The Scorpion Always Stings

ϟ December 2002

December 2002

The Manor looked different, somehow, though nothing had visibly changed since the last time Harry had been there.

As he made his way down the long, gravelly path towards the grand front door (for he could only Apparate outside the metal gates), Harry became painfully aware of the several goggling house elves tending to the sprawling Manor gardens.

There were more flowers, he noticed. A cursory glance at a particularly nosy house elf, who immediately scampered off when he noticed Harry looking, told him that they seemed better clothed. Well-fed.

Not that Hermione would be at all consoled by this. Harry smirked to himself, imagining her outrage when he told her that Malfoy still had a few house elves hanging around his place.

There seemed to be an air of restoration to the place. It certainly maintained the trappings of a snobbish and ancient family but it felt...softer, somewhat, with the gardens in full bloom.

When he finally reached the front door, and knocked, it flung open automatically as though expecting him. Harry stepped in and was shrouded by the dimly-lit foyer. The pleasant effect of the gardens now worn off, Harry whispered a quiet 'Lumos' and walked forward with his wand outstretched in front of him.

His skin crawled at the sudden memory of Hermione screaming. Swallowing down the bile that rose to his throat, Harry called, "Malfoy? It's Harry Potter. I, er, I assume you know that - "

"Must you be so loud, Potter?"

Harry glanced towards the spiral staircase that lead down to where he was standing. And there he was. Draco Malfoy.

His face was thinner - much thinner - from when Harry had last seen him. There were dark, sunken circles under Draco's eyes and his pinched expression gave the air of somebody who was not eating well. Despite this, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the litheness of his footsteps as he walked down the stairs, his long, thin fingers sliding down the marble bannisters.

When Malfoy finally stood in front of Harry, years-old instinct seemed to kick in and he pointed his wand at him. Grey eyes stared back at him, wide and uncaring.

"Fear not," he sneered. "My wand was destroyed at the trial and you know that as well as I do."

Oddly flustered, Harry shoved his wand back into his jeans pocket.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. "I–"

"Save the banal chit-chat for the Weasels, Potty, I'm not interested." Malfoy brushed past him and walked towards the front door. He turned back to give him a final, scorching look. "Make sure you lock the cupboards after you've looked through them. It's a pain having to do it myself without magic."

And with that, he disappeared into the garden.

Harry couldn't understand why he felt so annoyed. As he worked through the afternoon scouring over Malfoy's belongings - from which he found about seven different dark artefacts that would earn him a hefty fine - Harry mulled over it obsessively.

Well, what did he expect? That Malfoy would stagger forward in grateful tears? Mortifyingly, he even contemplated an image of a weeping Draco hugging him. It was with deep gratitude to the fact that Malfoy no longer held a wand that Harry continued to puzzle over their short, uneventful conversation, for he had heard Malfoy was a skilled Legilimens.

After a few more hours wandering up and down the halls, muttering his revealing charms and enchantments, Harry concluded the disappointing day with a short summary in his Auror Monitoring Report: Seven dark artefacts found, listed below. Not out of the ordinary. Everything as it should be. And with slightly more pressure than necessary, Harry stabbed in two more curt sentences on his piece of parchment: Malfoy made no attempt to communicate. Spent the whole day out in the gardens.