Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
A/N: a bit of a wordy chapter again. I didn't realise quite how long an wordy it was. This should be the last of the 'explanatory' sort of chapter though, I should think. I apologise if this annoys anyone. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 11 - The Light of the New
The first thing he was aware of was the warmth. A comforting, blessed warmth that cocooned him in a loving embrace, pulsing like a living entity along the length of his body. The smooth softness of the blankets around him settled just tightly enough to insulate the warmth, but not so tight as to be constricting. The pillow beneath his head was plusher than anything he had ever felt. He could never recall having experienced a more comfortable awakening, not even at Hogwarts.
Until the memories came crashing down.
With a faint whimper, Harry tucked his knees tightly to his chest, curling upon himself and burying further beneath the sheets. Despite the cocooning warmth, he shuddered with a chill at the sudden assault of memories.
Why? Why did it have to hurt so badly this time?
It was with detached motions that his arms eased from his legs slightly, unconsciously raising the blankets to welcome a small intrusive presence into his bubble of seclusion. The fluff of Lyssy's furry cheek caressed his own as she snuck adeptly beneath the sheets, slithering like a worm into the darkness beneath and sliding herself between Harry's knees and chest, head butting under his chin. Just that simple motion was enough to break the dam of pain and a wash of tears flushed through him.
What did I ever do to deserve such a loyal companion? I'd be lost without you, Lyssy.
Suddenly, forcing their release from clenched eyelids, trickles of warmth began to dribble silently down his cheeks. Running down his nose and across his chin, they pattered like raindrops into the mattress beneath him.
What is this? Why am I crying? I don't cry, I can never cry, or else someone will see. Someone will see and then everything that I have to hide will be shown to everyone. Showing is dangerous. It can only be exploited and damaged. Don't cry, stop crying, stop it stop it stopitstopitstopit...
The mantra rung through his head with the consistency of a dripping tap, insistent, demanding. It didn't work at first but finally, feeling utterly drawn and spent, a sponge squeezed of all water, the tears fizzled to a stop. Harry clutched Lyssy to his chest, the pliable limbs molding to him in an odd embrace. The cat didn't protest, simply purred a comforting lullaby that hummed loudly through the tent of blankets. Harry wasn't sure how long he lay in the cradling huddle, but eventually he regained enough composure to push his head from the shadows of his little tent and gather his bearings.
A psychological coldness expelled the physical warmth as Harry took in the unfamiliar room around him. The absence of his glasses presented a distorted view, as though he peered through fog, but he could still make out the shapes that sparsely populated the room. It was large, larger even than Featherwood's bedroom at Hogwarts, and immaculately clean, draped in soft, fuzzy off-whites with a smattering of caramel to break up the lighter tones. A small fireplace crackled directly before the bed and a stout, oaken wardrobe propped on splayed feet crouched in the corner of the room. To the left of the bed was a plump azure armchair with the impression of a body still crumpling the cushions; it looked starkly out of place in the sparse bedroom, as though it had appeared in the otherwise sparse arrangement of it's own accord. Just behind the chair, a window, visible through thin rippling curtains of the same rich caramel, exposed sky the deep grey of either early morning or late evening. There was absolutely nothing imposing about the room. Save its unfamiliarity.
Where...am I?
The thought sent Harry scrambling through the jumble of memories buzzing hazily in his mind with the same urgency that he untangled himself from the sheets. He was dressed in a thin yet comfortable set of pale, silken pajamas that hugged his body as though made for him. Even that was disconcerting. Easing himself onto the side of the bed, he had to stretch to reach to wooden floors for the plumpness of the mattress and impressive height of the framed structure. The pale floors were unexpectedly warm beneath his toes, for all its apparent woodenness.
Straightening in wary anticipation, Harry was surprised to realise that the aches, the bone-deep bruising that would have surely incapacitated him in his previous flight had he not been numbed by the cold, were completely absent. The realisation renewed his ever-present fears with revisited intensity. How long had he been out? Clutching Lyssy to his chest, the continuing purr the only thing keeping him from breaking into terrified quivering, Harry eased towards the door cracked slightly ajar. Pressing his eye to the crack he peered into a candlelit hallway of the same pale timber floors and creamy walls. And abruptly a myriad of colourful memories returned.
Draco... I saw Draco. After I left my uncle, and I couldn't run any more, I just stopped and... Did I really see him? Is that where I am, with Draco? But then… where is he? Harry stroked his fingers through Lyssy's downy fur to ease his frazzled nerves once more. For all he knew, the other boy hated him, or at least disliked him, because of the events of the end of term. Despite they memory of the comforting embrace, the fearful concern that had lathered the tone of words blurred and forgotten, Harry couldn't say for certain that the Slytherin boy held him in anything but contempt. He had done something to the other boy that he didn't understand but was clearly unacceptable. Would Draco even want to see him? Perhaps his concern was simply pity for someone in a pathetic situation; Harry would hardly deem himself anything but such when he staggered into Metropolitan Paris. For all his posing, all his pretending, Draco was a kind person. Harry believed he would most likely show concern for someone he hated.
And even if he didn't hate him, the nature of their unexpected meeting would raise unwanted questions. Questions that Draco had potentially deduced answers for already. For, hazy as his mind was, Harry could realized that the pajamas didn't dress him themselves. Or at least if they had, not without a magical caster. The prospect was terrifying. That someone might know...
Easing the door open on well-oiled hinges, Harry slipped into the hallway. The house was silent, for which he was grateful. That meant there was less opportunity for someone, Draco or otherwise, to sneak up on him. Not that he was accusing his rescuers - for even in his fear Harry recognised them for what they were - but it was always better to be safe and prepared than bombarded by the unexpected.
Peeping into room after room as he passed them, peering around the corners of doorways to assure himself of their emptiness, Harry was rather stunned by the sheer size of the building he was in. It appeared to be a home in terms of the furniture that outfitted it – smooth, stately couches, half-filled bookshelves and even immaculately made beds in bedrooms as large as that he'd just left – but the height of the ceiling, the sheer magnitude of empty rooms that begged to be filled by idle chatter, bespoke more of a heritage house open for display that a comfortable living abode. With the continued absence of people, Harry felt his fear diminish to wary curiosity, to confusion.
It was because of this relinquishing of fear that when he finally passed a room with an inhabitant he was halfway past the doorway and far too obvious to hide himself once more. He froze like a startled rabbit, eyes widening as the woman reading silently in the room turned towards him.
She presented a regal figure, if one could still resemble such in the modern age, dressed in the fashion of witches in flowing navy robes, high neck and trailing sleeves. Even with his blurred vision Harry could discern as much. Straight back and set shoulders, her patrician profile, all straight, perfect lines and high cheek bones, immediately made him feel rugged and dirty. He was abruptly aware of his tangled hair and the concerning absence of memory when he tried to recall the last time he'd used a shower. Fingers tightening around Lyssy, he waited under her inspection, breathless for... what? A scolding? A sneer of disdain?
Rather the opposite was offered him. In contrast to her cold, aristocratic demeanor, the woman offered a welcoming smile that softened her face immensely. Closing the book in her lap, she raised an arm gracefully and beckoned him warmly with a flicker of her fingers. 'Come in, Harry.'
The simple fact that she knew his name embedded a faintly hesitant ease in Harry. She can't be all that bad. It was an ignorant assumption, he objectively perceived, but he couldn't repress the slight loosening of his tensed, the release of his breath. Swallowing nervously he stepped into the room, though stopped at the edge of the intricately woven rug positioned across the center of the room like a stage beneath the trio of single armchairs. He didn't want to dirty it with his feet.
Registering his halt, the woman quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. He bowed his head, dropping his chin, and fixed his eyes firmly on the embroidery interwoven into the border of the rug. He'd approached her, so perhaps that was enough. If she wanted to talk to him…
The woman was not having such hesitancy, however. 'Take a seat with me.'
Cringing, but reluctant to ignore her order - for order it was, no matter how kindly voiced - Harry stepped softly onto the rug and made his way to the seat opposite her. He perched on the very edge, toes raised to barely touching on the soft floor-cover, and kept his chin buried in the fluff atop Lyssy's head. He could feel the woman's gaze upon his bowed head, but even her welcoming openness couldn't draw him from his rising anxiety.
'How are you feeling this morning, Harry?'
For a moment, Harry wondered what the woman was trying to accomplish. The emphasis on his name bespoke almost a therapeutic approach to a clinical situation, an attempt to draw him into conversation under an illusion of familiarity. Harry recognized the motions for what they were – his social isolation and general quietness in class had seen him in a counselor's office more than once in his time in the Muggle schools system.
'Very well, thank you, ma'am.'
A soft sigh met his words. 'I didn't ask for false pleasantries, Harry. How do you really feel?' There was only faint reprimand in her tone, despite the words, gently nudging his in the intended direction. Harry swallowed, biting back his natural instinct to withdraw from the prying query and peered up at the woman through his fringe. Her clear, pale face frames by immaculately groomed blonde tresses was calm, relaxed; he got the impression that, had she wanted to, she could outlast a boulder in a staring contest.
'I'm… feeling better than I was, ma'am. Still a little tired, I think, but otherwise fine.' He paused, then added a brief 'thank you' beneath his breath before dropping his eyes once more.
'Hungry?'
Harry shook his head. 'No, thank you, ma'am.'
'Such a polite young man.' Harry could almost hear the faint quiver of amusement in her otherwise kindly words. He glanced back up at her, surprised that a soft, open smile met his nervousness. 'I do believe, however, that it is only fair that you address me by their first name when I have taken the liberty of doing so myself.'
Sitting forward slightly in a way that appeared to be an attempt to reduce the formal distance between them, the woman's smiled widened with a sudden warmth. 'My name is Narcissa Malfoy. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Harry.'
Harry had never been comfortable with being near people, to say nothing of touching them, and yet… Perhaps it was recognition of the name she offered, or perhaps simply the sincerity of her tone, but somehow even the closing proximity between them did not feel as confronting to Harry as he would have expected. He still fidgeted slightly on the edge of the seat, peering at the woman nervously. 'You're Draco's…?'
'Mother.' Loving warmth blossomed in Narcissa's smile this time.
Harry had nearly picked the skin of his collarbone bloody before he realised what he was doing. The damned nervous tick. He hastily forced his fingers back to their cradle of Lyssy's shoulders, hoping Narcissa hadn't seen. She didn't bat an eyelid.
Clearing his throat, closed in his subconscious urge to maintain his silence, he uttered an almost whispered question. 'Where is he?'
'He is still abed, I presume. Not all Malfoys are such early risers as I. I believe he is fulfilling the stereotype of teenage youths far too aptly, don't you agree?' She cocked her head, but turned her eyes towards the door. The meaning was clear to Harry, even as inexperienced in conversation as he was; Draco's mother was attempting to lighten the mood, to ease his discomfort maybe, but was not forcing a response to her attempts.
'I think, however,' she continued, turning back towards him, 'that he requested the house elves alert him upon your awakening. I would not be surprised to see him ploughing through the door at any moment.'
Harry dipped his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated the image Narcissa presented. He could hardly picture Draco 'ploughing' through anything. It seemed far too undignified. He didn't comment, however, and the awkwardness of the silence that ensued apparently became obvious even to the witch across from him for she broke it suddenly once more.
'I suppose you have questions? Is there anything you would like to ask?'
Harry didn't respond. Of course there where questions: where was he? How did he get here? How long had he been asleep? Did his uncle know where he was? Did anyone else know where he was? The list was endless and only grew more daunting the longer he contemplated it. He clutched Lyssy more tightly, closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to collect himself. It didn't work as well as he had hoped and he felt a faint tremble set itself in his limbs.
Perceiving his hesitancy, Narcissa continued as though he had replied. 'Three days ago, Draco found you and brought you to our home. He said he… met you in Parc Montsouris when he went for a walk. You were rather unwell, and as such we took care of you in the days since. Simply to ensure your wellbeing, I assure you.'
Not unaware of the deliberate censoring of Narcissa's explanation, Harry let himself sink backwards into his chair until his back propped against the soft cushions. He still didn't speak, but the woman before him didn't seem to mind, continuing regardless. He didn't miss the slight sharpening of her eyes, either.
'It is, of course, our pleasure to extend your stay for as long as you wish to be here. Would that be to your satisfaction, Harry?'
There was no avoiding the question this time. Harry lifted his chin slightly from his cringe, easing out from Lyssy's still, comforting embrace. 'You would let me stay with you?'
That radiant warmth touched the Narcissa's lips once more. 'More than that, we would be delighted if you agreed to stay. Would you?'
Harry was unsure of how else to respond. It was surreal, the abrupt welcoming; he wasn't quite sure how to respond to it. He had never stayed at a friend's house in his entire life, and the move to Featherwood's rooms at Hogwarts had been nearly earth-shattering; he had been glad of his solitude as he struggled with his initial discomfort in the room a week before the schooling year had begun. That had been only at the beginning, though, until he experienced the true liberty of living away from the Dursleys, from his uncle, for the first time in his life.
Curiosity niggled the back of his mind as Harry truly considered what was being offered. Unconsciously, almost against his will, he felt himself nodding. Almost… eagerly.
At least, until dread welled up once more. Hanging along the edges of his awareness since he had awoken, stark panic flooded him once more. Suddenly he couldn't breath. The room was too small and at once too large. His vision blanked and he fell back into the static silence of his mind.
Oh God, my uncle! I've been gone for three days? He would have… just like that time four years ago, he'll go to the police and-
'…arry, it's alright. No one will force you to do anything you don't want to. Just breathe.'
Shaken from his crushing stupor, Harry flinched at the proximity of the voice. Vision swimming into familiar fogginess, he shuddered as reality set upon him once more. Shuddered and jerked backwards at being abruptly confronted by the proximity of Narcissa Malfoy. She knelt with more grace upon the carpet before him than he thought possible in such a position. Even with the difference of the height of the chair, hunched as he was the witch's gaze was nearly at eye level.
Registering her words slowly, Harry realised his breath had shortened into harsh pants. The swimming of his vision was likely due as much to oxygen deprivation as his naturally poor eyesight. Holding his breath, he struggled to restore control to the near-hyperventilation. It was hard; he couldn't remember that ever happening before.
'Good, that's good. Deep breaths. There, now release it.' Narcissa's soothing tone calmed him as much as the methodical motions themselves, a novelty that his befuddled mind barely registered. 'I did not mean to startle you. Would you tell me what troubles you?'
That same calm, soothing tone drew the words from his mouth before he was aware of their escape. 'My uncle, h-he will be furious. I shouldn't have… I mean, he doesn't know where I am, he might-' He had to grit his teeth as his breathing threatened to shorten to pants once more. He clenched his eyes shut, struggling for composure. It was disconcerting, unfamiliar; he had never had so much trouble controlling himself before. Why now?
'You uncle will have no more say in your situation than you allow him, Harry. Unless you request his presence, I can assure you, he will be excluded.'
The coldness of her tone was what alerted him first. The coldness, and then the icy fury that he bore witness to in the sudden hardness of her blue eyes, glimpsed the moment he met them before she quickly smothered it. And suddenly, it clicked into place.
'Y-you k-know.'
At least his vision didn't blank this time. Rather, instead, an auditory clarity pierced his eardrums until he could swear he even heard the woman's heartbeat. He froze in his huddled seat, fingers sharpening to claws in Lyssy's wispy fur. The cat only snuggled more closely, her purring throbbing.
Nodding, perhaps recognising the pointlessness of continuing a farce when she saw it, Narcissa leant forward slightly. That same odd acceptance of her nearness halted him from sinking away from her. 'Yes, I know. But I am the only one who knows, and that is the way I will keep it, unless you should state otherwise.'
'How?' His question was barely a whisper.
'You wouldn't wake. I am familiar with mental trauma, such as that driven by an innate defensive magical response. It would have been unsafe to leave you in such a state for too long. I assessed your mind for triggers and drew you from your stasis.'
Harry fought to swallow down a parched throat, the muscles in his neck clenching and making it nearly impossible. 'How much did you…?'
He didn't need to finish the question. The softness of Narcissa's eyes spoke it all. Pity? No, not quite as harsh as pity. He didn't recognise what it was, but he understood what it meant. She knew it all. And she didn't hate him, wasn't disgusted.
Slowly, with deliberate care, Narcissa raised her hand and placed it gently upon the top of Harry's head. It was a strange gesture, one he was not familiar with. There was no motive behind it, no progression towards anything. It made it entirely unexpected, incomprehensible. He couldn't tell whether it was pleasant or not, yet his numb surprise muted both the expected tingles of repulsion and the rising nausea that roiled in his gut.
The unknown woman, one who shed such warmth upon him, a total stranger, simply knelt in silence. She waited, waited for his move, for him to direct their response to her proffered gesture of compassion. At least… Harry thought it may have been compassion; he'd never been on the receiving end of anything quite like it before. So he couldn't respond. He didn't know how. There was no malice in the soft placement of the hand that bespoke the compulsive need for his immediate withdrawal, and no suggestion to indicate the direction he was supposed to take. He felt at a loss.
Suspended as he was, his body apparently felt the need to take subconscious control and dove into a decision that Harry did not entirely expect. He should have, really, given his performance that morning. Yet he was still surprised when tears welled and spilled from his eyes, dribbling down to dripping from his chin and leaving snail trails in their wake, dampening his lips with saltiness.
'I'm s-sorry.' He loosened a hand from Lyssy's back as she wriggled closer into his neck, wiping trembling fingers across his eyelids. It felt messy. 'I don't mean to cry-'
'Nonsense.' There wasn't any sting in Narcissa's words, only sad kindness. 'Tears are not something to be ashamed of, nor do they speak of weakness. Only that we have been strong for too long.' Her hand pressed ever so slightly more firmly upon his head. Once more Harry couldn't seem find it in himself to shrink in a compulsive cringe. He didn't think he wanted to. 'I know you do not know me, Harry, but that does not mean that I cannot help you. If you will let me?'
Harry peered at her upturned face through watery eyes, sniffling in an attempt to retain some semblance of composure and prevent the tears from leaking from his nose too. No matter how many times he blinked, they kept coming. It was infuriating, but the aching hollowness in his chest didn't seem to care. He only nodded faintly, not acceptance exactly but acknowledging the offer as it were.
Narcissa mirrored the motion. 'Good. Then here, my first offer of assistance.' Removing her hand from his head and reaching into the sleeve of her robe, the witch produced a starched white handkerchief and offered it to him. Sobbing in a bubble of – amusement? – Harry took the folded cloth and held it to his eyes.
'Thank you.' He wasn't sure if she could even hear him around the muffler, but he said it anyway.
'You are most welcome. I think perhaps that it is-'
'-arry?!'
Both witch and boy froze in their motions, Harry in wiping his face and Narcissa as she rose to her feet once more.
'Harry, where are you?!'
An affectionate smile dawning on her face, Narcissa turned towards the door. 'There, perhaps I have better predictive abilities than I had considered.' She cast a very Draco-like smirk towards Harry that startled the tears from falling with its mimicry. He was still staring up at the woman when Draco appeared in the doorway.
His familiar patrician features, high cheekbones and straight nose, were at once reminiscent of his mother's in a way that Harry hadn't realised until confronted with the two of them together. Wide blue eyes peered into the room frantically as he interjected himself into the room in a flurry of motion. The simple act of the robe draped over pyjamas and slippers on his feet in an attempt at propriety, were such a contrast his tousled white-blonde hair and anxious expression that Harry was startled from his abrupt tensing and reflexive tensing.
'Mother, have you seen-'
The words died on the other Draco's lips as his scan of the room jerked to a halt, eyes fastening upon Harry still slumped in his chair. The world seemed to silence, to freeze. Despite Narcissa's words, despite the very telling actions the Slytherin youth had conducted in bringing him to his home, the quivering doubt remained. Why is it that a sliver of anger, of perceived hatred, can overwhelm the clarity of kindness and compassion so easily?
His doubts were shunted forcefully to the side, however, when Draco sagged – with as much elegance as one could sag – into the doorframe. He closed his eyes briefly and wiped a hand over his pale forehead. 'Thank Salazar, I thought you had disappeared.' With such relief radiating from him, alongside the illogical words, Harry couldn't deny his sincerity even had he wanted to.
Lyssy was lucky to have jumped free of his lap when Harry launched himself from the chair, for she would have undoubtedly been trampled had she fallen before him to the floor. Like a marionette jerked on his strings, unwittingly driven by a compulsive need, Harry stumbled across the room. Nearly tripping on trembling legs, he hadn't even made it to the doorway before Draco met him halfway. Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders even as his own clasped around the taller boy's middle.
There was no repulsion. No instant rush of shivers, quivers of disgust or fear, that always gripped him when he touched someone else. No unexplainable coldness to contrast the expected warmth of contact. The familiar anxiety that accompanied of skin on skin was replaced by only the softness and heat of a living body, the tenderness of a steady embrace. It was comforting, blissful, unassuming – had he likened it to anything, Harry would have said that it felt like hugging Lyssy.
He pressed himself more firmly into Draco as the blonde boy pressed his chin into the side of his head. The shadow of Narcissa's hand – though not unpleasant was undoubtedly disconcerting – was erased like chalk from a blackboard. He couldn't explain why is suddenly felt so right. Only that it did.
Warm breath touched his hair. 'Welcome back to the land of the living.'
Harry could only nod.

For the next few days, Harry became something of a guest-patient to the Malfoy family. Well, at least to Draco and Narcissa. Mother and son seemed to feel it their goal to ensure his every need was met and he hadn't the heart to even attempt to tell them not to worry. They seemed to enjoy it so much. Who knew that Draco had such a paternal side?
Narcissa had maintained that, though any physical injuries upon his body were healed, he was still weak both physically and magically, and bed rest would be the best thing for him. Harry was uneasy at the bluntness of her words at first, especially as she spoke them within Draco's hearing, but as his friend gave no indication of surprise or concern Harry had to assume that he was at least aware of the damage his uncle had inflicted upon him, even if he didn't know the cause of them. God, he hoped Draco didn't know the cause. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the entire situation, exactly, but since Draco felt no driving need to press for an explanation, Harry could only gratefully accept his understanding. Draco was like that; he hadn't questioned that day in Defence Against the Dark Arts either, even when Harry suspected he may have been tempted to.
Harry's days were filled with nothing much but sleeping, eating, and resting. Initially, he had been surprised by how much he slept; he had assumed that after three days of doing nothing but that he would have quite had his fill. However, it was not unexpected for him fall to sleep half a dozen times a day for a sequence of catnaps that lasted anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. The bed that had been most graciously afforded to him was more than welcoming of such.
The house elves, likely under Narcissa's direct instruction, seemed to feel it their duty to ensure he had a steady stream of meals flowing through the room on a nearly hourly basis. It was unexpected, to say the least, as much for the very presence of the house elves as the consistency of their attendance. But they seemed to positively glow beneath every request that Narcissa ordered of them, one of which Harry suspected must have been the train-like delivery of meals. Harry wasn't oblivious to the witch's frown of concern when he barely tasted a spoonful of anything. Appetite was never one of his strong points, and what little he had seemed to have shrunk even further.
Not to say that it went to waste. Draco, at least, seemed to appreciate the elves attempts. He often picked at the plates that seemed to appear of their own accord in between attempts at coercing Harry into joining him. Most of the time he failed, but it never stopped him from trying.
Draco spent most of his time with Harry. Well, all of his time, really, unless he was as he described it 'called away by mother or father'. Much to his annoyance, if the frown and puff of his cheeks was any indication. As his exclamation upon their reunion had suggested, he seemed to fear that Harry would disappear if he took his eyes off of him. More than once Harry had awoken in the middle of the night to find Draco asleep on the wide armchair his mother had reportedly conjured for him the day of Harry's arrival, chin propped on his hand and a frown slightly creasing his brow. It was oddly comforting.
Which was, in itself, perhaps the strangest part. He had always felt most comfortable with Draco at Hogwarts. The other boy had not been as affectionate as Hermione and at times Pansy, as amiable as Neville, blatantly humorous like Ron or even laid-back like Blaise, but for some reason it had always been the most comfortable around the blonde boy. Perhaps it had something to do with their similarities; no one could ever say they were alike, true, but they shared the overwhelming need to simply 'hide' themselves. The unacknowledged bond that developed as a result, at least Harry thought, made it far more comfortable than anything he had felt with any of his other friends.
Surprisingly, Harry realised after the first day that, despite tormenting himself since their confrontation with Draco's strange tattoo, that he no longer held any doubts about the affection Draco held for him. It just simply… was. And somehow, he knew that there would be little – if anything – that he could do to change that. Maybe that was why he could suddenly touch the other boy without cringing from the sting.
Draco didn't comment on this newly acquired skill – for skill Harry certainly felt it was – but he seemed to make the most of it. Spending as much time in Harry's rooms as was possible, he seemed to extend this presumption to taking a seat right beside the smaller boy on his bed, of all things. Harry didn't mind, to be honest. The bed was large enough to sleep a small family, so it was hardly cramped. Narcissa did raise an eyebrow the first time she observed them as such, but she hadn't commented. The slight incredulity she had quickly hidden, however, suggested to Harry that Draco was not often found quite so at ease with his other friends. He seemed even more comfortable than Harry himself, if the several times he had actually fallen to sleep on the pillow beside him was any indication. It was such a strange sight, to see Draco's face slack and relaxed in sleep. Unveiled, as Harry had never fully witnessed before.
Harry had suggested after the first incident that he take himself to his own bed if he wanted to sleep, that he shouldn't be obliged to babysit him when he himself felt tired. Draco had seemed nearly horrified at the prospect, though had quickly masked his concern.
'What if you get sick again? Or if you need something?'
Harry only shook his head slightly, curious. 'Your mother performs a medical exam on me every morning, and the house elves wander through every half an hour or so. I'll be fine.'
'No. No, I'm staying here.' And that was the end of it.
He didn't admit it, not fully, even to himself, but the knowledge that Harry was just a little bit glad of the decision wasn't totally unrealised. The first few days had been a watery mess in between bouts of sleep, tears leaking from him like a punctured dam, the cause of which even Harry didn't know. It appeared that years of dryness, of firmly clamping a lid upon his emotions, abruptly sprung free of his tight hold. His tear ducts apparently decided to have an uprising and burst at every possible opportunity, dragging an upwelling of overwhelming and roiling mass of emotions behind them. Harry was surprised that anyone could cry so much without deflating.
Narcissa kept reassuring him that it was fine, it was perfectly natural and to be expected even, while Draco simply offered him a shoulder or a hand to hold and a comforting pat, rocking him gently until the tears stopped. The response of his friend was more surprising than anything else. Harry felt for sure that, kind though he was, at the first sign of such pathetic desperation, at such an overt display of distress on his part, Draco would withdraw if not turn and flee.
The blonde boy did nothing of the sort. He seemed not driven away by the overt displays of emotion but rather drawn to them; any inkling of distress on Harry's part and he leap upon it protectively like a kitten on a ball of wool. Comforting him quietly until Harry's sobs died, he would prop himself up in the pillows with an arm around his shoulder and sink into a discussion of the most inane topics: quidditch was a constant, Pansy and Blaise and the Gryffindors another, and once a rather disgruntled explanation of the first and only time he had visited France prior to the present instance. Harry slumped against him in muted attention, simply listening to the other boy speak and very rarely offering input as the overwhelming tide of emotions subsided. For those first few days speaking was hard, but Draco's constant presence offered more by way of a healing treatment than any kind of therapy. The bouts of hysteria and mulling depression drew back from the surface to a more manageable level with remarkable speed. It was a blessing, to say the least.
Whenever Draco was absent – admittedly very infrequently as after the first two nights he refused to retreat to his own room for sleep and simply slept on the couch until Narcissa ordered the house elves to install another bed – Narcissa sat by his bedside. Harry didn't object to her presence, but it felt even more like he was being babysat. He quickly became used to their time spent together, however; he had to, as at least once a day, if not more, the elusive Lucius Malfoy would request his son's presence. Harry had never met the man, but the simple formality of the 'request' left him uneasy.
Narcissa was like a quieter, calmer, and more thoughtful version of her son. The similarities were not simply in their face but in the temperament and even their responses. The small, knowing smile Draco wore so well definitely came from his mother. It was these similarities more than anything that likely eased the initial discomfort between them.
Unlike her son, however, Narcissa did not appear to need to keep up a constant flow of conversation. She talked, in her soft, calm voice that had a lulling quality, but just as often as not she brought a book along with her and frequently left it in his care when she left. Much to Draco's annoyance, as they were truly interesting reads that Harry at times found himself engrossed in. He had half-heartedly bemoaned Harry's bookishness until the day of revelation when, peering over his shoulder as he squinted through hazy eyes to read 'She: A History of Adventure'. Not even the very Muggle author was enough to dissuade him. The books themselves became a focal point of discussion.
One of the strangest parts of Narcissa's visits, however, was the Touch. At least that was how Harry thought of it. The most discomforting moment of their brief moments together, which was oddly one of the most anticipated. Just as on their first day of meeting, just before Draco appeared as though she timed it exactly, the Narcissa would place her hand softly and unassumingly upon his head. It was just a Touch, no movement and no petting, no tugging of hairs or unnecessary pressure. Harry had initially struggled to breath with the encounter; it was foreign, uncomfortable bordering on a physical itch, and seemed entirely unnecessary. He had never experienced such simple, unassuming contact with someone and before Draco apparent immunity had never been able to do so without some extreme discomfort.
He couldn't have said at exactly what point the discomfort lessened, but quite abruptly Harry realised that the Touch didn't hurt. How could it, really? It was just a touch, with no intent and certainly no persistence. What had shocked him even more than the realisation that he far from hated the contact was that he almost found it… comfortable. Shaking himself out of a nearly dozing daze when the woman had kept her hand atop his head for nearly ten minutes, he had stared at her with incredulity that she replied with a soft, kind smile, her hand slipping into her lap.
'Are you alright?'
Harry had simply nodded. For once, he was truly honest.
Of course, it did not go as perfectly as all that. Draco seemed to be more highly strung than usual. Not towards Harry, to be sure. It was a little disconcerting at first, how utterly calm and soothing he was being, until Narcissa had simply explained that her son had been sorely worried for him and it was a way for him to cope with the stress of his anxiety. Harry had understood, though it had still been surprising. He couldn't remember a time, if ever, that anyone had ever offered true concern for his wellbeing. His friends at Hogwarts had shown something of the sort, but there had always been that hesitancy given the newness of their friendship.
Draco's behaviour was entirely different to such forced formality. However, this concern seemed to unleash a knock-on effect of disgruntlement towards his father who, much to Draco's affront, had yet to visit Harry. More than once he strode back from his 'meetings' with his father with an expression of hardness that so obviously hid seething anger that Harry wondered at his efforts to hide it at all. Narcissa had explained in carefree terms that it was simply venting, frustration spawned from her husband and son – both strong personalities – going head to head on an issue and failing to reach an agreement.
At Harry's concern and sudden guilt, which he failed to hide much to his embarrassment, the woman had assured him that, yes, while the issue of Harry's care was a topic that they discussed, it was hardly top on the priority list and even had it been there that Lucius was not against Harry's presence in his house. Merely wary. That had settled Harry slightly, though he still felt tension settle upon his shoulders whenever Draco disappeared with a clenching jaw.
The matter of his glasses was another issue that arose shortly after Harry awoke. That very day, to be precise. Back in the bedroom, Narcissa was conducting the first of many medical exams upon him. Mostly mentally focused by with an element of physical assessment, she had paused and stared at him questioningly. Draco had nearly had a stroke in his burst of concern, but had been waved back into his seat by a distracted Narcissa.
'Harry, do you wear glasses?'
Harry nodded. There was no reason to hide the fact. He only failed to wear them because he hadn't the time to grab his spares in his fear-driven flight three days before.
'Myopia?'
Another nod.
'Well, no trouble. We can see about getting them fixed so you won't have to wear them anymore. Optical medimancy has improved exponentially in the last decade. Such procedures are fairly standard, most disorders easily fixed…'
Narcissa's voice hollowed in Harry's ears before buzzing to a muted echo to be replaced by the throbbing of his heartbeat on his eardrums. And all of a sudden, he wasn't in the room anymore. It was the second time Harry's vision blacked out in as many hours. Before he quite registered his own terror, the air thickened in viscosity, suddenly infinitely harder to breath, and an unnatural heat flushed his body. With the absence of even the comforting presence of Lyssy in his hands to offer an immediate distraction. his fingers darted compulsively to his collarbones and dug nails into the exposed skin. His chin dropped and he shrunk backwards into the bed.
Not allowed, I'm not allowed anyone else to see. Only him, the glasses… I need them for everyone else, only him I don't… Not allowed, I'm can't – I'm not allowed to-
'…alm down, Harry, calm down. Just breathe.'
Suddenly long, slender fingers grasped his own and tugged their clawing motions from his neck. A soothing hand – at least he assumed it was meant to be soothing – cupped the side of his head. It didn't feel good, but the sparks of repulsive discomfort it triggered were enough to jolt his vision back into action and to break the frantic pace his breathing had taken up.
Blinking in a frantic flutter of his lashes, Harry peered up into Draco's face. Draco, the one who clasped his hands in one of his own, who patted the side of his head softly. The blonde met his eyes straight on, unflinchingly, the blurriness dissipated slightly by his proximity. His intensity was broken only by the worry wrinkling his brow and the tightness of his jaw.
Strangely, as soon as the owner of the hands was realised, the pangs of discomfort disappeared, replaced only by gentle warmth. Harry felt his throbbing heartbeat slow, his gasping pants slowing to ragged breaths and finally only weary heaviness. The panic attack – for suddenly, with the clarity of renewed consciousness, he recognised it for what it was – left Harry with a feeling of drawn exhaustion. If he hadn't already been seated, he thought his legs would have folded beneath him.
Narcissa eased towards Draco's side, lowering herself onto the high mattress of the bed. Her own concern, though nearly as profound as her son's, held a sort of clinical detachedness, calculating but not necessarily heartless. When Draco eventually removed his hand from Harry's face, shifting his grasp to clasp both hands around the Harry's trembling fingers, his mother finally spoke.
'I am sorry for what I said. Would you perhaps tell me what upset you?'
Harry was silent, avoiding Narcissa's questioning gaze with fixed staring at his own knees from. Now that the distress was died, and weariness replaced panic, he began to feel the rising discomfort of humiliation. How ungrateful, to respond as such to an innocent offer of support. He hunched his shoulders further.
'Harry?'
It was Draco that spoke. Harry could not fathom the reason why, exactly, he felt unable to resist the request from his friend, but something in Draco's tone drew his gaze. The grey eyes that met his own were faintly pleading, but above all concerned. It was apparent that he only wanted to know so he could help Harry.
'I-I…am always supposed to wear them. My glasses. When I'm around… people.' He swallowed, tongue gagging his throat uncomfortably.
Narcissa frowned. 'Around people? Not simply because you needed to for your eyesight.' She paused and her frown deepened measurably. 'Was it perhaps your uncle that told you to do this?'
Still muted, Harry only nodded, dropping his chin to avoid both Malfoy's gazes. He didn't miss in his periphery the way Draco's face turned slightly towards his mother, however, nor the audible squeak as his jaw tightening further. Narcissa, however, remained entirely composed aside from the frown, even if her face was somewhat more rigid than before.
'I told you, Harry, that you do not have to do anything you do not wish to anymore. But, if you feel uncomfortable, then we shall simply purchase you a new pair of glasses. Eye healing is not particularly difficult to remedy, especially in children and young people still growing physically, but if you would be more comfortable then I'm sure it can be arranged.' She paused, her frown becoming considering. 'I think it would be best, however, if we waited until you were perhaps a little more rested before visiting a specialist. An... optometrist, yes? A Muggle eye doctor?'
Harry turned and stared at Narcissa, unable to supress his incredulity. Most wizards, especially purebloods so deeply ingrained in their own culture, didn't seem to have even rudimentary knowledge of Muggle facilities and services, replacing just about everything they possibly could with magic. Harry had expected Narcissa to be the same.
The witch, evidently understanding the source of his surprise, smiled slightly. 'The Wizarding world does not have eye doctors as such, but specialists do for the production of spectacles for medical purposes. Eyeglasses are still used in some cases, more for cosmetic purposes than medical, admittedly, but mostly in instances of financial difficulty. I thought you may perhaps be more comfortable with a Muggle doctor. Though, I suppose, I could simply take a reading.'
Harry only nodded in reply, unsure of the meaning of her last comment. A lump sat heavily in his throat and no matter how much he swallowed it wouldn't dislodge. Narcissa had nodded slightly to herself, as though reaching a decision, before resuming her tests. She carried a professional efficiency in her carriage that eradicated all trace of the humiliating incident of moments before. The tests didn't take long, and he didn't feel anything. Only Draco's hands, clasped tightly around his own, indicated the fright he had taken.
It took five days before the routine was broken. By this point, even Harry, naturally sedate and well practiced at enduring periods of endless stillness and idleness, was itching to break the monotony. It was nearing nightfall when Narcissa dropped by the room for an afternoon visit. At this point, she was dropping by twice a day, always leaving with a faint touch on the head that Draco only quirked an eyebrow at questioningly. Harry wasn't concerned with his confusion. The soft, gentle touch had become familiar, almost welcome; it was the first he had ever had of such aside from Draco's. True, he doubted that if Narcissa suggested instead that she throw her arms around him in a hug that he could assure her he would be able to suppress writhing in a twisting attempt to free himself, if not simply freeze in horrified immobility, but just the touch was fine.
That evening, Narcissa walked in on the boys sitting cross-legged facing from one another over a chessboard. Harry had never played before; he'd never learned how, nor had anyone to play with had he known. Draco professed his disbelief with exaggerated gestures of open-mouthed horror at the prospect, before demanding just how exactly, with both Ron and Blaise as his friends, he had dodged that bludger so neatly. He then proceeded to stride from Harry's room before returning moments later with a very fine chess board and incredibly detailed pieces that looked architecturally designed in their precision. Hours had passed since they had fallen into the throughs of chess mastery and Harry had reached the conclusion that he was hardly the strategist to play with any real adequacy.
Narcissa smiled at them both as they simultaneously turned their heads. 'Teaching the skills of strategy, my love?'
Draco smiled with preening pride. 'Of course. What better way to hone one's mind.'
'Indeed.' The mirroring smile on Narcissa's face was identical to her son's. She turned towards Harry. 'You are looking well. I had expected to find you sleeping.'
Harry shook his head. He was past the embarrassment that accompanied the assumption that he needed to sleep more often than a toddler. 'No, ma'am. I'm much better at staying awake into the afternoon now. I don't even really feel tired anymore until late.'
'Narcissa, dear, call me Narcissa.' The witch tapped her chin as she absentmindedly corrected him. 'Well, if you are feeling better, perhaps you would like to accompany us to dinner tonight? In the dining hall for once?'
Harry froze warily at the suggestion. It was not the prospect of dinner, by any stretch, but the company that was insinuated with the invitation. Draco he was comfortable with – almost too comfortable – and Narcissa he had warmed to remarkably over the past week. Lucius Malfoy, however, remained an unseen presence in the house. Something that still irked Draco to no end. 'Dine…with you?'
'Yes. It will only be an informal dinner, nothing particularly decorative.'
Harry turned unseeingly back towards the chessboard. Informal? Do people actually truly have formal dinners these days in their own houses? He was tempted to turn down the offer, but was all too aware that such a response was both ungrateful and unkind in itself. 'Um… w-would Mr. Malfoy be there?' He nearly cringed at the bluntness of his own words.
Narcissa sighed with uncharacteristic heaviness. 'Harry, my husband is many things, but contrary to public belief he is neither a cruel nor a cold man. Please do not take his lack of visitation personally. He had been distracted with his thoughts of recent weeks and rarely leaves his study. The invitation to dinner was as much his request as my own. Though I feel he is a little concerned with the marked lack of his own son's presence at the dining table; Draco seems to have decided a pillowed table is more adequate than one made of wood.'
Draco simply tilted his nose at his mother's suggestion, though didn't deny it. Harry, on the other hand, felt himself flush at the thought that Lucius was annoyed he was monopolising his son. That more than anything made the decision for him. 'Then, please, I would be happy to.'
'Harry, you don't have to I you don't want to. Really, Father shouldn't be expecting you on your feet so soon anyway.'
'No, it's alright, Draco.' Harry glanced from Narcissa back to the blonde boy. 'Besides, I have to agree with your father; a wooden table probably is more appropriate to dine at. I wouldn't want to deprive you.'
Narcissa chuckled softly, not the least due to Draco's repeated tipping of nose and pompous sniff. 'Then I shall set dinner for seven o'clock. Is that satisfactory?'
'Of course. Thank you.'
Which found the two boys descending the three staircases to the ground floor at five minutes to seven. Harry had not beheld the rest of the manor, save for the few halls he had wandered through just after waking. It was not that he had been confined to his rooms, but simply that everything was provided for him. Including company, and Draco seemed to find himself more than comfortable propped on ridiculously well-stuffed pillows throughout the day. It was funny how well he seemed to fit into the luxurious setting. As such, it was the first time Harry truly got to appreciate the décor without a cloud of fear hanging over him. He was quite comfortable in realising that the high-strung nervousness that had gripped him since Hogwarts had dissipated somewhat. Not entirely, to be sure, and he felt a degree of nervousness at meeting Lucius, but it was nonetheless markedly decreased.
The residence was furnished in traditional Parisian style; high ceilings with intricate cornices, small, delicate candles flickering in delicate, iron-wrought sconces of twisted coils. Pale walls and floor-to-ceiling windows wide and evenly spaced, framed in white curtains that hung loosely on either side, framing a misty view onto large gardens of pristine lawns, shorn hedges and a stepping-stone trail for giants that led towards a fountain in the distance. The gardens were a sprawling vastness and the manor designed just so that the silent greenery could be seen from every window.
'Did you want to go outside tomorrow?'
Harry turned towards Draco, who watched him intently, eyes flickering towards the window. 'Hmm?'
'Mother actually inviting you from your room is the equivalent of her loosening you from her clutches.'
'I don't think 'clutches' is the right term-'
'Oh, but it is. You just don't realise it.' Draco flashed a toothy smile; he'd been doing that more often lately. It was nice to see and immediately made Harry feel lighter. 'But regardless of turn-of-phrase, what do you think?'
Harry glanced once more out the window before shrugging towards Draco. 'Sure. If you'd like.'
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Draco pinned Harry with a mock glare. 'It's not about what I want. You're the guest here. It's entirely you're decision.'
Had Harry been able to, he would have smiled. It was with regret that, no matter how much he wanted to and regardless of how much his emotions seemed to desire to dance across his face as if it were a stage, he couldn't quite coax as much onto his lips. He settled for shrugging another shoulder. 'Okay. I'd like to see them.'
'It's settled then.' Draco smiled satisfactorily, striding with more purpose down the long, white hall, tugging Harry behind him with loosely held fingers. Harry wouldn't admit it aloud, but the fact that Draco never questioned either his bursts of uncontrollable emotion or his distinct lack of appropriate responses was more heart-warming than he could express. Almost without thought he hastened into step beside Draco, nearly brushing against his friend's side. In stark contrast to his previous inability to withstand contact, simply being close to the other boy seemed to warm him as though he huddled beside a fireplace. Draco tipped his lips in another easy grin as he noted the motion, bumping his shoulder gently against Harry's but otherwise leaving it unacknowledged.
Stepping into the dining room would have been more impressive if the people already seated in there had been less so. A chandelier, of all things, hung from the roof over the very centre of a circular table of polished maple. Matching chairs with creamy cushioning and high backs ringed the circumference, more chairs than was strictly necessary, and each stationed with precise distancing from their fellows. Along the walls of the room were matching glass-faced cabinets, similarly polished to a shine and bedecked in lace runners and glass vases of pale flowers. Seated above were a smattering of paintings, each oddly mobile in the way of Wizarding pictures, with flowers swaying lightly in the breeze and faceless figures wandering lazily over mown grass.
Far more impressive, however, were the two Malfoys seated directly across from the door, side by side. Contrary to Narcissa's statement of the informality of their dining, both were elegantly garbed in dark, high-necked dress robes that fit them like a second skin. Not a hair was out of place and somehow the rigidity of their posture held that same regal bearing that Harry had first encountered rather than leaving him with the suspicion of self-induced backaches. Harry tried not to stare at Lucius, at the long-haired, expressionless countenance and studying gaze that seemed to pin him like a moth on an entomologist's board. It was easier to busy himself with following Draco's lead.
Draco barely acknowledged his parents with a tilt of his head, turned to Harry and leading him to the table. They dropped into chairs opposite the elder witch and wizard, leaving two empty seats on either side of them. Draco resolutely ignored his father, nodding to his mother before turning towards Harry with faint, comforting smile. Harry was beginning to wonder if the response was as much an avoidance of his father than any offer of comfort on his part.
'Perfect timing. Shall we?' Narcissa broke the silence, mellow as ever. She seemed utterly comfortable in the otherwise awkward tension.
Conjured by her words, a trio of house elves scuttled into the room, laden dishes hovering in the air behind them. They were placed upon the table with barely a clink, steam wafting from bowls of creamy pumpkin soup garnished with cream and a scattering of shredded herbs. Without further ado, the meal began.
It was informal in a very formal way. That was the only way Harry could consider it. Meal times had never been an 'event' for Harry; at the Dursely, he was secluded from the dining room or forced to eat after everyone else had departed from the table. His uncle had rarely eaten at the table at all, choosing instead to slouch in a couch and pick at take-away and leaving Harry to dine in solitude. When he had first come to Hogwarts, he had eaten alone; his breakfast, lunch and dinner had been provided for him by, as Professor McGonagall had stated, the school's house elves. He had always eaten in utter solitude.
Hence, when the combined efforts of Draco and Hermione had dragged him into dining with them in the Great Hall, it was a shock to the consistency of his quiet isolation. He had never had much of an appetite, but the thought of eating in front of someone else drove any consideration of food from his mind. Only the persistent coaxing of his fellows had encouraged him to even pick at his food. It had become marginally easier with practice, but he doubted it would ever be comfortable. Or at least, not for a long time.
Dinner with the Malfoys was entirely different again. Not the utter silence of solitude, nor the animated raucousness of Hogwarts mealtimes, but instead the father, mother and son ate in silence but not unaware of one another. There was a thickness in the air that insinuated acknowledgement without the need for words. It was a phenomenon that Harry had never witnessed before and as such left him uneasy. He was uncomfortable enough that withholding from fidgeting was a challenge, and made more so by the fact that he appeared to be the only one ill at ease.
Not a word was spoken throughout the entrée – a specification that Harry only realised when a plate of roasted beef, potatoes and vegetables in gravy, replaced his half-eaten bowl. He paused for a moment, nervously chewing his lip and gazing at the imposing plateful. He didn't think he could stomach it, but it would be rude to refuse to eat, wouldn't it?
Queasiness began to roil in his stomach, making the prospect of food even worse. He was just resisting the urge to raise a hand to pick nervously collarbones when a warm furriness coiled around his ankles. Immediately the urge quelled slightly, enough for him to urge his hands to clasp one another on his lap. How did Lyssy always know when he needed her? He was long past attempting to determine exactly why her presence helped so much. It just did.
'You are not hungry, Harry?'
He had been so caught on maintaining his silence and composure that Harry hadn't realised that the other three diners had finished their meal to varying levels of completion. He shifted uneasily in his seat before shaking his head slightly at Narcissa's query. 'Sorry.'
'There is no need to apologise. I was merely querying.' The slight quirk of her eyebrow spoke otherwise; Harry suspected the woman to be the main driver of his abundance of meals. 'I suppose even our deemed informality is daunting to you.'
Harry nodded. 'I never really had anything by way of a formal dinner before. I don't really know how I'm supposed to comport myself.'
The smile on Narcissa's face was that odd expression he couldn't quite fathom; not quite pitying, as it wasn't so derogatory, but something similar. 'Yes, well, at this point in the meal, we break convention slightly in order to dispel the growing awkwardness of extended silence.' Her smile became slightly rueful, as though reprimanding the formulaic procedure of their mealtime. Narcissa raised an eyebrow at Draco as though seeking agreement, though he only nodded his head knowingly in reply. Lucius remained stoically mute. 'To begin with, Draco, you received an owl from Pansy Parkinson earlier this evening. It was ribboned in blue, so I believe is of moderate urgency.'
Draco sighed heavily, with exaggerated resignation. 'Mother, Pansy's idea of urgency differs vastly from my own. It most likely regards the somewhat challenging assignment we received for Ancient Runes over the break. Of which I have already informed her I have no inclination of assisting her with.'
'Ah, but is that the proper way to treat a lady friend?'
'In this century, Mother, undoubtedly. She'll thank me for it in the future.'
'Perhaps you would see to replying to her, however? Remember that I requested you enquire into her cousin's health? Andrea's nephew was struggling with colic last heard.'
'How you even know that is beyond me mother. And I thought it was Perseus' nephew.'
'No, definitely Andrea's. Barely two months old, poor dear. Recall, Draco, that I have a knack for remembering as much. Such which evidently lack, my love.'
Mother and son proceeded into a discussion of the Parkinson inter-familial relationships, each commenting condescendingly on the other's standing point with too much affection and too many half-concealed smiles for them to really be biting. Harry watched the banter as he would a tennis match, fingers trailing over the side of his seat unconsciously for Lyssy to bat her head against. It was only when he dropped a glance to the floor briefly and looked back up again that he noticed he was the subject of Lucius Malfoy's attention.
The blonde man had a hardness to him that Draco didn't. Besides his height, the paleness of the hair and the colour of his eyes, Harry thought that his friend bore a closer resemblance to his mother. Lucius lacked the fine cracks in his expressionless façade that Draco demonstrated, those that allowed Harry glean an insight into his thoughts even through his concealed expressions. The older man was a picture of cool aloofness, and seemed to look down his nose slightly as he stared at him across the table.
However, Harry found that his wariness warred with his curiosity of the man. He had suspected to feel fear rising once more upon confronting the wraith-like presence of the Malfoy patriarch, and his first impression assured him that no other response was acceptable. But closer study revealed that, truly, the man was not quite fearsome. Narcissa had been more intimidating, with her forwardness and the bluntness of her words. Lucius was simply a presence; intimidating, perhaps, but Harry felt that actions spoke louder than detached silences. The latter he was far more familiar with from his own experiences.
Lucius evidently realised he had become the focus of attention and so dropped the thinly veiled act of concealing his own observations. He stared directly at Harry, and a flicker of something crossing his eyes bespoke a similar curiosity to that which Harry felt. Well, maybe he's not so more unreadable than Draco after all.
The continued conversation between Draco and Narcissa, rising in volume with their animation – something about a barn owl and someone named Wilson Madrow – effectively excluded Lucius and Harry from participation. Perhaps not intentionally, but so was the result. Harry wasn't one to interrupt, and from what he had seen of Lucius since entering the dining hall, the other man wasn't either. Lucius seemed to take it upon himself to remedy the issue of their assumed roles as spectators.
'You must forgive me not visiting you upon arrival. I had not deemed it…ah…appropriate given my current considerations.' The man's voice was low and deep, pitched to carry only to Harry who was separated from him by only the two empty chairs. It carried a rich quality, like the thrum of a bass. And all of a sudden, the faint, lingering worries over Lucius's aloofness eased. The man was, if anything, simply a more practiced version of Draco. So practiced that for a moment Harry had not realised the man beneath the mask.
Shrugging, Harry dropped his voice similarly to keep the conversation between the two of them. 'No forgiveness if necessary, sir. I'm the one benefitting from your hospitality. It should be me asking your forgiveness.'
Again, the hardness of his face remained unaltered, but a flicker of something skittered once more across his eyes. Satisfaction? The man leaned forward slightly in his seat, white-blond hair slipping over his shoulders. It was longer even than Harry's. 'Even so, Narcissa has informed me of your continued recovery. I am glad to hear of it.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'To put it bluntly, Harry, I have my reasons for considering a confrontation between us. If you would allow me to explain myself?'
Well, it certainly was blunt. Almost rudely to the point. Yet Harry appreciated the directness, even if it did leave him a little uneasy. He bobbed his head briefly, nodding. Lucius opened his mouth, paused, then spoke.
'I am not sure if you are aware, but the actions you undertook towards my son at the end of your most recent school term were… unexpected, to say the least.'
Harry felt his heart sink in his chest. Oh. So this is what it was about. It really was something terrible. I should have known, I saw Draco's face. He was horrified. It wouldn't just die down into nothingness. Harry swallowed a sickly taste that swelled in his mouth and lathered his tongue, trying to shrug the rising tension from his shoulders. To his left Draco chuckled with barely maintained reserve before offering an enquiry to his mother. Still Wilson Madrow?
'Please, let me allay any fears you may hold.' Lucius raised a hand as though physically quelling Harry's nerves. His face remained blank but the gesture bespoke the expressions he suppressed. Harry was startled by the gesture, as he had been so often over the past few days when Narcissa and Draco seemed to read his expressions like they would a book. Lucius was evidently the same. The realisation didn't help to ease his tension. 'What Draco wore upon his arm was a brand of sorts, a mark of ownership from a very powerful and very dangerous man. The branding was involuntary on my son's part, but even so, such removal could indicate a certain disloyalty that is unacceptable.'
As Lucius spoke, low and intense, a different kind of weight settled itself in Harry's chest. There was the worry, the concern and the wave of guilt that nearly drowned him as he considered exactly the extent of what he had done. It was foolish. He didn't even know in the moment what drove him to act as such. But something else, some dark heat beneath his ribcage that throbbed and pulsed, like a growling monster. It felt…it was almost like… No, I haven't been… I don't think I've ever been angry in my life.
Harry didn't even think the emotion was possible for him to experience, but then how else would he describe it? Something within him bared it's teeth with an almost frightening aggression, made him want to wrap his arms around his friend and draw him from the possessive handcuffs of this 'powerful and dangerous' man. What right did that man, any man, have to so control his friend? Especially involuntarily.
'Does that make you angry?'
For the second time in their brief conversation, Harry was reminded of his inability to conceal his emotions. They seemed to play themselves across his face for anyone who cared to witness. Not that, at that moment, Harry cared particularly. 'I think so, sir.'
Lucius cocked his head, considering. 'What an odd response.'
'This man, sir. Who is he?'
'Simply – or perhaps not simply at all – a very dangerous and powerful man.'
'Perhaps the dangerous and powerful man, sir?'
For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if the older wizard even breathed. He stared at Harry intently, as one would a curious and potentially dangerous artefact. A faint huff of humourless laugh moments later dispelled any fears of asphyxiation. 'For one who, Draco assures me, knows little to nothing about Wizarding culture, I admit to being impressed. You are smarter than I gave credit for, Mr. Potter.'
'You credit intelligence, sir?'
Another laugh whispered from Lucius' lips, though tinged with cynicism this time. 'It is a personal fault, perhaps, that I always underestimate until I am proven otherwise.'
Nodding understanding, Harry dropping his eyes to his lap. He wasn't surprised to see Lyssy curled up on his knees; he hadn't even felt her climb up there, but it happened so often that he barely considered it anymore. It was only the faint pointed amusement in the little cat's eyes – her strangely knowing, human eyes - that alerted him to the backhanded compliment the man had given him. And the similarly backhanded self-criticism. 'Thank you, sir.'
'It was hardly a compliment.' The man rebuffed with a sniff of his nose that, despite the lack of flush, Harry knew for embarrassment for the resemblance to Draco. His amusement at the realisation died, however, as he considered the man's words once more.
'What will happen, sir? Since Draco… since I removed the brand? What will happen?'
'Therein lies our difficulty.' Leaning further forwards in his seat, Lucius stared at him intently. 'The brand is a chain to Him. With its removal, my son has more freedom than he has been afforded in months, as he is no longer magically bound. However, this freedom comes at a price, and this price will be paid in blood should our actions be discovered.
'It is for this reason, an attempt to distance ourselves from the man himself, that we have ventured into France. As of yet, we have reached no solution to our problem.'
Harry frowned, considering the man's words. He was a little surprised, to say the least, that Lucius had confided as much in him as he had. The man was obviously cunning and intelligent; why would he offer as much information as he already had?
His brow smoothed as realisation set in. 'How could I help, sir?'
For the first time, a smile tinged Lucius' mouth. 'Credit is well given, I believe.' The satisfaction was back in his eyes, illuminating their darkness like a candle in a shuttered room. 'Harry, I believe you have a close affiliation with Albus Dumbledore?'
'Father, stop.'
Both Harry and Lucius turned towards the source of the vicious words. Draco, for all his attempts at composure, was positively seething with anger. His lips drew back slightly and a glare hardened his features into coldness. Harry frowned worriedly; Draco got angry only slightly more than Harry did – or at least let himself appear to. Such a display showed such a degree of distress that it was concerning. Narcissa, a frown on her own brow, seemed to mirror the sentiment.
'Draco, be silent. I am doing what-'
'I don't care what it is you think you are doing. I'm not dragging Harry into this. He's helped more than we can possibly say by simply removing the Dark Mark in the first place. I'm not going to ask anything further of him, and neither will you.'
Harry wondered for a moment if Draco really believed he had succeeded in silencing his father. The determined set of his chin indicated so, but Lucius's raised eyebrow spoke of a father facing the stubborn immaturity of a pre-schooler.
'I am doing what is best for you, Draco, in the only way I see possible-'
'By dragging a friend into the midst and potentially setting him up as a target for a manic Dark Lord who may or may not still want him dead?'
The words didn't really register with Harry. Still? He supposed Draco was likely caught in the heat of the moment, but the blonde wasn't one to lose his head and blather nonsense. He felt is frown deepen, in consideration as well as concern.
'He will remain anonymous if we play our hands right. For your protection-'
'I won't risk Harry for my own protection.'
'And the protection of your mother and myself. I believe there is no other choice.'
The words shattered Draco's flushed anger as though it had been knocked out cleanly from beneath him. The faint pink flush died from his cheeks and the glare with it. 'You think you will both be in danger too? You said he wouldn't come after you.'
'There is always a possibility, Draco.' Lucius had returned to his hard aloofness, though his eyes bespoke a sadness that contrasted the expressionlessness and rendered it a fallacy. 'But it is your protection we are most concerned for. Not only because of the task you have been given – as task which, at this point, we simply cannot allow to be fulfilled – but because of the absence of your mark. Traitors to the Dark Lord look hopefully towards a clean death, but it is rarely afforded them.'
The actual naming of the puppet-master pulling the strings, even though Harry had already suspected as much, sent a cold chill trickling down his spine. Draco, and Narcissa and Lucius it seemed, were embroiled in something much deeper and more dangerous than he could have imagined when he simply sought to remove a strangely shaped tattoo from his friend's arm. He felt his hands unconsciously seek out Lyssy's head, then Draco's hand, sinking his fingers into the warmth both provided.
Draco turned towards him, a sad smile barely curling his lips. 'I guess now you finally know.'
Harry nodded, holding his friend's gaze for a moment more before turning back to Lucius. 'What can I do?'
He felt Draco's long fingers grasp his more firmly, clenching them as though seeking to draw him back, but he ignored the pressure, locking eyes with the elder Malfoy to the exclusion of his worried friend and the silent Narcissa.
Lucius closed his eyes momentarily. It could have been a prayer, a gesture of thanks, or even a pause to rest sore eyes for all Harry knew. 'The only solution is to seek the protection of Albus Dumbledore. As head of the resistance that opposes the Dark Lord, he is our only hope for making a clean cut from the chains that bind our family to him.'
'Are you…?' Harry paused, unsure if he was being forward in making the assumption. Still, if Draco had been branded and his parents were likely bound, they undoubtedly carried marks of their own. 'Can I perhaps try and remove your brand also?'
The smile, free of cynicism this time, twitched on Lucius's lips once more. 'Most kind of you, Mr. Potter, but priorities are priorities. And, as it so happens, one of the most likely sources of bargaining chips between the leader of the resistance and myself lies in my role as an informant. I can hardly provide such information if I so blatantly claim disloyalty to my Master.' The man hissed the term with positive venom. Evidently, any fear that he may have felt for his superior was on par if not diminished entirely by his loathing.
'You hope to bargain? Then why do you need me?'
'Dumbledore will hardly believe the words of a Death Eater, especially one so newly reformed. That is where you come in.'
Glancing up towards Draco, who hadn't looked away from him for a moment, Harry caught the pleading look in his eye. For all Draco spat in anger and glared at his father, for all he claimed he didn't want Harry involved any further, he was desperate. Desperate for his family's sake, Harry realised. The plea warred with his guilt and swirled a whirlpool of sadness in his eyes.
There was truly no doubt in Harry's mind of his reply. He cared for Draco, perhaps more than anyone else in the world, and his affection for Narcissa grew stronger every day. He barely knew Lucius, but the guarded love he expressed for his family and that returned by both wife and son was enough to warrant offering assistance.
'Of course I will help. I'm not sure how much good it'll do – it's not like I'm particularly close to Professor Dumbledore – but I'll do anything I can.'
All three Malfoys seemed to slump slightly in their seats at his words. Not truly slump – he couldn't picture any of them doing something so undignified – but there was a definite easing of tension. Narcissa captured his eye and smiled with a sad warmth and utter gratitude. 'Thank you.'
Nodding, slightly embarrassed by the woman's sincerity, he turned his attention back towards Lucius. 'When did you want to try and meet with the Professor?'
'I had hoped to contact him at the initiation of the new school term, but-'
'Sooner is better, Lucius. We should approach him beforehand, as soon as possible.' Narcissa was resolute in her words, firm and commanding. Harry would have agreed to it in a heartbeat if she had suggested as much to him.
'Such would not be wise, Narcissa. At least allowing Draco time to settle back in to his classes to draw eyes from any abnormal activity, away from harm-'
'But if we gain his protection before the term resumes, then it limits the danger imposed by our continued isolation. You know this, Lucius. Why do you fight me so?'
The elder wizard sighed, closing his eyes briefly once more. When he opened them, his eyes flickered to Harry and Draco across the table. 'This is not a topic that need be debated over a dinner table. Harry has agreed to help; he does not need to be inflicted with the finer points of the process. Nor does Draco.' The unspoken words, that they would continue the discussion in privacy, went without saying.
Narcissa reluctantly conceded, bowing her head but keeping her eyes firmly upon her husband. As if they had been awaiting a break in the conversation, the doors to the dining room swung inwards once more and the trio of house elves entered, carrying bowls and plates of an assortment of fruits, puddings and ice-cream.
Harry tried, he truly did, but he couldn't stomach more than a few pieces of fruit. The conversation, not to mention the entrée, sat heavily in his gut, the wispy remnants of his Anger still bubbling through his veins. Nobody seemed to mind particularly, however, as not a one ate much more than he did.
At eight o'clock, the dishes disappeared in the hands of the silent house elves. Narcissa rose moments after the trotting servants disappeared with their crockery, staring pointedly towards Lucius before rounding the table to Harry and Draco.
'Good night, my love.' She pecked a kiss on the side of Draco's forehead, which he withstood admirably and even patted her arm in return. Narcissa then turned towards Harry, her hand drawn to and placed softly upon his head as though it was a natural and expected response. 'Good night to you too, Harry dear. Thank you.'
Without another word, she swept from the room, dress robes fluttering in her wake impressively. Lucius rose moments later, slowly, as though dreading the coming meeting. Harry couldn't blame him. For all of her kindness, he got the impression that Narcissa Malfoy was something of a force to be reckoned with.
'Good evening, Draco. Harry, it was a pleasure to meet you.' He pause a moment, in the process of drawing something that appeared to be a shortened cane with a silver snakehead from his pocket. A flick of his wrist and the short, polished ebony slithered out sinuously like a coiling snake to a full-length cane before hardening once more. Harry could have sworn that the head hissed, but chose to ignore the fact, instead meeting Lucius' gaze once more. 'You may not fully understand just what you have done for us,' he paused again, a dry smile twitching his lips, 'or perhaps you do. Credit is given where credit is due.' The man huffed his odd little a laugh before stalking after his wife, robes fluttering though not quite as impressively as Narcissa's.
Draco, hand still wrapped around Harry's, gave his fingers a faint squeeze. He peered at him for a moment with an unreadable expression before speaking. 'Want to head back upstairs?' Harry only nodded in reply.
Draco led the way back to the guest room afforded to Harry. He didn't speak since they departed the dining hall, which was remarkable in itself given his propensity for constant verbalisation, but Harry could tell by the tension in the back of his neck that it was not for want of something to think of.
Easing open the door to Harry's room – their room, if Harry was to be honest; the blonde was in there as much as he was – Draco immediately slumped down into the armchair with a heavy sigh. Harry folded himself onto the end of the mattress before him, silent observing the play of emotions across his face. Even with the slight distance between them, Harry could feel the faint warmth radiating from his friend.
'Well, that was more intense than I expected a dinner conversation to be.'
Harry nodded, more to give some sort of a reply than in agreement. He wasn't familiar enough with dinner conversation to comment on his expectations. 'What do you think you'll do?'
Draco shrugged, peering down at his fingernails in false nonchalance. It was so obviously a façade that Harry wondered why he even bothered to do so. Habit? 'I suppose it is more father's decision than my own. I think your suggestion is valid, though.'
'I'm not sure that your father feels the same.'
Shaking his head, Draco finally turned to look at Harry directly. 'If he had honestly disagreed, you'd have known it. He probably would have given you some scathing remark that would induce equal amounts of affront and mortification.' He smirked. 'He's good at those.'
'Where you get it from, then?'
Both Harry and Draco started in shock at the jibe Harry's words. Harry dropped his chin to avoid the smirk spreading across Draco's face. He honestly hadn't meant to say it aloud.
'Good.'
'What?'
Draco shrugged. 'You haven't been speaking as much as you normally would. It's nice to hear that you're actually voicing your thoughts again.'
'I didn't mean to be rude-'
'I know. That's why I didn't give you a thorough scolding for it.' The grin widened as satisfaction twinkled in his eyes. 'Besides, the mind needs wit the same way a plant needs sun. Food for the soul and all.'
'I think you just made that up.' Harry couldn't hide the faint amusement in his tone. Draco was so endearingly insufferable when he acted pompous. The blonde laughed in reply, nodding without embarrassment, and tapped Harry gently with his shoulder. They subsided into silence once more, the humour lightening the mood but not entirely eradicating the tension of dinner.
'You know,' Draco paused, letting his head drop onto the couch and slumping in a slouch that somehow still seemed elegant. 'I almost can't wait to get back to Hogwarts this year. I usually love the Christmas break – being with mother and father and all – but everything's so different this year.'
He seemed almost to be muttering to himself, but Harry nodded, in real agreement this time. Though he had always preferred – overwhelmingly preferred – term period to the holidays, this year was different. Hogwarts was different. Rather than an escape from home, he could honestly claim that he was looking forward to going back.
'I wonder how Neville and Hermione and the rest of them are doing?'
Draco huffed a breath of laughter. 'Hermione? Definitely studying. And Neville? Probably with Ron already, would be my guess.' He turned towards Harry, a contemplative expression on his face. 'You could write them, you know. We have owls.'
Harry shook his head. 'I wouldn't even know what to say.'
'Well then, I'll help you. It's not too hard; easier, even, than speaking in conversation. You don't have to try to talk through their interruption.' He paused, a long-suffering expression taking over from his fond eagerness to help. 'I suppose I'll have to write to Pansy. She'd probably want to know you're staying here, not to mention knowing the address to send her gifts. I don't think she'd even know where to send yours, otherwise.'
The words froze in the passage of Harry's ears as they registered. All of a sudden, an entirely unexpected coldness gripped him. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, Pansy is a bit of a busy-body, in case you haven't noticed. She always likes to know just about every-'
'N-no, not that. What did you mean about gifts?' His voice had hushed, yet rose slightly in pitch with his near panic.
Draco eyed him worriedly, frowning. 'What do you mean? What, you mean about…' Understanding dawned on him. 'Harry, do you not exchange gifts with your…? No, I don't really suppose you would. Sorry, I- I shouldn't have assumed.'
Stuttering sounded strange coming from Draco, and it was that more than anything that allowed Harry the presence of mind to choke out an explanation. 'M-my uncle, even when I stayed with my family in England, w-we never exchanged gifts. They didn't, we didn't have the sort of relationship for that.'
'Look, Harry, it's no big deal. Don't worry about it. I doubt any of them really expected anything-'
'Because they don't really see me like that? Is that what usually happens? Won't they hate me for not sending them something?'
Draco's own discomfort seemed to be growing with Harry's distress, but Harry only registered it detachedly. He felt a queasiness rise within him, his babbling thoughts nearly drowning out Draco's words. 'No, it's not like that. Don't even think that, how could they hate you for not sending a gift? And it would be natural for them to get you a gift. I'm just saying, given you live overseas and all-'
'But you just said Pansy would send something. Why wouldn't I? Does that make me a terrible person? I didn't think they would like me enough to even think about gifts, let alone-'
'Harry, calm down! Merlin…' Draco appeared nearly as frazzled as Harry by his mindless stuttering. Truthfully, Harry hardly noticed that either. He was not one to run his mouth thoughtlessly, but the thought of his kind, caring classmates coming to dislike him had triggered a different kind of distress to any he had felt before. I don't want them to hate me. What if they hate me? That would be- it would be horrible! I can't, I can't make them hate me-
An arm curled around his shoulders and Harry was dragged suddenly into Draco's side in a comforting embrace. He hadn't even noticed when his friend slipped onto the mattress beside him. Lyssy, having followed them from the dining room, settled on his other side and pressed herself firmly against his leg.
With an effort, Harry clamped his jaws shut, teeth clicking audibly, and pressed his lips together to still their quivering. He had never experienced the likes before, a different kind of fear to that from intimidation and possessiveness. So different as to be opposite, in fact. He wanted, no, needed the affection of his school friends. To lose that would just be more than he could stand.
Draco wrapped his other arm around Harry, locking him more firmly into his side so that the Harry was nearly sitting on top him. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Really, no one will mind an ounce about gifts. If you're worried, you could just write to them, you know. I'm sure they'd like to just hear from you. Especially Hermione and Pansy.' He chuckled, the deep vibrations thrumming from his chest. 'You seem to have gotten yourself two mother hens, there.'
Harry mumbled unintelligibly in reply before raising his voice to be heard. 'I've never written a letter before. I don't think I could do it justice.'
Seemingly at a loss at the statement, Draco simply gave Harry a gentle squeeze, conveying affection if not offering a solution through their contact. Harry was content to let his distress sink into a dejected sadness until Draco started slightly.
'Well, if you really want to get them a gift, why don't we go shopping tomorrow? I've never been to Rue des Merveilles, but I've heard it's better even than Diagon Alley.'
The confidence of Draco's tone, complete satisfaction that he had presented an adequate solution to their problem, quelled the lingering discomfort and nausea enough for Harry to consider his words. He peered up at his friend, raising an eyebrow. Draco grinned down upon him. 'Rue des Merveilles? The Street of Wonders? What is that?'
'Pretentious, right? And you just had to upstage me with the accent, don't you?' Draco's smile took the sting out of his words. 'It's basically the French equivalent of Diagon Alley, thought it's supposed to be much more extravagant. I'm not sure where it is exactly, but father will undoubtedly know. I'll ask him if he'll come with us tomorrow. Mother and father don't like leaving the house during the day, but if it's just for a few hours, and just this once, then it should be alright. Besides, I'd like to get an engraving done for mother's pendant.'
Harry sighed. He wasn't entirely confident with the idea; he'd never heard of any Rue des Merveilles, but then he had not believed in a world of magic until a little over half a year ago. Magic itself, of course he'd known about that, but that others could use it? And they had their own society? He wasn't surprised by much any more.
'That would be… wonderful.' He noted the irony of the statement with a faint snort. 'Thanks, Draco, but it doesn't really help.'
'And why is that?'
'In case you haven't noticed, it's only two days until Christmas.'
'Of course I've noticed. I count down the days from one Christmas to the next every year. Always have, and always will. I still don't see the problem.'
Harry bit his lip to hide his amusement. Draco seemed completely comfortable in his display of immaturity. 'Well, even if we did get gifts, there's still the problem of actually sending them to them.'
'Which is, in fact, not a problem at all.'
Harry, frowned, tilting his head questioningly towards Draco once more. 'How so?'
Draco grinned self-assuredly. 'Quite simply, my dear Harry: magic.'

A/N: my customary 'thanks for the reviews, everyone!' I really appreciate them - and will continue to appreciate anything that anyone chooses to comment. Please review if you have absolutely anything to say about, erm... anything.

As a heads up, the next chapter might be a little late in coming; I, unfortunately, need to pass my exams and the likelihood of that diminishes slightly when I get distracted with writing. I'll try to keep on track, and if it is a bit late it won't be by much.

Thanks again for reading!
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The Masks of Real Heroes