The morning came too quickly for Draco's liking. He took his time packing his trunk, trying to drag out what little time he and Harry had left before they had to part ways for the Christmas holidays. He also took extra care to stow the two-way mirror Harry had gifted him in the centre of the trunk, wrapping it in several layers of clothing to protect it in transit. Harry, meanwhile, took a less methodical approach and opted to throw everything in his trunk without so much as a second glance. He didn't even bother folding his clothes, reasoning that they needed to get washed anyway. Draco watched Harry sweep the room one last time, making sure that they hadn't left anything behind, before retrieving his mokeskin pouch from the bedside table. He pulled it on over his head, tucking it down the front of his t-shirt before pulling on a jumper and jacket.

"Why do you wear that thing all of the time?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "Force of habit, mostly. You never know when you might need to make a quick getaway."

"Are you planning on running away somewhere?"

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around Draco's neck. "Not without you, I'm not."

Draco screwed up his face in distaste. "That was disgustingly sentimental."

"It was, wasn't it?" Harry laughed before pulling Draco into a deep, lingering kiss—probably their last one for the foreseeable future. When they broke the kiss, Harry sighed and pressed their foreheads together. "We better get going."

Draco kissed Harry again before finally letting him go. Stepping out of the hotel room, they reverted back to their usual 'just friends' performance for the benefit of everyone else, walking side by side but no longer touching. Hermione, Ron and Ginny were waiting for Harry at the hotel entrance. Their cumbersome trunks took up most of the pavement, much to the bemusement of passing Muggles. When Ginny saw Harry and Draco approach, she greeted them with a slight wave.

"Dad should be here soon to pick us up," she said.

"Wouldn't it be quicker if we just Apparated?" Harry asked.

"Probably. I think Dad only offered to pick us up so that he had an excuse to show off his new car," Ron explained.

"I'm surprised your mum permitted him to have another car after the last time," Hermione mused.

"It's a company car," Ron explained. "I doubt he'll be allowed to tinker with that."

Just then, a goose-like honk caught their attention and they all turned to see a beige, box-shaped car trundle towards them, screeching to a halt in front of the hotel. The window squeaked as it rolled down and Arthur Weasley's beaming face appeared.

"Morning, everyone!" he cried. "What do you think of my new ride?"

Draco couldn't help but stare at the car. It was, by far, the most hideous-looking automobile that he had ever laid his eyes upon. He wouldn't want to be caught dead driving that thing, yet Mr Weasley seemed to view it as a point of pride. If the horrified expressions on the Weasley children's faces were anything to go by, they seemed to share Draco's sentiments.

"What is that thing?" Ron asked, casting a disparaging eye over the vehicle.

"Muggles call it a Lada," Mr Weasley explained as he exited the car. He caught sight of Draco standing off to the side of the group and frowned slightly. If he were going to comment on his presence, Ginny didn't give him the opportunity to do so.

"What happened to the company car that work gave you?" she asked. "Mum said that you had a Rolls Royce!"

"Oh, I left that at home," said Mr Weasley, hurrying around the car to pop open the bonnet. "Your mother finally forgave me for the incident with the Ford Anglia so she let me buy this!"

"Hold up. If you have a brand new car at home, why are you driving this old rust bucket?" Ron despaired.

"It's my new project," Mr Weasley explained. "Now, I know it needs a little TLC—"

"It needs to go to the scrappy," Ron muttered under his breath.

"But looks can be deceiving!" Mr Weasley pressed. "The company car is nice, but all round, this is the superior vehicle." He patted the Lauda affectionately on the roof. "It's DIY-friendly with minimal electronics and simple functionality—a marvel of modern engineering!"

Ginny shook her head in disbelief and dragged her trunk towards the rear of the car. "Whatever. If you don't want to take the new car for a spin, I will."

"Not before I do!" Ron cried, lugging his trunk after his sister.

As the three Weasleys argued amongst themselves about how to best pack the trunks into the car, Hermione turned to Draco and gave him a small smile.

"I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Draco," she said before pulling her trunk towards the car, leaving him and Harry alone.

Harry and Draco stared at each other for a long moment. Harry's hand twitched as though he was going to reach out for Draco, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he tucked his hand into his coat pocket and smiled sadly at Draco. "Well, I suppose I'll see you again in a couple of weeks."

"Yes," Draco hesitated before adding quietly, "I'll call you tonight, then?"

Harry's smile broadened and he nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Is after ten alright?"

"Harry!" Mr Weasley called, beckoning him over. "Bring your trunk over!"

Harry flashed Draco an apologetic look before lifting the end of his trunk and wheeling it over to the car. Mr Weasley's eyes narrowed when he looked at Draco before he turned his attention back to Harry and his luggage. Draco lifted the end of his own trunk and turned his back on Harry and the Weasleys, walking down the busy street without looking back. He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to find a quiet spot to Apparate from, which was a deceptively difficult task in central London. Eventually, he found a deserted alleyway behind a McDonald's, took a firm grip of his trunk and clenched his eyes shut just before he Apparated.

In an instant, the noise of the city was drowned out by the wind roaring past his ears as he spun blindly through the blackness, but just as suddenly, the wind dissipated and his feet hit ground quite different from the one he'd just left behind. Draco didn't immediately open his eyes. Instead, he listened. Here, he had to strain his ears to detect any sound. He could just pick up the tap tap tap of melting snow hitting the ground. In the distance, he thought he heard the flutter of wings, probably from one of the albino peacocks that graced their expansive gardens. The absence of sound was a welcome relief to the neverending racket of Muggle London. There were no car engines rumbling or tyres screeching, nor people screaming or footsteps of millions of strangers thundering past. Here, it was peaceful. Here, he could hear himself think.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and found himself in familiar surroundings: the coniferous hedges that ran either side of the wide driveway were topped with snow like a Christmas pudding, giving the place a deceptively welcoming appearance. In the distance, he saw that the wrought-iron gates had been left open—evidently, his parents were expecting his arrival. Drawing his wand, he tapped the top of his trunk once and it rose off of the snow-covered ground to waist-height. He slipped his wand back into its holster and began the long walk up the gravel path towards home, his trunk silently following him in his wake.

Home. The word rang out in his head, but it sounded foreign to him now. It had been a long time since this place had truly felt like home.

As he entered the gates, Malfoy Manor finally came into view; it seemed to loom over him as he approached, dark and unwelcoming like a beast of brick and mortar, ready to swallow him up. Unable to shake off his ominous feelings, he did not linger. He marched up the steps towards the Manor and the front doors swung inward of their own accord, welcoming him into the dimly lit interior. As he reached the step at the top of the stairs, he couldn't help but smile when he found his mother waiting for him. She stood by the grand oak doors with her arms crossed, shivering slightly from the cold, but she didn't seem to pay it any mind. Instead, she opened her arms and reached out for Draco, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Hello, darling," she sighed. "Oh, how I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," Draco replied sincerely. And he really had. Despite his reservations about returning home for the holidays, the one thing he had been looking forward to was seeing his mother again. Narcissa pulled away and took in the sight of her son, brushing his hair out of his face and stroking his cheek. But as she looked him up and down, a small frown creased her brow.

"Draco, what on earth are you wearing?" she asked.

Draco's heart missed a beat. Liv had forewarned them not to wear robes during their trip to London as they would arouse suspicions, so he had popped down to Gladrags Wizardwear in Hogsmeade the previous week to find something suitable to wear. They had a limited Mugglewear section tucked into the corner of the shop, nothing that Draco would ever think to buy for himself, but Harry had helped him pick out suitable attire for the trip (all in his trademark black, thankfully). He did not think, of course, to change out of his Muggle clothing before returning home to the Manor. He blinked a couple of times, racking his brain for a believable explanation for his strange choice of clothing.

"I went shopping," he began, which wasn't a lie (not entirely). "With Theo (okay, that was an outright lie). This is part of Twilfitt and Tattings's new range. Don't you like it?"

Any semblance of truth long abandoned, Draco stood anxiously waiting for his mother's response. Narcissa's frown deepened and she scrutinised his clothing a little closer. "A new range at Twilfitt and Tattings, you say?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," she smoothed out the lapel of his trenchcoat with the flat of her hand and noted, "I must say, the style is...quite unusual. Although, not entirely unpleasant to the eye. In fact, I'd say it rather suits you. Blinken!"

A loud crack rang through the air and an ancient-looking house-elf appeared. He bowed so low that his long, thin nose touched the flagstone floor.

"You called, ma'am?" he replied, his voice hoarse with age.

"Take Master Draco's belongings to his room," Narcissa instructed. "Have all of his clothing cleaned and pressed. And tell the kitchen staff to prepare a luncheon for two."

"Right away, ma'am."

With another deafening crack, Blinken vanished along with Draco's trunk. Draco couldn't help but notice that only two, not three, luncheons had been requested, but chose not to comment on it. Narcissa wrapped her arm around Draco's shoulder and guided him down the hallway. "Come now, you must be hungry. We'll get you a bite to eat and you can tell me everything that you've been leaving out from your letters."

Maybe not everything, Draco thought to himself as he followed his mother into the kitchen.

The pair sat at the large oak table in the centre of the room while a squadron of servants went about completing their daily tasks, which included preparing their lunch, washing dishes and polishing the extensive silver collection. They had a perfectly functional dining room on the ground floor. They had a perfectly functional dining room on the ground floor, but the Malfoys rarely used it anymore. A healthy appetite was hard to maintain when rather than a bowl of mashed potatoes, all you could see was the lifeless stare of your murdered professor. To be honest, Draco had avoided venturing anywhere in the Manor beyond the confines of his bedroom since that time. Even though Voldemort and the Death Eaters had long since departed, his home still felt tainted by everything that had happened here.

While they sat and had their lunch, Narcissa quizzed him with the usual questions: how were his lessons going, and how was the train journey to London? Draco kept his answers brief: everything was going well, the train journey was fine, and there was absolutely nothing of note to share with her. Not a single thing. He picked at his individual strawberry and almond tart when the conversation took a predictable turn.

"So, did you have fun at Theo's?" Narcissa asked.

Draco chewed his food slowly before replying, "It was fine."

"What did you boys get up to?"

"Not much," he replied noncommittally. "Played Quidditch, mostly."

"Quidditch, you say? Well, that's nice." There was a long pause as Narcissa took a sip of her coffee before asking, "Will Theo be coming to visit us any time over the holidays?"

Draco's stomach squirmed but he kept his expression impassive. "Probably not."

"Oh. That's a pity. We haven't seen him in such a long time."

"He's busy," Draco lied. "Otherwise, he would."

"Of course." After another awkward pause, Narcissa cleared her throat and began cautiously, "Draco, I know that you're still angry with me for sending you back to Hogwarts..."

Draco sighed and lowered his fork. "Mother, we don't need to discuss this again. In fact, I'd rather not."

"Just let me say my piece," she pleaded. "Now, I know that going back to school has been difficult, for both you and Theo—"

"Bit of an understatement, but yes," he muttered darkly.

"When Headmistress McGonagall owled me about the incident with the Bubotuber pus, I did wonder if I'd made the right decision sending you back," she admitted. "I was half in mind about going to the castle and bringing you home myself. But you've said on previous occasions that you want me to take a step back and leave you to make these decisions for yourself in future. So, I took on board what you said...and I took a step back."

Draco blinked a couple of times, not quite believing his ears. He couldn't recall any time in his entire life when his parents had allowed him to deal with anything on his own. They had always, for better or worse, endeavoured to protect him, from the world and from himself—sometimes with catastrophic results. Yet here his mother sat, candidly admitting that despite every instinct telling her otherwise, she had actually listened to Draco this time—had really heard him—and had allowed him, for once in his life, to decide something for himself. Something fundamental, too. A wave of gratitude washed over him then. Unable to articulate his feelings into words, he reached out and squeezed his mother's hand instead.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I know that can't have been easy for you."

"It was quite the challenge," she admitted with a watery smile. "That said, it has given me peace of mind knowing that you and Theo have been there to support each other throughout it all, even if I couldn't."

Draco lowered his eyes and replied numbly, "Yes, he's helped me in more ways than I can say."

The 'he', unbeknownst to his mother, was in actual fact, Harry Potter. But there was no way that Draco could admit that. Narcissa gave Draco a searching look.

"I must say, in your most recent letters, you do seem more...settled than before," she ventured. "Happier, even."

Draco met his mother's keen gaze. "I am. Happier, I mean."

"Are you really?" Draco nodded and Narcissa exhaled slowly. "You don't know how relieved I am to hear that."

They chatted a little more before Draco made his excuses and retired to his room for the afternoon under the pretence of making a start on the pile of homework that he had waiting for him. He strode towards the west wing where his quarters were situated, passing the long line of pale-faced portraits that adorned the wood-panelled walls. He slowed his pace when he approached the drawing room, which doubled as his father's office. The door was ajar, which usually meant that his father was present. Draco wasn't particularly keen on conversing with the Malfoy patriarch, but there was no alternative route to his bedroom. He was tempted to turn back and hide in another room until the coast was clear, but Merlin knew how long that would take. Instead, Draco braced himself and walked as quickly and quietly as he could past the drawing room door. If he held his breath and kept his head down, his father might not hear him...

"Draco."

He had barely made it two steps past the door when his father's cool voice drifted in the corridor and stopped him dead in his tracks. Draco grimaced, wishing now that he'd just hidden out in one of the other rooms instead, but it was too late for that now. Reluctantly, he turned around and entered the drawing room.

Lucius Malfoy was at his usual spot, sitting behind a large, yew writing desk at the opposite end of the room. The pale winter sunlight shone through the diamond-paned window behind the desk, illuminating his hair like a halo. But that's where Lucius Malfoy's angelic qualities began and ended. As Draco drew closer, he noticed that his father still bore the look of someone who had seen relatively little sunlight in many months; his ashen skin was almost translucent now, giving his pinched features a sickly complexion. Even sitting behind his grand desk, he looked too thin for his tall stature, his bony wrists protruding from black dress robes of fine silk.

Draco came to a full stop in front of his father's desk and waited. Lucius didn't bother to look up at his son. Instead, he continued writing on a piece of parchment, the top of his peacock feather quill quivering as he scribbled away. His fingertips were stained black with ink, which, given the large number of letters that littered the desk, didn't surprise Draco. He couldn't help but wonder who his father could be writing to, but he was even more curious as to who would bother writing back.

"I take that you enjoyed your little jaunt at Theo's?" he asked.

"It was fine," Draco replied, keen to keep their interaction as brief as possible.

"Hmm." Lucius signed the bottom of the letter in his usual elaborate cursive signature before pulling another blank piece of parchment towards him. "And school?"

"What about it?"

"Are your studies going well?" he pressed before adding sharply, "Don't shrug when I ask you a question, it's unseemly. Or roll your eyes, for that matter. You're a Malfoy, and you will act accordingly."

"Yes, father."

Lucius dipped his quill in the inkwell before continuing. "When does the new term begin?"

"Two weeks from Monday."

Lucius hummed approvingly. "Then there's plenty of time to get you up to speed with the work that I've been doing. Which reminds me, if you have anything planned for Saturday evening, you'll have to cancel them."

Draco frowned. "Why?"

"Your mother and I are hosting a Winter Ball," he explained. "Just a few close friends and foreign dignitaries will be in attendance, but your presence will be required."

"Is my being there really necessary?"

He knew how petulant it would sound but the words escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. Lucius paused in his writing and finally looked up at his son. "You seem to be under the impression that was a request."

Draco stammered, "Sorry, that's not what I...I just meant—"

"May I remind you that while you've been holidaying in the Highlands, indulging in menial tasks like homework and Quidditch, I have been here, working on salvaging our family's reputation," Lucius sneered. "You may be able to shirk your duties during term time, but when you are here, your duty to your family comes first."

Draco bowed his head and mumbled, "Yes, sir."

"Good. And while we're on the subject of guests, it would be best if you didn't invite Theo. You two may be bosom buddies, but his family name is less than reputable these days. You understand that we need to be careful who we're seen to be associating with."

None worse than ours, Draco thought to himself. He couldn't imagine any witch or wizard the breadth and length of the country who would accept an invitation to Malfoy Manor these days, Theo included. He suspected that this party was going to be poorly attended, but he knew better than to show any form of dissent when it came to his father's schemes.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked.

Lucius turned his attention back to his letters. "No, you may go. But change into something more befitting the name of Malfoy; those clothes you're wearing look ridiculous."

Draco gritted his teeth and turned on his heel, marching out of his father's office as fast as he could, red hot shame and anger coursing through him. When he finally made it to the safety and solitude of his bedroom, he slammed the door shut behind him and slumped against it, his heart racing. Despite his diminished appearance, Lucius still radiated an aura of superiority that made Draco feel two inches tall. His father always made him feel inferior and stupid by comparison. In his youth, it had been something that Draco had aspired towards—to be looked upon with fear and respect. Now, it just made him feel sick to his stomach.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, and it was only when the sound of his pulse in his ears began to fade away that he managed to push himself off of the door and shuffle further into his bedroom. He had left the room in a state of disarray on the morning of September first, having grudgingly hurled his belongings into his trunk before being escorted to the train station by his mother. In his absence, the house-elves had taken the liberty of tidying up for him. The dresser drawers and cupboard doors that he'd left ajar had been closed, and the floor had been cleared of everything he'd discarded in a fit of temper. Fresh linens had been put on the bed, and given how spotless the surface tops were, it looked like they'd also dusted the place while he was away.

The clothes from his trunk were already washed, dried and pressed, and had been placed in a neat pile inside a wicker hamper at the foot of the dresser. Draco walked past it and sat on the edge of his bed, feeling adrift. The silence that he'd long sought after now felt oppressive in the large, empty room. Glancing at his bedside table, he noticed that Blinken had left the two-way mirror there. He wanted to talk to Harry, but he had several hours to wait before it reached ten o'clock. Draco sighed and flopped back on the bed, feeling miserable. Two long weeks in a big, empty house with nobody to talk to.

Draco frowned and snorted out a laugh when he noticed that Blinken had taken the present he'd bought for Myrtle out of his trunk and pinned it to the ceiling above his bed.

Where there was once a sumptuously decorated rococo ceiling of gold leaf was now the handsome, smiling face of Prince William staring down at him. Well, at least he had one friendly face to keep him company for the next fortnight.