The Floo portals were still down.

After a fitful night's sleep, Harry had forced himself to wait until the reasonable hour of ten o'clock to try once more, but he was greeted by the same hostile crimson flames that barred his way. "Shit," he said with feeling. He re-read Draco's message several times again, and chewed on his lip.

As much as he could tell from just a few words, Harry thought his boyfriend was definitely upset about something. In the small hours of the morning, he had even had a fleeting half hour of despair where he had worried fitfully that somehow he had upset Draco unknowingly, and that now he was just thinking for the best way to break up with him. The welcome first light of dawn though had illuminated the more ridiculous aspects of that argument, namely that he had no doubt that Draco loved him as much as he did Draco, so he forced himself to dispel that theory and not indulge in it again, no matter how tempted he was.

So that left either the problem of all the unwanted attention they had been getting since the revelation of their relationship, or some unknown element. Either way, Draco seemed like he wanted to deal with it by himself. So he knew he should probably just leave it well alone, but Harry had never been good at letting things lie.

He was still worrying over Skeeter's words, even though this was almost certainly a different problem. But every time he recalled her saying Draco was a "fat, disgraced loser," he felt a flurry of protectiveness surge up within him. He had visions of The Prophet or Witch Weekly doing a front page spread of him with unflattering photos, poking fun at Draco's most vulnerable insecurity.

He didn't know what he could do, but he felt like there was absolutely nothing to be gained by staying in his flat, so he made up his mind to try and get ahead of the situation. He showered and dressed with care, trying not to feel guilty. It was all his fault Draco was under threat of harassment, if he wasn't the bloody Chosen One no one would care one jot who he was dating, and they wouldn't have opinions on who might be better for him either.

A little voice in his head reminded him that Draco was a grown man, and had made some decisions that had been bad no matter how you looked at it, and had to deal with the consequences of that. But Harry doubted people like Skeeter would still be particularly interested in him if Harry wasn't steering their attention his way.

He grunted and yanked his boots on. The sun was shining today, but there was a still a fair nip in the air and lake-like puddles on the ground.

Their troubles with the press could very well be the reason the Floo access was down. It would be nice just to have to deal with only the one issue, but Harry's instinct told him otherwise. He made sure he had his wand easily accessible in his pocket and some money, then headed out into Diagon Alley to apparate to Wiltshire.

As he wasn't a family member, the closest he could get to Malfoy Manor was the front gates. Harry steadied himself on the spot, taking in the lush green countryside – a different hue to the jungle they'd been used to in Peru, but the scenery reminded him of their holiday nonetheless. The wrought iron fence though reminded him of the grounds at Hogwarts, and he considered the best way to proceed.

He had only been to Draco's home once before, and it was under the direst of circumstances that Harry would rather forget. Mostly forget. He had no desire to think on the numerous Death Eaters that had captured and hurt them; to his knowledge all of them were either death or in Azkaban anyway. Nor did he want to think of Luna's imprisonment, Hermione's torture, or, worst of all, the death of his dear, small friend Dobby. As he faced the gates and took a fortifying breath, he thought only of Draco, looking into his eyes, and uttering with stammering but steadfast defiance that he did not know if it was Harry Potter that knelt before him.

He was here for Draco now, and he would not let his courage falter.

He raised his hand to the metal and was surprised to feel the gates begin to swing inwards at the merest touch, and he watched surprised as they opened fully to permit him to enter. Draco must have granted him permission, even though they had not made plans for him to visit, and the thoughtfulness not only touched him deeply but also rallied Harry's spirits.

"Right then," he said aloud, marching down the path that lead to the imposing front doors of the mansion.

The last time he had been apparated directly, in the dead of night, fear and dread clouding his vision as he and his best friends had been dragged unceremoniously into the house. This time, Harry took a moment to feel the sunshine on his face, and the cool breeze ruffle his hair, before he rose his hand, and rapped smartly on the door.

A few minutes went tensely by, before the door eventually creaked open, revealing a wizened old house elf who blinked and looked up at him with slow curiosity. "Harry Potter?" the elf, a male Harry guessed, wheezed, squinting against the sunlight to see his features better. He was wearing a smart tee-towel tunic, stamped with the Malfoy crest, and a tiny pair of spectacles perched on the tip on his nose. "Dinkum is not believing it," he said excitedly. "Does Master Harry wish to enter?"

"Um, yes," Harry replied with a respectful little nod. "If that's alright?"

Dinkum the elf bowed deeply and stepped aside to allow his through the door. "It is Dinkum's honour, Master Harry," he croaked. "Is he wishing to see Master Malfoy?"

"Yes," Harry replied gratefully as he stepped inside the cool interior of the Manor. "That would be brilliant, if he's not too busy?"

The door swung slowly closed behind them, heavy on its hinges, and Dinkum bobbed in his bow to show he'd understood. "Very good, Master Harry. Please follow Dinkum this way."