Dinner that night was a quiet, formal affair. A small, female house-elf served the meal, unobtrusively bringing in each course and refilling their glasses with wine. Harry had never really had wine before; the Dursleys, of course, wouldn't let him have a glass of water half the time, much less wine, and they always had juice at Hogwarts. After taking a small sip, he decided he'd be just as happy to keep it that way – he was hard put not to make a face at the taste.

Draco took one look at the purple liquid filling his cup and turned to the house-elf. "I thought I told you to give me firewhiskey."

"No," his mother said firmly. The house-elf looked from Mrs. Malfoy to Draco, confused. "You'll have wine with dinner."

"But—"

"Draco," his father said sharply.

Draco glared at his father and took a resentful gulp of his wine. Mr. Malfoy gave a slight smile and everyone turned back to their dinner. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

After dessert, Harry and Draco went up to bed. Draco showed Harry to the guest room, which was adjacent to Draco's. The first thing Harry noticed about the room was that it had been decorated more or less according to the Gryffindor color scheme of red and gold. A lush, red carpet; a red comforter over gold sheets and pillows on the four-poster bed in the center of the room; red curtains trimmed with gold covering the window; a redwood bookshelf, wardrobe, and nightstand; red candles in their sconces around the room…. Harry found it all surprisingly comforting. His things were already unpacked and neatly put away, presumably by the house-elves.

Draco flicked his wand and the candles flared to life, filling the room with a warm, gentle light.

"The bathroom's at the end of the hall. Good night."

Draco kissed him lightly and left, closing the door behind him.

Once he was alone, Harry sank down in his bed. He hadn't drunk all that much, but the wine had left him slightly lightheaded and he tired. He pulled off his clothes, pulling on his pajamas, which were lying neatly on the bed, set his glasses on the nightstand, and crawled under the covers. As an afterthought, he reached for his wand and muttered "Nox!" The candles went out sloppily, hot wax spattering onto the wall.

But Harry didn't really care and within a few minutes he'd fallen asleep.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

Harry woke the next morning to find Draco sitting on a cushion on the floor with his back against the wall. Harry sat up, reaching for his glasses and looking back at Draco. Now he saw the Draco was wearing pajamas – a loose, blue, cotton t-shirt and dark green pajama bottoms. He was holding a book in his hands, but his eyes were on Harry.

"You're up."

"What time is it?"

"About 6, last I checked."

Harry groaned and sank back into bed, pulling the covers up over his head. Draco laughed softly and a moment later, the bed creaked as Draco sat down next to him. Then he felt Draco's hand on his shoulder. Draco pulled back the covers, revealing Harry's head, though Harry kept his eyes closed. He felt light brush of Draco's lips against his neck and couldn't suppress a smile.

"Time to get up," Draco whispered, his lips brushing Harry's ear.

"It's 6 in the morning, Draco. Go back to bed."

"Or you could get up."

In response, Harry rolled over and buried his head underneath the pillows.

Draco sighed. "Oh fine. I'll go back to bed."

"Or you could stay here," Harry mumbled into the mattress.

"What did you say?"

Harry rolled over and opened his eyes, looking at Draco. He opened his mouth to repeat what he'd said, but Draco leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss. Harry's lips parted readily and he reached up, slipping his arms around Draco's neck. When their mouths parted, Draco dropped down next to Harry, his head resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Or you could stay here," Harry murmured.

"Mm…" After a moment, Draco managed to squirm his way under the covers. Harry nestled closer to him, drifting back into sleep in Draco's arms.

When Harry woke again, Draco was still asleep. For several minutes, Harry just watched Draco sleep. He looked beautiful when he was sleeping – almost like an angel with his fine, silky, white-blond hair falling over his eye, his skin so pale it was almost translucent, and his lips curve upwards in a slight smile. He seemed so young and innocent, not at all like the selfish, arrogant bastard he normally presented to the world.

Not that Draco would want to hear that – he'd probably kick Harry if he mentioned it. While Draco liked compliments, he generally seemed to prefer 'annoying, slimy, sexy git who I lust after madly' over 'beautiful, sweet charming angel.'

Harry reached down, brushing the lock of Draco's hair out of his eye. A moment later, Draco's eyes fluttered open.

"You have really long eyelashes," Harry murmured without really thinking.

Draco blinked at him. "I what?"

"You have long eyelashes," Harry said, blushing slightly. "I mean, you can't really see them very well, since they're so pale, but they're actually pretty long. I'd never really noticed that before."

Draco snorted. "And you're looking at my eyelashes because …?"

"Er …"

Draco sat up, looking at Harry. "Can't you think of anything else to say? I mean, why is it always 'er'? Why not 'um,' or 'uh' or something more original?"

"Er … 'um …'?"

Draco sighed. "You're hopeless. You know that?"

Harry smiled. "Er?"

Draco shook his head and pushed back the covers. "What time is it?"

"Er, 7:30," Harry said, glancing up at the clock. Much though he would have liked to sleep in until about noon, it seemed that the Hogwarts schedule was firmly imprinted in his system. Or maybe it was just that he was in a strange house and was nervous. But whatever the reason, he doubted he'd be getting anymore sleep.

"Well, breakfast's at 9, so that gives us an hour and a half."

"To do what?"

Draco shrugged. "Whatever we want." He climbed out of the bed, stretching.

"Like sleeping?" Harry suggested.

Draco rolled his eyes and walked over to the window, pulling open the curtains to let the cold, clear, early-morning sunlight pour in. The room looked much more cheerful filled with sunlight.

Behind the curtains was a glass, sliding door, much like the one in Draco's room. Draco pushed open the door and a gust of icy cold air rushed into the room, making Harry shiver and snuggle deeper down into the blankets.

"Come on outside," Draco said from the doorway.

Harry pulled the blankets closer around him. After a moment, Draco walked over him and tried to pull the covers away. Harry only held them tighter.

"You can't stay in bed all day," Draco said.

"It's 7:30. That's hardly 'all day,'" Harry pointed out.

Draco looked at him for a long moment, as if deciding something, which make Harry tense with apprehension. He was fairly certain that whatever Draco was considering, he wasn't going to like it.

Draco confirmed his fears by giving a slight nod to himself and reaching over and, in a single move, pushing Harry – blankets and all – out of the bed and onto the floor. He landed with a loud thud, hitting his shoulder, hip, and head hard against the floor. Draco was smirking and Harry glared at him.

"Ouch," Harry said belatedly. "That hurt."

"But it got you out of bed," Draco said calmly.

"Oh yeah, thanks for that too," Harry said as he unwound himself from the tangled mess of blankets. "Shouldn't you be trying to get me into bed – you know, being my boyfriend and all?"

"You'd think. Unfortunately, the age of consent – at least in wizarding England – is 17. So until then, that would be illegal."

Harry blinked. He hadn't actually known that, though it made sense. Everything in the wizarding world seemed to happen either when you were 11 or 17. "And how many people actually obey those laws?"

"Well … no one really. Except for pathetic swots with no social skills who can't find themselves anyone to break said laws with before then. And a few really conservative, religious nut-jobs – you know, Je-whosiwhatsit Witless people and the like. But that's not the point."

"Not exactly religious, are you?"

"Of course I'm religious. I worship myself, don't I?"

Harry snorted. "That you do," he agreed. "You want to help me up?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it's far more amusing to watch you sitting there on the floor like that." But he walked over to Harry and extended his hand to Harry anyway.

Harry pulled himself up and Draco gave him an appraising look. "All that gray really doesn't suit you, Potter," he said after a moment.

Harry glanced down at his pajamas. "And what would suit me better?"

Draco paused for a moment to consider. "I'm not really sure. Maybe something a little more colorful…."

"What, you want me go get some pajamas covered with rainbow stripes or something?"

"Hmm… that's not a bad idea, actually," Draco replied thoughtfully.

"Draco!"

"What? What's wrong with rainbows?"

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Nothing, but…."

"But?"

"Oh never mind. I just like gray, all right?"

Draco made a face at him. "Always bright and cheery, aren't you? It's no wonder bad things keep happening to you. You can't even dress optimistically. Gray."

"Is there a reason you shoved me out of bed, or can I go back to sleep?"

Draco grabbed his hand and dragged him to the door. Harry stopped short at the door, seeing the layer on snow covering the balcony, not to mention feeling the chill of the air outside.

"What now?" Draco asked in annoyance.

"There's snow out there."

"Yes – in case you hadn't noticed yet, it's winter. And during the winter, it snows. Which leaves snow outside."

"It's cold."

"Yes, that also happens in the winter," Draco said patiently.

He and Harry stared at each other for a long moment until Harry finally sighed. "At least let me put on some shoes or something."

"Oh fine."

It took Harry awhile to find his shoes; apparently one of the house-elves had come in during the night and put away his shoes as well as cleaning the spattered wax from his sloppy spell off the walls. And then he had to find his socks, which had also been neatly put away – in his wardrobe, of course – and were therefore impossible to find. Draco watched him searching with a mixture of amusement and growing impatience.

In the end, Harry found his slippers and decided to wear them instead, much to Draco's annoyance.

He shivered as he walked out onto the balcony, wishing he'd thought to find a jumper or a coat or something. But when he turned to go back inside, Draco slipped his arms firmly around Harry's waist.

"Enough fussing," he murmured in Harry's ear.

"I'm not fussing," Harry snapped back. "I'm just cold."

"Then let me keep you warm," Draco replied, demonstrating by wrapping his surprisingly warm body around Harry, who found himself wondering how someone so skinny – not to mention pale and frozen-looking – could feel so warm against his body. "Now look," he said softly, pointing out beyond the railing of the balcony.

Harry complied, gazing down at the Manor grounds, spread out like a giant tapestry beneath them; it was … breathtaking. Snow-covered trees and statues met with dark, stone walls, which seemed much smaller from up here, and beyond the walls stretched the road leading to Malfoy Manor, the trees and fields, and beyond them the town.

He could feel Draco's breath on his ear, his pointy chin resting on Harry's shoulder.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Draco whispered.

"Mm…" Harry agreed.

"Well, that's an improvement over 'er.'"

Harry turned his head to glare at Draco, who smirked back at him. Unable to think of a decent retort, Harry did the next best thing and kissed him, turning in Draco's arms to face him. Draco responded, pushing him up against the railing and kissing him back. Harry's fingers moved almost automatically to the back of Draco's head, twining in his hair and pulling his lips closer. He hardly noticed the snow – cold, wet and melting – on the railing against his back. Draco's mouth was hot and hungry against his, his body burning hot around him, his hands moving over Harry's hips and back, slipping up under his shirt to caress his skin.

Harry shivered as a gust of wind brushed against the bare skin where Draco pushed up his nightshirt, but the cold didn't really seem to matter anymore. Not with Draco moving his hands and mouth over Harry's body the way he was, kissing Harry fiercely.

Suddenly he pushed away, glaring irritably at his hand – or, more accurately, his Malfoy signet ring.

"Breakfast," he explained. "Ten minute warning." And then, noticing Harry's bewildered look, "The ring's enchanted to heat up and change color to warn me about various things. Red when Father wants me, blue when it's mum, black when we have important, unexpected visitors, and yellow before meals and ceremonies and such. And if I don't notice it, it starts heating up until it almost starts to melt – at which point my finger's been pretty badly burned and if I haven't noticed yet, then I'm probably in a lot more trouble than just missing breakfast."

"Sounds like a nuisance."

Draco shrugged. "You get used to it. Anyway, we'd better get dressed. Wear robes."

Draco went back to his room through the door from the balcony and Harry returned to his own. Draco told him to pack mostly robes, since the Malfoys were purebloods and, to Harry's understanding, wore robes pretty much 24/7. And when they didn't wear robes, they wore clothes that hadn't been seen in the muggle world since at least the Middle Ages, if not earlier.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't really have much in the way of casual robes, since he usually wore muggle clothes when he wasn't wearing his school uniform. When he mentioned this to Draco, the boy had given him a look of disgust and lent him two outfits. He had also forced Harry to agree to go shopping for 'decent clothing' over the vacation.

And of course, Draco had refused to even consider ever wearing muggle clothes, but Harry had decided not to push it. It wasn't like what Draco wore really mattered to Harry; as far as he was concerned, Draco looked stunning no matter what he wore.

Now he found one of the outfits – a floor-length, sleeveless, dark-green under-robe (a dress, as far as Harry was concerned), laced up the back and a black over-robe with long, loose sleeves, and silver dragons embroidered on the front. He pulled the under-robe on over his head and stopped. Now how on Earth was he going to tie the under-robe? Who had come up with the idea of putting laces in back of the robes? And why hadn't they been locked away before they spread their madness to others?

Harry sighed, looking at himself in the mirror and he tried to figure out how to tie up the robes. That was when he noticed that both robes had been tailored perfectly to Draco's body, and while he and Draco were similar in size, Draco was enough taller and thinner that the robe looked rather awkward on Harry. Harry had never really been all that good at transfiguration, and he'd never learned to refit clothes to fit him (unsurprisingly, it wasn't part of the Hogwarts Transfiguration curriculum). However, this meant that when he attempted to shorten the hem so he wouldn't trip on it, it ended up somewhere around his knees. His attempt to lengthen it again left him with several extra yards of cloth pooling around his ankles. He continued to attempt to readjust the robes to fit him, with worse and worse results and getting more and more flustered with each attempt.

He glanced up at the clock to find that he had all of three minutes left – and he hadn't even started on the over-robe, nor had he figured out how to tie the bloody laces. Before he'd thought the ten minutes a generous overestimate of the time it would take to get ready. Now he was wishing that he had at least another hour.

Swearing silently to himself, he made another attempt to tighten the robe around his waist, only to find it shrink until he could hardly breathe. He quickly attempted to loosen it – just enough that he could breathe – only to have it expand enough that it would probably fit Dudley with room to spare. He heard a soft snicker from the doorway and looked up to find Draco dressed and watching him with extreme amusement.

"Having fun there?"

"No," Harry said dolefully.

Draco smirked and folded his arms, leaning languidly against the doorframe. "I suppose I should be angry at the way you've managed to destroy my clothing, but fortunately for you, I'm in a forgiving mood. And you're cute when you're flustered."

Harry glared at him. "Are you going to help me or just stand there and gloat?"

Draco smiled sweetly. "Will you say please?"

"Draco."

"Yes?"

Harry just glared at him.

Draco smiled back at him, unperturbed. "Say please."

"Please," Harry spat.

"You know, maybe if you're nice to me I might show you how to do this yourself," Draco commented cordially as he and walked across the room. With a few waves of his wand, the robes were neatly laced and fit him perfectly. Harry pulled on the over-robe, and Draco easily resized them too. "There now. You look lovely."

"Lovely," Harry repeated.

"Yes. Lovely."

"I don't want to be lovely," Harry protested. "Handsome, maybe, or sexy or stunning or … something. But not lovely."

"Oh shut up and let's go to breakfast. We have 30 seconds."

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=

After a breakfast that was only marginally less formal and stilted than dinner had been, Draco asked his parents if he and Harry could go down to the town.

"Of course not," Mrs. Malfoy said. "It's too dangerous."

Draco turned to Mr. Malfoy. "Father, can we please go? I promise neither of us will get killed."

Mr. Malfoy glanced at his wife. "Well, I don't like disagreeing with your mother, but I really see no reason you—"

"Lucius," Mrs. Malfoy said, horrified. "Do you know could happen to them?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, we run into raving lunatics escaped from Azkaban who kill both of us? Black doesn't even know where Harry is."

"Well, he managed to break out of Azkaban, didn't he? And he got into and out of Hogwarts – Harry's dormitory, no less – without getting caught. Who knows what he's capable of?"

"Not us, apparently," Draco muttered.

"I know Black's a danger, Narcissa, but really Narcissa. He wouldn't be foolish enough to attack them in full daylight. Not with everyone on the watch for him."

"Well, Black's not the only danger, you know," Mrs. Malfoy said defensively.

"Yeah, like You-Know-Who," Draco muttered. "And Death Eaters – no wait, they're our friends. But there are always psychopathic Weasleys to worry about."

Mrs. Malfoy went white at the mention of the Weasleys and Mr. Malfoy turned to face Draco, his expression deadly cold. For a moment, Draco glared at his parents. Then he looked away.

"Look, we'll be perfectly safe…."

"No," Mr. Malfoy said firmly.

Draco stared at the floor for a moment, then stormed out of the room. Now Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy seemed to notice Harry for the first time. They both looked away, as though they were embarrassed, and Harry left to go follow Draco.

He found Draco standing outside in the balcony, staring blankly out into space. It had started snowing again and the white, fat flakes make a sharp contrast against Draco's black robes. Harry came to stand beside him.

Draco didn't turn or otherwise acknowledge Harry's presence, but after a moment he said softly, "Do you know, Mother didn't even want to let me go to Hogsmeade with the rest of the school." There was a slight sneer in his voice, but beneath it was another emotion that Harry couldn't quite pinpoint – Resentment? Pain? Fear? He wasn't sure. "It took Father and me days to persuade her that I wasn't going to get killed or maimed or kidnapped or something. And they have Snape watching me, reporting back to them and telling them that I'm still alive and intact. Which is odd, considering that Snape betrayed them and all, not to mention that he and Father loathe each other. But Snape and Mother get on all right, and I think they trust Snape not to lie about me for some reason."

Now Draco turned to face Harry and there was a slight smile playing at his lips.

"So, what are we going to do for the rest of the day?"

"Hmm … you brought your Firebolt, didn't you? We could go flying or something – as long as we don't leave the Manor grounds, that is. Otherwise Mother will have a fit if she finds out. Which she will."

"Has it ever occurred to you that your mother is paranoid and should probably see a therapist or something?"

"My parents were Death Eaters, Harry. They both need therapy. Now go get your broom." Seeing the expression on Harry's face, he sighed and added, "Mind out of the gutter, Potter."

Harry just grinned and went to go find his Firebolt.

A/N: Trekkie54: Glad to make you happy. :P Updates are very happy events, aren't they? Outlaw of the West: Eventually. I'll let you know when I'm stuck on this story, so you can resume your singing. It usually happens the moment I insist I know what I'm doing and won't get stuck, so I'm not going to. I also generally mention what I'm working on in my lj, which is now included amungst the links in my bio. Lizzy: Wow, I have lurkers--unsurprisingly enough, but please don't ruin my moment. :D And yeah, I'd love to see that picture. I e-mailed you, but my e-mail's been acting wierd lately, so tell me if you haven't gotten it yet. And thanks so much for commenting. Kashaiga: Thanks
Orange: You're back!! And I greet you with over 9,000 words to beta--what a good friend. :P