Disclaimer: Is kind of pointless at this point.
AN: Wow. Dog-sitting messes up my sleep schedule. Notes that beta imadoodlenoodle is epically awesome and is putting up with the fact that I've sent her at least 7 chapters, half of which will probably have to be completely re-written because I had a brainsplosion.
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As if his words had been prophetic, Harry found himself in an almost daily battle with Mrs. Malfoy during the week leading up to Christmas. Sometimes they had contests of will like the first day, but other days he had to use different tactics. Once he had to pull out garments meant for him when she was in the middle of purchasing them. Harry knew that she would refuse to return them because of her pride and he would be guilted into wearing them- or at least accepting them. Another time he handed her a number of garments, none in Slytherin colors, and informed her that if she was going to present him with a Christmas present it was going to be those or nothing. Then there was the day in Diagon Alley when he got so frustrated that he walked out.
That was the day Harry spent in muggle London. He stopped by Gringotts on the way out of course and traded some Galleons for muggle money. He took advantage of his rather brash action and picked up a few pairs of jeans and purple-and-white, blue-and-white, and red-and-white (that really did just look pink), thinly vertically striped, button-up shirts. What he wasn't going to tell the Malfoys ever was that he'd gotten them from a thrift store. If they asked, which he really hoped they didn't, he was going to tell them he got the clothes from Jack Willis, not a shop they would know, Narcissa was unlikely even to be swayed be the knowledge that the shop was not cheap.
"Mister Potter." Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the Leaky Cauldron, intentionally where he could see the door but whoever was entering couldn't see him. Harry jumped a little and turned with purchases in his hands.
"Mister Malfoy." Harry nodded at the man.
"Did you just spent the day in muggle London in order to avoid my wife?"
"Yes sir."
"Is there clothing in that bag?"
"Yes sir."
"Muggle clothing?"
"Yes sir."
"Lucius."
"Excuse me?"
"Young man, if you have the nerve to purchase muggle garments while my wife is trying to turn you into another doll of hers, you have most definitely earned the right to call me Lucius." Mr. Malfoy- Lucius, stood and held out his arm. Harry recognized what he was going to do and took a breath before grabbing. A series of tubes later he and Lucius were standing outside Malfoy Manor.
"Brace yourself." Lucius opened the door.
"Do you have him? Did you find him?" The frantic voice of Mrs. Malfoy stormed across them.
"Do relax Narcissa." Lucius' voice was amused, and Harry noticed him smirk as his wife trotted into view.
"I did tell you he would be fine."
"Young man!" Her gaze rested fully on Harry, who suddenly realized what a mouse felt like in the instant before it was killed by the hawk. "How dare you run off like that! You could have been hurt! You could have gotten lost! What were you thinking?! No, don't answer that last question as it is obvious that you were not!"
"You keep trying to pick my clothes. I don't like it. I want to pick my own clothes." Harry had dropped his purchases at his feet as she spoke and crossed his arms in front of his chest, standing the same way he had every time she and he had 'discussed' clothing.
There was a moment of complete stunned silence.
"Fine. Dinner's ready." She turned and walked away.
"Bloody hell!" Draco stepped out of a doorway hidden in shadows.
"Language, Draco." Lucius said calmly and automatically as Harry grabbed the handles of the bag.
"Let me go put these away." Harry looked up. "Draco, help me?"
"I can have a house elf send them up and put the clothes away." Lucius cut in with his offer.
"I think it's best if we go put them away, leaving Mrs Malfoy a moment to get over her shock." Harry told Lucuis with a smothered grin, indeed even the usual mask of indifference was dropped as Lucius held a bemused smirk. "Coming Draco?" Harry asked.
"Sure." The two of them walked away, Draco looking like someone had hit him in the face repeatedly with a phantom brick.
Harry dumped everything on the bed as soon as the door closed, and was shaking out the first pair of jeans when he heard a choking noise behind him.
"Yes Draco?" He didn't even look.
"You're not planning on wearing those in this house are you?" Draco sounded like he couldn't breathe.
"No." Harry continued his rather expert folding. "I'm planning on wearing them at Hogwarts." He finished the last pair of jeans, and pulled the pink shirt up. "Here, try this on." He tossed it at the boy, looking just long enough to make sure it landed on his head.
The result was...amusing. Draco fought the shirt off as though it was a vicious animal, throwing it to the floor with a shudder and a yelp. Then...
"It's pink."
"Yes Draco." Harry folded the next shirt.
"You want me to put on something pink." The stunned incredulity was like a glass of expensive wine...not that he'd ever had wine before.
"That is the general idea." Two shirts down, just the pink one to go.
"Something that is both pink, and was made by muggles." Harry turned, leaning on his bed with a smirk on his face.
"Is something wrong Draco? I think it will bring out the colour in your eyes." Harry mocked, fluttering his lashes.
"Has anyone ever told you you're insane ?" Draco threw the shirt at him, and Harry caught it, turning to fold it and put it on the pile with the others.
"Hmm, no." Harry picked up the pile of shirts and turned towards his open trunk. "Stupid, clumsy, a waste of space, weird- even famous, but never insane." He put the shirts in and returned to the bed for the jeans.
"Why do I bother?" Draco asked, his hand on his head.
"Because your father wants me on his side." Harry suggested, dropping the jeans into the trunk.
"Damnit Potter!" Draco exploded. This was a new reaction, and Harry whirled around, freezing at the look on Draco's face. "Have you ever considered that maybe I like you? That maybe I want to be your friend, not because of my father, but because I want to?" Draco stood there, looking rather stunned at what had just come out of his mouth, panting slightly.
"Draco?" Harry took a step forwards, reaching out a hand like he would have to a scared, unpredictable animal.
"Why does it always have to be about my father? Or anyone else? Just because you have a bloody scar on your bloody forehead suddenly I only want to be your friend because of my dad?" The arrogance from the first day they'd met was back, over and under laid with something rather more intense.
"What am I supposed to think?" Harry yelled back, "I read, Draco, and I listen. I hear what everyone says in the common room! You're the son of the man who stood at the right hand of the Dark Lord. Your entire family is steeped in the Dark Arts for generations, your love for them is purer than your blood and the man your family serves is the man who gave me that scar you hate. You don't have friends, you have minions and anyone with no money isn't worth your time, but you give me clothes, put up with me insulting you and you even invite me home for Christmas!"
"You think I bloody like that?" Draco shouted right back, looking like he'd just been slapped. "My father's debating whether or not to kill you for destroying the Dark Lord. The entire world is wondering whether you're the Light's savior or the next Dark Prince. And here I am with the first person who's ever had the guts to tell me what they think of me, what they actually think of me,and not only do I have to be your friend because my father says so, but the more I get to know you the more I want to be your friend, even though you piss me off!"
It was one thing to know intellectually that the man housing you was probably thinking about killing you, it was another to hear that directly from the mouth of the man's son.
"Huh. I thought he liked me." Harry said, mostly to himself.
"He does." Draco's voice was packed with resentment. "HE DOES! Are you bloody happy Potter?"
"No, Draco." Harry's brain finally started working. He remembered all those times Draco had quickly whispered some piece of advice or other before he committed an accidental faux pas. He remembered the way the arrogance was just a little less stinging when he and Draco talked, the way he caught the boy looking at him sometimes. "I'm not happy because you're not happy, because we have stuff we need to work out."
"Shall I call the marriage counselor, or the executioner?" And there was Lucius, standing in the doorway, Mrs. Malfoy behind him. His attention turned towards his son. "Draco, I'm disappointed. You were ordered not to tell our guest I was considering killing him, and yet here I find you screaming that very information at the top of your lungs." Draco blanched.
"I already knew." Harry stepped between Draco and his father. "He didn't have to say anything."
"And how might I ask, did you know?" Lucius asked, his voice like a silken blade.
"Logic, Mister Malfoy. That and common sense." Harry stood his ground.
"I believe I told you to call me Lucius." An arched eyebrow, permission to break the tension.
"I know." Harry shrugged, intentionally insolent. "Felt more like a Mister Malfoy moment." Lucius smirked at his answer.
"Very well, Draco." Harry still didn't move. "I have come to a decision." Harry felt Draco swallow behind him. Felt, because the boy was literally pressed against his back, somehow having ended up that way, though Harry couldn't tell how. "Your friend is safe in my care. Neither I, nor anyone I can speak for, will attempt to harm him." Draco let out a breath...so did Harry for that matter.
"And Harry." Mrs. Malfoy spoke for the first time. "You're always welcome here." She let her husband past, but before she followed she looked back at him, and he saw the spider again. "But if you ever attempt to dress my son in pink again my husband's promise will not apply." With that she turned and walked away but called back over her shoulder, "and feel free to call me Narcissa."
"Well, she never said anything about blue." Harry walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a pastel blue shirt he'd gotten at one of the stores Narcissa had taken them to. "Try this on. I'm getting tired of seeing you in black and green. It really doesn't go with your face."
"Harry." Draco looked up, catching the shirt and holding it. He looked stunned, lost, scared, and a whole host of other things.
"Friends?" Harry asked, pulling out a purple shirt similar to the one he'd tossed Draco, but darker.
"Friends." Both boys changed shirts in silence, and when Harry saw Draco he smiled.
"Ugh. Bad fit." Draco grumbled, twisting this way and that.
"Yeah, but the color looks good on you." Harry retorted, smiling.
"Yeah, it does. Of course it does." Draco smiled back.
"I'm gonna have to convince mum to get me a few like this."
"Good luck." Harry said.
"Can I wear this to dinner?" Draco asked. "If she sees me in it- as long as she doesn't hex it off me, maybe it'll make her think about what she tries to make me wear all the time."
"That was the general idea. Baby steps." Harry tossed the clothes he'd just taken off onto the hamper and crossed to the door. "Now come on, I'm starving."