Chapter 10

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Ron and Harry apparated Malfoy between them to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He looked around him with evident disdain, revealing no sign of ever having seen the place before. Not that a Malfoy would have been likely to spend time in the kitchen, anyway.

"Nice place, Potter," he said, the break in his nose giving him the sound of a severe head cold. "Suits you. Run down, filthy and tasteless."

Ron shoved him toward the table and pulled out a chair. "Sit. And shut up. I'm already sorry we didn't just leave you."

Hermione appeared through the hall door, eyes widening when she saw their visitor.

"Ah. And I see you found yourself kitchen help," he sneered.

"I'd punch you again, Malfoy, but I see either Harry or Ron has beaten me to it." Hermione said coldly, but her eyes had already moved on to both boys, scanning for injuries.

Harry rummaged round the pantry and produced four bottles of butterbeer, setting them down onto the table and dropping into the chair furthest from Malfoy. Hermione moved wordlessly about, collecting a bowl of water and a clean flannel. Ron continued glaring at Malfoy with an intensity that should have produced spontaneous combustion. Harry reckoned Ron thought it too good for him.

"You said you had a... business proposition," Harry said, taking a swig of butterbeer. "I'm curious. Why'd you think we'd listen?"

"Because you'd be curious, imbecile. Any other stupid questions?"

"Do you want to die? Or do you just want to end up really disfigured?" Ron growled.

"Congratulations, Weasley. Those are, in point of fact, stupid questions."

Hermione settled down beside Harry with the water and cloth and dabbed at the side of his forehead where he had connected with the tree, trying to wash the drying blood and bits of bark away. It stung and his eyes watered; hardly helping with the intimidation factor. Malfoy seemed ever so slightly nervous but not nearly as panicked as Harry would have thought given his position. Either he was too arrogant to be frightened by his abrupt change of fortune or he hid it really well. Harry's head was pounding and he was in no mood to puzzle it out. He let his eyes close and submitted to Hermione's administrations patiently, waiting for something to give.

"I have a broken nose, and he gets his bark washed off. Hardly seems fair." Malfoy's eyes were following her every move, and Harry opened his in time to blurrily see them shift to Ron and back again. He doubted Malfoy ever knew about Ginny, or Ron and Hermione. He'd been awfully preoccupied himself the end of last term.... Besides, Harry figured he'd always thought the worst of them anyway; the truth would hardly change anything. If he thought he was going to strike a nerve he'd be sorely disappointed on that front. At least from Harry's perspective anyway. Ron, on the other hand, was looking as if he could spit bullets instead of slugs; his wand had been fixed a long time now and Malfoy seriously under-estimated his enemy if he was operating off of that episode.

"Life's got a few surprises in store for you, Malfoy," Hermione told him, not taking her eyes off Harry. "It will hardly be the first to tell you I'm no Pansy Parkinson."

"Actually something of a relief at the moment, really," he drawled. "But on the whole, that's sadly true."

Harry literally saw red. True, Hermione was cleaning round his eye, but he could still feel his blood boiling.

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