Chapter 1: Leafless

The Great Hall; December 21, 1997; about 11 PM

"It's snowing outside, you know. If you want to stare, it might be nicer to be out there than lying around in here."

"You would notice, wouldn't you? Why don't you come in?"

Draco didn't reply.

The Great Hall was dark and beautiful at this late hour, all shadows and blue-gray fantasy. Lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head, Harry could see nothing but the sky above. The light sketched patterns across his face that would have been imperceptible if the fires were kept burning. He was pungently real in all this winter.

Draco couldn't help but gaze intently at him, but intent on what? It was difficult to say. The doorway, stretching upward with the vaulted ceiling, stood open before him, but he wouldn't enter.

"What exactly did you come here for, Malfoy? If you want it that much, I would give it back to you."

"I know." He paused, contemplating. "I didn't come to take it back. Here-,"

Draco threw a bundled cloth towards him. It landed noiselessly by Harry's wand hand, and although he didn't look away from the sky, he moved to grip it, feeling the smooth texture of the fabric skim off his fingertips.

The invisibility cloak.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Care of Magical Creatures; September 20, 1997; about 10 AM

The day had broken windy. Standing with his arms tucked stiffly about himself, Draco found them going numb and shifted position.

That damn Hagrid. Barely a man, not mention a teacher- he'd never heard such a stuttering lecture in his life.

Today, they were to 'chat with the centaurs'. It was a simple procedure, but Hagrid was going over all behavioral, social, and biological facts related to the beasts that came to mind. Listening distractedly, Draco wore the same sneering expression that was as familiar to him as his own last name, but threw no effort into it. The gesture was false today. It was a burden to play his own role again and again, but by now he felt naked without it.

The centaurs came parading so regally out of the forest that it made him feel he should have worn his best dress robes. There was dignity in those creatures; he felt somehow slighted.

They made their introductions with eloquent vagueness and a sense of condescension, before diffusing to make polite conversation. Of course, they favored the Gryffindors; it had always been noble, intelligent beasts for the chivalrous, and ugly, dim-witted beasts for the wicked.

Not that it mattered any more, the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry, because nothing mattered but passing the days without disturbance. Create no trouble, and no one would trouble him in return.

Back in reality, Harry Potter was, naturally, the hub of it all, not to mention the class. The most familiar with the centaurs, he had found a large audience and was talking pleasantly, if not animatedly, to those gathered around him. Granger and Weasley had of course tagged along, and several other Gryffindors were making themselves heard at the edge of their crowd.

Draco sighed. Time to exchange a few remarks, nothing too difficult or controversial, and get it done. It seemed purely chance that the only centaur that he recognized was the one strayed farthest from Harry. He'd caught a glimpse of this one when it had parted with Potter during that vile detention.

The resemblance was uncanny. The centaur was a slender palomino with hair of the same white-blond that Draco's had been from birth and cloudy blue eyes that looked as if they had been dimmed.

As Draco approached, the centaur trotted toward him, his hooves dragging on unfamiliar grounds, and sniffed him searchingly. "A Malfoy."

"Yes, Draco. It's a pleasure-,"

"Let me shake your hand." Taken aback, Draco offered his left hand nevertheless. Oddly, the centaur shook using his right, grasping Draco's fingers but not his palm- it felt awkward, gripping his hand like that, and Draco noticed he held it a bit longer than was normal.

"You are cold, Draco Malfoy. Your hand is cold as snow. Tell me, then- is your right the same?"

"Couldn't you assume that?" he asked.

"You are not normal, and I cannot treat you as such. Give me your right."

Draco presented his hand a bit hesitantly. The arm was covered halfway to the elbow in a dragon-hide gauntlet. As the centaur took his hand, he frowned, probing the texture, and began pulling off the glove finger by finger.

"Stop." Draco wrenched his arm away. The centaur was unsurprised. In explanation, Draco continued, "You don't want to see that hand. It's...injured. It's why I have it covered up."

"I know."

Readjusting his glove, Draco turned his gaze to the distance uneasily. "I didn't catch your name."

The centaur opened its mouth to reply, but paused as if in anticipation. Why became apparent soon enough; Ronald Weasley, looking just short of livid, came thundering across the clearing and slammed Draco against the wall.

"Where the hell did you put it, Malfoy?!" he roared, bunching up the fabric of Draco's shoulders in his tight fists. Potter and Granger were jogging towards them at a distance.

"Leave me alone, Weasley," replied Draco tonelessly. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?" This was no time for confrontation

"Don't tell me you don't know, you bloody prat, or I'll have to pound that ugly f-,"

"Ron, calm down." Hermione, having arrived, placed a hand on Weasley's heaving shoulders. "He has to have it, for heaven's sake, there's no need to waste your breath threatening him." She glanced over to him, pinned to the wall and as unruffled as always . "You do have it, don't you, Malfoy?"

Feeling idiotic for doing so, Draco played along wearily. He was so tired, had been since the week before September. "Have what? How long must I wait until someone explains what's going on? "

"My cloak." Harry spoke for the first time, twice as composed as Ron was, yet still distinctly furious. Draco found nothing threatening about his physique, but the way his lips were pressed so tightly together, and the life in his eyes - there was something there that Draco had not felt pumping through his veins for the last few weeks, and it unnerved him. Emotion. Heart. Drive and passion.

Recover, damn it. Don't let them get to you.

"I don't have anything of yours, Potter. And I don't need any cloak of yours either, I had a new set made for this year."

Harry checked his expression for reliability. "Not a school cloak, Malfoy."

The centaur stood just outside of involvement range, remaining silent and looking pleasantly amused. It irritated Draco. They all seemed to collaborating- was this some sort of plot against him? Whatever it was, they hadn't come up with anything logical enough for understanding. "What kind of cloak could it be, then?"

Looking uneasy, Harry frowned. "You must know. Just…give it back, Malfoy. I don't want to fight you."

"I never said anything about fighting. Get off, Weasley." Reluctantly, Ron unclenched his fists and backed away. Draco dusted off his shoulders. "Why do you need this cloak of yours so much, anyway?" 'You must have a few cloaks; you're not exactly dirt-poor like Weasley here,' he heard himself add, his voice monotone.

They heard no change. Ron growled. "Don't push it, Malfoy," said Harry. "And if I answered you, it's not as if you would give it back either way."

"No," Draco agreed. "I wouldn't, as I don't have it in the first place. Leave me in peace; I've got to finish my conversation with…" He trailed off, having not heard the centaur's name.

"Firenze," Harry supplied between clenched teeth. "Malfoy, this cloak is just…important. To me. Give it back now, or-,"

"Or what?" asked Draco tiredly. Enough already. "Are you waiting for a tip or something?" He lifted the hem of his robes, and for one alarmed moment Harry thought he was stripping. Instead, he untied a drawstring bag from the belt of his trousers, and withdrew a galleon. "Here, Potter, catch."

He flicked the golden coin so it tumbled through the air- the way it flipped seemed averse to leaving Draco's gloved fingers, catching the wind and sunlight artificially, and Draco realized his mistake seconds after Potter disappeared.

"Oh god…bloody hell- damn it! Potter, shit… Potter!-" He swore, horrified with the first fevered emotion he had felt in the longest time. A deadly reaction settled into the pit of his stomach. Realization is a terrible thing; it was entirely unthinkable, and yet-

He had sent Harry Potter to the Manor.