The next thing I know, a really far-off knocking sound is waking me up, as if it's dragging me from deep, deep under water. My muscles are uncooperative and it takes me a long time to even open my eyes.

"Malfoy? Are you in there? Malfoy?"

I wait for the knocking to stop so I can go back to sleep. But Potter bursts in, wand out and ready to fight. "Malfoy, are you okay?"

"G'way." I manage, and roll over. I hear his wand hand drop and hit his thigh, and he sighs with what sounds like relief.

"Alright, come on, it's breakfast time." Potter says, voice suddenly cheery, but still checking behind my curtains for threats. He pulls them wide open and the morning sun burns my entire face off.

So I get up, eyes still mostly closed, and try to straighten my clothes. My robe got wrapped around me about six times, but I have no recollection of moving a muscle last night. I discard it angrily and follow Potter downstairs, hating the universe.

Weasley and Granger are in the kitchen, but Weasley scrapes his chair back noisily and makes a point of leaving immediately. Granger gives me a weak smile. I ignore them both.

I sit down in front of the coffee and let Granger and Potter make pleasantries. On my third cup, I'm starting to feel a little better.

"So what are your plans for today, Draco?" Granger asks cheerily, tripping on saying my first name.

"That's absolutely none of your business, Granger." I say, matching her bright tone, but injecting heavy sarcasm. I pick up the paper and block her face with it, while looking at the classifieds.

I hear a little whispering war between those two for a minute, with Granger telling Potter to tell me that I shouldn't be rude, but Potter telling her that he's already told me a thousand times, and what do you expect him to do about it?

I smirk to myself. And then I spot the 'rentals' listing in the classifieds, and start skimming it over. There's a couple of agents who seem to do most of the listings, one works in Diagon Alley, and one somewhere in Yorkshire. I decide I might as well visit Diagon Alley, since I'll need supplies, clothes, and food if I'm not just going to live off Potter's handouts.

After one last favour, that is. "Potter, I need to borrow your owl. I have some correspondence to take care of."

"I don't have an owl, she died." Potter says, eyebrows furrowing in pain. "I've been using Ron's."

I almost want to apologise, but it's not like his leg fell off. It was just an owl. So I settle with reshuffling the paper. "Fine. I'll go to the Post Office… Can I borrow some money?"

Heading out into the chilly autumn air wearing nothing but trousers, a dress shirt and what is possibly my thinnest set of robes, I Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron and make my way straight through, and don't stop until I get to the Post Office. It smells like birdshit in here, but at least it's warm.

I hastily write my letter, trying to stay neutral and not put anything that I can't take back later. Like how much of a foul backstabber they both are, and how much I hope Vanessa is enjoying sleeping in my bed.

Dear Mother,

I am trying my best to be a good Malfoy, but it seems I have failed yet again. I will not divulge your secrets, but I will not be part of them either. Please forward me my Gringott's key, send it with my owl, and I shall write home again presently.

D x

Waiting in line is torture. The average age of the witches and wizards at this post office is approximately a billion years old. So everyone moves as slowly as possible.

It takes a good twenty minutes to get to the front of the line. Potter gave me just enough for delivery with the cheapest, slowest, ugliest owl I've ever seen. And when I get back outside, it has started sleeting.

So I show up at the Wizarding Estate Agency wet, cold, and dishevelled. The secretary eyes me like a flobberworm that's a week past its expiration date, and pushes a button on her desk to call the Agent.

Thankfully, the Agent's eyes light up when he sees me. "Well hello Sir, my name is Dave Champs, welcome to the W.E.A.! How can I help you today?"

"Draco Malfoy." I say, shaking his hand. "I need a place to live."

"Well, let me show you a few places." Dave's smile is perma-bright, like he has his teeth whitened. And is that eyeliner?

Oh well, I suppose I can't exactly judge someone's looks right now, can I? I smooth my robes against my stomach, still a little sensitive about Potter's weight comment, and flick my hair out of my eyes.

The first place he takes me is Gringott's, and I am immediately worried that he'll want payment right away. As we walk up the steps, I hesitate. But then, if he demands payment up front, I will bluff and tell him he has to find me a decent place first. That's how it works, right?

"It's a little-known fact that Gringott's has the most gorgeous penthouse apartment above the offices, and you're lucky, it just recently became available. And just think of the security here! You can see for yourself…" I breathe a sigh of relief.

Instead of the main doors, he ushers me around the corner a little to a side door, which is just as solid and heavy as the original pair, but smaller and not facing the street. He pulls out his wand and mutters a password with his wand in the lock, and it unlocks with an expensive clunk.

It's about four flights up, and I try not to appear wheezing by the 2nd floor. He waits patiently for me to catch up, and opens the penthouse doors with a flourish.

I step inside, and it's amazing. The entryway is a long, wide corridor, with the kitchen off one side, the living area off the other, and bathrooms and bedrooms further down. Despite it being grey and sleeting out, in here it feels.. sunny.

"Pre-heated marble flooring throughout, nice tall ceilings, two bedrooms, master en-suite…" Dave is saying.

I look through and can't see anything wrong with the place at all. "Okay." I say. "I'll take it. When can I move in?"

"As soon as you like, just a few formalities" Dave says, his face pink and flushed with excitement. He conjures some paperwork, and leads me to the kitchen island countertop to sign it.

I give it a perfunctory glance. But at the bottom, I see the rent and deposit amount, totalling over 3200 galleons. And I'd have to pay 1800 galleons a month after that. My Auror training salary won't cover that. My savings will barely even cover the first month. Oh, Merlin. "Erm, Dave, I can't live here. I can't afford this!"

Dave's face drops. "What do you mean, Mr. Malfoy? Surely money is no object…?"

"Oh, money is most definitely an object." I say, the grey clouds returning. "You have to find me something much cheaper. Like, very much cheaper."

Dave tries to mask his disappointment and conjures a different bundle of parchment. He unrolls it and looks at the very bottom of the list. "Come on then, there's a place near here that might fit your… requirements a little better."

His huge smile and positive mannerisms have deflated now, as we head outside. I'm sure he slams the door behind him.

The next place he takes me is to is underneath a shop in Knockturn Alley. To get to it we have to go down a dark alley between two buildings, past the rubbish bins dotted all over, and down some wet, mossy steps. The front door is hanging off one of its hinges.

"Makes you miss the penthouse, doesn't it?" Dave says, with a savage grin.

I humph, and step inside. Sweet Merlin, it gets worse. It's a dank pit. I see smoke damage, and I can't even bring myself to go into the bathroom.

"I can't live here." I say, morbidly.

Dave practically rolls his eyes, as though I'm being a difficult customer.

The third place is outside London altogether, and surrounded by Muggles. It's not a bad flat, but I don't think I could be that close to a whole tribe of Muggles. It's not safe.

The fourth place is in WIltshire, so I say no before we even go in the door. Too close to my parents.

The fifth place looks like it was decorated by a million old ladies, who had contests to see who could fill every available surface with the most amount of gaudy crap. Little figurines, plates on the walls, doilies everywhere. I even spot a doily with another doily directly on top of it, and a knicknack on top of that.

When I say I'm not sure, Dave gives me his card and tells me he's going to lunch, and to get in touch if I ever make up my mind.

So, feeling defeated, and still with no money, belongings, or place to live, I head back to Grimmauld Place.

"Merlin's pants, Malfoy. You look like shit." Says Potter, by way of greeting, when I head down to the kitchen for something to eat. His face does register concern, but his tone is light.

I shoot him a glare. "That's the dragon calling the snake scaly."

Potter ignores my jibe. "Where have you been? I thought you had gone home."

"I have no home." I grumble, sitting across from him at the table. "And no dry socks."

"I'm awful at Drying Charms." Potter says apologetically. "But I have some clean clothes if you want to borrow them."

"I would rather walk about naked, thanks." I sneer, and pull off my wet robes, shoes and socks. My feet are like ice, so I prop them closer to the fire.

All the stresses of the day are somewhat relieved by the warmth radiating from the fireplace. Mother could still owl me, this afternoon. And maybe she'll send a few thousand galleons out of pity so I can rent a decent place.

"Do you want to go get some lunch?" Potter says, grinning broadly. "I'm starving."

I just got comfortable, but my stomach reminds me that I am, too. "Alright then. You're paying."

I do a feeble Drying Charm and put all my things back on. Potter suggests The Leaky Cauldron, and I don't argue, since we can Floo straight there, so I won't have to go back out in this weather.

We order at the bar, a couple of sandwiches and some crisps, and as Potter goes to find a table, I hastily add on a glass of Merlot and a firewhiskey before following.

Thankfully, he sits as close to the fire as we can get, and I plop down ungracefully with a big sigh.

"This whole working, paying-your-own-way business is dreadful, isn't it?" I say.

"Malfoy, you've been out of your parent's house for what, not even twenty four hours?" But the corners of his mouth are twitching.

"Well, that's all it takes to learn how dreadful it is." I say. "You should try it some time."

"Excuse me? I pay my own way all the time, always have!"

"You're living in an inherited house, Potter." I drawl. "It's tough out here in the real world you know, when the silver spoon is gone."

Potter rolls his eyes. "The amount I've been paying to keep that house from collapsing is more than rent, you're-welcome-very-much."

I realise I never actually did thank him for letting me stay. Not that he did me a favour or anything. He probably just did it because he has a thing for me. Which is fine, I'm not above using my charms to get my own way. And it's not bad, this whole being-fancied thing, is it? I mean once the shock wears off. I could get used to it. From someone else, I mean. Someone I actually liked.

When our food arrives, Potter raises his eyebrows at me when he sees the drinks. I raise mine back, and he downs his firewhiskey in one.

"Look, I don't want to pry…" Potter says, with a look on his face that says he very much does want to pry. "But what's happened at home? Have you been kicked out?"

"No." I say, over my Merlot. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine." Potter says, relaxing back in his chair. "Totally fine."

A weight of guilt settles in my stomach. If Potter knew that Vanessa was in my house, probably using my toilet paper right now, he'd put me right in Azkaban. If there was a way of telling him, but not telling the entire Auror department and Ministry of Magic, I would. Maybe.

But instead, I change the subject. "You know, I read somewhere once, about a way to remove a Permanent Sticking Charm."

"Oh yeah?" Potter leans forward. "That would be brilliant."

"All you have to do is take the whole wall down."

"Well that's the whole point, Malfoy. We've tried every spell imaginable to take that wall down - the Blasting Curse nearly knocked the whole roof off."

I shake my head and pick at some crisps. "Not with magic. Like a Muggle would."

Potter's head tips. "Interesting. And how do they do it?"

I shrug. "I don't know, you lived with them, not me. A large hammer, maybe?"

A light goes off behind Potter's eyes. "Or a drill!"

I don't know what that is. But I nod. "Exactly. It'd really open up your entryway, too, if it flowed straight to the parlour."

Potter looks at me. "Then that settles it, you can help too."

I let out a sigh. I knew he wouldn't let me stay there for free.

We order one more drink each for the road, drink it quickly, and start to head home. I do an impression of Snape that cracks Potter up, and we stumble into the entryway, Potter almost doubled over, so he crashes head first into Weasley.

"Oh, Ron, hi." Potter says, wiping his eyes behind his glasses and breathing heavily.

Weasley just glares and shoves past us. "Excuse me. Some of us have to go to work."

I let out an involuntary snort, and that sets Potter off in hysterics again, and Weasley slams the door behind him.

"You're horrid, Malfoy." Potter wheezes.

I try to catch my breath again. "I can't help it, it's too easy."

"Draco, is that you?" Comes a nasty voice from behind the curtain. "What are you doing? Are you cavorting with those blood traitors?"