Tovo shows up to his room, eyes red. She's wiping them on her sack-dress as she enters.
"Mr. Harry Potter, sir. What does you be wanting for dinner?"
"Why are you asking me, Tovo?" Harry cocks his head at the little elf.
"Master Draco says to ask Harry and that's what this elf does."
"Why would he do that? That doesn't make any sense. Maybe you should—"
"NO!" The word squeaks out of her so fast, she's covering her mouth with both hands and reeling backward. "Oh, no. Tovo didn't mean it, Mr. Harry Potter, sir. She didn't. She promises." She's crying now and the closer Harry gets, the faster she tries to run backward. When Harry reaches out for her, she flails, falls on her bum, and cries in earnest.
"Tovo?" Harry asks as he kneels in front of her. "Why are you so upset? I've never seen you like this."
She wipes at her face, but does not look him in the eye. "Master Draco tried to free Malve. He gave her—he gave her a hat!"
"Tried to free her? Forgive me, Tovo—" here, he has to wait for her to start breathing again, "but how does one fail to free a house elf?"
Tovo is still wiping at her face, but tries to respond through her sniffles. When she does, she beams up at him. "Malve does not take Mistress's hat. No, she gives it back and tells Master Draco that he has to deal with us. We are his elves and we are here to stay." She puffs out her chest at the last.
"I'm sure he took that well." Tovo's face contorts into something like fear.
"Master Draco doesn't want us?" She leans forward toward Harry. "You must choose dinner Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Master Draco says so! We must be good house elves so that Master Draco does not try to free any more of us!" She is desperate, creeping closer, but not enough to touch him. "Please, Mr. Harry Potter, sir."
"Make whatever you like to eat. Or cook. Or… whatever. Just—whatever you have on hand." Harry's satisfied with himself, but she looks unsure as she retreats.
Harry waits until he's sure Tovo's out of range, then storms across the hall to Draco's room.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hollers as he pushes the doors open.
"Right now, or in five minutes?" comes Draco's voice from beneath the slovenly sheets.
"Your room smells foul. When was the last time you took a bath, Malfoy?"
"Malfoy, is it?"
"Fuck off, Draco."
"I was trying to."
"You're disgusting." Harry shudders as he reaches for the blanket to pull it back, revealing the sandy mop of hair. "You are filthy." He drops the fabric pinched between his fingers. "Can you please tell me why I have a house elf crying in my room about picking what's for dinner?"
Hands on his hips, Harry looks every bit the angry partner rather than the disgruntled roommate. Draco huffs and tries to dive back beneath the blanket.
"I don't fucking think so," Harry starts. "Answer me, you twat. It's bad enough that I'll need to shower after this. Why the fuck are you trying to free them?"
"I don't need them," he croaks. "They were hers."
Harry sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. "Draco, you've got to deal with this. You can't just burn or break everything that reminds you of her. You can't get rid of the pain that easily."
"Don't I fucking know it. You're still here." Draco's face pops out of the sheets to glare at him.
"I can leave, if that's what you want." Harry moves to go, but Draco's wrist grabs his own.
"Don't." The word is small, much like the man slumped beside him.
"Then get up off your arse and take a fucking shower." Harry yanks his arm free and leaves the room, making sure to leave the doors open for circulation.