A/N: I can't promise all updates will come this quickly, but the next couple of chapters have been planned out in my head for a good while. Here's part two of Harry and Draco's Christmas at Malfoy Manor.

#####

It was past midnight and Harry was still lying awake. He reached blindly towards the bedside table, and picked up his glasses. He put them on, and looked at his watch sitting on the table. Harry picked it up, noting that there was only about five hours before he and Draco would on the train back to Hogwarts. It was a gold watch with little Snitches flying around on the face of it that Mrs. Malfoy had given him for Christmas.

Christmas had been very different from what he was used to. He'd actually gotten gifts this year. And not the terrible gifts his aunt and uncle always begrudgingly gave him, either.

The best gift, though, had come from Mr. Malfoy, which scared Harry immensely. He wasn't sure why the man had given him a Nimbus Two-Thousand in the first place, when Harry was still certain the man held a certain disdain for him. For Christmas, though, Mr. Malfoy gave him a Quidditch jersey. On the back, it bore the name Blythe Parkin, the Seeker on England's Quidditch Team, as well as the player's signature.

Harry set the watch back down on the bedside table and grabbed the invisibility cloak from his backpack. Sitting here wasn't helping him get to sleep. It was his last night in the manor, and he'd hardly seen much of the place. He'd seen the living area downstairs, the dining room, guest wing and Draco's room.

He knew just from how many closed doors he passed the last few days that there was a lot more to the home. Curious, Harry wrapped himself in the cloak, walking in front of a full length mirror against the wall just to make sure he was completely invisible, then set off down the hallway. His eyes moved across the paintings, and he wondered vaguely if the cloak worked on them. When one of the portraits yawned and looked right past him, though, Harry breathed easier and continued on his way.

A loud crash caught Harry's attention, and he moved quickly down the hall, careful to keep his footsteps light as he approached a door just down from the dining room. The door swung open and a curious little creature rushed out of the room. It didn't even come up to Harry's waist, and had long ears, and was wearing what appeared to be an empty potato sack.

"Oh, Dobby must get this cleaned up," the creature was whispering hurriedly to itself. "Master Malfoy will not be happy if things are not prepared for masters and Mr. Potter. Not happy at all."

Harry remembered Draco mentioning something about a creature that prepared their meals and cleaned the manor. "Always present but never seen," Draco had said. House elf, Harry was pretty sure Draco had called it.

As the house elf, Dobby, Harry guessed, rushed back into the room, a dustpan and broom in hand, Harry looked past it to see that a large tray of food was decorating the stone floor in the kitchen. Eggs and bacon were strewn around as Dobby started to clean.

Harry walked past the kitchen and continued down the hallway. He walked up another flight of stairs, and turned left when he reached the landing. At the end of the hall stood a large wooden oak door. It didn't any more grand or different than any of the other doors in the manor, but for some reason Harry felt himself drawn towards the room.

When he found it unlocked, Harry quietly pushed the door in, stepping through and shutting it behind him. "Lumos," Harry whispered. The end of his wand lit up, revealing the room to be a more massive library than the one Harry had often hidden in at school when Dudley and his gang were trying to find him.

Harry walked among the rows of books, looking from one title to the next. Some were hard to read, the letters faded on them considerably. Most were covered in layers of dust, untouched probably for decades. When he reached the far wall, one shelf of books stood out against the others. The dust had been wiped away from the shelf in front of them, and the books all looked rather new.

The titles of the books made Harry want to back away from not only the shelf, but also the home in general. Harry almost picked up one titled, "Jinxes for the Wicked at Heart," but instead his hand landed on "Dark Magic for the Dark Wizard." For the first time, he started to wonder how much he knew about the family that he had so willing come to stay with for the last week.

With a shaking hand, Harry removed the book from the shelf. When he flipped it open, the gruesome images on the pages drew an almost inaudible gasp from his throat. Harry slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the empty library.

Harry hurriedly pushed the book back onto the shelf, but the shelf seemed to move further away. Harry jumped back, the book falling to the ground as the bookcase slid against the wall, a small alcove revealed behind it. Harry glanced over his shoulder, knowing that no one was behind him, but still wary as he stepped into the alcove.

To the side, just behind the bookcase, he could see stairs going down. Holding his wand in front of him, Harry walked carefully down the stairs. The flickering light of his wand revealed nothing more than what looked like a small stone room, no more than seven feet in either direction. The only thing notable about the room was that every surface of the walls was covered in newspaper clippings. Harry leaned close to read the nearest one.

"Muggles Tortured in London." "Death Eaters Invade Hogsmeade." "Muggle-Born Witch Murdered in Home." "Fourteen Confirmed Dead in Diagon Alley." A gory, bloody photograph accompanied every article. In most, people pleaded, then a flash of light ended their life.

There was only one wall that had a single article on it. The bottom of the article was burned so that only the title of it, a short subtitle under it, and a picture remained. In the picture was only a house, burning to the ground. If he squinted, Harry was sure he could see something flying into the clouds. It almost looked like a bicycle or a motorcycle. Harry's eyes moved to the name of the article, and his wand hit the floor. The light was dim from further away, but the words still burned in Harry's mind. "You-Know-Who Vanquished At Last," the subtitle under it read, "Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived."

Harry fumbled for his wand, his knees hitting the floor for a moment before he snatched up the still lit wand and rushed back up the stairs. He hoped the Malfoys were all still asleep. He was running now, the cloak so loose around him that he knew his feet and head must have been showing.

Harry dodged the door to the kitchen as it opened again, but Dobby didn't seem to even notice Harry as he shuffled around the elf and continued his fast pace towards the guest wing.

When he finally reached the room, harry collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming from his eyes. He leaned over the side of the bed, sure he was going to be sick, but nothing came up. He just stared weakly at the plush carpet.

He knew. He heard the talk. He knew that Voldemort had had followers. That some were still loyal. He knew the rumors about Slytherin House. He knew the stories and the whispers alike. He'd never paid much attention to it. But now he had to wonder.

Who were these people?

#####

"Oi, Harry," Draco said. Harry blinked, looking away from the train window and over at Draco. "What's with you?"

Harry glanced back at the compartment door. Blaise had gone to get some sweets, but Harry didn't know how long he would be gone.

"Who were your parents?" harry asked finally. "Before Voldemort—" Draco flinched "—disappeared?"

Draco shrugged. "Why's it matter?" he asked.

"It matters," Harry pressed. He waited a moment, and when Draco didn't answer, he asked quietly, "Were they Death Eaters?"

Draco looked back up at Harry, his gaze now guarded and defensive. "And if they were?" he asked.

"He killed my parents," Harry said.

"I know that," Draco said. "It's in the past anyway. What's it matter?"

"Because it's not just in the past," Harry said. "What if they had the chance to rejoin him? Would they? Would you?"

"What use is asking?" Draco asked. "Hypothetical questions don't solve anything."

"It's not hypothetical," Harry said, now getting angry. "You said it. Hagrid said it. He's not dead. It's not a matter of if anymore. It's just when." Draco didn't say anything, his icy glare turned towards the trees flying past out the window. "And when it happens," Harry continued in a quieter, though still firm tone. "I don't know whose side you're on."

Draco let out a loud breath and turned to look back at Harry. "This is a stupid discussion," he said. "For one, you don't even know if it'll happen. And second, if the Dark Lord did—"

Harry choked out a bitter laugh, a disgusted look on his face as he looked back at Draco. It wasn't You-Know Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Draco had called him the Dark Lord. Harry didn't know much about what had happened when Voldemort was in power. But he knew this: no one that he talked to that had ever fought against Voldemort had ever called him the Dark Lord.

Leaving a stunned Draco, harry stormed out of the compartment, pushing past Blaise who was just coming down the hallway. He ignored Blaise's calls after him, and locked himself in an empty compartment for the rest of the train ride.

#####

A/N: And there you go. That was my main reason for having Harry spend Christmas at the manor. Maybe it was a bit too much too soon with the Voldemort thing? I just wanted harry to know exactly where the Malfoys stood from the beginning. Let me know if that was too much too fast for Harry. I live off your reviews. :)