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
- 12
- 13
- 14
A/N: I would have loved to have posted this for Christmas, but I'm not so cruel as to hold out for another two months to satisfy my desire for synchrony. As it is, this chapter is riddled with (premature) yuletide festiveness, a bit of fluff, and Draco acting a bit like the spoiled Malfoy ponce that he is (all in good-humour, of course). Enjoy!

Chapter 12: The Festive Season
If anything could live up to the name 'wonders', Rue des Merveilles was it. Lucius had, surprisingly, graciously agreed to accompany Harry and Draco, and they had set out towards the fourth arrondissement, a significant walk from the Malfoy manner which was, naturally, shortened substantially by magic.
The pedestrian highway running beneath Paris, Le Cachee Labyrinthe, was a magical construct that Harry felt was truly marvellous. Mr. Malfoy informed the boys – and Harry witnessed – that for every step they took on the Wizarding underground 'maze', nearly five hundred feet were taken in the Muggle word. To 'avoid the chaos of Muggle transport' Lucius had informed with a faint note of condescension in his tone.
The hall was a wide, open arena of indiscernible size, of pale stone walls and matching floors and a roof that was nearly as distant as the far wall. Lit by an ambient white-blue light that chased shadows into miniscule cracks in the wall, it was filled with wandering witches and wizards engaging in their own activities and apparently hardly as enthralled by the magical hall as Harry was. For one merely needed to take the designated steps that would align them with their above-ground destination and point their wand at the roof to be instantly transported to the site they had 'walked' to. The only difficulty was in trying to determine the required number of steps one needed to take, something that Harry found Lucius seemed to have no trouble with at all..
When they stepped onto Rue des Merveilles – through a bubbling fountain of cupid, of all things – a sight that truly lived up to expectations met them. Though it was hardly a single road, more like a spider-webbing network of streets slicing across a dozen main roads, the beauty that Harry beheld appeared to have tumbled elegantly and completely from the pages of a storybook.
A magically-induced evening darkness swathed the entire district, permitting just the faintest glimpse of bashful stars and illuminated by the ethereal glow of luminescent vines that snaked across the side of every building. Blossoms the size of buttons sprung across the length of the plants, spilling out a soft, white-blue radiance that mirrored that in Le Cachee Labyrinthe onto the passers-by below them.
Each building was a masterpiece in its own right. From towering structures of nearly fifty feet tall – selling what, Harry was unsure – to quaint, cottage-like abodes that nestled under their taller companions looming shadows, they varied in size and shape like an exaggerated mountain range. Every wall was white and yet somehow the architectural feats varied so greatly that the monochrome of the stone was somehow overlooked. The whiteness reflected the glow of the blossoms and vines to illuminate the equally white pavements that fit together like a patchwork quilt. In every wide window, lit by contrasting colours of yellows, reds and greens, shop-owners boasted their wares.
Along the broad street, drawn by a range of animals from griffons to pegasus to strange, overgrown dog-like creature with three tails, gypsy carts and fast-food vendors mulled amongst the moderate crowd. They wove a masterful dance amongst the shoppers as though choreographed, always moving and yet never risking ploughing over a potential customer.
It was so different to Diagon Alley; even the people seemed different, dressed not in robes so much as loose, skirt-like trousers and shirts with equally loose sleeves, long, pointed hoods hanging loosely to the small of their backs. But most startling to Harry was the noise. Or, more correctly, the lack of noise. Harry had always found Hogwarts to be unnecessarily loud, something he was altogether unfamiliar with. Oh, that was not to say that the French were quite, by any means, but simply that his personal experience lent itself to a more muted environment.
Parisian Wizarding public appeared to embody this trait. There was noise, yes, the murmur of chatter, but never more than a constant hum, like music played as a soothing background tone. It was…peaceful.
'I'll never look at Diagon Alley the same way, that is for certain.'
Draco's voice was so hushed it was nearly a whisper. Harry glanced at the taller boy, smiling slightly at eyes squinted and head turning slowly in an attempt to capture every detail of his surroundings.
'So typical. Of course, everything is all about the image with the French, isn't it?' In contrast, Lucius' snide tone was dry, faintly scornful, even if it was without malice. While Harry and Draco had stared in silent awe and appreciation of the presentation before them, the elder Malfoy had disdained to show such interest. At least publicly.
Draco turned at his father's words. 'Oh, so you should fit right in father?'
A scowl met the young blonde's murmur, but there was no heat to it. Harry thought he even glimpsed a glimmer of amusement beneath the smile. 'Enough of that. Let us get started shall we? The day shall surely be gone before we know it.'
'Indeed.' Draco bowed his head with false pomp, and linked his arm through Harry's. 'Where exactly would you head first, Harry? Just browsing, or have you anything in mind?'
Harry allowed Draco to direct him in a show of classical decorum with suppressed amusement; it was unnecessary, but he didn't withdraw from the hand-hold; he'd rapidly developed a liking for direct contact with Draco. It was comforting, and as unimposing as Rue des Merveilles appeared to him – at least in contrast to Diagon Alley – he still felt the constant roiling of nervousness whenever he entered public places. It was a by-product of his sheltered life, he could only assume.
'I think I've pretty much got the ideas in mind,' Harry replied, for he had. There'd been little else on his mind since their discussion the night before. 'It's more about finding the right shops. Most of it should be easy to come by, so long as I've got the right money.'
'We'll lend you as much as you need.'
Harry started at Lucius's suggestion as though the man had physically tapped him on the shoulder. It was a surprise as much for the unexpectedness of his address as for the words themselves. He stared up at the tall man, tilting his head curiously. For all he attempted to appear hard and cold, Harry was beginning to realise that Lucius was remarkably kind at times. Especially to his son and wife. The resemblance to Draco was astounding, in more than just appearance.
'T-that's alright, sir. Thank you anyway, but I have money, in my parents' vault. Or at least, I did at Gringotts.'
'Ah, well then, we'll be heading towards Dame Maria's Banque. Down the Great Western Boulevarde, if I can recall.'
As it happened, the Wizarding world networked all of its most prominent banks. Dame Maria was perhaps one of the strangest structures Harry had ever laid eyes upon. Not only was elevated nearly three hundred meters off the ground, but several of the towers hung upside down. An unnaturally thick body of cloud shrouded the turreted roofs, creating a mystical theme. Though for all its mysticism, it was rather small.
'Larger on the inside, you know.' Draco nodded knowingly to Harry's murmured observation. Harry closed his eyes as he reprimanded himself. Of course: magic.
After a very uncomfortable and slightly overwhelming meeting with a swarm of over-eager aurae –wind nymphs who appeared to outnumber the banking goblins ten to one – they floated down on oddly solid clouds to the pavements once more.
'Alright, so first things first: you said you know just about what you'd like to get everyone.' Draco raised an eyebrow, awaiting Harry's confirmation, which he asserted with a slight nod.
'Yeah. I was thinking-'
'Ah, don't tell me! It will spoil the fun.' He twitched his finger pointedly, lifting his chin and staring down his nose pompously at his shorter friend.
It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. 'Fun?'
Smiling in a faint shadow of his usual grin – they were in public, after all – Draco ignored the rolled eyes of his father and nodded with barely suppressed enthusiasm. 'Of course. You buy, I guess who it's for. I'm rather good, you know. I believe Pansy thinks I'm at least partially trained in Legilimancy.'
Harry felt his amusement at his friend rise once more. Draco showed his immaturity at the most unexpected times. 'Alright. I'll just…lead the way then.'
It took longer than they expected to work their way through the many shops and wide streets, especially given their complete lack of knowledge of their surroundings. A map would have been helpful; Diagon Alley may have been smaller and almost claustrophobic in the narrowness of some of its alleyways, but at least it didn't have vast stretches of nameless buildings, dotted haphazardly with shops that required a keen eye to spot often minutely pinned signage. An eye that Harry did not possess; given his limited eyesight, he alternated between widening his eyes and blinking rapidly and squinting to muddle through blurred lettering of the occasional hand-painted shop signs.
Even with this restriction, however, Harry found it was he who directed them for the most part, more because of his knowledge of the language than for Draco's suggestion that he 'lead the way'. If anything, he found it a little disconcerting to have Draco and Lucius trailing behind him like loyal – though admittedly well-groomed – hounds. Neither Malfoy showed any particular disgruntlement, however; to a trained eye, they even seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Neville's gift was the easiest to find. Even in a foreign country, and even attempting to filter through the baffling array of largely nameless buildings, it was almost impossible to overlook a nursery. Draco guessed straight away for whom he sought the intricately woven emerald green plant of pearly, semi-sentient seed-heads – a 'Loki's Consort', the frizzy-haired shop owner had declared proudly.
'It's pretty, to be sure. But what does it actually do?'
Lucius sighed in exasperation, but didn't voice any explanation. Harry suspected it was just as likely that the Malfoy patriarch knew as little of the plant as his son. He was beginning to understand where Draco acquired his skills in self-constructed masks.
'It's a stimulant when prepared in the right way, from what I can make out. Induces a mild euphoria that tends to alleviate inhibitions, but it's exponentially potent in specific potions.'
Draco stared at him for a moment. 'Where did you learn that? Not in Herbology.'
'No, Neville spoke of it once. Said he would love to get his hands on one.'
'Once? And you just happened to remember him mention it?'
Harry nodded, not looking up from the parchment he signed and printed Neville's name onto. The shop owner had assured him most enthusiastically that it would be delivered to the subject on Christmas morning. The best part was that it didn't even need an address. Harry didn't understand how that worked, exactly, but he wasn't about to question Wizarding postal services. It was, according to Draco, a vastly complex and procedure-driven system that arose one a year just in time for Christmas. Procedures and potential invasions of privacy aside, it was certainly useful. 'I've got borderline eidetic memory. Remember pretty much everything I hear.'
Silence met his words and when he looked up both blondes were staring at him with identical expressions of barely concealed surprise and swelling bemusement. He frowned. 'What?'
'That would explain a lot.' Draco snorted in exasperation, rolling his eyes towards the array of greenery that lined the walls with false interest.
'What do you mean?' Though not insulted, Harry was curious as to the cryptic statement.
Draco shrugged. 'Only that you're keeping pace with sixth years – sixth years, mind – after only studying magic for a few months. I was always pretty impressed by that.'
'You were?'
'It's still impressive, even with an exceptional memory,' Lucius murmured, voicing his contribution with the same false nonchalance that his son wielded so well. Harry was finding their similarities increasingly apparent and increasingly humourous. 'You never studied at Beauxbatons?'
Harry shook his head. Lucius gave him a tight smile. 'I can hardly blame you. A rather eccentric Headmistress, that Maxine woman.' The older man huffed softly from his nose. 'Shall we move on?'
For Ron, a quidditch jersey was remarkably easy to locate. The scar-balm less so, but still attainable. Draco had raised an eyebrow at the purchase but remained silent, to which Harry was grateful. He didn't think that the brief display of insecurity Ron had shown when once describing the scarring on his arms should be common knowledge. A beautiful thestral bowstring he purchased for Luna – she was an apt violinist, or so she had idly professed – while he had managed to pinpoint a seller of pygmy puffs and added a pale purple puffball to his collection for Ginny. It appeared that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was booming in their sales, even on an international level. Draco had raised an eyebrow at that, but had ceded derogatory comments when Harry explained that of course he would only get another male; Ginny didn't want to breed off them, but Arnold was in sore need of companionship.
It was with amusement from Draco and approval from Lucius when he considered and eventually selected an international voucher to Powdered Patisseries for Blaise. At first Draco had been somewhat startled, breaking into hearty chuckles, until Harry hesitantly attempted to explain that one, their friend had a natural sweet tooth, and two, Pansy had expressed a sincere desire to visit the chain representative in Hogsmeade. It had taken barely a moment for Draco to catch on.
'I knew it! It wasn't just me thinking it.' He snapped his fingers in triumph at the sudden epiphany. 'Pansy has been interested for years, but Blaise is always too oblivious to pick up on her subtly. So you think he's finally realised?'
Harry shrugged, happy that he had induced the grin of satisfaction in his friend. 'He stares at her almost permanently whenever she isn't looking, and I don't think it's because he hates her.'
Draco nodded in enthusiastic agreement, grinning just on the inside of what Harry perceived he considered socially acceptable, and proceeded to construct an elaborate and extreme plot to nudge his two best friends into a relationship. Lucius watched in bemusement, as silent as Harry. As Harry peered at him sideways, they shared a fond glance that startled them both.
A wander through a bookstore had him laden with an armful of books for Lucius – subtly stowed away by a helpful shop assistant before he could be noticed – while several shops down he located a colourful array of socks and a cassowary quill. Draco had been baffled by both purchases and eventually, though with much reluctance, admitted his confusion.
'The cassowary quill is for Professor McGonagall – to complete her collection of non-magical flightless bird quills – and the socks for Professor Dumbledore.' Draco had simply stared at him for a moment, face entirely devoid of expression, before blinking rapidly and leading them onwards.
They eventually came to a jeweller that met Draco's standards, and he proceeded to the counter to engage a shop assistant in a thorough discussion of engravings and to propose his design for his mother's necklace. Thankfully one of the assistants spoke a respectable amount of English, so the young Malfoy didn't need to blather through his own defensively lacking vocabulary to communicate, nor require the assistance of Harry as he had done on a number of occasions so far; given that it was a shopping trip designed for Harry's benefit, Draco had made a startling number of purchases himself. Lucius wandered the wide rows in the shop, peering into glass counters with mild curiosity while Harry purchased a silver and opal necklace for Pansy.
For his part, Harry was feeling the exertion of the day sagging upon him. In that light-headed way, the artificial lighting of the shop was slightly too bright and his legs seemed just a little too heavy for rapid movement. He settled for simply edging at an exceptionally slow pace around the selections available.
He was just studying a selection of exquisitely designed hair combs when he felt a warmth flood the air beside him. Glancing upward, he stepped aside hastily as Lucius edged up to the glass cabinet. The taller man raised a quizzical eyebrow at the sudden movement, and Harry felt a flush redden his cheeks. Damn my inability to keep a straight face anymore. Why did that even happen? It's so embarrassing. He didn't voice his discomfort, however, simply slipping back to the cabinet and dropping his gaze back to the selection.
'They're very beautiful. And unique. Something I always find fascinating with antiques.'
Harry wasn't sure whether Lucius was talking to him of simply muttering the observation to himself, but he nodded anyway. There was no need for a verbal reply to break the ensuing silence. At least until Lucius sought to break it.
'Were you looking at any in particular?'
Harry glanced up at the blonde man through his fringe, peering at him questioningly. The man had seemed to be pointedly attempting to express as little interest in the two boys shopping exploits as possible throughout the morning. The question was unexpected and Harry could not entirely fathom from where the interest had sprung.
Turning back towards the display, he tapped the glass gently with his finger. 'I think… the one at the back.' He spoke softly, conscious of breaking the hush of the jewellers in a way that Lucius – and Draco from his continued conversation with the shop assistant – suggested was the expected norm. He fixed his eyes upon the piece; a traditional hair comb of deceptively simple design of bird; a hawk, if he was correct. It strayed from the cliché in that the creature seemed twisted somehow. Not in distress, but rather as though its image had been caught mid-flight, a model captured of the plunge towards the earth far below, talons bared as though preparing to land and one wing tucked slight while the other splayed. It was constructed of white gold, untarnished despite its apparent age, and glossed with a faintly radiant mother-of-pearl sheen beneath the wings.
Lucius hummed in approval from beside him. That in itself was a surprise, and surprisingly gratifying. 'Exquisite. And for whom are you purchasing it.'
'Mrs. Malfoy, sir.'
From the corner of his eye, he could just make out the faintly blurred expression of the man's face as he turned towards him. It may have been his imagination, but he though he saw something of a glimmer of satisfaction, or even...approval? It was a strange sight, even just the briefly captured impression.
'I think that it is a perfect choice.' The words meant more to Harry than he could have expressed, so he kept silent.
As it turned out, Draco required a significant amount of time at the jewellers. So much time, in fact, that Harry soon tired of the array of bejewelled pieces and slipped outside the store with his decorative bag and hair comb, leaning against the glass of the front window wearily in wait. He wasn't accustomed to long expeditions, even prior to his enforced bed rest, and a faint headache had sprung in his temple from straining and failing to use his eyes to their complete capacity. The morning had been draining, and he couldn't even say how long they had been out for. The permanent evening sky, at first so beautiful, he could now perceive as a clever decision on part of the designers to distract shoppers from exactly how long they had been idling away amongst the stores.
Glancing once more inside through the glass window, Harry could make out the figure of Draco and Lucius at the counter, the elder having wandered to his son's side after the first ten minutes of browsing. They had been there for so long, locked in animated discussion, that the assistant had conjured chairs for the three of them. Harry bit back an exasperated sigh, turning away from the image they presented. He could never understand the strange relationship between shopkeeper and client; strangers one moment, comrades the next.
For all of his apparent aloofness, Draco seemed prone to becoming enthusiastic over the smallest things. And not only that, but the other boy expressed an interest in some of the most unexpected areas. Fashionableness, for instance, seemed to be an ingrained aspect of his personality, while he seemed thoroughly engrossed in Muggle biology whenever Harry pondered aloud his admittedly limited knowledge on the subject, though he disregarded any other scientific field. He was finicky in his cleanliness and despised getting his hands dirty, but still enjoyed the unavoidably messy exploits of potions.
Potioneering held nothing on Ancient Runes, however. Harry couldn't really understand the appeal, but Draco found it fascinating. He spoke of 'the magic of the phrases' that the runes represented, the 'history of the magical artefacts' engraved in symbols, but further than that Harry couldn't understand a word of his attempts at explaining his passion.
And suddenly, Harry knew what he would get Draco for Christmas. He had avoided thinking of the subject, overlooking his attempts at deciding and coming up blank. This proves it – there was something lying in wait for me to remember after all.
Glancing once more inside, ascertaining that both Malfoys were still deeply embedded in conversation, he started off at a trot down the street. The weariness faded slightly from him in his resolution. He hadn't been keeping a particularly close eye out, but if his memory served him correctly then the sorts of shops he sought were only a few blocks away. He had a fairly good sense of direction, a skill that inevitably accompanied a reliable memory.
Winding down streets, he made his way to a narrow alley even quieter than the general hushed buzz of the rest of Rue des Merveilles. The faceless walls suggested that as many residences as stores lined the street, leaving those that boasted a sign and windows of displayed wares even more noticeable. Scanning quickly over the sparsely spaced buildings, squinting in his attempt to read the letters of the signage, Harry released his unrealised worry in a sigh as he identified the one he was searching for: Ancient and Marvellous Creations.
The shop was dark; gloomy, some would say. It held an ambiance that immediately gave one the desire to drift into sleep. The incense wafting in the air and Harrys already weary state didn't help with maintaining a clear mind. It was the antithesis of the jeweller's establishment. Instead of the brightly lit walls and wide spacing of low shelving, the stacks of miscellaneous objects nearly touched the roof and the walkways were tight enough to induce claustrophobia in the right – or wrong – person. Harry didn't particularly mind. His experience with a certain cupboard had left him oddly immune to tight spaces.
Weaving through the rows of rolled tapestries, bundles of scrolls, bronze looking utensils and amber crystal orbs, he made his way to the counter. Juxtaposition presented itself. The girl behind the counter could not have been less fitting with the atmosphere if she had tried. Flicking through the thin pages of a magazine, her high ponytail and thick make-up would have been far better suited to better lighting. As he watched, the girl blew a bubble from the gum in her mouth that popped with a shimmer of conjured glitter that disappeared before it could drift to the countertop.
He must have startled at the pop – rather embarrassingly – for the girl looked up and offered him a friendly smile of flashing teeth. 'Heya, kid, whatcha lookin' for?'
Her accent was truly terrible. It sounded… American maybe? Or perhaps Australian? Harry wasn't familiar with accents and he couldn't hardly be bothered to care. Clearing his throat softly, he stepped up to the counter. It always took an extra boost of confidence to speak to strangers, and the experience he had garnered today didn't assist him any in the moment. Rather, he felt as if his stores of confidence had depleted somewhat.
'I, um… I was looking for something in particular.' He swallowed the huskiness in his throat, forcing his voice louder than a whisper. 'I saw it in your Hogsmeade branch about a month ago?'
The girl nodded, slipping from her chair and disappearing on her knees behind the counter. A moment later she reappeared, an impressive tome in her hands. She heaved audibly as she lugged it onto the table, opened the cover and flipped to the first page of writing.
'You got a description? What's it look like?'
Harry relayed the details, as accurately as he could. The girl took it in her stride, as though she met such requests every day. Which, on second thought, she probably did. A few moments later, flapping through the thick pages of the massive book, she loosed an excessively loud 'ahah!' and jabbed the scrawled writing with a finger.
'Found it. That's an old one, that one. Whatcha getting it for?'
'Just a gift.' The girl didn't seem particularly interested, if her constant flipping through pages and fumbling for parchment, quill and ink was any indication, but he answered her anyway.
'Ah, yeah, a collector or sumin?'
'Something like that.'
Minutes later, the parchment was signed and addressed – he could actually give the address this time, though it evidently didn't seem to matter that much – and left the shop with assurances that it would be at his house by that afternoon, appropriately gift-wrapped. 'We'll make sure it gets hidden under your bed, like', the girl had winked at him. He didn't really understand the significance of the statement, nor how the deliverer would know which room he was staying in, but brushed it off with a resolute shrug. He supposed it was beneficial, if it could keep Draco from seeing it and had to simply ignore the fact that such a delivery would result in a stranger actually entering the room he slept in. Apparently magically, too.
As he walked back towards the jeweller, he kept his eyes on his feet, considering the list in his head. That was just about everyone done, except for Hermione. He had a few thoughts for her, but one in particular seemed to stand out. He just had to find…
As though summoned by thought, a squat store across the plaza he stepped into presented itself with large, thankfully readable golden letters 'Hoots and Howls' printed just above faintly lit double doors. Harry took a step towards it before pausing. He should probably go back and see if Draco and Lucius were finished. The jeweller was only just around the corner, and it wouldn't take long. But then, he couldn't imagine that they would really be missing his silently-waiting presence out the front of the store. If he just quickly went into the pet store, he would be finished with everyone. Simple.
The decision was taken from him, however, when he felt a heavy and unexpected clap of fingers on both shoulder. Gasping in fright and hunching his shoulders, he felt himself spun around to face a flushed and very disgruntled Draco.
'Where on earth did you wander off to? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?'
Harry blinked up at the boy, the painful tingle in his shoulders easing upon recognition of the boy who grasped his shoulders. He tilted his head, peering up at the blonde with a frown as he watched his friend close his eyes as though attempting to regain composure and press his lips together.
'What's wrong?'
'What's wrong?' Draco nearly hissed his retort. It sounded angry, and for a moment Harry felt himself shrink into the upwelling of anxiety. Until Draco opened his and in that moment Harry realised his error. The other boy wasn't disgruntled but worried. He was honestly worried that he didn't know where Harry had gone. The question 'why?' whispered in his ear, but he bit his tongue to stop himself from asking it himself. He didn't understand, exactly, but obviously it was important to Draco. He unasked question was answered anyway. 'Don't just go wandering off like that. Something could have happened to you.'
'It's a shopping plaza, Draco. I… I don't think anything would happen to me.'
'That's what every innocent victim says before they get mugged, or beaten up, or abducted, or…'
Harry flinched at the vehemence of Draco's tone as much as the words themselves. It was confronting, the force of his tone. He had worked himself up to a near frenzy in distress and, though Harry still couldn't really understand why, he regretted what he had done if it cause his friend to worry.
'I'm sorry, I was just wandering…'
Draco drew in a deep, rattling breath. 'No, no I'm sorry. Sorry, I… I just got a bit…' He trailed off, dropping his chin to his chest. His hands, though, remained on Harry's shoulders. 'Could you please just… let me know when you're leaving somewhere? I'll go with you, or at least I'll know where you are, just in case…'
The broken words themselves bespoke the truth of Draco's feelings more than the words themselves. Draco was always eloquent. He would have to have been significantly shaken to work himself into such a state. Glancing briefly over his friends shoulder, Harry could make out the figure of Lucius idling near the fountain, watching the pair with a calculating gaze that was oddly knowing, as though a puzzle piece had just clicked into place. Harry didn't really understand that either.
'I'm sorry. I'll definitely let you know next time.'
Draco nodded, took another deep breath and loosened his hands from their tight grip. His right hand slipped to his side but the left dropped down to wrap his fingers around Harry's hand. 'T-thanks. Okay, so, nearly done?' His voice was slightly too loud, a little too jovial, as though he was trying to present a composed face but overcompensating. His voice shook slightly still. Harry truly couldn't understand it; no one had ever really cared where he went, except maybe his uncle, but so long as he was there when he wanted him Stephen honestly didn't have must interest in his day-to-day pastimes. Draco's reaction was a foreign concept.
'Yeah, just Hermione left.'
'And? What were you thinking?'
'An owl. A cat-friendly one, preferably. She said she struggles over the holiday break with corresponding to people and has been thinking of getting one for a while.'
Draco smiled, still slightly wobbly but with genuine approval. His nerves seemed to have settled at least slightly. 'Sounds great.'
They finished up quickly before departing the magical mall. Draco rapidly fell back into his usual self and Lucius seemed more accommodating of his whims the nearer they got to home. Harry did notice, however, that not once did Draco let go of his hand.

There was something about Christmas Day that innately alerted one to it's happening. At least, Draco assumed as much. He wondered idly, in the way one does as ones mind is sluggishly awakening and warming up to full throttle, if it was something of a sixth sense or if his subconsciousness was simply determined to enforce the 'importance' of the day and keep his sleepy mind on high alert. He certainly awoke earlier that morning than he ever did any other day of the year. It was… yes, it was nearly dark still outdoors.
Yawning widely, Draco rolled over and dragged himself to sitting. He was in bed, naturally, and as had become custom of the past week, not his own. It was smaller, for one, than that in his own suites, and the room it was stationed in reflected the reduced size. The colour tone was slightly mellower too, the creaminess of the walls unbroken by the faint touch of personalisation he had added to his rooms in his single childhood visit to the foreign manor. The crackle of the fireplace across from him was also slightly brighter, emitting more warmth than his did – Narcissa insisted it was so, professing that Harry was 'too skinny and needed all the help to keep warm that he could get'.
Drifting his gaze towards the other occupant in the bed, Draco felt himself smile softly at the sight of his friend. The smile didn't bother him as much as it once may have done. He had accepted that Harry was a friend, a true friend, and someone dear to him. Why should he feel embarrassed about smiling at the sight of him?
The other boy was curled in his typical foetal position, knees nearly touching his chin and face half buried in the pillow and shrouded by tousled hair. Only a single closed eyelid could be seen above the blanket. He has really long eyelashes, was a thought that fluttered through Draco's mind not for the first time as he cocked his head in observation. It was less apparent when Harry wore his, but they were definitely exceptionally so. The thought similarly always gave him a faint warmth in his chest; he felt like he was seeing a little more of his friend, something that had been hidden in the months of their friendship at Hogwarts.
The last week had seen a growth in their relationship that Draco neither could nor cared to explain. He didn't quite understand the exact reason, but something about Harry's presence – perhaps the state he had found him in? – spurred him to maintain a near-constant companionship with his friend. He felt a strange and sudden growth of something he had taken days to recognise and at first had been alarmed at but now simply accepted for what it was. He was protective of his friend. Not only in response to the knowledge of what he had been through, but also for the understanding of who he was.
Harry was a very fragile person, a characteristic that starkly contrasted his overwhelming strength at other times. His fragility had always been apparent, in his diminutive size if nothing else, but since Draco had stumbled across him in that park so short a time ago it had expressed itself even more clearly. Simply, Harry felt, deeply and profoundly; a fact that was remarkable in that it was now apparent that he did so.
For months in his last school term, Draco had picked at the slight nuances in his friend's expressions, the ever-so slight quirks of eyebrows and twitching of lips, the flicker of eyes and the way he bowed his head at certain times to hide his face from view. Harry could have shamed a Slytherin for the mask he presented to his fellows, it was so fool proof, and Draco had become somewhat fascinated with storing each glimmer of knowledge into his personal inventory in an attempt to read more into Harry's words than the phrases leant themselves to. And he thoroughly enjoyed it. Perhaps it was objectifying his appointed 'ward', but it amused him to no end to work out each cue and attempt to discern its meaning. It was the perfect distraction for him at the time. Exactly what he had needed.
Everything had changed on that night nearly a week and a half ago. From the moment he had first seen him, it was as though the thick layers of the mask Harry wore had been stripped like the skin of an onion, baring the pale, defenceless heart to anyone who cared to cast a careless glance his way. It was almost like he was incapable of preventing his emotions from playing across his face; he held even less capacity for concealing his expressions than a child, as though it were a skillset he was mastering for the first time. And not only his expressions, but his eyes.
Draco had always been a little disconcerted by the flatness of Harry's eyes. Even Slytherins couldn't completely mask their feelings in the widening of pupils, the slight narrowing glare of aversion or heavy-lidded condescension. Harry didn't have that. It had been a minor triumph to realise that where Harry lacked Lyssy inexplicably seemed to present – it was one of the first indicators to Draco of the cat's familiar status – but it didn't reduce his unease. Initially, he had reconciled himself to the fact by reasoning it was likely as much a product of his glasses as the eyes themselves. It made the prospect of once more adorning himself with spectacles that much more reprehensible. He could only hope that it wasn't so.
The idle thought brought the taste of self-disgust onto his tongue and Draco swallowed convulsively. The memory of Harry's near panic at the idea of removing the need for spectacles was enough to cause him to grit his teeth and struggle with the urge to launch a fist through the nearest wall. It was no mystery to himself – and likely his mother – the cause behind Harry's fear. He didn't know the exact circumstances, but the simple knowledge, the reminder of Harry's… uncle clouded his vision with redness and brought his heartbeat to throb intensely in his temple. If he ever met the man he would not hesitate to wring the man's throat in the most un-decorous and base-Muggle approach possible. The imagined crack of a neck would be oh-so-satisfying.
Crushing the wave of hatred with a practiced hand – unfortunately too practiced of late – Draco leant towards his friend and flicked his fringe from his forehead. Even the slight touch caused Harry to shiver, shoulders bunching slightly and a frown indenting his forehead. It was a conditioned response, Draco knew. Harry still didn't like to be touched, except – oddly enough – by him. Even Narcissa's daily strokes to the head, attempts to desensitise the dark-haired boy, still sometimes elicited a slight cringe that no amount of preparedness could seem to shake.
With Draco, though, Harry seemed to even cling to the offer of contact. It was an odd situation – if Draco unexpectedly touched him, especially when Harry was unaware of his proximity, the smaller boy would startle and withdraw before easing when he realised to whom the hand belonged to. With the offer of an arm around a shoulder, a companionable slouch into his side or the holding of hands for reassurance, Harry responded as though he had been offered the moon and wouldn't let go for his life.
It was surreal. If he thought about it objectively, Draco was sure he would have been horrified that he, or anyone for that matter, would allow such contact. He had never been a particularly tactile person himself, but somehow, with Harry, he couldn't help but want to reassure himself of his friend's presence through touch. For that was what it was, he had concluded. Being away from Harry, his mind immediately fell into trekking old tracks and worrying at anxieties like a dog with a bone. He would not be eased until he was back with him and assured that he was safe and sound, away from the looming threat of the faceless stranger Harry called 'uncle'. That was what he had deduced. It was all a matter of reassurance.
That didn't exactly explain how Harry benefitted, however. He didn't think that someone who visibly recoiled from touch as though burned would suddenly find reassurance in some well-meant skinship. Draco had been at a bit of a loss at first – not enough that he had hesitated when Harry obviously liked the comfort of another person, but he was confused to say the least. Until Narcissa took it upon herself to enlighten him.
Draco could smugly claim that many overlooked his mother's masterful skills of perception, cunning and social navigation. While Lucius was a recognised partner in the dance of society Narcissa made a rather remarkable – and at times even more exceptional – accompaniment. He would even approach her for assistance if he found himself incapable of finding an adequate solution to a social blunder. Add to that her experience in psyche-magic and therapy and Narcissa could perhaps be the best person he could question on the subject. So, one night when Harry had slumped to an early sleep against him, Draco had voiced his query.
Narcissa had paused momentarily, staring at her son with unnerving intensity. Draco had forced himself to remain immobile under her scrutiny, but just barely managed. Finally, she appeared to find what she was looking for and the heat of her gaze quelled slightly.
'I believe, my son, that Harry has developed something of a saviour complex, with you at its heart.' She had sipped calmly at a cup of tea after dropping that little Bombarda, as though discussing the weather, and merely quirked an eyebrow at her son's incredulity.
'What?'
'A saviour complex, or something of the like. I believe that, when you found him, Harry had sunken into a state of desperation from which he was unable to draw himself, and descended into something of a self-destructive spiral.' She paused, the other eyebrow rising at her son's continued miscomprehension. 'He had given up.'
'Given up?' Draco's voice was a gravelly croak.
Narcissa nodded. 'Quite so. It was possibly that which, coupled with his experiences just before hand,' at this, Draco's mother had clenched her jaw and something akin to a snarl curled her lips, 'that led to his comatose state. However, somewhere along the line, your appearance, which essentially saved him, has ingrained itself inside him and placed you on a pedestal.' Another sip of her tea, though it seemed more forced this time. 'Or so I perceive.'
Draco had stared unseeingly into the fireplace across the room as his mother's words sunk in. It was a little confronting. Empowering, too, if he was to be completely honest. But most prominently, he found himself discontented, even disheartened by the words. Finally, working through his emotions, he spoke.
'So he just sees me as the person who saved him?'
Narcissa's finely plucked eyebrow rose once more, a little scathingly this time. 'Just?'
'No, that's not what I meant. I…' Draco fumbled for words, lost in baffling embarrassment that barely tinged the disappointment, and struggled to enunciate. 'It could have happened with anyone, really, then?'
To his complete surprise, Draco's mother stared back at him with barely suppressed amusement that finally surfaced as a half-smile. It was an all-too-knowing smile that Draco didn't quite understand. One that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. 'Does that upset you, Draco? That he may have formed an…attachment to someone else.'
Draco frowned in response. He pursed his lips and looked away, resolutely ignoring his mother's pointed stare. He wasn't sure he fully understood it and got the feeling she was insinuating something he also blindly overlooked. It made him feel like a child kept in the dark 'for his own safety'. Or his parent's amusement, as the case may be.
Finally taking pity upon him, Narcissa continued. 'No, dear, I do not believe he would have. The level of trust that I have seen Harry place in you could not have been instilled in a simple stranger. A friend, at the least, or someone even closer would be infinitely more viable.'
The unrealised tension in Draco's chest abruptly unravelled, the faint difficulty he had breathing easing. Yes, he would have been sad if Harry had become close to another person; he was the his best friend, whether Harry chose to acknowledge it or not. It was childish of him, he knew, but that didn't make it any less true.
Only barely aware of his own actions, he dropped his arm around Harry and squeezed his shoulder. Reassuring the other boy only, of course, even in sleep. He released his hold as he saw his mother once more smirk in that infuriating smile. What was that even about?
'Just how close are you, Draco?'
It was a question that the young man was not entirely unprepared for, but felt easy about nonetheless. He didn't quite understand the connection to their previous conversation – it appeared dubious at best – though supposed it was bound to happen eventually. Narcissa hadn't commented on their friendship once till then.
'What do you mean?'
'Well, how did you meet? Are you close at school?'
Draco shrugged. 'At least as close as I am to Blaise or Pansy, I'd say.'
'Really?' His mother sounded thoroughly intrigued by his claim, enough to make him shift uncomfortably.
'Why?'
Ever in control of the conversation – Narcissa knew what she wanted and ignored any distracting questions along the way – Draco's mother brushed his query aside and presented her own. 'When did you meet? I cannot fathom how you two would have become so…close.'
That infuriating smile, the repetition of that word, nearly caused Draco to grind his teeth. He had an inkling of what she was insinuating, and didn't exactly know how she had reached such a conclusion. He settled his arm more comfortably around Harry, comforting. A comfort to Harry. Of course. 'I don't know, just in class. We became partners in Defence Against the Dark Arts and it just sort of happened.'
'Just happened?'
Draco sighed, exasperated. 'Exactly what conclusion are you trying to reach, Mother?' He was tiring of her toeing the line. Get to the point, already!
Taking pity on him once more, Narcissa bowed her head, conceding. 'Alright, I shall breach the honeyed tone and drive straight to the point. I had thought there to be more to your friendship that simple…friendship.'
Staring in disbelief at her bluntness, Draco felt a flush creep into his cheeks for the first time in recent memory. It was entirely too embarrassing, and it probably didn't help that he couldn't quite bring himself to release his hold on Harry's sleeping form. 'Mother! Are you suggesting –?'
'Oh, calm yourself, Draco. That was not the direction I was insinuating. At the moment, anyway.' Her predatory smile spoke otherwise, but she quickly wiped it away as though casting her amusement aside for later enjoyment. 'I am referring to a magically-founded relationship.'
'Magically-founded?'
'Indeed. I know you, my dear, and love you though I do, I cannot believe that you would take to a quiet, strange boy newly arrived into your cohort. And not even a Slytherin, at that.'
'He could have been a Slytherin. We'll never know.' Even Draco could hear the touch of defensiveness in his tone.
'Yes, he could have, strange though his inability to be sorted may seem. But that is beside the point.' She glanced down at her tea, nose twitching in distaste before slipping her wand into her hand and refilling the mug to steaming perfection. As though unaware she had left Draco tensed uncomfortably in his seat; she wasn't, Draco knew, but simply intentionally leaving him hanging on her words. 'I believe that, in much the same way that Harry 'called' you to him but days ago, he also 'called' to those around him when he first began at your school. Do you understand what I am saying?'
'Called? You mean magically? Why would he do that?'
'Why exactly? Draco, considering what we have come to learn of your friend affords a certain understanding on the subject. You said yourself that Harry was not prone to inviting companionship when he first began at school. It is my suspicion that he has led a lonely life, though whether self-inflicted or induced by circumstance I cannot entirely deduce.
'However, from what little we know of magic is that while it is directed consciously by intent, a subconscious response to emotion is also a significant drive. Hence, the occurrence of accidental magic. If the desire, even unconscious, is strong enough, magic will manifest itself in the most direct attempt to achieve such a desire.'
'Yes.' Draco frowned, confused. 'And?'
'If Harry was lonely, truly lonely despite what he attempted to tell himself and the way he forced himself to act, do you not think his magic would have responded?'
Draco dropped his eyes down to his sleeping friend, brow wrinkling in deepening thought. He hadn't considered what his mother was talking of. He didn't even know how she had stumbled upon such a train of thought, let alone reached such conclusions. He pondered the possibility. Was Harry truly lonely? Did his magic 'call out' to others in an attempt to ease some of that loneliness? And if so, what did that make of those who responded to such a call? It would make sense that such an unconscious desire was only implemented in a Wizarding community; Muggles, with such a limited magical core – so limited that many witches and wizards professed they possessed none at all – would not have responded to such a magical song. Magic spoke to magic. Hence, only one with a distinct magical core would be affected by such a cry.
It would certainly explain a lot. The longer he considered, the more sense it made. Not only Draco but everyone else in their year, everyone in Hogwarts even, had been overwhelmingly intrigued by the 'new boy'. More than intrigued. Draco remembered idly how Blaise had commented on the continued fascination, long past its due. It made remarkably more sense, given the supposition Narcissa presented.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. A painful thought, he was almost ashamed to admit. 'Mother? Is our friendship magically induced?'
Narcissa tilted her head questioningly. 'Whatever do you mean?'
'I mean…' He struggled from a moment, eloquence failing him. Such had happened with increased frequency of late. 'Harry is my friend. I know he is my friend. He is also Blaise's friend, and Pansy's friend, Hermione's, Neville's, Ron's. Is it all simply a product of magical induction? Take away the magic, are we still…?'
He couldn't quite bring himself to say it. The thought was distressing enough by itself. Not only would it render their friendship a fallacy, but the possibility suggested that such was potentially even a form of Compulsion. Something that, even as the thought registered, he could never believe Harry capable of, even unconsciously.
'Do you believe your friendship to be so shallow?'
As soon as she spoke, Draco knew the truth of his mother's words instantly. Guilt pinched his lips and, though even unresolved as his predicament still was Draco felt the roiling in his gut and the unexpected dread dissipate. 'No. No I don't.'
Narcissa nodded sharply, satisfaction settling upon her face. 'Good. I would have been disappointed if you had. Magic cannot forge bonds – infatuation, definitely, obsession and even blind loyalty. But friendship? The bond forged by shared experience and fondness of another person? No, magic is not so great.'
Draco nodded in agreement. However, he felt compelled to push further. 'But then why did you say… well, if not to compel into friendship, what was Harry's magic doing?'
'Hmm.' Narcissa was silent for a moment as she pondered. 'Well, you would likely be a better judge of that than I. I doubt that everyone took to him as a friend, entirely. Likely that they simply took a more notable interest in him, something to pave the way for ease of friendship. Am I right?'
Already nodding in agreement, the images of Pansy's initial fixation yet condescension, the Ravenclaw's confused and somewhat jealous interest, and the Gryffindor's immediate attempts to impress themselves upon the newest addition to their year rose to the surface of his memories. Couple that with the fact that, swathed in heavy clothes and seemingly drawn to the shadows of the room, Harry had not been the most approachable person yet still maintained the attention of his fellow classmates, understanding suddenly became clear. No, not all of the sixth years had responded positively. The fascination, the interest, was there, surely, just not always favourably.
A feeling of immense relief flooded him. He didn't quite understand why the feeling was so profound – Slytherins typically used one another, after all; friendship was an unlikely by-product – but for once, he simply accepted it. Glancing once more down at his friend, who had shifted ever-so-slightly further into his side, he felt a smile twitch his lips.
'I guess I should be glad, then. Of his magic. For whatever reason.'
'Indeed you should.' The unnerving intensity that Narcissa could radiate with ease resurfaced and she stared penetratingly at her son. 'But remember, Draco. A friendship based on shared experiences and the joy of companionship is one degree. One based on absolute trust is entirely another.'
'Absolute trust?' The thought was as daunting as it was uplifting.
'Utterly. Do not take it so lightly. I would not look favourably upon betrayal of such trust, my son.'
The hardness of her words sent a shiver down Draco's spine. It was unnerving, to be on the receiving end of his mother's potential wrath. He had seen it distributed sparsely in the past, and each incident had embedded itself in his memory as a warning against the repercussions of pushing his mother too far. He was a little baffled, however, at her intensity. Narcissa was naturally caring of others, in her subtle, roundabout way, but never at the expense of her family. Before that moment, he could never have anticipated her threatening – yes, it was definitely a threat! – to punish him for causing distress in another. Not substantially, anyway.
'What is this, mother? Are you perhaps drawn in by the magic too?' He tried to keep the comment light-hearted. Ease the tension, diffuse her chilling intensity. The attempt failed.
Narcissa stared at him flatly for a moment, her maternal affection crushed to pitiful obscurity. He nearly sighed with relief when she shifted instead to look at the boy curled into his side. 'Perhaps. But that is not all. I… I have seen the effects of similar trauma induced on patients before.' Her eyes became distant, and Draco realised she was revisiting the past in sorrowful nostalgia. 'Some have healed, recovered and moved on. In others the results were regrettable. I fear to say even disastrous. One young woman in particular, little more than a girl… The man she turned to for freedom, to save her from her past, instead shackled her further in the grief that manifested in her mind. I would not see that happen to another, not a stranger and certainly not a boy who has asked nothing of the world save to be left in peace.' Her face became flat, determined. 'Certainly not to a child.'
Even now, days later, the words resounded in Draco's head with a vividness that could have rivalled a pensieve's clarity. He didn't know of whom his mother spoke, but the sadness and regret in her eyes was almost painful to witness.
Turning his attention once more to the boy at his side, he carded his hands through the dark hair more deeply. It was quite long, and remarkably soft. He would have to ask what shampoo Harry used, though wouldn't have been surprised if the question was met by blank confusion and an admittance of the complete lack of treatment at all.
Shoulders hunching in response to the contact, Harry quivered beneath the blankets as he swum into wakefulness. He didn't start when he first awoke to contact anymore; Draco had woken him so too many times for that already. He just couldn't help himself, if he was to be honest. Long lashes batted slowly as he opened his eyes, head tilting upwards towards the Draco beside him. A small smile curled his lips. Not a full smile – he didn't seem capable of doing that – but it was a smile nonetheless.
'Morning.'
'Good morning. Merry Christmas.'
'How very cliché of you,' Harry murmured in sleepy reply.
Draco smirked. 'It's Christmas; the celebration is basically a cliché in itself. You'll have to be a bit accommodating, at least for today, or I think you'll be likely to tear your own hair out.'
Harry murmured another reply that was muffled by his head turning into the pillow. He was not a slow waker, Draco had come to realise, and so the burying back into the bed linens was not a sign of drowsiness but more a reluctance to face the day. A realisation that Draco had unearthed days before, with the very first mention of Christmas. Not for the first time he wondered in muted horror over his friend's hesitancy and dread. What kind of a child, or teenager even, dislikes Christmas?
'Alright, let's get up.'
Turning back towards Draco's amused stare, Harry's brow creased slightly. 'Already? You're not usually one to get up so early. What's the hurry?'
Draco sighed in mock exasperation. 'Harry, Christmas entitles an early wake up. Even I can accept necessity where it is due.'
'Are you sure you're really sixteen, not five?'
'Of course! Nearly seventeen, in fact. Your point?' He knew exactly what Harry was suggesting, but similarly knew that the boy would rarely bluntly state the truth as he saw it. Predictably, Harry just shook his head and pushed himself to sitting.
It took a little urging on Draco's part, but Harry eventually climbed from his bed and accepted the clothes Draco drew from the wardrobe and thrust into his hands. With an order to be dressed by the time he returned, Draco left his friend biting his lip, brow creasing again in worry. He sighed sadly at the anxiety induced by a day that was supposed to elicit excitement and enthusiasm. He hastened down the hall to dress with more speed than he would usually conduct; he didn't want to leave his friend in such a state of unease.
Dressed in a casual robe of dark green and once more outside the door to Harry's room, it was with the same reluctance that his friend was drawn down towards the breakfast hall. Harry wore a robe of paler green, nearly the exact shade of his eyes – a demonstration of Draco's mother's contribution to the wardrobe – that he tugged at as though it itched with fervour. It didn't; Draco knew this for a fact. He clasped Harry cold fingers in his own and squeezed gently, offering a smile that he thought managed to conceal his excitement, and led the way through the manor.
Not for the first time, Draco marvelled that he had disliked the French estate so fiercely in his childhood. Perhaps it was simply a maturing of taste in his age, but he looked upon the fine lines of every doorway, the delicate paintings and portraits that bowed respectfully at his approach before easing back into informality when he passed, and couldn't help smiling once more, this time in satisfaction. Maybe it was simply that the colour tones, splashes of cream, tan and tastefully scant pastels, contrasted so completely to the darkness that pervaded the London Manor that it was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The thought triggered a melancholy that he did not quite succumb to. He was getting better at ignoring that which he could not change, a necessity driven by both his mother and father's insistence that he step aside from partaking in any of the discussions on the matter of their dubious allegiances. It had hurt at first, to be isolated from something that involved him so significantly. It was his fault, truly, that his family was endangered. Disregarding his father's prior involvement with the Dark Lord – for it had been years ago, and he had only returned to the twisted man's side under threat – it was Draco's doing, Draco's assignment, that had raised his family's interest in those murderous red eyes. Even if it were no desire of his own, he should be doing more, helping more, trying to right the wrong of his role that could so easily lead to the destruction of his family. At least if he failed then he would have known he had tried.
Feeling the beginnings of the all-too-familiar depression settle upon his shoulders, Draco shook his head and forced the thoughts from his mind. No, today he was not going to think about it. He would trust in his mother and father, trust in their assurance that they would take care of things, and simply live in the moment. The Dark Lord was a sea away – he would need at least an international portkey to drop in upon them – and Draco doubted that he would seek out the Malfoys to offer them his yuletide well wishes.
Glancing over his shoulder towards Harry, he pushed a smile onto his face. One that came even more easily when he noticed the sickly pallor of his friends face. It was almost endearing that he could get so worried about something so inconsequential; the irony in the cause of each of their distress was not lost on Draco. 'You're not walking to your execution, you know.'
Harry met his gaze with eyes that were impossibly large in his small face. Almost pixie-like, Draco decided. Yes, he definitely had a pixie-like cast to his features. Disregarding the lack of malevolent mischief, of course. 'I'm sorry. I don't mean to spoil anyth-'
'Whoever said you were spoiling anything?' Squeezing his friend's hand, he pushed his smile wider. It was an easy task to accomplish when he was looking at Harry, especially when he saw a faint, wavering smile in response. 'Just calm down. You're really so worried about celebrating? No one's going to judge you for anything.'
'Oh, now you've got me thinking I'm going to be judged…'
'I just said you wouldn't be!'
'I know, but now I feel like you're just saying that.'
Draco sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He couldn't help a faint chuckle bubble from his lips. 'You're really that scared?'
Harry chewed on his lip for a moment. 'I don't know if scared is the right word. I feel, I don't know, guilty? Or something?'
'How do you mean?'
Shrugging, Harry turned his gaze away from Draco to focus instead upon his fingers that trailed down the bannister as they descended the stairwell. 'You've all helped me so much. And your mother has given me more clothes than I've ever seen in my entire life.'
'Yes, but she enjoys doing that sort of thing.'
Another shrug. 'It doesn't feel right receiving gifts from people who have done nothing but give me gifts since I got here. It makes me feel like I should be doing more.'
Draco frowned, puzzled. He couldn't really think of any gifts they had given Harry in the week since he'd arrived, but knowing his friend as he was beginning to remarkably well, he suspected that Harry would see a proffered slice of bread as a gift. And that was to say nothing of the butter. 'You got us gifts though, didn't you? I didn't see you get me anything but…'
He didn't realise how utterly childish he sounded until the words had already slipped out. A faint warmth threatened to colour his cheeks, but he resolutely thrust it aside. It was all for the best, however, for Harry seemed genuinely amused by the statement. His smile grew slightly and the death-grip easing to a simple comforting clasp.
'Yes, I got you a gift.'
Fighting to regain his composure, Draco raised an eyebrow sceptically. 'Oh? I didn't see. I would be awfully upset if I discovered you had forgotten me.'
Harry seemed to be fighting back the urge to laugh now, a fact that made the situation seem less humiliating somehow. 'You really are such a child.'
'It's Christmas.'
'You know, you can't use that excuse for everything.'
Draco snorted. 'Of course I can. It's Christmas. I'll do what I want.' He tipped up his chin and ell into silence, though the morning seemed suddenly much brighter.
The breakfast hall was less empty than expected. Tugging Harry through the oaken doors into a well-lit room - smaller and outfitted in furniture more petite than the dining hall – Draco felt it akin stepping outdoors into the sunlight as the pair bathed in the white glow of the walls, reflecting the dusky morning grey light across the room. Narcissa, pristine and presentable as always in a robe of deep violet, turned at their entrance with a smile spreading across her face. Draco marveled not for the first time how she could always remain so composed in any circumstances. He felt that the primary reason for his own release from the nagging worries of the looming threat was that his parents had lifted the burden. How his mother and father both remained so stately and even appeared to overlook the severity of their situation at times was a wonder to him.
'Good morning, Draco, Harry.'
Draco nodded his head respectfully; even on Christmas, it would not do to take too many liberties. 'Mother. Merry Christmas.'
'And to you, dear.' Her smile broadened, crinkling her eyes in a homely manner that stood far from the cold, composed facade she presented as her public face. Her hand tinkered idly with the handle of her teacup for a moment before raising it to her lips. 'Breakfast?'
Turning to Harry, Draco raised an eyebrow. 'What would you like?'
For his part, Harry looked in a state of resumed discomfort, the ease of moments before slipping as they entered the breakfast hall. Draco had hoped his friend's tension would have remained lifted, but uncertainties seemed to be rearing their heads again. From the moment they had stepped through the oaken doors, the other boy had become markedly paler, chin dropping to his chest and staring fixedly at the floor.
Squeezing his hand again lightly, Draco drew his silent friend to the table, conscious of his mother's gaze upon them both. He didn't bother with words of reassurance and calm, attempts to ease Harry's discomfort. They'd all been said before. Instead, he settled them both down in their seats as though nothing were wrong; rather, as though it were an exceptional day in itself. For truly, despite the sadness he felt over Harry's insecurity, the unfounded excitement and joviality that manifested itself in him on Christmas Day could not be totally quashed.
'Mancy,' he barely spared a glance for the little house elf waiting attentively to the side of the table. 'Bacon and eggs for me. Poached in vinegar and a sprinkling of salt. And,' he flickered his eyes towards Harry, head still bowed, before requesting for him, 'just some fruit and yoghurt. Apples, mostly.'
'Of course, Master Draco. Mancy will be but a moment.' The little house elf disappeared with a pop.
Draco met Narcissa's eyes across the table but neither of them spoke. Narcissa raised an eyebrow as her eyes flickered towards Harry, but Draco only shook his head, nearly imperceptibly. Mancy returned shortly, levitating the bowls of crispy coldness and steaming breakfasts to Harry and Draco respectively before topping up Narcissa's tea without comment. Draco nudged a fork and spoon towards Harry before raising his own cutlery and tucking in.
'Is father not yet awake?'
Narcissa, immediately following Draco's example of superficial conversation. She laughed quietly. 'Draco, regardless of the festivities of Noel, I have yet to see your father once arise before seven o'clock.'
'But it's...' Draco turned towards the bronze grandfather clock ticking almost inaudibly across the room from him. 'Seven o'clock exactly. Late riser or not, father has always promoted punctuality.'
Narcissa failed to hide her smile behind the rim of her teacup. 'Perhaps he will meet us in the parlor?'
Draco murmured noncommittally, turning back towards his eggs. Such was tradition. Draco and Narcissa would share breakfast - a remarkably good breakfast, he thought to himself. Perhaps they should consider bringing Mancy back to London - and Lucius would meet them for gift-giving almost on the dot. The rest of the day would be spent in idle relaxation, possible a stroll in the crisp morning, yet always in the company of the family. It was sedate, low-key, and yet the general atmosphere that shrouded each of them was infectious, only building in intensity at the shared feeling. Only once, however, could Draco remember Lucius sharing their morning meal on Christmas, and he put the reasoning down solely to the cold he had boasted that day which had resulted in a rather later awakening on his own part.
Scooping the last of the runny, sunflower-orange yolk onto his fork, exchanging brief comments with his mother as he did, Draco placed his cutlery neatly upon his plate and turned back towards Harry. It was saddening, to see his friend so closed off again in the face of something he reveled in so completely, but upon consideration he realised that it was likely the same response Harry had felt at the beginning of the Hogwarts year. Or meeting his new friends. Or starting flying. Or any number of novel experiences. The difference was that Draco could perceive the tension in his hunched shoulders, notice the wideness of his eyes and tightness of his jaw that he had never revealed before, and understand it. Not for the first time he felt appreciative of the changes his friend had undertaken in dropping the veils shrouding his emotions and allowing him to observe them so clearly, if purely for selfish reasons only.
Despite his hesitancy to partake in conversation, Harry had at least attempted breakfast. He nibbled like a rabbit on a quarter of apple speared through with a dessert fork, staring with glazed eyes towards the tabletop.
'Nearly done?'
Startling at the direct address, Harry nearly dropped his fork. Draco caught it before it could slip fully from his fingers. Harry offered a small, apologetic smile and dipped his chin. His hand slipped up to his collarbones, nails itching to dig into skin. It was a gesture that Draco had also become familiar with over the past weeks and a faint spark of memory recalled such motions also taking place at school. Without ceremony, Draco placed the fork back on the table and clasped the twitching fingers back in his own hand again, ignoring Harry's start once more as though his motion was the most natural thing in the world.
It was odd. Draco would have been nothing but exasperated had he observed such a flighty and helpless response from anyone else. Surely such a display of frailty and lack in confidence bespoke nothing if not weakness and cowardice? Instead, he felt a faint twinge niggle in his chest. Shouldering it to the side, disregarding what he'd come to realize as his newfound protectiveness, Draco smiled at the dark-haired boy. The smile he received this time was thankful.
'Oh dear, there is truly nothing to be worried about.' Narcissa's face was a picture of sympathy, and without the slight telltale quirk of her bottom lip to indicate falseness. Draco could wager his own face mirrored his mother's. 'This is not a formal affair, Harry. Indeed, it is rather that we take pleasure in your company and wish to share the day with you. Yet if you at all find it too distressing, that the circumstances are uncomfortable, I assure you none of us would begrudge you the chance to seat yourself out from the proceedings.'
Draco suppressed a scowl of annoyance. His mother had basically given him a ticket out of Christmas, a celebration Draco was adamant Harry partake in. It would be Draco who he would share his first Christmas with, and Harry would enjoy it. He would.
Regardless, he held his tongue on a reply to Narcissa offer. Bit his tongue, actually. Not that anyone would notice. It was a good thing he did, too, for the ticket, as it were, seemed to harden Harry's wavering resolve.
'Thank you, Narcissa, but really, it's so nice of you to take me in and share everything with me. I can't even tell you...' Taking a deep breath, Harry seemed to steel himself. 'I really should be apologising. I'm sorry, I don't mean to cause any disruption. I'm just not very familiar with...' He trailed off again, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself.
Narcissa was evidently struggling to keep a scowl from her face, though Draco doubted it was directed to either Harry or himself. 'Of course. How could one expect you to be familiar with Christmas if you haven't celebrated it before?' The question sounded more like an accusation than anything. 'But please, do not apologise. I speak only in an attempt to ease your discomfort. We love your company.' Her face transfigured into a smile at this, and Draco was startled to realise something that had been staring at him in the face for days; Narcissa truly did love having Harry with them.
Rising to her feet, Narcissa rounded the table. Casting her own glance at the clock, she waved her hands in urging to the two boys as she approached them. 'There, past seven o'clock. You are permitted to move onto gift-giving without reprimand at this point.' Her face quirked to shake the reprimand from her words and opened her arms wide in an obvious gesture.
Rising to his own feet, Draco moved to embrace his mother. Propriety bespoke reluctance to conduct such acts of familiarity in public, which often carried itself over onto their private lives, but December the twenty-fifth was an exception. Everybody knew that.
Well, except for Harry. But Narcissa didn't even attempt to wrap the shorter boy in her arms, simply stroking a hand lightly across his head almost like one would a cat before gliding from the room. Harry didn't flinch from the touch; in fact, to Draco it appeared as if he was becoming almost comfortable with the contact.
'Are you finished? We can stay longer if you'd like.' Draco gestured towards the half-eaten bowl fruit and untouched yoghurt.
Harry shook his head, a smile wavering onto his lips. 'No thanks. Sorry, I don't really…'
'That's alright. I can just feel it; the excitement is rolling off you in waves. A lack of appetite is understandable.' Draco smiled to take the sting out of his sarcasm. It worked, though. Harry's smile firmed and widened ever so slightly. He followed with less resistance as they departed the room.
As one, the trio filed into the parlour. The elves had taken to the Christmas spirit with the same enthusiasm as a child in the festive season, yet Narcissa had restricted their decorations to a single room. Draco's mother was not particularly open in displaying her enthusiasm, but even she could not deny the opportunity to embrace the sparkling theme.
A crackling fire lit the room with both warmth and light, denying the magical snow that fluttered from the roof to dissipate before it could reach head-height. A scene of dainty reindeer and Christmas harpies – the ever present accompaniment of the fabled white deer – twittered and twitched on the mantle piece, wading through a thin layer of 'snow' that adorned the marble. Wrath-like fairies – conjugations only – lazed around the room and sneezed silvery dust. Golden stars sparkled on the walls, many falling in shooting streams into the carpet and shimmering illusionary stardust onto the floor. Baubles floated around the wall sconces and elegant ribbons adorned chair legs and the arms of the couches.
In the corner of the room, a modestly sized tree posed, draped in silvers, greens and – dare he consider a breach in the colour scheme – even something that looked faintly red. Beneath the fringes of the fir tree were stacked piles of colourful packages, boxes and bundles slouching upon one another. A surplus, really, considering there were only four occupants of the house.
All of which, Draco noticed abruptly, were in the room. Perched in one of the cream armchairs beside the fireplace, Draco's father gazed upon their entrance from over a steaming mug of coffee. Another tradition, for Lucius only ever drunk coffee on Christmas morning. Draco knew for a fact that there was more than a small splash of whiskey to add a different kind edge to the bitterness.
The Malfoy patriarch greeted his wife and son with a smile. Reserved, but a smile nonetheless. Placing the mug with deliberate care upon the coaster-laden coffee table, he rose to his feet and moved towards them. His arms enclosed gently around his wife, who returned the embrace in kind, and he planted a chaste kiss of her cheek before moving towards Draco. Draco released Harry hand momentarily to meet him.
'You've once more managed to awaken surprisingly early, father. How admirable.'
Lucius frowned in mock scolding, enfolding Draco in that same reserved hug. There was warmth to it, however, that surpassed the familiar awkwardness of the embrace itself. 'What sort of an attitude is that to take towards your father, hmm?' His heavy-lidded eyes looked straight into Draco's sparking with amusement. They were nearly of a height now, Draco realised with detached surprise. Perhaps one day he would even be taller. 'What happened to your adoring respect?'
'Well, it is Christmas.'
The words caused everyone in the room to turn in amused surprise towards Harry. No one seemed more surprised than Harry himself, who flushed a deep shade of pink and clapped a hand over his mouth as though it could retract the words. 'I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was just what Draco said…'
Lucius was the first to respond. That sparkle of amusement in his eyes spread across his face, crinkling crow's feet and widening lips. Even more surprising, he uttered a low chuckle. 'No need to apologise. If you had not said as much, I assure you that my son would have.'
'Yes, you stole the words right from my mouth.' Draco grinned widely at Harry, who dropped his hand and made a feeble attempt at returning the smile.
'I believe you are in sore need of another excuse, my dear.'
'What is the need for reprimand this morning! First Harry, now you, Mother.'
Narcissa's own eyes crinkled as she loosed a laugh. 'Great minds think alike, do they not Harry.' Harry could do nothing but nod shyly as she turned her warmth upon him.
'Enough of this.' Draco lifted his chin with mock pompousness, sniffing self-righteously. 'I believe we have matters to attend to.'
'Very efficient of you, Draco. You show great promise for the business world.'
Draco rolled his eyes at his father's jibe and grasped Harry's hand once more. He led him towards the armchairs ringing the fireplace where they both settled into plump cushions. 'Now, the most important part of gift giving at Christmas is that you don't care a bit whatever those you give the gifts think of your presents.'
'It's the thought that counts, not the gift itself,' Narcissa chimed in as she glided in their wake, slipping into her own seat. Lucius sunk down similarly and took up his coffee once more.
'Yes, so articulately put, Mother, thank you.' Draco raised an eyebrow pointedly at the interruption before turning back to Harry. Despite the obvious nervousness, Draco noticed that his friend seemed to be very definitely struggling to keep his smile from spreading across his face. It was expected, of course. The Malfoys maintained decorum in every instance, even in private, yet the festive season seemed to blur the edges of just exactly what constituted proper.
'Anyway, not that I'm doubting your ability to choose gifts-'
'That's what it sounded like to me.'
'But,' Draco raised his voice over Lucius' snide mutter, 'I wanted to reassure you before you break down under the nerves. Is that clear?'
Harry nodded shortly, sending an approving glance Lucius' way. Draco was satisfied to notice that the walls of wariness and unfamiliarity seemed to be dropping between the two.
'Alright! Now that we have that sorted.' He clapped his hands expectantly and cast a glance over towards the tree. As if awaiting the call, bundles and crinkling wrappings levitated into the air and floated over to the quartet at the fireplace.
At Harry's quizzical glance, Draco shrugged. 'The house elves organise it. It makes it easier than sorting them individually.'
As he settled into his seat, awaiting the arrival of gifts with that inexplicable childish excitement that gripped him so irrationally every Christmas, Draco considered momentarily just how odd the setting would be to an outsider. It was loosened from the formalities that usually gripped his family, yet he realised that even without such constraints they followed a very set schedule, an order to their performance. It was so familiar and anticipated that Draco had never really considered it before, but seeing Harry's bemused and slightly baffled expression he saw for the first time how odd it could appear. Not that it made him love it any less.
As always, leading the way, Draco raised a silver-clad gift into his hands and ceremoniously began the unwrapping process. Narcissa and Lucius, each with piles of gifts of their own, both raised their own, casting a glance towards one another as they did so. They always opened each others first; it was another one of their tradition.
Feeling Harry's gaze upon him, Draco quirked an eyebrow. 'What's wrong?'
Harry dropped his eyes to the sizeable pile of gifts around him. 'Um… Are they…?'
Draco paused as his fingers picked at the wrapping of the gift in his lap. 'Yours?'
Hesitantly, bashfully, Harry nodded.
Breath catching in his throat for a moment, Draco considered that – horribly – this may be the first time that Harry not only celebrated Christmas but actually received gifts. The thought sent a twitch along his jaw which he resolutely ignored and he forced a carefree smile onto his cheeks. 'Yeah. All yours.'
'So many…'
'Pansy and Blaise know you're staying with me. And Hermione, Ron and Neville all sent something over. There's a couple others that I'm not sure about…' He trailed off, peering at the closed cards fastened to the wrapping paper curiously, but restrained himself. 'But yes, all yours.'
Lifting his gaze from Harry's presents, he was startled for a moment as his friend blinked rapidly and dropped his chin to his chest. It took only a moment to realise he was holding back tears. Reaching across the distance between them, Draco patted his knee gently. 'Hey, if you don't want them, if you don't feel comfortable with it or something, I'm sure we could just let them know. Or I could just keep them for you. Either way.'
Harry huffed a faint laugh at the attempt at a joke, shaking his head. 'Thanks for your generosity,' a quirk of his lips spread a hesitant smile across his face that contradicted the faint sheen of tears, 'but I'm just a bit overwhelmed, I think.' Wiping a hand across his forehead and grazing fingers across his collarbone for a moment before he dropped them once more into his lap. He nodded his head towards Draco's gifts. 'Don't let me hold you back.'
Casting a handful of glances back at his friend, ensuring that the bout of emotion had subsided somewhat, Draco turned back towards his gifts. It didn't take long to become engrossed in the process, a progression assisted by the arrival of Lyssy who seemed to settle Harry enough for him to begin to unwrap his own gifts. Not for the first time Draco blessed the presence of the little familiar. He remembered being disconcerted by the green-eyed cat what seemed so long ago; now he couldn't thank her existence enough.
It was a fairly impressive collection of gifts that he received, and one both he and his parents exclaimed and commented on with each unearthing. Pansy sent him a gorgeous pair of soft, bronze dragon-hide gloves, and Blaise a new wand holster with accompanying wand-care kit; his friend new how fastidious he was with the care of his wand. His father gifted him the latest broomstick, a Golden Arrow SX, and his mother a thick ermine cloak and exclusive membership to Marx Vadetta's chain of restaurants, a rather exclusive company reputable for its high class and outrageously expensive cuisine.
Crabbe and Goyle sent him their customary stores of chocolate treats, and Nott a collection of colourful vials that he would enjoy analysing for function over the next few days. It was his own tradition between the two of them, despite their largely distant relationship; an interest in potions was one of their few common points. What was slightly unexpected was the gifts from the Gryffindors; Hermione loaded him with a stack of books – predominately Runes and Charms, the latter of which left him wincing slightly but still grateful – while Ron and Neville appeared to have pooled their expenses and sent him a rather large bag of…
'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?'
Harry glanced up from the gift in his own lap to quirk his eyebrow at Draco questioningly. Narcissa and Lucius similarly turned towards him at his exclamation. 'What is it, dear?'
'I think…' Draco reached his hand carefully into the depths of the bag, half expecting his fingers to be bitten off. One never knew with a Weasley. Instead, he unearthed a collection of boxes and bags, wrapped treats, bundles and oddly perfumed parcels each labelled in loud script and profusely describing the function of their product. 'That joke shop.'
'The new one at Diagon Alley? I remember reading it was the Weasley twins who established residency there.' Lucius leant forward in his seat with uncharacteristic curiosity. Draco cocked his head towards him and Lucius shrugged. 'Their business are reportedly doing exceedingly well, and word is that some of their inventions are rather… ingenious.'
Draco smirked with a predatory grin. 'Ingenious, Father? Pray tell, who says as much?' His father simply ignored him and went back to fastening his new brooch back onto his collar.
Casting a glance back at Harry, Draco felt his interest pique as he noticed the gift his friend was unearthing. He'd chosen sparkling silver packaging specifically and after great deliberation. Nestled in the unfolded paper was a black, braided collar of soft, ribbon-like material, alongside a pair of earrings bearing a kanji impressed into a perfectly shaped apatite. Similar spots of the blue-green gemstone were interwoven into the folds of the collar. They were beautiful really, even if Draco did say so himself.
Harry frowned quizzically at the set. Draco could almost see the thoughts passing through his head. Yes, they were beautiful, if a little unconventional. And wearing something like the collar would seem a bit… Waiting just long enough for Harry to turn his questioning gaze towards him, Draco slipped from his seat to a crouch by the side of his friend's chair.
'Draco, what…?'
Draco leant forwards and picked up the collar with delicate fingers. 'Now this,' he threaded the soft smoothness through his fingers, 'is pressed from the feathers of a cynogriffon. They are a very rare species, so it's hard to get a hold of any samples of them, but feather plucking in moderation isn't overly damaging so it's permitted.'
Hearing a soft sigh of laughter behind him, Draco cast a half-hearted glare at his mother's amusement before turning back to his friend. Harry was stroking a finger over the braided cord almost lovingly. For truly, Draco acknowledged, it is a little bit difficult not to touch the smooth softness.
'Cynogriffons communicate by telepathy. Or as close to telepathically was any creature can. What this is used for,' with careful fingers, he eased the collar around Lyssy's neck where the little cat perched on the side of the armchair. To her credit, Lyssy didn't flinch, though Draco could have sworn she gave him a warning to keep his fingers to himself. 'You place the collar on a non-speaking creature, and fasten the earrings in your own ears, and it forms a communication highway.'
Settling back on his haunches, Draco had to struggle to restrain the self-satisfied smile from spreading across his lips. It was quite a find, truth be told, and he had to order internationally from a Japanese seller to obtain them, but it was worth it. He knew both from his own observation and from Neville's word on the matter that Harry seemed particularly taken with magical creatures studies. And then there was Lyssy – he still had to ask about that name – who clung to him like a shadow. All in all, Draco felt that the present was rather perfect.
Harry didn't say anything for a moment, simply staring down at the apatite earrings and then at the collar around Lyssys neck. Draco felt his satisfaction dwindle slightly at the continued silence. At least, until Harry turned his eyes towards him. They glistened with a wondering light and though he didn't smile, the pure awe radiating from him spoke well enough.
'Draco, that…'
The grin spread widely of its own accord. 'You like it?'
'So I'll… be able to talk to her?' Harry's mouth hung open slightly, a mimic of his wide eyes.
'To a degree, yes. The seller said it was something of a chop-and-change from species to species; each perceives things a little differently, so it takes practice with each animal before 'speaking' as such comes naturally, but yes.'
'That's…' Harry struggled to grasp for words. 'That's…'
'Why don't you try it?'
Nodding enthusiastically, Harry reached up a hand to the earrings in his ear. A flicker of uncertainty skittered across his eyes and for a moment Draco thought he would shut down again. He remembered, months ago, how Harry had said his uncle had given them to him. What if it was, like the glasses, a compulsive adornment?
He needn't have worried. After a pause for consideration, Harry took a shaarp breath and unclipped the little silver knots from his ears and begun fastening the apatite studs in their place. The colour stood out starkly against his pale skin and dark hair. Draco felt his self-satisfaction blossom once more. A good gift indeed!
The thought had him turning back towards the sole remaining present beside his own chair. He had left Harry's present until last, and the sight of his friend's excitement at unwrapping that which he received elicited a stirring of his own enthusiasm once more. Slipping back into his chair, casting half a glance towards Harry as the dark-haired bowed his head over Lyssy with a focused stare, he began to unwrap the golden paper.
The almost cylindrical shape was long, nearly two feet, and heavy in the sort of dense-sturdiness of weighty material. Unwrapping the final sheets of paper, his breath caught as the object was revealed.
He only saw a fraction of it at first. A rich, deep scarlet, interwoven with silver and golden threads, composed the edges of what Draco realised was a rolled tapestry. Two polished, aged rungs of ebony protruded from each end, and grasping both with careful fingers, he unrolled the thick material reverentially.
The inside was even more gorgeous that the exterior suggested. Draco's breath caught as his vision reflected an array of beautiful colours. Maintaining its warm, thick redness, broken by the flickers of glimmering gold and silver, the embroidery of the tapestry spread across like a scene from a frozen portrait. Except it wasn't frozen, not really. Around the edging, a string of forget-me-nots and dandelions, red chrysanthemum and primrose entwined and roiled as though they grew and shifted with unnatural speed. Vines and leaves dangled and curled from the border as though falling towards the centre like hangings from a guttering and draped across letters woven in gold and silver at the centre.
The letters were in calligraphic script, so elaborate that for a moment Draco thought they may have been in English and he simply couldn't read them. When he realised it was instead a compilation of Runes, of the Merlecue alphabet, he felt his heart actively speed in tempo as the intense desire to unearth the secrets of the words arose within him. It was one of the main reasons he was so smitten with the subject as a study. Not only were runes, very literally, the language of magic, but it was also hypothesised to be the language of ancient wizards and witches. Real artefacts were not uncommon per se; it was finding the true diamonds in the pit of crystals that was difficult.
Without pausing to explain himself to his parents, and glancing only briefly over his shoulder to determine that Harry was still enraptured in what appeared to be a very fine study of the little black cat at his side, Draco strode from the room. His eyes flickered over the detailing of the runes, every unfurling petal of flowers hungrily so that he nearly stumbled as he made his way to his suite. He thanked foresight that he had brought his numerous Runes dictionary along with him; it was never quite so simple as a 'translation' but he had confidence in his abilities nonetheless.
Falling onto his bed – pristinely made, as he hadn't slept in it in days – and spreading the four-foot long tapestry across the covers, he propped the dictionaries around him and fell into the familiar process of compare and revisit, word after word. He seemed to chew through the process and though it probably took longer than he realised Draco was so lost in his determination to decipher the meaning of the words that he couldn't be sure just how long he was distracted.
When he quickly unscrambled what was evidently the title from the whole, Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. He remembered…
The Eternity Bond. It had not been so long ago that they had discussed it, not even a month past. And Draco had only mentioned it in passing, how he had so wanted to forge such a bond with his parents, a bond stronger and more pure than any other…
Where did he even get this? The potion that provided the foundations of the bond was notoriously so old and dubiously transcribed that reprints in modern texts rarely bothered with it. The tapestry in his hands seemed to be an original even…
Where did he get the money to buy something like this?
Draco paused for a moment, contemplating, but not for long. The desire to know just what the words said urged him from his consideration.
Flicking once more between embroidered words and printed text, Draco gradually translated the piece. After a few more minutes of work, he leapt from his bed, gathered parchment, quill and ink, and jotted down each word as he unravelled it. It was difficult, as there were often a multitude of possibilities for each translation, but Draco felt he had enough experience to adeptly place the appropriate terms.
The solid, finely printed text that composed the primary body of the script unfolded in dribs and drabs as an incredibly complex potions recipe. Draco felt uneasy even reading about it; possibilities for error shrouded every step, and most expectedly so. At the bottom of the potion was a paragraph on the appropriate timing and accompanying enchantment for administration of the potion. Even that left him with a twinge of unease. The time between the consumption of the potion and the enchantment was crucial, and any stumbling over words or procedure could be disastrous. Funny, how a potion that professed to bind individuals in the deepest way possible was so difficult to produce.
What was truly interesting, however, was the final lines of the script. It seemed set apart from the potion and enchantment, and continued translation discovered that it was something of a poem, written in verse. Inking in the last words, Draco sat back and ran his eyes over the translation.

Purely in Love

She is my mother,

My sister, my daughter,

My wife.

My dearest friend, she is my master;

A harbinger of blessed freedom and blissful captivity.

I sought her safety, her enduring strength;

She gifted me the liberty of breath itself,

Opened wide arms to embrace as a desert welcomes the rain.

My mother, I worship your every word;

My sister, I support each desire that possesses you;

My daughter, I cherish your very smile;

My wife, you have my eternal devotion;

My servitude, the loyalty of a bee to her hive;

An oath to aid the endeavors of your whims;

A shield to shelter from the blows that befall you,

A blanket to stave off the wind that chills your bones.

I love in its entirety,

A faithfulness without chains or regret.
It was a short, simple poem, any rhyme or rhythm lost in the translation. Yet something about it tugged at Draco's heart, nudging the thudding muscle as though egging him onto a train of thought. The poem described a love that he wasn't quite sure he understood, and seemed almost confusing in its all-encompassing acceptance. Yet what gripped him most were the final lines embroidered in simpler font, almost as an afterthought, beneath the elegant poem.

For love is pure and untarnished by the corruption of intellect, defined only by the constraints that man sets upon it.
The final words seemed almost harsh. Cruel and blunt, when compared to the poem, yet raw and profound. Love is pure and untarnished... Purity, without labelling, it would almost seem… The thought triggered a faint inkling of consideration that had been straining for attention for days now. In the contemplation of love, his mind turned not to his parents, those he had always longed to bond in a deepening of familial ties, but to Harry.
Harry, who knew him well enough to have given him with such a perfect gift. Who had erased the hated brand upon his forearm. The boy who fell into his embrace on the edge of a frozen gutter and sobbed uncontrollably, who held his hand as though it was a lifeline and gifted him with shy smiles that were incomplete yet so perfect.
And his mothers knowing smile suddenly seemed so understandable.
'I think I might possibly…'
'What?'
Draco nearly fell off the bed he was so startled. Dictionaries tumbled to the floor and it was only by chance that the tapestry didn't follow. Grasping the bedpost to steady himself, Draco turned hurriedly towards the door and the figure standing framed within the doorway.
Harry wore a small smile, his perfectly flawed smile, his head questioningly. The apatite earrings glistened in his ears, half hidden by locks of black hair that had fallen from an elaborate braid that Draco hadn't seen him wear before. Placed neatly on his nose were the glasses that Draco knew his mother had gifted him; thin, delicate, they suited him to a T, as Draco had known they would. In place of his robe, he wore a green knitted jumper boasting a golden H that was just slightly too big for him over jeans. His pale fingers curled just over the cuffs and fiddled unconsciously as he awaited Draco's response.
He was utterly beautiful. How have I not realised this before?
Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Draco glanced quickly towards the tapestry spread across the bed before glancing back towards the doorway. 'Where did you…?'
Harry dropped his chin, scuffing his toes on the floorboards. He shrugged. 'I remembered you talking about the Eternity Bond, and then I remembered stumbling across this a few months ago at Hogsmeade…'
'Months? You found this months ago?'
Harry nodded. 'I have good memory?' The statement, sounding like a question, was almost apologetic. 'I just didn't get it until a little while ago.'
Draco's eyes were at war deciding whether to fix themselves upon the beautiful tapestry or the boy standing in his doorway. He settled for shifting between the two, and hated to think how his neck was being compromised by the rapid movement.
'Good memory, huh. I'll say…'
There was silence between them, though not uncomfortable. It simply…was. Finally, Harry broke it. 'Your mother wanted me to ask you if you were ready to come downstairs for some lunch.'
'Lunch? Already?'
Harry nodded, a little exasperated. 'You've been up here for quite a while.'
Draco blinked in surprise. Certainly, quite a while if it was lunchtime. 'Um… yeah, I've just finished.'
Smiling again, Harry paused for a moment, as though awaiting a reply, before turning from the room. 'I'll just… go downstairs then?' He left before any reply could be voiced.
Draco was left with an afterimage of his friend impressed in his vision. His revelation still rocked him to his core, but in an impossibly good way. He couldn't believe… How had… When did he become so blind?
With a shake of his head, Draco carefully rolled the tapestry up into its original scroll. It probably had a Preservation Charm on it, but he still didn't want to risk damaging it. With a final stroke of the soft fabric, he pushed himself from the bed and hastened after Harry.

A/N: As always, please comment and let me know what you think of the story. I love hearing from everyone, and really, really appreciate the time taken to send me a buzz. Thanks again to all my wonderful readers!
- 12
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Masks of Real Heroes