Draco loses his temper. Harry is mostly amused.

This time, I can't absolutely promise to have the next chapter up by this time next week, because I'm not absolutely sure I'll have access to the Internet. But it will be two weeks, tops, and most likely less than that.

Blame It on Temporary Insanity

The next time Harry stopped by Malfoy Manor, he was allowed inside without discussion.

"So it's official, then," Malfoy said resignedly. "I'm stuck with you."

"I meant it when I said no one else wanted the job," Harry replied as they walked toward the drawing room.

He noticed for the first time that their strides matched, long and steady. He saw Malfoy surreptitiously glance at him out of the corner of his eye, then scowl, and knew the blond had realised the same thing. Harry didn't think they'd ever walked side by side like this before.

The thought amused him. It was strange, really. Malfoy could still infuriate him, but the edge of that anger was gone. He said or did things that left Harry feeling vaguely annoyed, even angry, but it never lasted long. And there was always that underlying gratitude and a sense that really, Malfoy couldn't hate him as much as he claimed to. He had, after all, saved his life. This soft amusement was maybe more frequent than the anger.

Malfoy would hate that. The thought made Harry smile.

Malfoy caught it, and his scowl deepened. "Well aren't we happy today," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Are you looking forward to going through my sock drawer in search of Dark Artefacts?"

"No thanks," Harry said. He let his smile fade to appease Malfoy. "I'll stay in the drawing room, if it's all the same for you."

"You're not very thorough about this whole probation thing," Malfoy observed as they sat down, facing each other across the low table. He kept his gaze low, not looking up at Harry, strands of white-blond hair falling across his forehead to shield his eyes.

"Shows how much you know," Harry said, leaning back into the chair. "Those spells are very advanced."

Malfoy's lips quirked up a fraction. "Admit it. You're just lazy."

"If I were lazy, Malfoy, I wouldn't even be here."

He'd meant it as a joke, but evidently Malfoy didn't find it funny. That ghost of a smile disappeared. "Do you know why I think you're here?"

Harry shrugged. Whatever it was, he was probably wrong.

"At first I thought it was revenge."

Malfoy kept saying things to that effect. Revenge, or hatred, or obsession, or a desire to ruin his life. As though there was no way that Harry simply wanted to help. But something made Harry sit up straighter.

"'At first'?" he repeated.

That small quirk of Malfoy's lips again, as though he meant to smile but was too tired to go through with it completely. "At first," he confirmed.

"And now?"

"Now I think you're quite deranged."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I should have seen that one coming."

"You hate me," Malfoy continued, his gaze still lowered. "You hate my family. And yet you're here, and it isn't even for revenge. So yes, you're crazy."

"You know why I'm here," Harry said, exasperated. "I'm here because you saved my life. This is my way of saying 'thank you' to you and your mother."

The smile stretched out a little. "You sure have a way of going about it, don't you? I assure you, Potter, a note would have sufficed."

"Notes don't get delivered in Azkaban," Harry said coldly, making the other man flinch. "Besides," he added in a softer tone, "I don't hate you."

This was true. If there was one thing the war had taught him, it was what hatred really was. That hot, pure, scorching hatred he had witnessed in Bellatrix and Voldemort had an intensity to it that he couldn't find in his feelings for Malfoy.

"Which doesn't mean you enjoy my company," Malfoy said. "Or I yours. You're submitting both of us to this torture willingly."

Harry shifted in his seat. "Torture?"

"You, me, one room. Torture."

He smiled. "It's not so bad."

"Maybe not for you."

It was unsettling, Harry thought, not to be able to see Malfoy's eyes. He couldn't tell what the other man was thinking.

"But I can't even use magic against you, so any argument we would get in would be pointless. And the only thing I'd willingly do with you is fight. So..."

"Is it really that bad?"

Harry's heart sank. If it wasn't hatred, then he didn't know how he felt about Malfoy. Was it pity? Merlin, no, he would hate that. Gratitude? Maybe. Admiration? No, it was none of that, really; just a great, big, confused mess. But he knew that some part of him didn't want Malfoy to feel tortured.

Some part of him thought Draco Malfoy deserved to be happy.

"Is your life worth that of dozens of others?" Kingsley had asked. Harry still didn't know the answer.

"Yeah, it is," Malfoy said, "but it could be worse. Though why you're not making this as bad as you can – and trust me, that's pretty bad – is beyond me."

"Beyond you?" Harry repeated in disbelief. "Are you serious? You know why."

Malfoy's reply was terse; Harry was sure his eyes were narrowed. He desperately wanted to see them.

"Yeah," Malfoy said. "I suppose I do. Listen, Potter. Let me set things straight for you. I don't like you. Never did, never will. So get rid of these delusions you've been harbouring. I didn't save you because I desperately wanted you to live or anything."

"Then why?" Harry asked. "Tell me. I want to know why you did it, Malfoy."

"Truthfully? I don't know." Malfoy still didn't look him in the eye; his voice was hard but quiet. "Blame it on temporary insanity. I didn't want to. If I had stopped for a split second to think about what I was doing, I wouldn't have done it. But I didn't think."

"That doesn't make any sense," Harry said softly.

Because I looked at you. I looked straight at you before you did it. I saw you. You looked...

Desperate. Malfoy had seemed desperate.

"Is it really so hard for you to believe that I didn't do it out of the goodness of my heart, Potter? Because I didn't. Get this through your head, will you? I'm not like you. I didn't do it out of bravery, or trust, or because I wanted to save your life." The words spilled out of him quickly, still in that hard tone; it would have sounded aggressive if he had actually been looking at Harry. "It was the most stupid, reckless thing I've ever done and I don't think there's anything you or anyone else could do or say to make me do anything like it again."

"Yeah?" Harry said. "You really think so?

Malfoy's tone was flat. "That was not a challenge."

"We'll see."

"You will," Malfoy said. "Slytherins don't do reckless, Potter. It's called cunning."

"Cunning flew out the window when you had that very... brave moment where you threw yourself in front of your Dark Lord and saved my life."

Malfoy's head snapped up, eyes flashing; it was so sudden that Harry leaned back, startled.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome, Potter."

"What, are you going to throw me out? I reckon the Ministry will have something to say about that."

"You know I can't 'throw you out,'" Malfoy said through a clenched jaw. "I'm only saying that you should get your arse out of that chair and do your Auror stuff. This isn't a friends' reunion, you know."

"I have the right to ask you questions."

"Only those relevant to our case or our probation, such as what I did yesterday, or if my parents have left the house recently. Which they haven't."

"I know," Harry said. "We've placed wards around the Manor. They haven't been out since they returned home. Are they all right?"

"Not relevant." Malfoy's tone had an edge of steel to it. "Try again."

"All right," Harry conceded. "What did you do yesterday?"

Malfoy paused for a moment, as though surprised. Again he lowered his chin, his eyelids drooping to hide his eyes. "I stayed at home and did more or less nothing."

Harry frowned, unsettled by the sudden change. "You had to be doing something."

"Why?"

"Because you're not imprisoned, Malfoy. You have your house. A library. The grounds. You can leave the house. You're practically free. It's not prison. You should take advantage of that."

"Are you telling me what to do? I mean, is that an order from the Auror Office?"

"Of course not. Godric, Malfoy, I'm just –"

"Then I'll do what I want," Malfoy said. "You say I have my house. You say I can go anywhere I want. But I can only do that because the Ministry allows me to. And if I do leave, the wards will inform you, and the next time you come you'll probably ask me where I went. Do you see? It's like my own house doesn't belong to me anymore. It serves you, now. The rights I have – they're not real rights. It's hardly any better than prison."

Harry was silent for a moment. Was that how Malfoy felt? "I'm sorry."

"What for? It's not your fault. Of course, the fact that it's you isn't helping anything, but it's not your fault it's like this."

"Yeah, it is."

Malfoy said nothing.

"I could..." Harry paused, then had a sudden surge of inspiration. "Malfoy," he said, "would it change anything – would it be any better if I swore not to ask you where you'd gone if you left the house?"

Malfoy started, and again his eyes snapped to Harry's, but only for a brief moment before he looked away again. "What?" His expression was one of surprise, but behind that, Harry caught a glimpse of sudden, fleeting hope despite his tightly controlled tone. "Why would you do that?"

"Because," Harry said, "even if you don't want to be a hero – and believe me, I completely understand that –, you still saved my life. I owe your family, Malfoy. I want to make this easier for you."

Something flickered in Malfoy's expression at the words 'I owe your family.' He scowled. "You don't owe us anything, Potter."

"Do you remember our first year?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Why?"

"Do you remember, on the train, when you asked me to be your friend?"

Malfoy didn't answer, but he pressed his lips together into a thin line.

"What do you think would have happened if I had said yes?" Harry asked. He'd thought about it more than once over the years. Many times he had thought it would never have worked out. But sometimes, on those days when he had a little more faith in humanity than usual, his dreams would take him elsewhere.

"Why are you thinking about that now?"

"Because I feel like I understand you," Harry said, looking straight at Malfoy. He knew the blond could feel his gaze even if he refused to look up. "About me not owing you, about your freedom, and not wanting to be seen as a hero – because you could, you know, if you wanted to, even if you think it's stupid. It all sounds like something I would say, if I were in your place. I feel as if..." As if someone is echoing my own thoughts back to me.

The look on Malfoy's face was hard to read, made even more inscrutable by the fact that Harry couldn't see his eyes clearly. Surprise, confusion, and distaste warred in his expression, and he said nothing for a few moments. Then: "Shouldn't you be checking for dark magic or something?"

Harry suppressed a sigh and stood up slowly. "You can't evade me forever, Malfoy. We'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Malfoy didn't reply, and Harry closed his eyes to concentrate. He cast the first spell, listening to it, paying attention to the feeling that spread throughout his body. At first glance, so to speak, nothing seemed amiss as he projected himself throughout the various rooms of the Manor. He stopped the spell, hesitated, then muttered something else.

"Homenum revelio... Malfoy," he said, opening his eyes, "Your parents are in the next room. Why can't I talk to them?"

Malfoy started. "What did you just do?"

"Answer me," Harry said. "Are you trying to hide them or something?"

"I'm not hiding anything, Potter."

"You're lying."

"Oh, that's rich. What, aren't your spells effective enough? Can't you tell I haven't hidden anything?"

"I could. You know I'm allowed to use Veritaserum on you."

Malfoy's entire body tensed; his hands curled into fists. "What happened to owing us?"

"If you're not completely honest with me, then how do you expect me to –"

"I don't expect you to do anything! I never asked for your help – or your pathetic attempt at helping, I should say, because let me tell you, it's not working!"

"Will you just tell me –"

"No! No, I won't, because it's none of your bloody business!"

"It is my business. I still haven't seen them, not once, since the trial. It's my job. It's the law."

"They have nothing to say to you."

Harry changed his tack. "I'd like to speak to your mother, at least. To thank her. I'm glad she didn't end up in prison."

Malfoy gave him a strange look. "I'll pass it along."

It was obvious he wouldn't. Harry felt a spark of anger rise in him, hot and fierce.

"I could go over there right now," he said, his tone hard. "I could talk to them, and you couldn't do anything to stop me."

Malfoy looked up then, eyes flashing. "Try me."

"What are you going to do, talk me out of it?" Harry knew he was being unreasonable, but Malfoy had always had a gift for infuriating him. "I'd like to see you try. Go ahead, give it your best shot."

He turned on his heel and started heading for the door. In a flash, Malfoy was on his feet, barring the way, glaring at Harry. His wand was pointed straight at the trainee Auror's chest.

"I told you you would talk to them when I said you could," he growled. "And not a moment earlier. They're not ready."

Ready for what? Harry wondered.

"That's not your decision to make," he said. "Hey, does that wand still work well for you?"

Something like anger contorted Malfoy's features. "Fuck you."

"I was just wondering," Harry said conversationally. "Since I won it from you, I wondered whether you'd still be able to use –"

"Spiculum!"

Harry's reflexes allowed him to draw his own wand as Malfoy screamed out the incantation for the Stinging Hex, but he wasn't fast enough to cast a Shield Charm before the hex hit him. Or rather, hit his wand.

The jet of white light emitted from Malfoy's wand struck Harry's, almost jerking it out of his hand, and with a powerful, almost blinding flash of golden light, it... vanished. Just like that. Harry's anger fell like a dropped stone when he saw Malfoy's expression go from fury, to shock, to horror as he realised that the hex hadn't even touched Harry.

Because Malfoy's wand was still loyal to Harry.

Malfoy stepped back, letting his hand drop to his side, and looked down at the floor again. "Take it back," he said, not looking at Harry.

"Malfoy –"

"Take it back!"

Harry did, reaching over to pluck the wand from Draco's fingers. A wave of shame washed over him. "I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"Like hell you are." Malfoy still wasn't looking at him. "So, what now? How does this go? Do you take us to Azkaban, or do you have to call in a special team from the Ministry for that?"

"What are you talking about?"

Malfoy looked up, his eyes empty. "I broke the contract. The bond terms. Whatever you want to call it. I broke it when I used magic against you. So now we get locked up again."

Despite his efforts to sound calm, there was something terribly raw and guilty about Malfoy's tone. He had, in a single burst of anger – one that hadn't even been constructive –, condemned his family.

The words spilled from Harry's mouth before he could think them through. "You're not going back to Azkaban, Malfoy. It's not like this is the first time you've broken the contract – I haven't even talked to your parents yet. This is nothing."

Malfoy shot him an incredulous look. "I attacked you."

Yes, he had, and Harry realised that some part of him had almost – almost enjoyed it. Reveled in it. He had felt exhilarated by the aggression, and it was enough to give him pause and make him wonder – was all he'd wanted since the end of the war for someone to not treat him differently? That curl of his lips when he sneered, the disdain dripping from his tone when he said "Potter" (not Harry or The Chosen One or The Saviour unless he was mocking him) – they meant so much to Harry that he wondered just how fucked up he was. Some days it seemed like Malfoy was the only one who could give him this – this disrespect, this challenge, this intense, honest dislike based on who he really was, not what he'd done or what he stood for.

"Well, I sort of deserved it." And he had. He'd taunted and pushed Malfoy too far. A part of him had probably wanted this to happen.

"That's not how it goes, Potter. It's not about deserving. I –"

"Do you want to go back there?"

"Of course not."

"Then shut up and forget about this. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

Something flickered in Malfoy's expression. His eyes slid down to the pocket his wand was concealed in, then back up to Harry's face.

"It never happened," he repeated.

"No. It didn't."

"Why are you doing this, Potter?"

"Because," Harry said. "Whatever you may think, you're not a bad person."

Malfoy gritted his teeth but said nothing, and when Harry left ten minutes later, he couldn't shake the distinct impression that Malfoy was hiding something. Several things, in fact. It wasn't just his parents, but also the way he hadn't quite been able to meet Harry's eyes at first, and the sudden flash of anger – Harry was certain that it wasn't a common occurrence for Malfoy to lose his temper like that, risk everything for a stupid emotion. Something was up.

"Truthfully? I don't know," he had said.

For a Slytherin, Malfoy wasn't a very good liar.