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Part Two: Draco

Later, I would realize that it was pure coincidence that I ran into Harry that afternoon. Father was out for the day, and mother was off attending some charity fundraiser. We Malfoys must keep up appearances, after all. I'm sure she took with her a sizable chunk of our Gringotts account. The things we do to remain in good graces. Or, rather, the things we do to mask father's blunders.

The Dark Lord taxes his followers heavily, both in resources and time. Not to mention placing severe stress on their bodies with the Crucio this and Crucio that. Since necessity is the mother of invention, I predict (with reason, rather than Trelawny's utter idiocy) that within the next few years some imbecile Death Eater will follow in the path of Neville Longbottom and create a potions disaster. Unlike Longbottom of course, he may accidentally have created a potion that counteracts the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Oh never mind that. I must be delusional. I'll walk father's path, bearing the brunt of multiple Crucios and labouring under the command of a bald, ugly man with a name most people cringe to hear.

Voldemort.

There, I said it. It's not so hard. After all, with Potter having no problems with the word, I can't flinch while uttering it. Potter has bested me in Quidditch permanently, and I can't let him best me in all else! It's bad enough having that mudblood Granger excel in pretty much everything!

Back to Potter. The Golden Boy. Dumbledore's Favourite. Boy-Who-Lived. Mr. Oh-So-Perfect-Gryffindor. Triwizard Champion. Defeater of the Dark Lord Numerous Times.

Boy-Who-Fainted-At-My-Feet-as-I-Was-On-My-Way-Out-The-Doorstep.

Boy-Who-Clutched-A-Stained-Wallet-Reeking-Of-Blood-And-Sex.

I still can't believe I let him in. And I still can't figure out how he found his way to my house. It was supposed to be protected, with charms that blocked Muggles from seeing. Besides, the gargoyle was supposed to have alerted me as soon as someone passed the gates. But now was not the time for questions. I had an unconscious classmate at my feet, at my mercy, who just happened to be at the top of Voldemort's To-Practise-Crucio-Upon-And-Then-Avada-List.

Logic and all Slytherin traits dictated that I immediately hand Potter to Voldemort.

If anyone asks, I was not in my right mind.

Forgoing my Knockturn Alley trip, I lugged Potter in and up the expensive stairs and dumped him on my thousand-galleon bed. I'm by no means very strong, and expected quite a workout, but Potter surprised me completely with his frailness and slight frame. He looked rather malnourished. I brushed it off. What kind of wizarding family would starve Harry Potter?

I studied his prone form, sprawled across my silken green sheets, rumpled black hair sticking in all directions. To my surprise, I had no thoughts of receiving a great reward when I gave him up to Voldemort. I suppose I should mention that he was strangely dressed, wrapped in a towel, draped in a shirt about ten sizes too big.

What to do with him?

He smelled of sex. I wondered, but came up with no reasonable situations where he would end up like this. Well, first things first. I dragged him into the adjoining tiled bathroom, and dumped him in my tub, towel and all. Loosening a tap, I let warm water gush. Then I slapped Potter's face sharply. I was helping him, yes, but I was still his enemy.

Potter came awake with a start. The first thing out of his mouth was, "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He then seemed to register his surroundings, his emerald eyes locking onto mine. "When's Voldemort coming." It wasn't really a question at all. Rather, it was flat, as if he was trying not to reveal anything.

I frankly didn't know what to say. I myself wasn't really sure why I hadn't flooed father yet. He stared at me, waiting for an answer.

"He's not coming." I managed to force the words out. He looked at me, not believing.

"What." He gestured to the water, which had risen to knee level. "You trying to drown me or something?"

"You were filthy. The carpet cost thousands." I stood up, eager to avoid questions that I could not answer. "Wash the blood off. Come out when you're done."

His gaze followed me as I closed the door. I heard the click of the lock scarce moments later. Potter liked his privacy, I see.

Crossing the large room and sitting on my bed, I closed my eyes and envisioned my parents' schedule. Mother would be back at nine, in about three hours. Father may not come back at all, depending on his mood. Most likely, though, he would be home around midnight. Both of them loved isolation, especially father, so I would not be bothered except for a few meal calls. I could easily pretend I was sick and ask for a tray to be brought up. All in all, I had plenty of time.

The walls in Malfoy Manor are two inches thick as well, so as long as Potter didn't take it in his head to scream or something of the like, we would be fine for about a week. I could figure out what to do during those seven days.

The lock on the bathroom clicked open. Turning, I sighed, hoping Potter wouldn't make this too difficult.