Harry woke up to the arrhythmic sound of many disgruntled owls hooting. They seemed impatient, Harry noticed blearily, and there seemed to be lots of them, and something was tapping his left foot.
He was done for the year, Harry protested, not wanting to move an inch. Destroyed the diary, beaten the Basilisk. Surely now the threat was over and he could relax for the year. Apparently, the world had other plans. With a jerk of his head and a muffled groan, Harry forced open his eyes. They were sealed somewhat by sleep, but eventually he cracked the right eye open.
As he catalogued his sensations, Harry found himself lying face-down on the bed, and the solid rims of his glasses were pressing painfully into the bridge of his nose and left eye. When Harry groggily raised his head and traced the pain with his fingers, deep indents had formed on his skin. From the sensitive tingling of his cheek and jaw, a faint imprint from the blanket fabric must be traced finely onto the left side of his face also. He glanced around the bed. He was lying askew, clothed in everything he had worn last night – if the mysterious invisibility of his upper torso was any indication. His sore foot protruded beyond the bed hangings to dangle into the boys' dormitory, probably still wearing his shoes. His feet were numb with cold.
Shaking his head, Harry resettled the glasses, and in the process discovered he'd been lying on his wand. His heart almost stopped. With ice-cold fingers he reached out and raised it up before his eyes. Was it injured? A haze drifted between his eyes and his wand. Irritated, Harry noticed how smudged his glasses were, and cleaned them quickly to better focus. Were there cracks? A stress fracture? His sensitive fingertips traced slowly along the full-length of his holly wand.
He needed the wand for Voldemort! He couldn't lose the wand, things were already dicey as they were. Too much was going wrong, Harry caught himself thinking: he needed better planning, he obviously needed better perspective…He cut off the thought.
The wood grain was as smooth as pearl under his fingers. He almost cried; it was fine. The wand was okay, nothing was broken. Harry's momentary panic began to settle as his racing heartbeat gentled with the realisation.
Gathering his scattered wits, Harry stuffed the wand carefully back into his mokeskin pouch and turned to investigate his state of affairs. He stank, he realised belatedly as a waft of warm air puffed up from inside his robe, of sweat and fear and grime like he could barely believe. He'd spread the filth all over his bedcovers, and while he was sleeping his bed canopy had filled up with the heady, heavy scent.
His eyes were naturally drawn to the light which trickled into the canopy through the gap he'd created with his stray leg.
Which was being poked.
With a groan that escaped his chest without any conscious thought on Harry's part, he gathered his protesting body together and sat up. His muscles screamed and a couple of joints in his spine clicked painfully. The tapping on his foot paused. With curious hands, Harry spread the bed hangings open, allowing fresh air and more light to spill in.
His mouth dropped open.
A multitude of owls were settled over all the furniture of the dormitory, on luggage, on the beds of his dorm mates, high and low. Many were hooting, but the sound of wings ruffling and beaks snapping wasn't quiet either. A particularly impatient screech owl was on his sore leg, and after one look of ruffled and indignant frustration, it returned to pecking at Harry's boot.
He sighed and ran his hands through – surprisingly grimy – hair. Despite his hopes for the year, clearly he was nowhere near getting a break.
"Wow, alright," he croaked through dry lips. There must be over twenty owls in the room. "Er. Who wants to go first then?"
A number of owls fluttered up into the air and advanced towards Harry with a flurry of feathers. The impatient owl on his foot had begun tapping madly, getting unfortunately close to Harry's ankle.
He fell back onto the bed, curtains gaping. "Woah! Hold up, hold up! Um…you first, then."
With Harry's recognition, the pushy owl hopped further up his limb and delicately extended a leg. Claws dug into his thigh painfully, but Harry ignored it due to the threatening look in the owl's eyes.
Harry quickly retrieved the parchment and unrolled it cautiously.
Merlin damn you, Potter! The letter began.
Since you have not told me you are ill, I have restrained from setting Madam Pomphrey on you. You owe me more than a pathetic defence in chess now. (Up your game, Potter, if you still care.) If there is something you are sulking about, pray act like a courteous wizard and let me know what it is I've done. If you have merely taken advantage of the holidays to abscond, I have told the professors that you are sleeping due to over-eating Bertie Botts Beans. Should your absence be discovered, then I know nothing; it's none of my business and you're going to miss a fabulous Christmas feast, you absolute pillock.
Draco
Having been relieved of its burden, the owl gave Harry one last peck on his knee and flew off in disgust. It might have been the wait, or maybe a lack of bacon. Harry thought nothing more of it; he was still processing the letter. Malfoy – or Draco, were they on first name terms now? – had sent him a letter. Because he was…missed?
He glanced up at the window, and realised with a sinking feeling that it was not, in fact, the soft light of a Scottish morning, but more the look of an early afternoon, bad weather notwithstanding.
Perhaps he had slept longer than he thought? He had, Harry realised, always had a tendency to sleep in the Infirmary for longer than he had planned.
He hurriedly collected the letters from all the owls that now waited around on his bed. Letters from Hermione and Neville, one each, and correspondence from Luna and Percy too. He put them aside. And seventeen owls all from Draco. Had he emptied out the Hogwarts owlery?
He tried to put them in order.
The first couple were politely distant notes of concern and query. Sorry to see you missed dinner, Potter. Just confirming that we had organised for a game of Exploding Snap this evening? Are we still on?
Then, Did you forget, Potter? Should I send you your own reminder notes from now on so that you can uphold your social engagements?
Are you sick, Potter? Should I send a teacher for you?
Are you mad at me, Potter? What was it that I did? Well, recently, I mean. I thought we moved on past that Quidditch fuss…It really wasn't me, you know. I don't know what you've heard, but if you'd just talk to me, I'm sure you'd find yourself relieved.
I hope you're not listening to Slytherin gossip, Potter, although Merlin only knows who'd share it with you. I may or may not have implied a few things about our Quidditch match and subsequent relationship, but it's only to consolidate my status within the House. We both know better though, don't we? There's no reason to be weird about it.
Are you ignoring me? Fine. I can play your game.
Despite his threats, the letters got more and more impatient, until eventually: Potter, the teachers are worried about you at dinner again. Apparently no one has seen you since Wednesday. Is everything alright?
Obviously, the final letter that Malfoy had sent had been the first one he'd opened. Malfoy must have been in a terrible sulk, and probably told it to pester him until he responded appropriately.
Swearing, Harry staggered to his feet and stumbled upwards and almost headbutted his trunk; it was floating just beyond the bed, bobbing just as it had when he had left the Chamber however long ago. He set it down immediately and dived through it to get some clean clothes. A bath, he needed desperately; spellwork would have to do. Clean clothes. Brush teeth. A drink and food: something light. Places to be. He had to look normal. Well, normal for him. For a normal student.
Had he, Harry guessed, slept through until Christmas afternoon? He dashed towards the door – stumbled over something wrapped in gold; the Christmas presents were scattered all over, the pile was huge this year, something snapped under his foot – but there was no time, so he left the room in a flurry.
He had indeed slept through until Christmas afternoon.
Harry clattered down from Gryffindor tower looking a lot better, even if he didn't quite feel it, with all the intentions of rejoining society and pretending he had never been missing. Two older Gryffindors in the common room wished him a Merry Christmas just as Harry dashed out of the stairwell, and Harry was just flustered enough to remember that he had to act normal, so he screeched to a halt and made small talk on his feet for a while before dinner.
He never quite managed to grasp what the small talk covered, unfortunately. It was one of those occasions when his mouth ran ahead and his adrenaline took control. He'd stood a long time on his feet, chatting with the older students. No Gryffindor prefects had stayed for Christmas this year, so thankfully the house was a little disorganised. That was probably how he'd managed to sleep those two and a half days. That meant, of course, that he was caught talking to two older students that he didn't really know much about.
Harry thought, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and the adrenaline resettled, that he might have been talking about the weather? The snowstorm? Or maybe he was discussing the infamous quidditch game again. His brain seemed to be skipping like a bad record player: snatches of thought and words made sense, and then a rushed garble before he caught up with the conversation again. Harry really couldn't be sure. At some point, his companions stood up and made different noises, and he found himself following them out of the tower. He just hoped, as he strode down the long Hogwarts corridors, that he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself.
When Harry got over the panic and embarrassment, the dinner itself was magnificent. The turkeys were huge and golden-brown and glistening, and the enormous tureens of buttered peas and platters of sliced ham looked divine. The candles floating overhead looked like fireflies in the night, and the glares and judgement of a number of teachers at the table were really quite easy to ignore. The fires of the Great Hall roared merrily in their hearths; the whole room was full of cheer and warmth; it was the perfect contrast to the snowstorm outside. Harry sat next to Draco Malfoy, who accepted his presence with a raised eyebrow and some hastily whispered apologies on Harry's behalf. It wasn't quite was Harry was used to, but it was pleasant company just the same.
It was a pity that none of the Weasleys were there, but it was all Harry's fault. His friends would have stayed if he hadn't encouraged them to leave. When only loyal Ron held out, Harry had slipped Percy those Galleons and told him to organise something for the whole family, thereby guaranteeing they would be out of his hair for the duration of his plan. Now he was reaping the rewards of his actions. No one was there to make the usual comments about his eating habits, force him to fork one more slice of meat onto his plate, or worry mildly about his weight again. Instead of the usual companionship, only Malfoy eyed him curiously for the first half of the meal, pride apparently still insulted. Harry ignored him while he ate, but Malfoy's grey eyes rested on him constantly. Evaluating. Measuring. Weighing.
The blond Slytherin actually opened his mouth to a number of times peevishly while Harry continued to eat. But each time he stopped, paused, and withheld his questions or comments, to Harry's relief.
"Did you like my present?" Draco finally demanded, child-like enthusiasm for Christmas winning out over his sulk.
"What?"
"What I got you for Christmas!" Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the business of buying people presents for no reason, Potter. So, did you like it?"
Utterly baffled, Harry cast his mind back to the huge pile of presents that he'd tripped over in his rush to get out the door. "Uh…you got me a present?"
"Obviously!"
"Sorry." Harry scratched the back of his neck. "I got more presents than I was expecting this Christmas, actually. I, uh, haven't managed to get through all of them yet."
Draco sniffed, and took an elegant sip of butterbeer before he spoke. "I see. I shall expect my thank you note in due time, then."
Harry swallowed his peas and nodded earnestly. "Oh, yes, of course. Will, uh, will everyone be expecting thank you notes, do you think?"
Draco looked startled. "Of course. Even if a return gift is not given, a simple acknowledgement of the time and effort that went into the gift is the bare minimum required."
Harry groaned.
"Please, Potter, don't be déclassé."
"No, no. You don't get it," Harry protested. They he rested his wrists on the table and eyed Malfoy measuringly. "I, ugh...you're not going to let this one go, are you? I suppose I should, uh...I think I'd better just show you. You have time for me after dinner, don't you? We'll have to take over a classroom somewhere, I guess."
"Well, after the last couple of days..."
"Look, I said I was sorry!"
Draco humphed. "As opposed to our usual games? I suppose I'm intrigued."
Harry watched Malfoy control his curiosity throughout the rest of dinner with amusement. Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, seemed barely interested in him but instead focused deeply on the food. Their greedy eyes and reaching hands – demanding this platter, or that jug – helped Harry keep Draco busy all meal, until they could finally escape and talk.
Harry pottered into the empty Charms classroom sometime later that evening, where an exasperated Draco was impatiently waiting for him.
"What is it, Potter? This had better live up to all the mystery."
Having paused at the door, Harry walked in at Draco's words with a small present in hand. He'd hastily found a convenient parcel and rewrapped it so it didn't look re-gifted. "Look, here," he said, handing over the messily wrapped package. "Here's your Christmas present from me. Sorry I didn't get it to your earlier. I, uh, wanted to hand it to you in person," he bluffed, resolutely ignoring the small lie. "It's been fun, hanging with you these holidays, so, I, um, got you this as thanks."
Draco reached up to grasp the present eagerly, his eyes lighting up. "Why, Potter, I didn't think you appreciated me." He held the little package to his ear and rattled it softly. "What have you got me? How mysterious." Suddenly looking younger than his twelve years, he sat up straight with his eyes aglow and carefully peeled off the spellotape that held the wrapping together.
Harry was amused to see that Draco was a slow and careful unwrapper of gifts, careful not to tear the paper, rather than Ron's rip-it-open-and-tear-it-off style.
"Sorry it's nothing more permanent," Harry apologised while Draco unfolded the wrap with precise fingers. "I didn't think I knew you well enough for anything, um, distinctive. Yet."
But, "Chocolate frogs!" Draco exclaimed with childish delight. "Potter, you do love me!" He turned to smile at Harry with true satisfaction, before setting the present precisely to one side. "Potter, I am very grateful to receive such a thoughtful and enjoyable Christmas gift. Thank you for your kind wishes."
Harry scratched the back of his neck again. "Er, you're welcome? Is that what I'm supposed to say to you, too?"
"Honestly, Potter." Draco settled down again more comfortably in his seat, and popped open the box that Harry had regifted him languidly. "I sent you your present by owl, so your thank you should be returned by owl too. You gave me your present in person – a bit late, but the personal touch makes up for that – so my thanks should be given in person. Has no one ever taught you common courtesy?"
Harry shuffled over into a seat near Draco's and settled down with a sigh. "No? Not really? I mean, I grew up with muggles anyway, so the culture is probably different, but I've never really got any—"
"No!"
"…What?"
Draco sat up indignantly. "You grew up with muggles?"
Harry was surprised. "Well, yeah. Doesn't everyone know?"
Draco was incredulous. "What? No! You…but…Really?...With…No!" He turned to Harry and eyed him top to toe. "With muggles? Harry Potter grew up with muggles? Are you serious?!"
It being the same background that he'd always had, Harry didn't quite get the fuss. "Well, yeah. My mum's family. We're not close, but…why?" Surely people had known last timeline, hadn't they? At some point it must all have come out?
Draco looked like his world had just realigned itself around him. "But now it all makes so much more sense! No wonder you seem so polite, but then do such odd things. No wonder you're friends with Weasley and Granger – er," he shot a look at Harry, "I'm sure they're very fine friends of yours and whatnot, even though they're just really not my type. Just...really? No wonder you act like you do!"
Harry really hadn't realised that his behaviour was all that unusual, and wondered if this was why Malfoy of the last timeline had always seemed irritated with him. "I…yes, I guess?"
"Merlin's Beard, Potter! You need a crash course in culture!"
"I do?" Harry thought, with his time in two timelines behind him, that he'd been doing very well for himself, thank you very much.
"No one follows all the rules, of course," Draco protested. "But at the very least you should know what rules you're breaking on purpose and what people think you mean by it!"
Harry blinked. That seemed to make an unfortunate amount of sense. "Look, I…well, maybe we can cover this later?"
Draco raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Oh yes, your mysterious Christmas present problem. Well, go ahead then, Potter. Astonish me."
Harry stood up to grab his trusty luggage, that had once more been bobbing along in his wake, and settled down on the floor at the front of the classroom to Draco's baffled gaze.
"This had better be good, Potter," Draco snarked. Then he crossed his arms and settled back in his seat cynically. Absently he unwrapped a chocolate frog and popped it into his mouth.
Harry crossed his legs and settled himself as comfortably as he could. "Look, well, a few months ago I reset my mail wards, and well…you'd better just see."
With a click, he under his trunk lid, and with a wave of his wand a line of presents formed. Harry began guiding a stream of presents out from the compartment where he'd stashed them, in his brief dash to his bed after dinner, and onto the floor that surrounded him.
Draco raised both eyebrows. "Oh, yes. Very impressive, Potter, that's quite a lot of…" He trailed off. The floating string of presents continued, and the small pile of presents by Harry's knees began to grow, and grow. "In fact," said Draco, sitting upright. "That's really quite a few…quite a lot of presents," he agreed. He watched open-mouthed as Harry kept ferrying the presents out, and the pile built up to Harry's shoulders, and expanded. Under Harry's steadfast wand, presents started skidding down the pile and pooling across the whole front of the classroom. Then the pile began growing taller and taller again. Draco pulled his feet in as a gold and blue present skittered down the mound of gifts and bumped against his right foot, where it sat wobbling slightly.
"…I think I see your problem," Draco finally managed, as the last handful of gifts arose out of Harry's compartments and tumbled down gently to the spread-out heap. "That's, that's much more than I've ever gotten," he added a little enviously. "Where did all these presents come from?
Harry looked hopelessly up at Draco's face. "I reset my mail wards over the last holidays," he repeated, "and a bunch of people sent me birthday presents. Not many," he added hastily. "Well, nothing like this, but Hermione made me write out thank you notes, and I think they've told all their friends."
Draco snorted. "I think they've told half of wizarding Britain."
"So what do I do?" asked Harry plaintively.
Draco assumed the posture of an expert and rubbed his hands together efficiently. "Well, you obviously need to ensure proper courtesy is carried out, of course, so that means…" he faltered under the weight of Harry's gaze and the sheer mass of all the presents that lay glistening at his feet. "Well, we'll have to make a list, of course. I suppose you'll need my help. Let's see…you'll need lots of parchment and a decent quill—" Harry procured them immediately, "—and, let me think, we'll get the owls later, once we've done the letters. Do you have envelopes on you?"
Harry shrugged. "Like, four?"
"Of decent quality?"
"What?"
Delicately, Draco stood up from his seat and waded through the pile of presents to settle himself down on the floor opposite Harry. "Look, do you want to tell the world that you're fabulously wealthy and are willing to accept offers of business of a suitable standard? Do you want to act poor – do you have an inheritance, don't you? So you can't be too badly off – or imply that the presents aren't really worthy of your attention? What's your angle here?"
Baffled, Harry stared around at the pile of presents he was swimming in, before meeting Draco's commanding gaze. "You can say all that with an envelope?"
"The envelope and the ink, and your handwriting and the parchment all work together to…" Draco paused. "Right. We'll start off with a quick and dirty tutorial on stationery, before we send away for some supplies that are suitable for your station. It's Christmas evening, so we'll have to send the owl off tomorrow morning, and should get everything you want owled back by tomorrow evening if you're lucky.
He gestured impatiently for Harry with his hand, who looked at it blankly for a second. "Oh." Harry handed over a stash of parchment and an envelope.
Draco turned them over in his hands. "This is all perfectly adequate for an average student of an average household, Potter, but you are neither. I'll help you order some appropriate stationery once we've had a better discussion.
"In the meantime, we'll start with opening your presents – you do that bit – while I write up the registry of who sent what." He whipped up the parchment and poised the quill over it eagerly. "Right, go ahead then. Speak clearly when you read out the greetings, if you please."
"What?"
"Oh, let's start this this one." Draco reached over to grab a large oblong gift from somewhere near the middle of the pile, and rattled it gentle by his head. "Oooh, something heavy in this one, Potter," he grinned. "Now, stop holding back and—"
"Hold on!"
"What?"
Harry reached over to retrieve the parcel, and careful went through the arsenal of spells that Arthur Weasley had taught him during the holidays.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking for curses," Harry said, head bent low over the unwrapped gift on his lap. "There's this spell I was taught to help me see magic, and then I need to…hang on…need to check the layers for anything dangerous. Mr Weasley pointed out once that anything could be sent to me by mail, and I'm not sure exactly what the Hogwarts wards block."
Draco looked astonished. "Not much, I shouldn't think." He watched Harry's wand silently dart though a series of spells, Harry's tongue sticking out a little in his furious concentration. "You can cast silently? Wait...you have to cast these spells on every present here?"
"Unless I wanna die or something," Harry muttered, blinking as the seeing-spell wavered and blurred in front of his eyes. His sight was much hazier now than it had been in July. Perhaps something to do with Hogwarts? Or magical overuse, Harry wondered absently, his wand still waving. A headache was beginning to threaten. "Every present? Yup."
"Can't you, I don't know, cast a generic something?"
"Bad idea," Harry muttered. "Finite's the only thing that might work, and it's a big no-no, I hear."
"What? Why?"
Harry didn't answer.
Draco looked thoughtful. "Guess it's not all fun and games for the Boy-Who-Lived, after all."
Harry snorted.
Then, having confirmed that this first present seemed safe, Harry turned it over in his hands to find the greeting.
"'Dearest Harry,'" he read out loud, and then cringed from the intimacy. "'Thank you so, so much for all your sacrifices and suffering to rescue us from danger.'"
Draco scrambled back for the quill, but then spoke. "Oi. Don't get a big head about this now, will you?"
Harry snorted. "It seems alright. They go on to say, 'We know you never asked for this', that's not too bad. Oh wait, 'But Fortune has thrust this Fate upon your shoulders.' Ugh." He skimmed past the rest of the note rapidly. "They wish me a very Merry Christmas and hope that this small token of their appreciation might lighten my burden and bring joy unto my youth."
"…A bit pretentious," Draco mumbled unironically. "Who are they and what did they get you?"
"The Pollock family, from Godric's Hollow." Harry's eyes lingered on the note before he flipped the package over and tore the vibrant wrapping open. "The Big Book of Broom Tricks, apparently."
"Never heard of 'em," Draco muttered, writing the name down carefully. "But the book's not bad – every wizarding kid gets one of them at some stage. You're catching up on your culture, Potter! A few years too late, but good for you! Now, hurry it up – we've got a lot to get through."
Harry took a moment to add the thank you letters and gift unwrapping onto his mental To Do list – it was getting longer and longer, and much more intimidating. His breath hitched in his chest.
"Alright," his strangled voice squeaked out. "One day at a time, right? This is fine, this is fine. Just add it to the plans."
Draco seemed completely oblivious to Harry's sense of looming doom as the world spun and wobbled around him.