Penpals
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IN WHICH DRACO IS EIGHT
"It's not fair!" said Draco angrily for the tenth time. For emphasis, he slammed his pumpkin juice down onto the breakfast table. One of the attendant house-elves hurried over to his side, a rag in hand, and Draco pelted him with a muffin.
"Draco," murmured Narcissa from behind a pale blue teacup a second before Lucius barked, "Draco! Comport yourself as is befitting a Malfoy!"
Draco ignored the warnings with a toss of his head, his hands clenched into fists on either side of his plate. "I want to go to Hogwarts," he insisted, two high spots of color on his cheeks.
Lucius glowered at his only child from the other end of the table. "Your mother and I have already decided. You're going to Beauxbatons, and if you argue again with me again, I'll break your broom," he growled.
Draco scowled. "If you do, Mother will buy me a new one," he said with flippant confidence.
"I most certainly will not," said his mother mildly.
Draco's scowl deepened. "Severus will! He's the only one who really loves me!" his declared passionately, upsetting his glass of pumpkin juice again.
"Severus would buy you a cauldron; good luck getting that airborne," said his mother dryly.
Draco looked thunderously at her, and when a house-elf offered him another pumpkin juice he bared his teeth and growled, "You want to die?"
Lucius frowned at his wild child, who brandished a butter knife at the cowering house-elf. "Narcissa, see that Draco spends less time with McNaire's son."
"Why do I have to go there? You went to Hogwarts. Father went to Hogwarts. Severus went to Hogwarts and even teaches there!" cried Draco, judging his father's murderous intentions towards his broom to be empty threats.
"We've already discussed this, Draco," said Narcissa before he could name anyone else. She looked disapprovingly at the pumpkin juice stain on the tablecloth and sighed. "Was that really necessary?"
"Yes," he said surly.
Lucius threw his napkin over his barely touched breakfast and pushed his chair away from the table. "I am going to the Ministry," he announced, and he looked pointedly at Narcissa. "See if you can't control your son."
"Yes, dear," said Narcissa, turning her head for Lucius to kiss her cheek. "Do tell the Minister that dinner is at seven tonight, won't you?"
Lucius nodded stiffly and walked towards the enormous fireplace. "Dobby!" he ordered, never breaking his stride. "My cane!"
Dobby scurried towards him, head bowed and bits of muffin falling from his sorry looking pillow case. Lucius grabbed his cane with a sneer and held it threateningly over Dobby's cowering form. With a last glare at Draco, Lucius threw a fistful of Floo Powder into the grate. "Ministry of Magic, the Minister's Office," he said loudly and disappeared in a rush of green flames.
Narcissa turned to Draco. "Temper tantrums. How very childish and peasant of you. Perhaps I should just send you to live with the Weasleys. You'd fit in extraordinarily well," she said coolly, her eyes hard with disapproval.
"The Weasleys are a bunch of blood traitors!" exclaimed Draco, looking scandalized.
"Yes, and going to Hogwarts, too," said Narcissa.
Draco scowled. "And blood traitors don't go to Beauxbatons?" he asked sarcastically, his face very red.
Narcissa raised a pale eyebrow. "It pains me to think, Draco, that the Galleons I have spent on your tutors have only prepared your mind for base sarcasm and rhetorical questions. Severus would quite despair of you."
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Narcissa continued. "Both your father and I agree that Hogwarts is not suitable for you. The fact that both your godfather and your parents attended has no baring on the matter," she said, giving her son a hard look. "Besides, no one achieves greatness by following in the footprints of another."
"Why isn't it suitable?" cried Draco, dangerously close to tears. His face was very hot and his eyes stung.
"We had never intended for you to go to Hogwarts," said his mother, looking critically at her nails. "Your father wanted to send you to Durmstrang, but that is so very far away, and I confess that I like having you nearby."
Draco hardly thought that France was close to home. You had to take an international Portkey to get there, and he had never liked traveling by Portkey. Hogwarts was only a few hours away by train. He could feel his throat tighten. It was all just so unfair! His lower lip began to tremble.
"Besides, this was all Severus' idea."
Draco blinked. Eight year-olds don't cry. "I thought he wanted to teach me potions," he said around the lump in his throat.
"He does," said Narcissa, looking knowingly at him. "Which is why you shall be spending the summer holiday with him while your father and I travel abroad. Severus thinks you'll be ready to apprentice with him in your seventh year if you spend this summer and every summer under his tutelage. You'll certainly be farther along than Hogwarts students planning to become Potions Masters; they aren't allowed to use their seventh year to apprentice like Beauxbaton's students are."
Draco stared at his mother, too surprised to pull on Dobby's ears when Dobby poured him more pumpkin juice.
"Can I take the blessed silence as your approval?" drawled Narcissa, an amused smirk on her cupid bow lips.
It was no fun to shout at his mother, who only said clever and sometimes funny things. It was fun to shout at his father, though. Lucius had passed down the genetic penchant for throwing things and turning very red when he got angry, and it was funny to watch because Narcissa never let Lucius punish him.
"I suppose," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair as he had seen Narcissa do many times before. Relief surged through him. He could still be a Potions Master.
"So glad that you've agreed," said Narcissa dryly. She flicked open the Daily Prophet and said, "Dobby, pack Draco's things. We leave for Bordeaux in the morning."
"What?" squawked Draco, surging upright in his chair, his palms flat on the table, all semblance of aloofness abandoned.
Narcissa turned down a corner of the newspaper and peered at her son in pretty confusion, her grey eyes sparkling more fiercely than the hundreds of crystals in the chandelier above their heads. "Well, darling, don't you want to pick out your room in the new house?"
"What do you mean bored oh?" he demanded.
Narcissa winced. "Bordeaux, darling," she said. "Don't you see now how vital it is that we leave years before you start at Beauxbatons? Before you turn eleven we must rid you of your…accent," she said, looking faintly appalled.
"But I don't want to move!" said Draco angrily.
Narcissa blinked at him. "Why not?"
"Because!" shouted Draco, his face very red again.
"Incomplete sentences are not feats of mental prowess, Draco," said Narcissa calmly, turning back to her newspaper. "And do not take that tone of voice with me again or I will break your broom."
Draco glowered but said nothing else. For several minutes, the room was silent except for the occasional turn of the paper, and Draco picked over the last of his breakfast, thinking about what his mother had told him.
IN WHICH DRACO IS ELEVEN
"That'll be seven Galleons," said Ollivander, his moonstone colored eyes glinting in the dusty light.
Draco hadn't been sure about this Ollivander and his shop, but his mother had assured him that Ollivander's was the best, and Malfoys only had the best. The wand had felt good in his hand, warm and powerful. So it was without reluctance that he placed his Galleons on the table.
"It's been many years since an Ollivander's wand has gone to Beauxbatons," said Ollivander thoughtfully, sweeping the gold into an ornately carved box that scuttled across the counter when the lid shut. "Adelaide Rankin, nine inches, oak, unicorn horn filings." He shook his head. "My grandfather made that one. I don't use unicorn horn filings."
"Why not?" asked Draco, frowning. "Unicorn horns are very powerful, and the filings are used in many potions."
"Such as?" asked Ollivander, his great shaggy eyebrows rising into his hairline.
"Veritaserum," said Draco coolly. He heard his mother sigh from her seat in the corner.
"Don't forget your fitting at Madam Malkin's, Draco," she said, and she pulled a small red leather bound novel from her purse.
Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "And what is the shelf life of Veritaserum?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. He was not used to people other than Severus asking detailed questions about potions most children his age had only the faintest, if any, idea about. "Ninety-two years and 7 weeks," he said, smirking as he undoubtedly surpassed this foolish man's expectations.
"Yes, and the average life span of a witch or wizard?" Ollivander crooned.
"One hundred and forty," said Draco promptly, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he understood. He felt his face heat. "Oh."
"Yes, quite," said Ollivander, and he looked appraisingly at Draco. "Although it is not unusual for a person to have more than one or two wands in his lifetime, he should not be forced to buy a new wand because his has reached its expiration date."
Narcissa turned a page languidly and checked her gold pocket watch.
"Look around you, Mr. Malfoy," said Ollivander, waving to the shelves full of wand boxes. "The wand chooses the wizard! Some of these wands have to wait over fifty years before they find the right owner."
Draco's face burned. Severus would have been harsher with him for having not thought things through, for trying to flaunt his knowledge and failing, but having a perfect stranger know his incompetence was more embarrassing.
Draco hated being embarrassed.
"Be sure to tell your professors that your wand is an Ollivander's," said Ollivander, handing Draco the receipt.
"That man was peculiar," declared Draco as soon as the door had swung shut behind him. "Are you sure we shouldn't have stayed in France for my wand?"
The corners of Narcissa's mouth turned up.
"I wish Severus lived in France. Then we could have gone to Paris for my uniform and not Diagon Ally," complained Draco, holding his wand in his hand. It felt very different from a ladle or a stirring rod, which were thicker and heavier.
"Put your wand away now, Draco," said Narcissa. "I'm going to leave you at Madam Malkin's and join your father for tea."
"What about my tea?" demanded Draco, but he slipped his wand into his sleeve.
"After your fitting, I will meet you at Florean's for ice cream," said Narcissa.
Draco brightened at the sound of that. Diagon Ally might not be Paris, but his mother took him to Florean's every summer for ice cream when she and father came to pick him up from Severus' manor. He gave his mother a kiss on her cheek and watched her for a moment as she stepped into the busy street of Diagon Alley. A beam of sunlight shifted over the awning, catching Narcissa in full. Her platinum blonde hair glimmered in the morning light, and people craned their necks to get a better glimpse of the beautiful Lady Malfoy. She glided through the crowd, never hurried or jostled.
Checking to make sure his wand was secure, Draco stepped in the opposite direction towards Madam Malkin's. The door was heavy to push open, and he had to brace his legs behind him and lean into the door to open it.
"Welcome!" called an assistant from behind the counter.
Draco wanted to say something about the door, but at that moment a flurry of velvet and maroon blocked his line of sight. Draco stepped back, alarmed, and clutched uselessly at a bolt of periwinkle taffeta.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
A funny gurgle escaped Draco's throat, and he could feel heat crawl up his cheeks as he stared into the face of Madam Malkin. He hastily released his grip on the fabric.
"Your uniform arrived this morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said, a measuring tape standing at attention over her shoulder. "If you'd just put it on behind the curtain there, dear."
Draco bristled at being called 'dear', but Madam Malkin was a very large woman and he didn't think that he had practiced Severus' sneer enough to pull it off.
"Such a shy boy," he heard Madam Malkin say to her assistant when Draco had pulled the curtain shut. "And skin and bones! He'll be swimming in his uniform," she said, chuckling. "He used to look more like his father, don't you know, but now he's more like Mrs. Malfoy—like a little bird.
Draco's face burned, and he yanked his robes off angrily. He couldn't wait to go back home, away from all of the stupid people like Ollivander and Madam Malkin. He came to England every summer, and every summer it was the same—shopkeepers tensing at the sight of his platinum blond hair, people on the street giving him a wide birth but careful, so very careful so as not to give him offense. When people heard his last name, they pulled their children away.
His anger drained out of him, however, when he saw his blue and grey silk uniform on the hanger.
He could tell without putting it on yet that the uniform would be too big for him, but that didn't bother him. Soon it would be tailored to fit him perfectly.
Carefully, but quickly, he pulled on the trousers, the silk dress shirt and vest, and eyed the satin ribbons at his throat and cuffs. Fifth years and above at Beauxbatons traded the long ribbons for a tie, but the lower years had to wear the ribbons in a bow. The bow was the only thing about the uniform that he wished he could change.
He'd balked at first at wearing anything but robes, but then his mother had explained that the British notions of Wizarding propriety did not extend to the French notion of fashion. And if a person needed to rely on Wizarding clothing to distinguish a pureblood, that person's opinion wasn't worth soliciting anyway.
"Haven't seen one of those uniforms before," said the mirror. "You look very handsome. Although the ribbons are rather effeminate, dear."
Draco glowered at the mirror and made a rude gesture he had learned from a mime on the streets of Marseilles.
The mirror made an insulted sound and Draco twitched the curtain open. He pressed his lips together tightly when Madam Malkin's assistant giggled at him from behind a bolt of pumpkin orange velvet.
"Well don't you look like a present!" exclaimed Madam Malkin, her measuring tape wriggling over her shoulder.
"I don't think so," said Draco coldly.
The smile froze on her face, and Draco squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. He stepped onto the stool and stared resolutely ahead of him.
"I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Malkin said hesitantly, her brown eyes darting nervously everywhere but at Draco's face.
The rest of the fitting was done in terse silence, Madam Malkin seeming to be in shock and somewhat near tears.
He was just leaving the dressing room in another set of robes for Madame Malkin to tailor when the door chime sounded. A skinny boy with the wildest black hair and green eyes behind round glasses stepped nervously into the store.
"Hello," called the assistant.
"Hi," said the boy shyly. "I need robes." Then, as though remembering, he added, "For Hogwarts."
"If you could just step on the stool, dear," said Madame Malkin, returning with her arms full of Draco's other robes. "Taffy will be with you in a minute."
The other boy stepped quickly onto the stool.
Draco stared at his outlandish clothes. "Are you wearing Muggle clothes?" he asked, not entirely sure. The clothes drowned the boy, and Draco wondered in he wasn't wearing some new sort of fashion.
"Yeah."
"Oh," said Draco, lifting his arm for the scissors to trim his sleeve.
"I'm Harry," said the boy, smiling.
"Draco Malfoy. I'm going to Beauxbatons."
"Oh," said Harry, looking confused. "Is that your uniform?"
Draco looked down at his robes at the pearls in the collar. "These are my dress robes for the fete in September."
"They're nice," said Harry.
"What house do you think you'll be in at Hogwarts?" asked Draco. Beauxbatons didn't have houses, but he had grown up hearing about them.
Harry's eyes clouded in confusion. "I don't know."
"My parents and godfather were in Slytherin," said Draco proudly. "Slytherin's the best house." He looked critically at Harry's short and skinny frame. "Although Ravenclaw's not too bad, I suppose. If you like to read. Do you like school?"
A funny expression came over Harry's face. "It's ok."
"Well, whatever you do, make sure you study for Potions. My godfather's the Potions Master at Hogwarts, and he's really…" Here Draco trailed off, trying to think of the right word to describe Severus.
"Strict?" suggested Taffy, a sour look about her mouth.
Draco glared at her. "He's the most brilliant Potions Master since Cadmus Salvio," he said coolly. "If he's strict it's because Potions is a hell of a lot more dangerous than sewing."
Madame Malkin huffed. "Now really, there's no need for such strong language, Mr. Malfoy."
Harry looked somewhat alarmed. "I've never taken Potions before," he confessed.
Draco's mouth dropped. "What? Your parents haven't taught you?" he asked incredulously.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "My parents died in a…they died," he said.
"Oh," said Draco at the same time as Taffy and Madame Malkin gasped.
Harry shrugged again. "It happened when I was a baby; I don't even remember them."
"Oh. Oh," sniffed Taffy rather wetly.
"Well, you have a month until your first class," said Draco awkwardly. "You've already bought your Potions books, right?"
Taffy sniffed again and looked at Draco as though to say he wasn't being very kind.
"The list only said to buy the one," said Harry, looking rather panicky.
Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What? One Potions text? Just the one?"
"Yeah," said Harry.
Draco snorted. "Severus isn't being as mean as I thought he would. He made me read four books on fungi last year! And two on Fire Salamander tails alone! If you're not doing anything after this, I could show you some more books you should buy."
Harry smiled broadly, his thin face brightening. "I'm with Hagrid," he said, shrugging his shoulder in the direction of the window. "I'd have to ask but…"
"Rubeus Hagrid dear?" asked Madame Malkin, surprised.
"Yes," said Harry. "He's helping me buy my things."
Both women looked mistily at him, and Harry ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable. As he did so, his hair shifted and a pink lightening bolt shaped scar was visible.
Draco's eyes widened. It was only years of training that kept him from blurting out Harry's full name. "I'm sure Hagrid won't mind," he said instead. "We can go get ice cream too. I'm to meet my mother after this."
"You're done, Mr. Malfoy. Shall I Floo these to your home?" asked Madame Malkin.
"No, our house elf will pick them up later," said Draco. "Ask Hagrid, Harry," he urged, hopping off the stool.
"Yeah," said Harry, looking excited. "I will."
Draco had to wait another fifteen minutes for Harry to be done. He helped Harry pick out a pair of brewing robes, which Draco insisted would be useful. "Where's Hagrid?" he asked as soon as they left the shop.
" 'Arry?" rumbled a voice behind Draco.
Draco turned and had to tilt his head back as far as it would go to stare into the face of the most enormous man he had ever seen. He was even bigger than Madame Maxime, who was a good five feet taller than Draco.
"Hi Hagrid! This is Draco Malfoy, Draco, this is Rubeus Hagrid. He invited us to have ice cream with his mum and then get more books for Potions," said Harry brightly. "His godfather's the Potions Master."
"Severus Snape," said Draco helpfully.
"I know Sev'rus Snape," said Hagrid. He didn't offer his hand to Draco.
In fact, Hagrid shiny black eyes darted towards Draco's pale blonde hair rather than Draco's face. Hagrid clapped an enormous hand on Harry's shoulder, nearly sending the boy to his knees. "Best 'ta be gettin on, 'arry. Gotta ge' you home soon," said Hagrid.
"The Dursley's won't care," objected Harry.
Draco noticed that Hagrid didn't refute that. "Sorry 'Arry, but I've gots to be sayin' no," said Hagrid firmly.
Harry's face fell.
"Never mind, Harry," said Draco, reaching into his robes where he kept his Mokeshin bag. He pulled out a miniature quill and a piece of parchment. "I'll owl you some books so you can study. What's your address?" he asked.
"Now jus' a minute," blustered Hagrid, but Harry had already scrawled out his address.
Harry Potter
4 Privet Drive
Surrey
Draco stuffed it quickly into his Mokeshin bag, and Hagrid, whose arm had been half outstretched as though to snatch the parchment back, sighed. Only the owner of the belongings could retrieve them from a Mokeshin bag. Draco hid his smirk behind his hand.
"Thanks," said Harry warmly. "My relatives don't really like owls, so maybe you could send yours at night? I'll leave my window open."
The sound that emerged behind Hagrid's beard was unmistakably a growl.
"Sure," said Draco. He handed Harry his own address. "Here's my address. You can owl me if you have any questions about Potions. I'm going to be a Potions Master one day, you know."
"Really? Cool!"
Draco shrugged, but he couldn't help but smile back at Harry's excited grin. "You can owl me whenever, actually," he said, hoping he sounded casual.
"Yeah," said Harry, pushing Draco's address into the pocket of his trousers.
Draco extended his hand formerly and said, "Nice to meet you, Harry."
Hagrid's hand clutched at Harry's shoulder, and Harry had to struggle somewhat to shake Draco's hand. "Nice to meet you, too, Draco."
As Draco walked away he heard Harry say, "Hagrid, how do you send an owl?"
IN WHICH DRACO IS FOURTEEN
Flying by carriage, Draco had decided, was brilliant. When you were on a broom, you had more freedom and speed, but flying by Abraxan horse drawn carriage was traveling in style.
"Draco?"
Draco turned respectfully to his headmistress.
"Hogwarts," said the large woman, smiling.
Draco looked the window and far below him he could see a dark carpet of green butting against a large, dark grey shape. His first impression of Hogwarts was that it was…
"Ugly," sniffed the gorgeous blonde girl on the other carriage bench. "Like a lump of stone," she sniffed derisively.
Madame Maxime chuckled. "It is more impressive from the ground, Fleur."
Fleur looked skeptical.
Draco kept his eye on the castle, which was coming into more detailed perspective as they descended. Harry's descriptions in his letters made the castle sound awe inspiring and like home.
Technically, Draco shouldn't even be in the carriage, but his father, as a Governor of Hogwarts, had arranged for him to be part of Beauxbatons' party. Draco looked across the carriage at Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister. She shouldn't be there either, but the Delacours were on the Board of Trustees at Beauxbatons. Gabrielle caught his eye, and they shared a small smile as children of powerful parents.
"Which tower did your parents live in, Draco?" asked Fleur, peering more interestedly at the castle.
"Look at the Quidditch Pitch!" breathed Gabrielle.
"They didn't live in a tower," said Draco.
Fleur spared a glance at the Quidditch Pitch. "No shade. The Hogwarts' girls must be covered in freckles." She shuddered, looking infuriatingly attractive. "Where did your parents live then?"
"The Slytherin House is in the dungeons," said Draco coolly.
Fleur made a moue of distaste. "No wonder your parents sent you to Beauxbatons!"
Draco glared at her. "My godfather is the Head of Slytherin House."
Gabrielle urged Fleur to look at the lake, and she turned away from Draco. Draco looked out his own window and saw a crowd in black robes in front of the castle. As the carriage drew closer, he could make out faces, and he scanned the crowd to look for his parents and Harry.
As the ground drew even closer, Draco tore his attention away from the window and to his uniform. He straightened his vest and murmured a spell to put the crease back into his trousers after having been sitting for hours. He wasn't the only one. Fleur was Spelling away the wrinkles from her uniform and Gabrielle's robes. Proud as Draco was to be a Beauxbatons student, he couldn't help but wish that the Triwizard Tournament was taking place in his fifth year. He fiddled uselessly with his ribbons, wistfully imagining they were a tie and cufflinks instead of small bows with long silk sashes.
Madame Maxime's touched her wand to a mirror on the velvet wall of the carriage. Her reflection shimmered for a moment before Prefect Helen's face swam into view. Helen bobbed her head respectfully, waiting for the headmistress to speak.
"Are the students ready, Helen?"
Helen moved out of the frame and the mirror revealed a substantially more cramped carriage filled with Beauxbatons' students. Their uniforms were immaculate, and Draco stared enviously at the older boy's uniforms.
The brightest seventeen year old students Beauxbatons had to offer stood at attention before bowing and curtsying to their headmistress. No one doubted that Fleur Delacour would most likely be Beauxbatons' champion, but one could never be sure who the Goblet of Fire would choose. Draco had a bet going on back at school that if Fleur wasn't chosen, Philip Swanson would be.
Madame Maxime's sparkling eyes looked over each student carefully. Her gaze lingered over Francis Gladtrop.
Francis flushed, and hastily Vanished the polish from her nails in a pink flash.
"Good," said Maxime, and she waved a hand at the mirror to show her own reflection again.
The carriage was only feet off the ground now, and Draco's fingers were moving in a complicated dance in his lap. He stopped when he caught Fleur smirking at him.
Gabrielle laughed with delight when the carriage touched the ground. A Smooth Landing Charm had must have been added to the carriage, Draco thought, because it glided to a stop. Not even the chandelier's crystals rattled.
They could hear murmurs outside of the carriage, and Draco wondered if Harry would be towards the front. He hoped not—Draco's parents were undoubtedly towards the front, and Harry didn't much like his father.
His felt as though a hundred Blibbering Humdingers were flying around in his stomach. Madame Maxime flicked her wand at the door, and right October sunlight flooded the carriage.
"Dumbledore," said Madame Maxime in a warm rumble as she met the Hogwarts' headmaster outside.
"Draco," hissed Fleur, her face gorgeous even in annoyance.
A whoosh of breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding escaped Draco. He followed the Delacour sisters out of the carriage to stand with the rest of Beauxbatons' students behind Madame Maxime.
Hundreds of Hogwarts students stood in front of him. They stared at him, some whispering, and he leveled a bored gaze back at them as he swept the crowd for Harry's face.
The weight of a familiar stare made him turn his head to the left, and he saw his mother standing next to his father. She looked stunning in silver robes, and she wore a sapphire and diamond diadem in her blond hair that threw colored sparkles across her pale skin.
Draco smirked softly. Narcissa Malfoy never did anything by accident. Her colors showed her Beauxbatons loyalty and support for her son, all while being very beautiful of course.
Madame Maxime saw his parents and nodded regally to them before waving her hand to a pair of the winged horses that had drawn the carriage. They had been a present from Draco's parents the year before.
She talked to Hagrid next, and Draco felt an old twinge of bitterness. It had been Hagrid, after all, who had refused to let Harry go to Flourish and Blotts with Draco. That hadn't stopped their friendship, but it had led to the start of a friendship only carried out in letters.
Although they tried to see each other every summer, something had always gotten in the way. Draco and Severus had an epic row about the Dursleys the summer before second year, when Harry wrote to him about the Weasleys flying a car to rescue him from Surrey. After second year, he and Harry barely wrote after Harry accused Lucius of trying to set a basilisk upon the school. That row had been quickly forgotten, however, when Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. When he found out that Harry was living in Diagon Ally after blowing up an aunt and running away by Knight Bus, Draco had begged Severus to invite Harry to live with them at Severus' manor. Severus had been quite unreasonable, Draco thought, to have gone to every length to avoid Diagon Alley that summer. Last summer, they planned to meet at the Quidditch World Cup. However, the day before the match, Draco, who had been experimenting with potions, exploded a cauldron and doused himself with enough Insomnia Remedy that he slept for a solid week.
It seemed, therefore, almost unbelievable that they were going to meet after so many failed attempts and false starts.
Quite lost in thought, he failed to notice that everyone was heading inside of the castle until someone bumped into him. Draco blinked and hurried inside with the rest of the students.
A hand at his sleeve caught him on the stairs.
"Hi, Draco," said Harry Potter, grinning at him.
Draco's mouth fell open. "You grew! I mean, hi," he said, flustered.
Harry Potter had most certainly changed from who had been as a nervous eleven year old in Madame Malkin's shop.
"This is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," said Harry, introducing his friends that stood on either side of him. "Guys, this is Draco Malfoy."
Ron sniggered, and Draco quickly withdrew his hand and instead offered it to Hermione.
"Ron!" growled Harry, looking upset.
Hermione shook his hand and smiled at him. "Don't pay any attention to Ron. He's worried Harry will like you better than him."
"HERMIONE!" exclaimed Ron, his ears very red.
Draco smirked, deciding right then that Hermione was a very likeable person.
Ron sighed. "Just something in my throat was all. Nice to meet you, Draco."
Draco looked coolly at him and didn't say anything.
"Shall we go eat?" suggested Harry, looking somewhat anxiously between Draco and Ron. Ron and Hermione walked on either side of Harry, forcing Draco to walk on Hermione's left. Hermione talked all the way to the dinning tables, and Draco had to quickly maneuver to get between her and Harry. Harry grinned at him and Draco grinned back.
The other Beauxbatons students were sitting at another table, where the students wore blue ties.
Ravenclaws.
Draco had been hoping Harry would be a Ravenclaw and been more than a little disappointed to find out that Harry had joined the sworn enemy of the Slytherin House. Harry had written back to say that the hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, and Draco had been too surprised to chastise Harry for fighting the hat.
"These tables are from the Dark Ages," rang Fleur's silvery voice.
Ron dropped the fork he'd been twirling in his hands and stared at Fleur with a gaping mouth. "Blimey," he gasped, and he elbowed Harry, his body jerking in Fleur's direction like a wriggling newt.
Harry looked up at Fleur and then at Draco. "You never said you had a sister."
Now it was Draco's mouth that hung open. "What? Fleur's not my sister!
"You look like her," said Harry, shrugging.
Draco was flabbergasted. He knew he wasn't hurting in the looks department, but to be told he looked like Fleur Delacour? Part-Veela Fleur who had at least two marriage proposals in her morning mail?
"We're both blonde," he said, grasping at their one similarity.
"Yeah," said Harry, looking closely at Draco's hair. "Silvery—kinda glows. And you're both really—" he stopped himself abruptly, two high spots of color on his cheeks.
"What?" asked Draco, very interested.
"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "How come your uniform's different?"
"Because he's a fourth year," said Hermione in a very knowing fashion. "Fourth years and below wear Draco's uniform, and fifth years and up wear those uniforms: neckties and cufflinks. A customary gift for a boy on his fifteenth birthday is a pair of nice cufflinks, usually handed down from father to son."
"Oh," said Harry.
Ron's eyes were still glued to Fleur.
Madame Maxime's voice filled the room, and every Beauxbatons student stood up.
"What's going on?" asked Ron, who probably only noticed because Fleur had stood.
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but it was Harry who explained. "That's their headmistress. They're just being polite."
Lucius and Narcissa were seated at the large table with Madame Maxime and other teachers, and Draco watched Harry's face carefully for any sign of anger.
Harry, however, was paying attention to the ribbons on Draco's sleeve.
"What?" asked Draco, putting his hands in his lap.
"Nothing," said Harry quickly. "Want to see my room after this?"
Hermione spluttered and Harry handed her his glass of pumpkin juice rather forcefully, Draco thought.
"I leave after the feast, actually," said Draco. "Are you getting along any better with Severus this year?"
Harry snorted. "Worse, actually."
Dumbledore made a speech and soon the plates were heaped with food.
"Rotten luck Krum's sitting with the snakes," grumbled Ron.
Draco glared at Ron, who was too busy stuffing his face and staring moodily at Krum to notice.
Throughout the dinner, Harry's hand kept accidentally brushing against Draco's. Draco was somewhat used to this—being left handed often caused a lack of elbow room at the table. They talked Quidditch, traded jokes, Draco told them about Beauxbatons and they told him about Hogwarts, and all too soon dessert was over.
"My Portkey leaves in twenty minutes," sighed Draco, very full on the heavy English food.
"Ron, come with me," said Hermione suddenly, standing up. "Nice to have finally met you, Draco."
Ron's eyes darted between Harry and Draco. "Right," said Ron. "Gotta go. Hermione wants to…ah…be seeing you Draco," he said, sounding flustered.
Draco nodded at them both. Harry had written of Ron's crush on Hermione. Ron had obviously confessed his feelings and Hermione returned them and now they were going to…
"That's nice," he said. "Ron and Hermione I mean."
Harry looked nervous. "Sorry. They were being kind of obvious weren't they."
Draco arched an eyebrow. "You'd have to blind not to have seen that," he said.
Harry licked his lips. "Sorry about that. Hermione's got it into her head that I—"
"Don't like seeing them snog?" finished Draco sympathetically.
Harry looked taken aback for a moment. "Yeah," he said slowly.
'I'm right in saying that Hermione's the dominating one, aren't I?"
Harry made a croaking sound.
They joined the throng of students leaving the room. "I have to meet my parents pretty soon," said Draco, checking his watch.
"Want to go outside first?" asked Harry.
"Okay," said Draco, letting Harry lead them out the great front doors.
"Hogwarts is nice," said Draco after several minutes of sitting silently on the steps. The light flooded behind them and cast a glitter on the lake.
"Hm," agreed Harry, who seemed to be concentrating on something very hard.
Draco sighed and hugged his knees to his chest, a little chilly in his silk uniform in the October night air. A breeze fluttered his hair and the sash to his ribbon at his throat brushed against his cheek. He wondered if the absence of conversation between them was because Harry felt comfortable with him or because they didn't know how to speak to one another except for on paper.
That thought depressed Draco.
"I should probably get going," he said after another minute of silence.
Harry looked startled. "What? You said you had fifteen minutes."
"It's almost been that," pointed out Draco.
Harry muttered something too low for Draco to hear. "I wish you could have stayed longer," he said finally.
Draco grimaced. "I know." He sighed. "You'll tell me who the champions are as soon as you know, right? I have a bet going on, you know."
"I will," promised Harry.
"Maybe Dumbledore will let you spend Christmas with us?"
"I'll ask," said Harry.
And then he was kissing both of Draco's cheeks, his lips soft and warm against Draco's cool skin.
Draco pulled away, blushing furiously. "W-what?" he sputtered, shocked.
"Isn't that how you say goodbye in France?" asked Harry, looking rather pleased.
Draco's face was very red. He could feel heat burning on his cheeks where Harry had kissed him. "Yes," he said, his voice very breathy, and he blushed harder.
Later, just before the Portkey tugged at his navel, he'd remember that Harry had sounded too innocent and very pleased with himself.
TBC
A/N: So... how'd you like it? The next chapter is almost ready, a week a most, but more like this coming weekend. Let me know what you liked, and what you'd like to see more/less of.
And also, Question: If you had to be an animal for a day, what would you be and why?