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“Oh, Potter!! Potter!” Draco snickered. “About that letter?”

“You had better have given it to them, Malfoy,” snarled Harry.

“Tut tut, what a temper,” Draco wagged his finger. “Come inside, have a cup of tea-or coffee if you prefer?”

“Alright,” Harry shouted. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, just felt like an old mate,” Draco slapped him hard on the back, “- deserved a treat.”

Harry stared.

“Ok, fine,” Draco sneered, dropping the act. “ Potter- I’ve got an idea. I have a deal I wish to pose upon you. I’ll be plain. Half of it you’re going to like, half of it you’re going to hate.”

“Sounds like my life anyway,” Harry growled. “Go on.”

“It’s about that letter,” Draco replied smoothly, straightening out the parchment. Smiling cruelly, he waved it mockingly in front of him.

Harry snatched deftly at the air, missing by a mile.

“Ah ah ah. Now, I was thinking. Summer is such a boring time of the year. Children play in the park, birds sing, long lost aunties come over for cosy little chats- ones you hoped would stay lost . . . .”

“Get to the point,” Harry spat acidly.

Draco’s eyes glistened with an undying spite. “Here’s the fun part. I will not give the House-Elves this letter,” he began, watching and waiting for Harry to rebuke, “Unless you work for me. For seven days. No pay, no sleeping arrangements. You can stay on the old sofa in the attic. I’m sure the rats won’t bother you that much. They sometimes bite, but they’re not that disease ridden. By the end of the week, (given the way you treat the deal), I shall hand this letter over to the pests. If by such a time, you try to write another one without my knowledge, the tasks are doubled. For example, if I tell you to clean the toilet, oh, I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he lied, watching the disgusted expression on Potter’s face, “But if it does, well, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty of treatments in the attic (Not that I’d give you any)”, he muttered under his breath. “So, what do you say- do we have an arrangement?”

Harry frowned. Who the hell did Malfoy think he is? No, no way. He wouldn’t do it. The whole thing was entirely out of the question. “Not a chance. No!! Work for you? Malfoy, do you need your head tested or something?!”

Draco blinked slowly. He wouldn’t let Potter leave; not when he was this close to sealing such an interesting deal. “Let me put it another way. You do not have a choice.” He smiled sweetly. “If you don’t agree, then I’ll have to tell father you came around. I can’t imagine he’ll be too pleased when he hears as to the existence of this letter.”

Harry could have punched him, and would have done if he hadn’t been standing on someone else’s property. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“I shan’t lie,” Draco replied. “I cannot envision a more useful way for you to spend the summer holidays. I am very much looking forward to it.” He paused, the smile never leaving his face, “But do not think this is personal,” he lied. “Oh, you are working for me, unless of course you wish to exchange conversation with my father. Just say the word, and I shall send him some post.”

Harry said nothing, knowing he’d been beaten, and hating himself for his weakness.

Draco waited for a reply, but nothing came. “Right, well. That is that. Please,” he snarled, sarcasm dripping, “Come in.” He moved to the side, and allowed Potter to pass into his manor. “Take off your shoes!!”

“I can’t believe you got me into this mess,” Harry spat, practically hurling his trainers across the corridor. One of them hit a portrait, scraping the paint.

Harry assumed Malfoy would be cross, but instead, the Slytherin laughed. “Ha ha, do you have any idea what you have just done?”

Harry shook his head.

“That is a picture of father’s grandmother. It has been hanging here for almost seventy six years.”

“How is that funny? Am I supposed to be pleased with what I did? Besides,” Harry persisted, “It was an accident-”

“No, no, you don’t understand!!,” Draco howled with raucous delight. “Father is actually going to kill you!!”

“Oh.” Harry replied gravely. “Now, I get what was hilarious. What if we don’t tell him? Say it just disappeared, but we don’t know how.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Your attempt to win me over with your pathetic methods of ‘Let’s be kind to Malfoy, and he might set me free’ are worthless, Potter. So, you might as well surrender from it now.”

Shaking his head, Harry said, “What the hell are you talking about? And, you mentioned ‘setting me free’, what was that supposed to mean? I’m not a prisoner, Malfoy!!”

Draco folded his arms. “Oh, really? Did I not say, did I not express the rules when I offered the position of slave to you, Potter?”

“You didn’t offer it to me, you schemed me into it!!”

“Oh yes,” laughed Draco callously. “So I did. Anyway, we are wasting precious time. Your first task is to scrub our lavatories . . . .”

“But, you said it shouldn’t come to that,” Harry growled, feeling anger course through him. “You told me that cleaning the-”

“I have changed my mind,” Draco stated smoothly, observing the way Potter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, I know. I shouldn’t warn you that cleaning the bathrooms in this manor takes up to ten hours altogether. That would be too nasty of me, and I do not know about you, but I feel that I have acted rather reasonably, giving the current company that I have.”

Harry frowned further.

“Hurry up, Potter!! Now, listen. The first lavatory,” Draco whispered, suddenly at his side, “ . . . . is up two flights, up three others, past two giant portraits-”

“Don’t play games with me, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted, eyes burning. “I’ve only been here two minutes, and already I can see one down the corridor.”

“Well, I do not want you to clean that one. As far as I can remember, it does not need scrubbing,” Draco lied furiously, “But the others do. So, get going.”

Harry sighed. “Where is the equipment?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention? There are none. Have fun!!”

*


Oh, how Harry wanted to purposefully disobey Malfoy, but where would that lead him? Why hadn’t he stayed at the Dursleys? He was just one of those people who were born with the problem of being too thoughtful. Why couldn’t Dobby have visited his friends? But no. That would have been horrible. The poor House elf would have got whipped by Lucius Malfoy.

He looked up towards the first flight of dark staircases. The area was lit with an enormous, jewelled chandelier, and as Harry ascended the last steps, he noticed that dust had collected on the top of it. ‘Great’, he thought miserably. ‘What’s the betting he’ll make me polish that, as well?’

A stronger voice echoed inside his head. ‘But if you don’t tell him, you won’t have to.’ Harry smiled, feeling a little better. He craned his neck further, and looked up into the eyes of long dead Purebloods, scowling hatefully. Much as Harry despised himself for thinking so, he could not help but admire the manor. There was one thing that was positive about the week ahead. Harry could go about the house as he pleased. Then, as if by magic, a memory was returned to him.

Last year, when he, Ron and Hermione had taken Polyjuice Potion, Malfoy had mentioned something about a collection of dark arts artefacts kept hidden inside the manor, but where? Harry closed his eyes, and leant against the brown ivory banister, thinking hard.

“Having fun, up there?,” Draco’s snide voice intercepted. “It does not take ten minutes to reach the bathroom.” A pause. “You’re not doing anything I haven’t asked you to do, are you?”

“No!!”

“Well then, what are you waiting for? Get a move on!!”

Harry paused, watching Malfoy disappear around the corridor. He reached the top of the stairs, and spotted another.

This was going to take forever.

*

Once inside the lavatory, Harry gulped, peering down the toilet. It was filthy, from years of not flushing it properly. He recoiled in disgust, as something crawled up the side of the basin, and nearly vomited. It was a cockroach. Large, leathery and black as night, it scurried up the side, and stopped, before a million others joined. Harry tensed. What should he do? Stamp on them? Armies suddenly horded onto the tiles. He raised a foot, and brought it down hard upon the insects. But they would not stop. Harry panicked. Soon, the whole house would be covered in them.

“Malfoy!! Malfoy!!”

Draco appeared around the door, sneering.

Um, you’ve got cockroaches, what do you want me to do? How am I meant to get rid of them?”

He shrugged. “Kill them.”

“That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but they’ve got a nest down there, down the plumbing!!”

“Well then,” Draco leant down, “You know what to do.”

Harry shook his head.

“Destroy the nest.”

“But, Malfoy, the nest is somewhere in the drains!!”

Draco hid a snigger, watching the cockroaches climb over his foe. “And . . . .”, he laughed, “Your point is?”

Harry stopped talking for a minute, before sick realisation struck. “You want me to go down the drains. You expect me to travel into the sewage system-”

Draco raised his eyebrows, an evil smirk dancing across his face. “Like I said before, anything I order you to do, you do it. No hesitations, no rebukes. Unless of course you wish to face the consequences.”

Harry flicked an insect off his back. “Which is?”

“You either get rid of the cockroaches, or you eat them.” Draco smiled. “Now, what will your answer be?”

“You’re disgusting.” Harry stood up, hating himself. “Where are the drains?”

“I thought you would never ask.” Draco held out his hand for Potter to take, but the boy pushed the offer away. “The drains are, well it would be too vindictive of me to say how smelly they are, to say that every time someone goes into one, you are clouded with the stench of excretion, so I won’t.”

Harry wanted so much to hurt him, to wipe that arrogant smile off his face. It had only been ten minutes and already, he was trapped in Malfoy’s power. The drains were ten metres away from the manor, coated with rust. Harry jumped, as a crow bar appeared before his eyes. For a minute it look like Malfoy was going to smash it across his head, but then he gestured to the bars. Harry grabbed the instrument from him, and wrenched the bars open.

Draco pushed him into the gloom. “Giving you a hand. You’d never have the courage to do it yourself.”

Harry coughed, already feeling the smell over-ride his senses. The way down the tunnel was unlit, oppressive and looked as though whoever entered the murkiness was lucky to come out again. “How far down is it, Malfoy?”

He shrugged. “Who can tell, but if I was to place a guess . . . . it’s probably about five miles.”

Harry gasped.

“Is that such a problem?,” Draco mocked derisively. “Or would you rather have them for dinner?”

Harry ignored him, crawling further into the hole, wincing as the freezing cold sewage water sloshed disgustingly around him. What if he met giant rats here? He had heard people talking about their habits to scurry through the stomach of drains. He gulped, just thinking about it. Harry could not believe how low he had sank. He wanted to go back to the Dursleys. Yes, they made him clean the whole house, but even his Aunt and Uncle didn’t make him climb down sewage works. He closed his eyes, and waded further into the dirty water.

Who knew what diseases he might get from such a place? Harry started doing the stroke, blocking out as many horrors as possible. In the dankness of the drain, he couldn’t help but imagine Lord Voldemort hiding, within the bowels of the blackness. It would be a perfect setting for him. Harry kept on swimming for another mile, until he resorted to treading water. He was cold, hungry, thirsty and he wanted nothing more to find the exit. Oh why hadn’t he brought a poison with him? That way he might have been able to pour the concoction onto the nest!! Harry cursed quietly, moving forwards. Feeling slightly claustrophobic, he stopped swimming, and his mouth formed a silent scream. There, in front of him was the nest. Why hadn’t it been broken down by the water?

Harry found the answer.

The cockroaches had somehow scrambled into the wall, protecting themselves from the flow of the water.

There was only one thing for it. He drew back his slimy hand, and punched a hole. Immediately, the delicate wall began to crumble, and four insects flew out of the hole. Harry swam backwards as fast as he could, and flattened himself against another wall. The cockroaches floated past, legs wriggling in the water.

They would drown.

It was cruel, and nasty of him, but to be honest at that moment in time, Harry did not care. All he wanted was to be out the drains. After another ten minutes of swimming, he noticed a bright light at the end of the tunnel. Kicking faster, he managed to reach the end. “Malfoy!!” He tapped on the bars. “I’m done. They’re drowning. I destroyed their home, let me out!!”

Draco observed the struggle through narrowed eyes. Potter was really quite weak, and from his vulnerable position, he realised how much power he had over him. Pretending not to hear, he looked about him, up at the sky, in the tree’s branches, down at the grass. The idiot would stop soon. Perhaps he could leave him in there tonight? No. Things were moving too fast. He had another six days, plenty of time.

Plenty.

He moved towards the drain, and levered it open with the crowbar. Harry coughed, spluttering onto the grass. “You took your time!! I- I- des- destroyed the nest, drowned the cockroaches.”

“Good. Now, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.” Draco replied, extending his hand again. This time, Potter took it, and stood up, droplets spattering from his soaked t-shirt, onto the sunny ground. The Slytherin grabbed him, pulling his enemy away from the drains. He did not flinch once.

The boy gave no resistance; seeming wooden in his grip. A jolt of power struck him. He wanted to control Potter even more, but how? Without warning, he kicked him hard in the shins. His slave recoiled in shock. Draco peered curiously. He had done that, he had made Potter jump. One act of violence was all it had taken.

“Malfoy!!,” Harry yelled, rubbing his leg. “What the hell was that for? I didn’t do anything wrong!!”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Draco tonelessly. “Felt like it.” But the real reason had been so much more. He could not have explained, even if he tried. When his arch-enemy had fallen, there inside him had risen a great volcanic strength. It was like he was Merlin himself. In that moment, he could have jumped off the tallest mountain, swam across the deepest ocean, or flown without a broom. The feeling had been inconceivable, had lasted for a minute, and then had gone. Draco sneered, steering Potter into the Manor. He wanted it back. “Right. Your first task was seen to, thank you for that,” he said in a honey voice. “Next, you are to cook me dinner. I want fresh spaghetti, with caviar, and a drink of freshly squeezed Pear juice.”

“What am I having?,” Harry asked, already dreading the answer.

Draco beamed. “You are to be dining outside, and your meal you shall also prepare. You are only allowed to have bread and water.”

Harry scowled darkly. “If I’m going to be working with you, Malfoy-”

“You are to do everything I say, unless of course you want Dobby to feel as though his friends do not care for his welfare?” Draco wiped his hands together, and clicked his fingers. “You have exactly forty minutes to make me tea. Go!!”

Harry pointed to his sopping shirt.

“Oh, I am sorry,” lied Draco, as he stuffed an old blue top, and grey trousers into Potter’s arms, “I forgot. There. Have a shower. And remember, this is not an act of kindness by any means, I just do not want my food to be contaminated by filth.”

Growling under his breath, Harry pushed past him, charging into the bathroom like a storm. Why had he gotten himself into this mess? Luckily, if there was one thing the Dursleys had taught him, it was cooking. Caviar. He had only tried it once, and the memory had been repulsive. Switching the shower on quickly, he hastily stepped underneath it, and washed himself, wincing slightly as the mud trickled down his naked body. Once he had bathed, he jumped out.

Harry watched as the hands crept to seven o’clock. Opening drawers, shuffling through cupboards, he searched fruitlessly for the cutlery. He rushed around the room, setting the water on to boil, snatched a fistful of pasta and searched for the fish.

“Oy, Potter! Is it ready yet?”

“Well, it would be”, Harry cried, “ . . . If I could find some knives and forks.”

Draco opened the door, glancing around the kitchen. It was a mess. Teatowels were strewn atop the marble counters, saucepans thrown in the washing up bowl, china plates piled high on the table, loose pasta spilling out of glass jars. He sneered revoltingly. Even the House-Elves never made such a confusion. Potter took the boiling pasta off the hob, and stood, yelling for a sieve. Draco rolled his eyes, and moved to a small draw in the far corner.

He picked up a small, silver strainer, shoving it roughly into his servant’s arms. His servant? That sounded good. Shame Potter was only here a week. Imagine if it was for life, if he had to work for him for the rest of his sad days? Confined to the Manor? Draco smiled. It would be a prison sentence. But, he shook his head, watching the idiot pour pasta onto a metal plate, it could never be done. So, might as well enjoy it while it lasted. By the time the week was over, he swore it would seem like seven years, not seven days.

Draco took a chair out from under the table, seated himself, and stared at his dinner. “This had better not be poisoned.”

Harry nearly laughed from disbelief. “You really think I’d do that? You’d just make the punishment longer. Besides, I’m not nasty.”

Draco shot up from his chair. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Harry didn’t answer.

“You don’t know what it’s really like, Potter,” spat Draco. “You have no idea.”

Shrugging, he went to the fridge. “Right. What do you want to drink?”

“A bottle of Firewhisky,” Draco whispered, feeling deceitful. “Father will never know.”

“Not unless I tell.”

Draco paused. The nerve of him! “Yes, but you’re not going to, are you? And if on the day of their return, you so much as hint to the fact, it will not be a pleasant send off. The point is,” he stopped, chewing a mouthful of caviar. Once he had finished, he continued. “You know you won’t, and I know you won’t, so forget the whole thing. Moreover, who do you suppose father will be more inclined to believe?”

Harry was silent.

“Thought as much.”

“So, what am I doing this evening?” Harry asked, wondering what else Malfoy would put him through. Come to think of it, what he would make him do all through the week? “What’s my next task?”

“Haven’t you read the rota, Potter? Dear dear. Look. Look, you four-eyed prat, are you going even more blind? There!”, Draco pointed to a skull calendar , that was hooked to the wall next to the cooker. “What does it say?”

“No, no-no-no!! You expect me to clean all of your bathrooms?”

“Indeed.”

“In one night?”

“And ?. . . .” Draco said spitefully, “Is there a problem?”

Harry fell silent. “How’s the food?” he asked disgustingly, trying vainly to make some conversation. Once which wouldn’t cause a rebuke.

“Satisfactory,” Malfoy agreed. It was obvious he had been wanting disappointment, any excuse to shout at him.

“Good,” Harry flashed the fakest of grins. “At least I’ve done something right.”

Draco’s eyes burned with a growing antipathy. Potter was such a loser. He could not believe how nasty he was. He had been lovely to him, well as sweet as he could be, and the prat had just thrown it back in his face. Keeping a calm tone, he said, “You have done many things right, actually. I am most surprised. Do not think you are getting a lecture. I am merely expressing my shock at you having completed tasks, with hardly a show of anger, for it is only the first half of the week. I predicted you would be much more wrathful then this. Do you not think so?” He enquired, arching his eyebrow. “Or am I wrong?”

Frowning at Malfoy’s preserved temper, Harry uncorked a bottle of Firewhisky, and poured the contents into a goblet. “Well, um, I guess I’ve just accepted things. It doesn’t mean I don’t hate you. I just know that if I do things right, I’ll get out of here without a scratch.”

Draco sat back against the chair, folding his arms. “How exactly does that definition fit into this?”

Harry did not provide a reply. Instead, he cleared away the plate and turned on the tap, ready to wash up. “Cutlery please.”

Sighing, Draco went to hand over the knife and fork, but stopped himself just in time. “Wait! What the? Potter, no! You do it! You’re my slave. So act like one!”

“No offence Malfoy,” Harry replied steadily, feeling a slight wash of anger rush over him. “But I am not here to be teased. I’m here to play my part in your little deal. However, if you think I’m not up to it, then fine. Let me go.”

A familiar sneer returned to Draco’s features. “No. You really believe you can use your stupid words to twist my own? You really think you will have the cunning aptitude to trick me?” He stared around the untidy kitchen. “No. Oh. You are staying. If only for my entertainment.”

Harry ground his teeth. “Then get out. You’ve eaten, and I need to clear all of this away.”

Draco almost laughed. “What about dessert? I did not hear the name mentioned. There is a recipe book in Mother’s cupboard, on the left, next to that chair. Oh,” he carried on, openly sniggering. “And the apron is in the bottom drawer of-”

“Apron?” Harry cried, hands flying to his hips.

‘Just like a woman,’ Draco thought.

“Now, you listen here. Cleaning things I can take, washing floors I can take, but wearing an apron, in your house . . . . -”

“Oh, don’t be such a girl, Potter. This one will suit you. It has a green lining,” he cackled, “It’ll- match your eyes.”

Harry’s hands curled into two tight fists, wanting to punch Malfoy’s light’s out. “I’d rather go naked.”

Draco shrugged. “Suit yourself. Yes, yes, that will be better.”

“What? No! Malfoy, I wasn’t being serious!”

“I was. Don’t be so pathetic,” he mocked, leaving the room. “I’ll give you precisely ten minutes. If it’s not done by then, you have to clean the rest of the kitchens. Oh, do not worry,” he added, spotting the look of horror on Potter’s face, “There’s only another thirteen. It won’t take you too long. I’m betting you would probably finish at about, I don’t know, two, three in the morning. If the House-Elves come in, simply say you’re here for business. One look at your chest, and there’ll probably die anyway. Yuck. So, let’s hope for your sake, you manage to complete what I set you, in perfect time. All you have to do is clean everything away, naked, and-”

“I’m not doing it,” Harry raged. “Because that won’t happen. I’ll get this done in five minutes! You watch me!”

“Ugh, no thanks. I’m not gay. But maybe you are? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Get out!”

Draco stopped joking, and paused, hand on the door knob. “Potter,” he hissed venomously, “I am the one who tells you what to do, not the other way round. This is my Manor, not yours. I live here, so you respect my rules. If not, then, events may ensue.”

“What events?”

“Come on, don’t look so surprised. You are under a Malfoy’s roof. Anything can happen.”

Harry frowned, turning away, as the Slytherin left the kitchen. He had not liked the way he’d looked at him. Had his words been a slip of the tongue, or was there meaning behind them? Still thinking, he stripped, throwing his trousers across the room. They landed on top of the cooker, sliding onto the floor. The cooker! Harry rushed over, and checked that he’d- he hadn’t turned it off! Shit. With one
free hand, he managed to switch off the hob and with the other, lift his t-shirt up over his head. Eugh.

This was horrible; making him run around naked! What had made Malfoy think of such a strange thing? ‘Oh yes’, Harry remembered. ‘He didn’t think of it. I did.’ Within four minutes, the cooking apparatus was away, the dishes had been washed, and the counters had been laboriously scrubbed so that they shone in the light. All that was left to do? Put his clothes back on. What the? He spun around in a daze. Where were they? How had? Was it possible? They had simply disappeared! Harry scratched his head. Malfoy would be back in a second! He dashed around the cooker, table, under the table, near the curtains, behind the fridge, even on the ceiling.

Draco entered. “Potter, have you?” He stopped, sickened at the sight. “Where in the name of Merlin are your clothes?”

“I don’t know! I-”

“Oh, for- Cover up!”

Harry grabbed the nearest thing he could find (which just so happened to be the fruit bowl), and placed it near the area. “Malfoy! It’s not my fault! I took them off, lay them down, and then they just disappeared. I admit, I wasn’t thinking, but . . . . where the hell?”

His sentence was interrupted by a timid knock on the door.

“Enter,” Draco commanded, looking anywhere but at Potter.

“Sorry sir,” a tiny House elf apologised. “I have two messages for you, but if you wish to have another time, then-”

Draco waved his hand impatiently. “Proceed. I am not busy.” He said, running his fingers along the worktop, studying for any signs of dust. Potter must have mucked up somewhere. The room looked far too clean for his liking.

“Well,” the nervous creature whispered, jumping on the balls of its feet. “The Masters of the house will not be returning next Sunday, as was previously arranged. They have decided on an earlier date- Wednesday.”

Draco nodded curtly, but inside was thoroughly disappointed. He would have had six more days to make Potter rush around after him. Now? He had only three. Forcing himself to glance at his antagonist, he was appallingly sickened by his great grin. No! No! He wasn’t meant to seem like he was enjoying himself; he was meant to be climbing the walls, and begging to be let out of here. A sadistic light twinkled in Draco’s eyes. At first, he had viewed Mother and Father’s change of plans as a heart wrenching shame, but now, he realised that there were other ways of evaluating the situation. Exciting ways. The traditional pure blood sneer returned in full flair, but this time with a twist. Draco was pleased. From now on, things would move faster; a lot faster.

“You is happy, Mr. Malfoy?” the House elf asked anxiously, blinking up at him through Snitch-sized pupils.

“Incredibly so,” he answered, so enlightened that he even forgot to kick it. “But what is the other news?”

“We is shocked by your decision! Thank you, thank you!” The teary creature moved forward to hug his robes, but Draco shooed it away. “What made you act in such kindness?”

“Kindness?” he snorted. “I think not.”

The House elf finally stepped out from the shadows, and finally revealed what he had been concealing from sight. He handed Draco an old blue T-shirt and a pair of light grey trousers.

“Yes!” Harry yelled exuberantly, reaching forth to pry them out of the House elf’s hands. “There they are! Malfoy, look! Told you I hadn’t lost them. They must have just-”

“We is free!,” the House elf danced. “Free! Thank you! Your reputation will be spread!”

“Potter,” Draco said quietly, once the Elf had retreated. “Come here.”

Harry looked down. “I know what this is about,” he whispered faintly. “But- but how was I supposed to notice they’d found them?” He scanned the kitchen suspiciously. “There! See! I must have accidentally shoved them in that Dummy Waiter!”

Draco breathed in deeply. “You set them free! How could you do that? What’s the matter? Was I treating you so badly that you had to- did you want to ruin it? Was the whole procedure a set up; a show to make my father punish me? Hmm?”

“No!” shouted Harry. “Why the hell would I have-”

“Oh, please,” Draco sneered contemptibly. “It is no secret you despise my family.”

“Oh. For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy! You can’t use that argument! It’s no secret you despise me as well! It was an accident, everyone has them!” Harry persisted. “It was an easy enough mistake to make, surely even you can see-”

“Finish scrubbing the toilets, all thirty of them,” Draco responded patiently, “And then set up a bed in the attic. It’s on the sixth floor, up a golden ladder.”

“But, Malfoy . . . .”

“Piss off.”

“What?”

“I said PISS OFF!”

Cradling the clothes under one arm, Harry left the kitchen, the door ajar.

“You’ve no idea what you’ve done,” Draco said aloud to himself, as he stared, shaken at what his father would say when he came back from his Death-Eater conference. “He will never forgive me,” he shuddered, as tears collected in his eyes. He brushed away his emotions, and focused on what was to be done. “You selfish prat.” Potter would pay dearly for the loss of their House-Elves, but he still had three days left.

Authors Note: Ok, bit of a long chapter there but it is a short story, so can’t really be avoided. So, please let me know what you think. I understand about the deal, by the way. It is silly, and unrealistic, but it’s there for a reason. (Nods my head in a knowing way) What do you think about the grand size of the Manor? Too big, too small, or just right? That’s all for now. Reviews are treasured like my love for mozzarella. Lol. x :) x