Author's Note: Woo chapter two. Thanks for all reviews and watchers, seeing the notices in my mailbox makes me tingle with joy :3

On an unrelated note, woo Dragon Age. Playing a city elf. So far, my dialogue has either been, "Why don't we talk this out" or "DIE BCH DIE". Both always lead to violence, so I'm not really getting the point of having a choice in words anyways. Other than that, tactics and I are not getting along. Not having too much fun, though. I hate having the inability to jump.

It was a mini-Malfoy, alright.

The boy's face was just as sharp as his father's, if not sharper. Blond hair, gray eyes, and the memorable scorn of daddy. At the moment, Harry could have define him as probably one of the most unhappiest campers he had ever faced in his life.

Perhaps Harry should have shut the door right about then, do up all three brass locks and slipped back under the blankets. Maybe even crawled up the stairs and gone to bed – the situation sapped away the miniscule amount of energy he had left. Sure, it was immature, and not a lot of people would say it was a good choice in action. But Harry was sure some could understand, like Ron. Hell, Ron would support it whole-heartedly. Ron was a good friend alright, and if he were to be condemned to a deserted island as punishment, he could at least take Ron with him, right?

Instead, holding the door open kindly, Harry nodded mindlessly to the request, accepting papers he would have otherwise trashed, saying goodbye to the worker, and calling down Ginny.

Together, they stood at the door, staring at the boy. Then Ginny stared at Harry, as Harry stared at the boy. Then... crack.

"Ow, what'd you do that for?"

"Don't just stand there staring, Harry, let the poor thing in."

Poor my bum, Harry thought. The kid probably had enough family wealth to purchase an entire country – perhaps even a continent. Not that he ever kept tabs on the I'm-Richer-Than-You'll-Ever-Be Malfoy funds. Hell, he hadn't even seen hide nor hair of any Malfoy since his years at Hogwarts. And, as powerful as he was within the Ministry, he had no strings to string into peeking in on the Malfoy Enough-to-Conquer-Earth-And-Sun savings account. Not that he ever had enough care to try, though. He used up enough time monitoring his own heritage funds (which wasn't anything to downsize), let alone someone else's. Sure, that time was probably less than an hour a month, but watching money grow was just as exciting as watching paint dry.

"Well, come in, then," Harry said to the kid, standing aside, "No need to stand outside, you'll wear out the welcome on the mat."

The boy didn't budge a penny; the only motion was the act of crossing arms. If Ginny wasn't in the way of the door, Harry could have just shut it and turned around. Hell, Ginny looked like she would have just shut it herself, if Harry wasn't standing in the way as well.

But Harry had already agreed to house the... thing. So, today, the shutting of the door in anyone's face wasn't going to happen under his roof. Unless it was in his face. Harry could see himself living on the lawn for a week.

Harry's attitude towards the Malfoy wasn't due to some low tolerance for children; he had a house full of his own. But the sudden appearance of this kid, on a day that was supposed to be a perfect day, was a stretch. Sure, he was all about not judging others based on their heritage. However, the kid looked like an exact replica of his father, his scowl bad enough to shut a mandragora up. The kid's attitude wasn't helping either.

Ginny, seeing no progress in standing and staring, scooted Harry from where he stood, motioning towards the kid, "Come in, come in. Do you like tea? We've got a fresh pot and some scones if you like. We can brew up some hot chocolate, even. Do you like hot chocolate?"

This was enough to move the once-unmovable boy; the Malfoy child left his seemingly permanent placement in front of the door to enter the house.

Led in with kind (albeit, barely effective) words, Harry watched the kid being sat on his couch, on top of his blankets, back against his pillows. Ginny offered the kid Harry's still untouched cup of tea, but gratefully, he refused, pulling his feet onto the couch cushions (Harry's couch cushions, if the man could say).

As Ginny walked past, Harry reached to accept his cup of tea, but she ignored him. Instead, she dumped it down the kitchen sink, refilled it with warm water, and added hot chocolate. Harry didn't even question if Ginny knew the cup was still in use – for God's sake, it was the World's Best Dad cup. No one in the entire household besides Harry got to use the World's Best Dad cup. When she dumped out Harry's tea, it was clear that she also wasn't a happy camper – no one was at this point anymore.

Who even drinks hot chocolate in summer, anyways?

Footnote: Thanks for reading! Leave me some comments, I have so much fun reading them~