~ The Sleigh ~

Snowflakes outline the London skyline with a glittering ribbon of fairy-dust. It reaches across the night sky all the way to Wiltshire where snow has been falling steadily for days. A heavy, black-lacquered sleigh is gliding quietly across the endless white. Invisible to Muggles and those innocent of death, four harnessed Thestrals are running in front of it, their breath like smoke in the frosty air. From the sleigh, huddled in thick layers of cloth, a figure directs their path. The silvery shine of his hair gives him away: the Master of the Manor is riding the countryside again.

~ Stake-Out ~

"Have you heard?" Ron sounds tired, a comforting presence at Harry's side.

"What?"

"Malfoy is having a whole wing of the Manor torn down."

"He is?" The candles have been burning all night. Now, with dawn moving in, the wax starts dripping onto the window-sill. Harry moves his finger through the flames. The pain is sharp but bearable. He's barely spent a thought on Malfoy since he returned his wand to him three years ago.

"Rumours are he wants to eradicate all memories of Voldemort from the place."

Harry chuckles. Nobody knows better than him just how impossible that is.

~ The Ushanka ~

The sleigh passed a snowman with a flee-ridden hat, just outside of Winterbourne. Leading the Thestrals to their new stables, Draco remembers Grandfather's ushanka, silky muskrat pelt, gracing another coal-eyed fellow in the Manor's gardens, years ago.

He wonders where the ushanka went. He wonders what other things are in the house, speaking of the Malfoys' faithful service to lords dark and powerful, whether their names were Voldemort or Grindelwald.

Tomorrow he will burn the library. He will find the ushanka and burn it, too. The Manor is a place of Hidden Things. Only fire can make it pure.

~ Bonfire at Dusk ~

Harry takes the scent of cinnamon with him as he Apparates. His robes are still damp from the hot chocolate he spilt when the Howler went off, alerting the Aurors to Dark magic at Malfoy Manor.

He arrives at a bonfire roaring into the dusk, fed by parchment, leather and wood. Malfoy stands amidst the flames, Ushanka on his head, clad in a Muggle uniform.

Fiendfyre, Harry thinks, but there's only an Incendio on Malfoy's lips. Harry steps through the fire, grabs his wrist. Malfoy whimpers like he's woken from a beautiful dream, then turns his burning gaze on Harry.

~ A Meeting at the Ministry ~

The Malfoy fortune is among the biggest in the wizarding world. Such wealth carries responsibilities, which is why the head minter comes personally to discuss matters with the Minister.

Ragnok the Wroth never had to use the Muggle entrance before. But without the company of wizard or witch, there's no other way for him to enter the Ministry. Spelled invisible by goblin magic he trudges through the snow and steps into the red telephone booth. The humiliation burns. He'll make sure there's put an end to the Malfoy boy's fancies, squandering hundreds of thousands of Galleons within the last year.

~ Ermine ~

The Master of the Manor is receiving his guests in the restored drawing room. Potter extinguished the fire before the other Aurors arrived. Heaps of half-burned books are left, some so Dark their destruction alerted the Ministry. And damn them, for still having a Trace on him.

Draco pulls the heavy robes around himself, he strokes the green silk; the soft ermine caresses his jaw. Weavers and tailors worked for weeks to produce the only garment befitting a room as splendid as the one they're standing in. Potter's eyes are filled with wondrous awe. Draco allows himself a small smile.

~ The Dark Too ~

Robards is questioning Malfoy in the manor's dining room. Everything's changed since Harry's last been here. Even the moonlight seems from another world as it shines on the new chandelier, making it glitter like ice.

"Lost his marbles", a seasoned Auror says as Harry steps close.

Malfoy's backed against the fire-place. "There's nothing to fear," he whispers. "The dark too shall be beautiful." Christmas lights are draped on the mantlepiece, blinking yellow, green, blue, red.

"Then you admit to casting a Dark spell, Sir?" Robards asks.

"No!" Malfoy is seeking Harry out, confusion in his eyes. "Potter, you tell them."

~ The Crypt ~

The Aurors leave at midnight, finally convinced the burning of Dark books triggered the Howler, not any spell that Malfoy'd cast. Harry stays, he doesn't know why.

Malfoy keeps touching the lining of his robes but he smiles as they walk across the pristine snow. A shape looms in the dark: a Russian mosque, silver-dipped spires and turquoise walls guarded by a fierce, man-sized nutcracker. Malfoy reaches for Harry's hand.

"New crypt," he explains. Malfoy's parents have been dead two years.

"Pretty", Harry says. "Safe." Oh, the silliness sprouting from his mouth.

But Malfoy chuckles, squeezing his hand. Thank you.

~ Falling ~

Draco's falling for Potter, fast. He dreams of him – naked, with a wicked smile, Christmas hat askew in his wild hair. It makes him hard, imagining Potter's chest, the feel of his scratchy jaw, the smell of fire and cinnamon on his skin.

Father had been lenient about Draco's gay trysts, but those days are over. The new west wing of the Manor is completed, a vision in dark blue and the brightest of whites.

His erection has abated in the ice-water bath; he'll think only pure thoughts now. Tomorrow is an important day. Tomorrow he'll welcome his bride.

~ The Archer ~

"Has the invitation arrived, Father?"

From the window of her father's offices, Astoria looks down onto Piccadilly Circus.

"No, my star. He must have forgotten."

There's a shroud covering the archer atop the fountain. Draco told her it's Anteros, avenger of unrequited love.

Draco's changed so much from the snotty brat at Hogwarts. Astoria doesn't love him, but pure-blood marriage isn't about love. On their dates, he's been considerate, even sweet. But he never kissed her, embracing her carefully, as if he was afraid she'd break.

It's not like Draco to forget. Perhaps the owl got lost in the snow.

~ The Engagement Party ~

Astoria's wearing her new blue robes, tailored at Twilfitt and Tatting's especially for the occasion. She reaches for Draco's hand as they enter the hall.

At first, there's only the moon and a dozen candles in the dark. Then she can see the table, laid out for two, the unveiled portraits of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy on the wall.

"Where is everybody?" A lone house-elf brings a plate of Christmas cookies, covered with sprinkles of an absurdly cheery red.

"This is it." Draco's voice is shaking, his hand is cold. "You and me, love, and the beauty of this night."

~ Hope, Purity ~

They are working on a case, searching for clues in a snowed-in Edinburgh cemetery. Harry's just found another grave covered with blooming snowdrops – age-old symbol of the pure-blood cause – when an owl drops the Prophet on the marble.

Youngest Greengrass breaks engagement off with disturbed Malfoy heir, the headline screams. Underneath is a picture of Malfoy, retreating from a crowd in Diagon Alley, panic on his face. Harry's heart hurts to see him so distraught.

"Want to take off early?" mutters Ron and Harry smiles. Ron knows him much too well. A snowdrop in his hand, Harry Apparates to Wiltshire.

~ The Stoker ~

Draco ordered the stablemen to the lodge. Sweat glistens in the shine from the fireplace. He reaches for skin, muscle, hard flesh.

He does not deserve this, but he wants it. Angry weals adorn the back of the willing boy beneath him, and he licks at the blood, hungry for its warmth.

Astoria left. He'll never be the man Father wanted him to be. The logs collapse into a blizzard of sparks and specks of ash. Draco moans. Someone grabs the stoker, another pushes him into the bearskin rug. Hands touch him everywhere, his body burns with need. Please, please –

~ A Meeting in the Green Man Pub ~

Shacklebolt immediately recognises Greengrass amidst the shoppers. His daughter was in the Prophet just yesterday, after all.

"Business," the Minister whispers to his wife who simply rolls her eyes and continues up to Magical Harrods.

When they are seated in the Green Man, a Muffliato in place, Shacklebolt asks, "So, what's up with Malfoy?"

"He's heavily in debt to me." Greengrass shrugs. "All that Louis Quatorze furniture. He's got excellent taste. But excellent taste has its price."

"The engagement?"

Greengrass's mouth turns hard. "Astoria claims Malfoy's mental. Lost touch with reality, she says."

Shacklebolt nods knowingly. Ragnok said as much.

~ Pretty Naughty ~

Harry follows Malfoy's footsteps in the snow; the lodge rises from the dusk. Entering, he stops to stare at the mighty, many-limbed holly growing in the middle of the room. It's decked with red berries and tiny golden bells.

Malfoy kneels at the fireplace, naked but for a pair of pulled-down breeches. Bloody welts criss-cross the scars on his chest. A man, magicless but well-muscled, fucks him from behind, another tosses him off. Malfoy's heavy-lidded eyes gleam in the firelight, his cock's huge and slippery with spunk. Harry cannot suppress a moan – so naughty, so pretty – and Malfoy spills.

~ Dinner Invitation ~

Draco lies on his bed, still wrapped in Potter's Auror robes. He recalls stumbling back towards the Manor, moonlight crawling up the newly-built façade. Potter had yanked him from the floor after the stablemen left. After Draco'd been touched and hurt and made love to like he'd wanted to for so long.

Potter's magic washes over him, closing the torn skin on his chest. The pain disappears and leaves Draco empty for – something. He draws Potter close, kissing him softly, shyly. Potter pulls back, eyes glittering green like the snow-dusted beeches in the garden.

"Stay for dinner", Draco whispers. "Please."

~ Point of Decision ~

After dinner, they find themselves at the bottom of the Manor's sweeping staircase. Harry'd love nothing more than to go up and feel for himself the heat he's seen burning beneath Malfoy's frosty décor of silver and white.

Expectation sparkles in Malfoy's eyes; it breaks Harry's heart. But when Malfoy steps closer, he moves back immediately.

"Would you," Harry asks, "come to St Mungo's with me? For a check-up?"

Malfoy's face turns greenishly pale, like the poinsettias on the stairs. "You?" he snaps, voice scratchy with disbelief and pain. "You think I'm crazy, too?"

Harry doesn't know what to think.

~ Something Else ~

Potter's hands feel warm and perfect in Draco's hair. Their faces touch, dark stubble against skin; Potter's breath is on his nose, his lips.

"I'm your friend," Potter whispers.

Friend. The word pushes icicles underneath Draco's skin. Enemies such as they have been cannot turn friends. There's more between them, and Potter knows it.

Draco throws him out, and Potter leaves with a look, half pity, half something else that gives Draco hope. Outside, a flash of winter lightning crashes through the clouds. Draco smiles and kisses his fingertips. Yes. He may have yet found a way into Potter's heart.

~ Half-Timbered ~

A Christmas tree stands beside the red-carpeted stairs leading to the Minister's offices. Harry stares out into the enchanted summer day, longing for the brilliance of harsh, iced-over snow. In the pocket of his robes, he finds a wilted snowdrop.

"Did you see this, mate?" Ron waves the Prophet at him. "Malfoy's bought a lot in Godric's Hollow."

Harry turns, crushing the snowdrop in his hand.

"Says here, he's planning to build a half-timbered cottage exactly as your parents' was."

He is crazy. Malfoy's building him a home when all Harry wants is to have him sane. And safe.

~ The Architect ~

From the outside it looks like any other tent on a building site. On the inside, it's a gentleman's study, complete with fire-place and drawing board. A sturdy desk is covered with groundplans of a large, old-fashioned house.

Quill in one hand, in the other a glass of wine, Malfoy flashes Harry a warm and welcoming smile.

Harry says, "You're doing this for me, I know. But Malfoy, you –"

The flap of the tent opens again, and Harry notices the second glass. Is Malfoy expecting company, here in Godric's Hollow?

Robards enters, Barnabas Greengrass and Gringotts' chief minter in tow.

~ Betrayed ~

Glittering garnets fly everywhere. The wine glass shatters on the plans Draco's been working on non-stop for the last twenty-four hours.

He stares at the parchment Robards handed him; it's an official petition in lunacy, sealed by the Minister. They want to remove him as head of the Malfoy family and estate, lock him away in St Mungo's. Draco turns to Potter. How, how could he have betrayed him so?

"The stable-boys talked, Malfoy," Robards says. "You're sick."

"Moral insanity," Greengrass sneers.

Ragnok nods. "Wasting good money."

Potter doesn't say a word. Raising his wand, Draco grabs him and Disapparates.

~ Shearwater ~

One Christmas, Harry found a sixpence coin in his pudding. Aunt Petunia snatched it from him, but it brought him luck nonetheless: his Hogwarts letter arrived the very next summer.

Standing at the shores of Shearwater Lake, Harry knows his luck has deserted him. Malfoy's eyes burn like they did the night when he destroyed his father's library.

"I didn't –" Harry starts, but a Stinging Hex shuts him up.

Malfoy's skin glitters with tears like moonlit snow. "Move, Potter."

Harry takes one step onto the ice; he can feel the waves move underneath. Malfoy steps beside him. The ice crackles.

~ Black Ice ~

Perhaps it's the fact that twenty yards into the lake Potter reaches for Draco's hand and holds on tight, eyes on the bulrushes across the white.

Draco never threatened him, yet Potter walks upon the ice. He trusts Draco, and Potter would never trust a crazy man whereas Draco carries a mark because he did.

He meant to leave Potter tied up somewhere – a red-robed Christmas gift for the Minister. But now Draco pulls him close. The warmth between them melts black ice. A hissing crack advances quickly from the shore but when the surface breaks, they are gone.

~ In the Clouds ~

When the snow settles after Apparition, Harry finds himself under the delicately carved eaves of a lodge. They're alone in a world of moonlit ridges and valleys drenched in blue. Golden light streams out from the door. The smell of roast turkey and chestnuts hovers in the air.

"My retreat in the clouds," Malfoy whispers into the night. "The house-elves have been up for days. Do you think I didn't notice the greed in the goblins' eyes?"

"But you didn't plan on taking me along." Harry slides his arms around Malfoy's waist.

For an answer, Malfoy's lips touch his mouth.

~ A Promise ~

The winding staircase spirals up like the Eiffel Tower's, and it's so dark Harry bumps into Malfoy when he stops.

All through Christmas dinner, they laughed and kissed, but now Malfoy's trembling. What is he still afraid of when they're finally going to make love?

"What?" Harry asks.

Malfoy steps aside, revealing Oriental divans under peacock-feather fans. Frankincense wafts down the stairs; somewhere water tinkles softly.

"I've lost so much," he says. "I can't give this up."

"Will you let me in, then, into your fairy realm?"

Malfoy's smile is brilliant like a thousand suns. "Always. You're always welcome here."

fin