in a rush. Right. I'm at Grimmauld Place, with Malfoy, awaiting further instruction. His glasses had been taken off his face and placed on the bedside table, next to a cold cup of tea left by an overly enthusiastic Kreacher. Harry rolled over and put the glasses on. Malfoy was not in the adjoining twin bed, but it was rumpled and unmade.

There was a light rap at the door. Harry rolled over to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, already showered and dressed in another set of perfectly-tailored robes, this time emerald green. It took a moment for Harry to register the antagonistic sneer on Malfoy's face.

"If you hadn't been ill and weren't about to go in for questioning, I would've hexed you in your sleep," said Malfoy. There was a sharp edge to his voice that Harry suddenly realised had been missing from their interactions up till now.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry sat up, his brow furrowing.

"Don't pull that on me, Potter, I know you dragged your wrinkly prune of a house-elf into this joke. Ha ha, so funny. Maybe you should quit your job and become a comedian."

Now Harry was really confused. He threw back his sheets and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, searching Malfoy's face for a trace of amusement. There wasn't one.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" When Harry didn't respond, Malfoy's sneer broadened until he looked more like the boy Harry remembered from their Hogwarts days. "Fine, be that way. Your delusional house-elf prepared an entire master suite for us and wouldn't stop blathering about how I was his favourite romantic partner of yours." Malfoy crossed his arms, his grey eyes glinting like steel. "Uh-huh. Remember your little prank now?"

Harry's jaw had dropped open as he stared bug-eyed at Malfoy. Now he forced it closed so that he could speak. "Malfoy, I swear, I had nothing to do with that. I don't even know how he got such an idea in his head." Rubbing his pounding temples, he wrinkled his nose and added, "As if I'd date an arrogant prat like you."

Malfoy's mouth was a hard line. "Mmm. Right. Better hope Ginny doesn't find out that you're prone to bringing romantic partners back to Grimmauld Place." He turned sharply on his heel and threw over his shoulder as he left, "Oh, and better get up and dressed, Sleeping Beauty, we've got Aurors waiting for in the library."

"I don't bring dates back here!" Harry shouted after him, but if Malfoy heard him, he didn't respond. Harry gritted his teeth together in frustration. He couldn't wait until he got his hands on Kreacher. Why would his house-elf spread rubbish like that? He knew that Kreacher was old and rather mad, but assuming that he was bringing a date to Grimmauld Place? He hadn't brought anyone besides Ron and Hermione by the mansion in years, much less Ginny, who was his only long-time relationship. And he would certainly never cheat on her.

Still feeling frustrated and confused, Harry pulled on a pair of red and gold robes and ran a comb through his hair. The portrait was snickering again, which exacerbated his headache.

"It's not funny, Phineas," he said irritably as he left the room. The portrait let out a guffaw.

The library had hidden itself from the occupants of the mansion until Regulus's and Sirius's deaths had been avenged, appearing from thin air after the fall of Voldemort. Harry had always wondered if the mansion was half-sentient, and this strengthened his suspicions.

The entrance was down the corridor from the dining room. The library stretched over two floors, filled with old books, stuffed armchairs, and a huge fireplace. Most of the books went untouched. Harry suspected that many of them were cursed or otherwise affected by Dark magic. He'd been meaning to have Hermione sweep the room for Dark spells and help him sort the books — she would probably be interested in keeping one or more of the larger tomes — but he hadn't gotten around to asking her yet. They were both busy with their jobs, Harry as an Auror and Hermione with creating a new Ministry division to advocate for creature rights.

There were several Aurors waiting for him in the library. Ron and Ana were there, as well as McKinley and a witch whose last name Harry had forgotten (Weatherby? Waverly? Wallace?) Malfoy stood in front of the fireplace. He had everyone's attention, talking animatedly with a rare, genuine smile. Harry's spirit momentarily lifted, but it plummeted as soon as he came within hearing range.

"...really didn't have more than your average protection spells around his flat, I couldn't believe it. And to think that anyone could've broken in with little more than a rudimentary grasp of spell-cracking —"

Harry cleared his throat loudly. Malfoy looked up, a smirk stretched across his face and his eyes glinting. "Ah, the man of the hour arrives. Come in, Potter, I was just giving McKinley and Wakefield a quick rundown of last evening's events."

Harry scowled. He should've known that Malfoy was going to be petty about Kreacher, but it was still frustrating. He wanted to shout, I didn't have anything to do with him saying that! Stop thinking I'd go out with a prat like you! But instead, he forced the scowl from his face and thought, Ah, yes, that's the witch's last name: Wakefield, not Wallace.

"What can I do for you, McKinley? Wakefield?" he said, sitting in the armchair farthest from where Malfoy leaned against the fireplace.

"Just a few questions, Harry, and then we'll be on our way." As always, Auror McKinley sounded far too cheerful for the circumstances. He cleared his throat importantly and strode over to Harry, his robes billowing out behind him. "I'll make this fast. After all, we want to get you out of here and back on the job as soon as possible." McKinley blinked a few times. "Er, well, back to your life, too, not just the Ministry. I'm sure you have a life outside of work. I mean —"

Harry rubbed his temples, which were still pounding. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine."

McKinley smiled brightly, looking relieved, and waved his wand. A piece of paper with a poised quill appeared in midair as he sat down in the armchair across from Harry. Harry bit back the automatic negative reaction he had to such a setup, flashing back to his years with Rita Skeeter. So, Harry...what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?

Harry blinked. McKinley was looking at him intently.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Malfoy snorted, and it took everything in him not to turn and pin him with a fiery glare.

"Yes, around what time did you, Miss Weasley, and Malfoy leave your flat?"

"Um...I think seven-thirty?"

The quill began scratching frantically. Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat and reminded himself that it wasn't Skeeter in front of him. It was just McKinley. Routine Ministry business. The quills were charmed to write down exactly what was being said, nothing more, nothing less.

"Did you notice anything...weird?" McKinley raised an eyebrow with his last word.

Harry wrinkled his forehead in concentration. "Not that I can remember." He resisted the temptation to add, except for the fact that Malfoy showed up at my door and is now my bodyguard. Y'know, just normal, everyday things.

"And, tell me — was there anything suspicious about the waitress?"

"What?" Harry's forehead wrinkled more. "No..."

McKinley stood up and snatched the quill and parchment out of the air with a bright smile. "Alright, that will be all."

"Wait, that's it? You're not going to ask me about my ransacked flat, or about the duel, or about the —"

"That's it," McKinley interrupted. "We've already done the usual tests on your wand to figure out what spells you used, so that's taken care of." Harry glanced at Malfoy questioningly, who pulled his wand out of his robes and waved it in the air, smirking. Harry scowled deeply and then nearly dropped it after Malfoy tossed it to him. "We've already asked Malfoy about last night in more detail, and Miss Weasley and Aurors Weasley and Williams, too." McKinley's voice became more serious. "But we're going to need you to stay at Grimmauld Place from here on out, at least until we catch the culprit. Shacklebolt won't have it any other way."

Harry groaned and slumped back in the armchair, throwing his arm over his face. "How am I supposed to get my work done?" he said, his words muffled by his sleeve.

"We'll send it round, don't worry. Until then, rest up." McKinley patted Harry's knee awkwardly, and then looking as if he immediately regretted it, stood rimrod straight and cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, uh, let's get going on. We'll see you on Monday, Harry."

He swept out of the room, followed by Ana, who smiled at Harry apologetically. Ron was right behind her and stopped by his armchair before leaving.

"Sorry, mate," Ron whispered. "I wanted to keep your wand for you, but they insisted on giving it to that git."

"S'no problem, thanks anyway," Harry muttered, feeling his chest clench as his best friend gave him a knowing and half-pitying smile and left the room. Merlin, he was a mess. He hadn't been confined to Grimmauld Place for even 24 hours yet, and he was already missing human interaction that wasn't Malfoy.

Harry sighed, stood up, and moved for the door. "Well, I'm already done with today. I'm going back to sleep."

There was a sudden stinging sensation at the base of his spine, and he whipped round, wand at ready. Malfoy was standing by the fireplace with his wand, smirking like the Cheshire cat. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Just a little reminder to talk to that house-elf of yours, and that I'm going to be here with you twenty-four seven," he said smoothly, tilting his head back slightly. "Two can play whatever game you're playing."

"I'm not playing any games," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I have no bloody idea why Kreacher did that, but I'll talk to him, alright? As if I'd date an insufferable twat like you. Or cheat on Ginny," he added fiercely. "As if!"

Malfoy's eyes didn't lose the dangerous glint. "Methinks thou doth protest too much," he drawled, but something about his eyes didn't match his mocking tone.

Anger and frustration surged up through Harry's veins. "Oh, bloody hell, Malfoy, sod off!"

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, painfully aware that his exit couldn't match up to whatever Malfoy did with his robes to look so intimidating and so much like Snape. Even that thought caused him anger, and he was so furious that one of the dusty chandeliers shattered as he stormed past. Merlin, he hated Malfoy! It was going to be a very difficult couple of days, and even more difficult not to end up in Azkaban for voluntary manslaughter.