Naturally, it's Narcissa Malfoy that is the first among them to recover. She steps out from behind her son in a whisper of black silk, her skirts rustling as she moves into view.

"Mr. Potter," she says, casual as you please, her right hand slipping atop Malfoy's with a gentle nudge. Malfoy drops his arm a second later. "What an unexpected surprise." Her voice is crisp and breathless, with a hint of wariness around the edges. "I wasn't aware of a scheduled Auror visit, or have we reverted back to impromptu inspections? Although I must say, even on those visits we said our greetings at the front door."

Her words are so painstakingly polite, so devoid of scorn, yet somehow her calm smile makes him feel like a Crup who's shit on her favorite rug. His spine snaps straight, lest she chide him for slouching in her presence.

Harry gives her a formal bow, one he's worked hard to perfect in the past few years, along with the rest of his carriage. He's found that formality and confidence work wonders outside the bedroom as well. "My sincerest apologies for the intrusion, Mrs. Malfoy. I can assure you my presence has nothing to do with the Auror department or your terms with the Ministry." He straightens and offers her a deprecating smile. "I resigned my post two days ago. I am no longer an Auror."

"Then how the bloody fucking hell did you get through the wards, Potter?" Malfoy's voice is a barely controlled growl.

His mother's face scowls as she snaps at him, "Language, Draco."

Malfoy looks only slightly chastised as he shoots Harry a glare and huffs off to plop in a chair near the fireplace, bare feet stomping the whole way.

Mrs. Malfoy gestures to the over-stuffed sofa. "Please, do sit down."

Harry does as she asks without really thinking about why, because it's suddenly hit him again that he's in a sitting room at Malfoy Manor. With Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy's bare feet. Sitting is suddenly imperative.

He's barely sunk down into the soft cushions when a house-elf pops in, her long ears festooned with large, bright yellow bows, as if she was instructed to appear the moment a guest's arse hit the upholstery.

"Miss Cissa is needing tea for her guest?" The house-elf curtsies with a flair. The frothy ruffles on her equally yellow dress bob with her movement. Harry tamps down the urge to smile at the ridiculous sight she presents.

"Yes, Blinky, tea would be lovely. Thank you."

Harry catches Malfoy's eye over Blinky and her garish yellow ensemble as she pops back in to set up her tea cart, and he wants to grin, by Merlin, does he want to grin, because Malfoy's face is priceless. Blinky and her voluminous clothing are outlandish even by the strangest of house-elf standards, Harry knows that. And he knows Malfoy does, too. But the stubborn git can't be relaxed about it. Malfoy's mother has a fond expression on her face as Blinky does her due diligence, pouring tea and doling out finger sandwiches with the happiest of aplomb, all the while flipping those outrageous ruffles around. She swings by him so fast to place a tea cup in his hand that one of those massive bows nearly smacks him in the face. It's so utterly laughable, and yet Malfoy sits in his chair, lips pinched together, with his chin so high Harry wonders if it's going to permanently strain his neck, completely unwilling to crack the tiniest of smiles. Malfoy's whole posture screams 'so what if the house-elf is barmy – fuck off'. If Malfoy's testament to maintain control wasn't so admirable, Harry would burst out laughing on the spot.

"Now," Mrs. Malfoy says, after taking a delicate sip of her tea, "why don't you start at the beginning and tell us why exactly you're here, Mr. Potter."

Harry takes a tentative sip from his teacup, deciding how to explain the situation, especially since he's not really sure himself what happened. "I don't know," he says with a rueful, but respectful smile. After all, he did end up arse over tit on her sitting room rug. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me, but honestly, I can't be surprised by all the strange things that happen to me anymore."

"Yes," she replies, "you've led an interesting life so far, I'd say."

Malfoy tuts from his chair. "'Interesting' is a mild way of putting it, Mother."

Harry puts his teacup down and shrugs. "I've learned to take things in stride these days."

Mrs. Malfoy glances from her son, who suddenly finds the ceiling extremely interesting, back to Harry. "What were the exact circumstances before you Apparated?"

Harry nestles back into the sofa, spreading an arm across the back to get more comfortable. Malfoy's eyes track every smooth movement. "I'd just left the pub after meeting Ron and Hermione. I was outside, on the street, putting my jacket on, and a swath of reporters was there to hound me. That in itself isn't strange, but after my conversation with Ron and Hermione, I was in no mood to deal with them. I got frustrated, wished I could be someplace else, and *poof*," he gestures, "I ended up on your floor." Mrs. Malfoy shoots her gaze to the spot on the rug where he'd appeared, a small frown tugging at her lips. "If I've damaged your rug, I'll gladly pay for repairs. My apologies."

Her hand waves dismissively in the air. "I'm not concerned about the rug, Mr. Potter. What troubles me is how you ended up here with no clear destination in mind. You could have ended up anywhere."

"Well," he adds, "I did sort of have a destination. The meeting with my friends didn't go well, and I was in a rotten state of mind. Then the reporters started shouting from the end of the street, and I knew they would follow if I ran. I was thinking that I just needed some space, some time to deal with…certain difficulties in my life right now. I wanted some peace. I think I called 'sanctuary', and the next thing I know, I'm here."

Narcissa Malfoy looks absolutely gob smacked. It's an interesting expression on her regal face. One that quite doesn't belong. Her voice quavers as she speaks. "Sanct—you called for 'sanctuary' specifically?"

Harry nods. "Yes, I think so." He thinks back on it, and shakes his head more rapidly. "Yes, that's it, I'm sure. 'Sanctuary'."

"Well," she breathes into the air. "That certainly is telling."

Malfoy pops upright in his chair. "Telling? What's so telling about Potter here popping into places he doesn't belong? Merlin knows he's done enough of that for a lifetime. He probably pops round to places all the time. It's Monday? How about the Ministry fountains? Thursday? Isn't Wales horrible this time of year? Easter Sunday? Why don't I just come back from the dead like Jesus bloody Christ?"

The plates on the tea cart rattle with a surge of Harry's irritated magic as Malfoy's mother snaps, "Draco! That was uncalled for!"

Malfoy's face goes ashen at Harry's little display of untapped power, either that, or his mother's bite has more sting than he realizes.

Harry raises a hand, taking great care to look Malfoy in the eye. "It's alright. I know this is an awful surprise for you both. I'm probably the last person you ever expected to see again."

Malfoy swallows, but says nothing in kind.

Mrs. Malfoy frowns at Malfoy again, hard and cutting, before softening her features for Harry. "There isn't much I can think of that would cause this sort of thing to happen, other than two things."

"Which are?" Harry leans forward. Narcissa Malfoy is one smart witch, and any insight she might have might as well be coming from Hermione Granger-Weasley, he's fairly certain.

"One, your magic brought you here, recognizing your innate need without you even knowing what it is, or…two—"

"Two?"

The Malfoy matriarch's face is resolute. That makes Harry's heart skip a beat in his chest.

"Or two, Mr. Potter, the Manor itself brought you to us."