It's the male Weasel who greets me as I dump all my stuff on the floor in the entryway. And by 'greets me' I mean, 'gives me the look of death, and kicks over one of my bags completely on purpose before heading back to the kitchen'. Same difference, really.

At least Walburga has a warm welcome for me, and a few extra tips on torturing the blood traitors she keeps seeing trying to escape. That helps me feel better.

I head upstairs, eternally thankful that I've managed to avoid Potter. And tomorrow, I'll be out of here for good, and I won't have to deal with it again. And if he tries to talk to me at work, I'll tell him off for being unprofessional, and walk away. Problem solved.

Now there's nothing left to do but go to bed, and sleep overtakes me easily, but I have nasty dreams. The anxious kind, where you're waiting, and you're late, and you're lost all at the same time. I am at St. Mungo's and it turns out You-Know-Who is my Doctor, and I feel his icy stare piercing me and getting inside my head, telling me I'm a fraud, and a traitor, and he has a huge needle filled with green serum and he says, "Avada Kedavra"...

The next morning, I'm once again awoken by a banging on the door. "Harry if you're in here, I swear I'm disowning you-" Says Weasley, as he barges in, hands over his eyes.

"Good morning to you too." I drawl, slightly croaky. I sit up and put my slippers on. I feel much better rested this morning, still a little sore, but at least I'm not in danger of hexing Weasley's toes off.

I start fixing my hair, and Weasley becomes brave enough to peep through his fingers. "Harry's not here?"

"No, he's not." I want to make a scathing remark about stating the obvious, but a tuft of my hair has gone wild overnight, so I have more important things to worry about.

"Well, where is he then?" Weasley prompts, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I didn't see him come home last night."

I shrug. "That sounds like the business of his best friend, not the business of a random co-worker who happens to be kipping in his house."

"Oh come off it, Malfoy. You two are the most sickening lovebirds I've ever seen. The least you could do is tell me where he is. I need to talk to him."

I roll my eyes, and push past him through to the hallway. This hair issue can only be fixed by a hot shower. "Sounds like your problem, not mine."

I close the bathroom door behind me with a creak and a loud thud, and lean on the door. Potter better not be missing. Not that I care. I mean, I just saw him yesterday, so he can't have gone far. He's probably just in hiding. I know I would be, if I was him.

So I shower, dress, and head to the Estate Agents. Dave's still not in, but his secretary does have the keys, and another piece of parchment to sign.

"Not now," she snaps, as I reach for a quill. "Inspect your place, write your report here, sign it, and owl it back by next Sunday."

"Right." I say, rolling up the parchment casually, and trying to pretend that I know all about this renting business. "Good day to you."

I almost skip out of there, and as soon as I get to my new flat - which apparently used to be something called a church, and it's quite nice, on the outside. A short wall surrounds the whole thing, with a strong wrought iron gate, it has flowers leading up to the front steps, and ivy climbing the building. There are large wooden double doors to get into a communal entryway, then it's up the stairs to my flat.

My flat. I feel a tingle of pride as I struggle with the heavy metal key and the rusty lock. When I wrestle the door open, I'm greeted by the victory-smells of old lady, cat, and a million doilies.

But I don't care. I cast the most powerful Scourgify I've ever performed in my life. I suppose it makes a big difference when one is motivated to clean, as the spell helps quite a lot. And then I make my way around, Banishing every single doily as savagely as I can. I picture their fluffy little screams as they go to doily hell, and it really helps cheer me up.

My owl arrives shortly after, with a mouse to snack on, and I let him in and conjure him a perch to sleep on.

After the place is entirely stripped of anything resembling a knick, a knack, anything frilly, and anything remotely decorative, it doesn't look half bad. Liveable, anyway. Better than Grimmauld Place.

It doesn't take long to unpack - it's literally putting away the clothes I just bought yesterday, and afterwards, I light the fire, and lean back in the wingback chair closest to the fireplace. I make a mental note that I will need spellbooks to read, parchments, quills and inks to write with, and probably food to eat. Maybe I should go back to Diagon Alley, for the umpteenth time this week…

But the next thing I know, I'm back in Hogwarts, in my bed, and I can't move a muscle. Vanessa slips between the curtains and straddles me, but I can't move to throw her off. She leans over and begins whispering in my ear. I can't fully make out what she's saying, but I hear, "Manhattan will fall… Not even the great Harry Potter can save them… thanks to you…"

I wake up with a start, and a pounding head. The fire is dying and I'm parched. I conjure a glass and take a sip of water, trying to dislodge the dream from where it has settled my chest. What if protecting Vanessa does have further consequences than just a little white lie? What if, by standing in Potter's way, I cause a bigger catastrophe for the Americans than You-Know-Who ever could over here?

No, I'm being dramatic. It's just a dream. A guilt-dream, and not my first. I'm sure if this does have anything to do with the Americans, they have people to handle it themselves.

That night in bed is more of the same, dreams that I've done something terrible and can't go back and fix it, or that I'm about to do something terrible and can't even talk sense into myself. I toss and turn for about half the night, and wake up exhausted when my wand alarm goes off.

I have to force myself to even go to work today. I dread seeing Potter, I dread seeing other Aurors, all of whom could be Vanessa's guilty accomplice. They could know that I know where she's hiding, and they could easily rat me out.

But I've already made my choice. If I'm dropped from the training programme now, all this will have been for nothing. I still need to repair the Malfoy name - I'm the one that will have to live with it for the next hundred-odd years.

So I Floo to the Ministry, using some old powder left behind on the fireplace. I'm sure it was 90% dust and 10% Floo, but it got the job done.

There's a flurry of Aurors at the office, and us trainees - only about ten of us left - look around, wondering what to do.

"- Seen since lunchtime yesterday, according to my sources -"

"- Can someone bring Weasley up here? Where is he, anyway?"

"- Hasn't Malfoy been questioned yet?"

I start to step back, but Michael Whateverhisnameis grabs me by my upper arm. "Excuse me, you were looking for Malfoy?"

I wrench free, and dust off my sleeve. "Excuse you indeed."

"Malfoy, have you seen Harry?" Says Auror Fletcher.

I shake my head. "Not since Saturday."

"Well, we can't find him. Come with us, we're establishing a timeline."

A timeline? What on earth is a timeline? I follow them through to a spare office, where parchment is laid out, photos have been stuck it it, and maps and lists have been scribbled on it.

"So, the day before yesterday, Mrs. Granger said she saw Harry at breakfast. Ron said he saw Harry with you, just after lunch that same day. That puts you as the last person he saw, so far, can you tell us anything about where he might have gone, or who he might have seen since then?"

"Erm, not really." I say, shock preventing me from fully experiencing what's going on. "We played Quidditch until about two, then I left. He was still at his house. I didn't even know he had gone, until people kept asking me where he was."

"Who asked you?" Asks Fletcher, taking frantic notes, then writing '2pm' on a picture of Grimmauld Place, under the words 'breakfast' and 'lunch - ?'

"Well, Ginny Weasley, later that afternoon. Then Ron Weasley asked me, yesterday morning."

"Did he seem upset, or tell you anything, when you saw him last?" Fletcher prompts.

"Maybe a little upset," I venture, dreading this whole conversation. "He was having relationship issues."

"With you? Or with Ginny?" Pipes in an Auror from the back. Dixon.

"Oh, no. I mean, neither… It's complicated." I finish, lamely.

I hear Dixon whispering something about 'a jealous rage' to his companion, and I'm about to demand what on earth he's talking about, when Shacklebolt barges in.

I repeat everything I just said to Shacklebolt, and he looks at me with a serious frown. "Malfoy, I hate to ask this, believe me. But, we need to establish your whereabouts, between the time Harry went missing, and now."

The realisation hits me in the stomach. I'm the prime suspect. "Wait a minute-" I begin.

"I'm sorry. This has nothing to do with your performance as an Auror trainee, or your… past. It's just a formality, since you were the last one to see him." Shacklebolt explains, and it's bullshit. It's all bullshit. The only reason they trusted me was because Potter forced them to, and now he's gone, I'm not protected any more.

So I explain the Quidditch match, that apparently no one else in Grimmauld Place witnessed, and then I explained that I left, and everything I got up to after that, including giving out Dave's card, my receipts, and my new address, which I was hoping to keep private. But let them search it. I have nothing to hide.

Except, obviously, the whole truth. When I'm finally left alone for a second, I try to rally my thoughts. I really, really hope this is one of those extended nightmares from last night. Or that Potter has just gone on a post-rejection bender and he's passed out in someone else's bed with a raging hangover.

But I should check out the Manor, just to be sure that this isn't all my fault. My stomach drops at the idea of him being held captive there by Vanessa and my parents. Because of me. Because I lied to protect them even after they betrayed me.

The Aurors all want to keep an eye on me, and I don't get a minute to slip out, until they get too busy and send in other trainees to cover me. They send in Michael, and Finnegan. Yes, they're bigger and more imposing than me, but not the brightest candles in the chandelier. I tell them I need to use the facilities, and I'll be right back.

I take the stairs down to the Atrium, and take the lift from there to the visitor's entrance. I am pretty sure they would have closed the Floo at the Manor, so I Apparate just beyond the gates.

Practically tip toeing to the front door, I attempt to sneak in, knowing that my father's wards have already alerted him to my presence. My heart is hammering. They wouldn't use the Killing Curse on their own son. They just wouldn't. But Vanessa might.

So I scurry across the entryway and check the dining room, kitchen, drawing room and parlour. Maybe no one is home? I continue on upstairs, and check my room, the Guest Wing, Mother's office, Father's office, and the unused rooms in the North Wing.

It's starting to really seem like no one's home. Which worries me. Someone's always home. I even check the dungeons, just in case.

After a thorough search which takes a good forty-five minutes, a Homenum Revelio Charm, and calling out Mother about five million times, I finally determine that no one's here. Their clothes are gone from their wardrobes, and their cloaks are gone from the entryway coat rack.

Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that they've gone to Manhattan? And why am I filled with the rising panic that they have taken Potter with them, against his wishes?

I curse myself for not telling him that my parents were getting themselves caught up in something dangerous. I curse him for being foolhardy enough to come here. What was he doing? Was he suspicious? Was he looking for me? Oh Merlin, did he get here and think I had set a trap for him?

I'm starting to feel like I'm in way over my head right now, and I really wish I had a trusted sidekick to figure out a plan. Maybe I should just go to Shacklebolt and admit everything. I picture him having a way to get us to Manhattan in no time, and I picture us bursting in to rescue Potter and apprehend Vanessa. But then, more realistically I picture myself sitting in Azkaban whilst Potter thinks it's all my fault, and the Aurors run to the rescue and get all the credit.

Even though it is all my fault. And really, what else do I deserve? I didn't want to change, but then I thought I had changed, but now I realise maybe I can't change. Even when I try to do the right thing, it's still the wrong thing.