CHAPTER 5 – A First Night at Malfoy Manor

"See you Christmas Eve, then, Blaise," Draco nodded charmingly toward his friend.

"It'll be fun spending the Christmas somewhere else, Zabini. Thanks for the good idea," Harry said, smiling. Blaise grinned and bowed, slightly mockingly, to the two.

"My pleasure. I'll leave you to deepen this friendship of yours... really, you must have been left alone for quite a while," he said, apparently still a little confused at the idea. "No one else would accept a friendly relation between the two of you – mostly because no one expects it of you," he grinned. The two boys made a few noncommittal sounds and looked at each other with wondering expressions. Then, Draco shrugged.

"Well, whatever. See you later, Blaise!" With a last wave of his hand, Blaise Zabini apparated out of Little Whinging and Draco turned to face Harry with a slightly panicked look.

"Did I actually say Pansy could help us getting the place ready?!"

"You did. Regretting stuff already?" Harry smirked. This made Draco sigh deeply.

"You don't know what Parkinson might do with my house – not to mention our house-elves – if she's allowed to run around without someone baby-sitting her."

"Well, then we'll just have to get someone to do just that. Or do it ourselves, if you're so afraid of her," Harry laughed shortly.

"Well, I suppose you're right. I guess it's all right with you to move to my place a couple of days before Christmas?" It wasn't really a question and Harry's nod wasn't really an answer, either. Neither had expected anything else. Harry would be eager to get away from here and Draco had gone a little too far when he called number four a "cottage" in front of Vernon. The man's roar of rage had probably been heard at the other end of Surrey. Not that it had moved Draco Malfoy an inch, his unflappability making an obvious impression on the furious man – making him even more upset. At that moment, Harry had grabbed Draco's shirt by the collar and fled.

They sat silent for a second. Then they concurrently opened their mouths to speak, shutting them again as they saw that the other had done the same. Then they laughed.

"I guess Blaise is right," Draco said smiling, "your appearance at the party might be the spark that sets off the real fireworks among the guests. I think you should come late."

"I was thinking we might appear together, they'd really drop dead at that, don't you think?"

"Har, stop being an ass," the blonde joked, "I must be there from the beginning, being host and everything, and..."

"No you don't," Harry interrupted, which earned him an annoyed glance from Draco. "Zabini and Parkinson are the real hosts; you just give them a place to hang out."

"I give them a lot more than that," the silvery-eyed one pouted, making Harry chuckle.

"Perhaps." Then his face got a curious look. "Like what, do you mean?"

"Oh, a lot..." Draco smirked. "Like I'm going to tell you, Potter-boy," he teased the other.

"I'm sure you will, it'll just take some time. Sooner or later, you just won't be able to shut up anymore and then you'll find yourself telling me anyway!"

"No way," Draco sniggered. "You'll just be ignorant little Harriet P until the end of your days!" A pillow flew past blonde hair and elegant, thin lips smirked. "And you've got to learn so much about aiming before I even have to dodge, Har." At first, he thought Harry was diving for the pillow. Too late did he understand this was not the fact, somewhere around when the attacking headful of raven curls connected with his chest and they both flew backwards into the bed.

"Merlin's toes, Harry, you could've gotten us both hurt, there!"

"That was never a problem, Drake," came a taunting voice from a mouth buried in pillow. "The problem was always your overconfidence!" And thus, the rolling began. The two attacked each other fiercely with anything they could get their hands on, which meant mostly the pillows and sheets, and struggled to get the other defenceless. After a couple of minutes the fighting had begun taking the form of a wrestling match between two young men who seemed to have been affected with enough alcohol to club an elephant unconscious. That was the extent of the giggling and that was how serious it seemed. After another five they fell in two separate heaps on the bed. Harry stretched out slightly, watching the ceiling in a distracted manner.

Two seconds later, his arms had been pinned down by pale, bony hands and his legs were locked together as someone lay on them. A fanatic smirk was directed at him.

"I won."

"Ahh," Harry breathed heavily, "didn't think we'd ever make it out of there!" He was kneeling on the thick carpet of the Entrance Hall of Malfoy Manor.

"Well, I can't say you helped a lot," Draco growled. "Standing there, looking like a fool! I thought you'd learned something over the last week." He looked utterly disappointed, Harry noticed. The other thing he noticed was the fact that he himself was actually slightly ashamed that he had so let Draco down. Just two weeks ago the scene would have been impossible, but now Harry stood, walked up to the sulky, pale boy and grabbed his shoulders, saying words he had never before uttered to a Slytherin, meaning them wholeheartedly.

"I'm sorry, Drake," he mumbled. Draco's grey eyes sought his green, mouth opening a little as if he wanted to say something. Then he closed his mouth, averted his eyes and nodded silently.

"Come on," he muttered, "better get you upstairs."

"Draco..." Harry mumbled after a second and the pale boy turned to him.

"Yes?"

"I just remembered... for the party, could I invite Hermione and Ron?" There was a dead silence for a second as Draco's jaw dropped.

"You want to what?" he cried.

"Well, they are my friends, after all," Harry replied, furrowing his brow. "I know you don't like them, but I'm in this because of you, you know." Draco sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Har," he muttered, "it's not that I don't want to invite them, I frankly couldn't care less." This offended Harry more than a little, but a minute gesture stifled his protests and he settled for listening to Draco's arguments first.

"You see," the blonde boy said, fixing Harry's eyes with his own, "if I bring them here, there will be certain... problems. I would lose status, but that could always be countered in one way or another. More important – would they have fun along with half a hundred Slytherins? I bet that my friends would feel offended too. I don't think their presence would do any good to anyone, Har. Believe me." Harry kept his objections coming for a few more turns, before resigning to what he had realised already with Draco's first argument: They would all feel better if his friends weren't forced to spend a night in a Slytherin household.

The Malfoy Manor was even more impressive than Harry had imagined it when Draco had casually described it one morning, making Vernon, who sat at the other end of the room with the excuse of "watching TV", green with envy.

Well, Harry remembered Draco telling him, it's a four-story manor, fifty-two rooms, not counting the kitchens in the basement where the house-elves work and live. My room is on the third floor, the left wing. The place's bigger than Hogwarts – the family's always been proud of that. The smirk on the beautiful young face lingered in his mind. And of course, we've got the stables, the woods... the lake and the Quidditch pitch. Being quite new to Quidditch still – considering he hadn't heard of it until his first year at Hogwarts – Harry had been awed by the thought of a private Quidditch field.

As they walked through exclusively ornamented rooms, wide corridors and up huge staircases Harry slowly begun feeling like an unwelcome bug at a fashionable party, walking ever closer to the one who had invited him there. When the space between them had closed to a few inches Draco chuckled silently.

"I could always hold your hand, if that'd make you feel better," he offered. Harry laughed nervously.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well..." Draco hesitated a moment. "Uhm... yes, it is. I kind of noticed when you almost jumped at the sight of Deliria."

"Deliria?" Harry wondered.

"The horrible woman just outside the Entrance Hall, the one who gazed down that bony nose of hers at you and told you that you 'weren't dressed properly enough to enter the Malfoy Estate Manor'," Draco copied the mentioned portrait's high-pitched voice perfectly. "She does that a lot, I'm afraid." Then he stopped so suddenly Harry bumped into him. "Sorry," he mumbled. Then he motioned at the door.

"This is the place?" Harry asked, happy to be there at last since they had walked for at least ten minutes through the huge mansion.

"Well," once again, Draco hesitated for a moment before answering. "This is my room."

"Third floor, left wing," Harry muttered from memory.

"Got that," the blonde laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Can't believe you remembered."

"I did listen, you know." Harry opened the door with an embarrassed grin. Then the grin washed off his face like water off a goose feather. "Gosh," he breathed.

"What?" Draco wondered anxiously. "Something wrong?" He peered over the well-formed shoulder in front of him. "I can't see anything...?"

"It's just... so... big." And that was the simple truth. The room had to be about thirtyfive-forty feet across in both directions and at least ten feet high.

"This is my bedroom." With a happy sigh Draco walked past Harry and threw himself onto the massive bed. "We'll have to levitate a bed in here, later, after I've shown you the other rooms."

"Not the whole place, surely?" The thought of wandering endless corridors and having endless bony Malfoy portraits telling him he was a misfit was not very appealing. To his relief Draco laughed and shook his head.

"No way, just the rest of my rooms. Now if you would please rest? I'm tired."

"You know," Harry said, grinning, "that way of putting it was really odd."

"Sure, Har, now rest." With that, the blonde moved over to the wall to make place for Harry. Which there had been already, considering the bed was big enough for at least four people. Harry silently closed the door behind him and a few minutes later the he had fallen asleep on the soft mattress.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the mighty and proud pureblood family that had lived here, in the great mansion on the little island in the sea, for hundreds of years, lay on his bed. He leaned on one elbow, silently watching the boy on the other side of the bed.

"I'm glad this bond affects only me," he whispered to the sleeping one. "I must go down to the library and I wouldn't want to worry you. This spell should keep you sleeping for another hour at least and, honestly," Draco beamed an affectionate smile at his silent companion, "you really need to sleep more. You toss and turn in bed like mad. I wish I could read your mind and not only your feelings. Ever since we left Hogwarts they've been getting clearer in my head, I can sense you more distinctly. I've never heard of anything like this, so I'd guess it has to be Veela-stuff. My mother was never very good at sharing what she knew." He silently crawled out of bed and tried to shut out his feelings. That was why he never felt the slight tug of loneliness at the back of his head carried by a pattern of thought he had now gotten used to – it got lost in the wave of emotion that he denied.

With a confident stride he passed numerous adorned doors, walked through a couple of hallways and up a staircase before he reached his destination.

"Fourth floor, at the end of the left wing," he muttered his memorized instructions. He was not here often. He stood before the two heavy doors for a moment and then, with a mumbled word to the silent banshee girl on a portrait just to the right of the doors, one swung open soundlessly and revealed a library at least twice as big as Draco's bedchamber, with shelves standing so close you could just barely walk between them, crammed so full of books there were even a few here and there that lay on top of each other – which looked extremely un-Malfoy-esque.

"Now," he muttered. "Where to find it?" He went over to a large, dusty book in the corner and opened it. "Keywords: The Azure Tear..." he said, loud and clear, "And... Veela... And... Emotional Connections." There were long, odd pauses between the words, in which black script appeared or disappeared rather quickly on the page, in fine handwriting. He nodded slowly. As I guessed, he thought. Only mother's diary speaks of it. The script on the page had slowly been reduced to one single title: Narcissa Black Malfoy – a journal.

"Narcissa Malfoy, a journal," he said. Below the title appeared a series of letters and figures. He memorized them silently. "Finished," he said, waiting for the script to fade before he closed the Book. He turned and watched the dusty writing on the shelves, matching them with the code it had given him. No one would ever find what they needed in here without the help of the Book and if you opened things on a whim, you were sure to face something dangerous pretty quickly. Lucius had never told his son half of what was in here. Perhaps he didn't know.

The fourth floor was filled with secrets. Rather, the fourth floor was only secrets; nothing was placed there if it could be kept public. Few who were not Malfoy of blood or marriage was ever allowed here. Although he had not visited the library for a while it didn't take Draco long to figure out where his mother's diary stood. He took it out of its shelf with a little effort and quickly exited the room. The rest would be for later.

When he woke up, Harry Potter found himself in the softest bed he had ever had. Hugging someone. That "someone" being his former archenemy, the nemesis of his entire school house and, ironically enough, his new-found friend, a pale and slim young man with white-blonde hair and piercing silver eyes.

Then he flinched, ashe realised two things: One, if Draco woke up and found this out, then he would no longer be The Boy Who Lived but rather The Boy Who Lived To Be Ripped Into A Thousand And One Pieces. Two: it actually felt rather good. He was uncertain of which thought scared him the most. The two questions disappeared like snow in heavy rain when the mentioned eyes opened sleepily and gazed into his own. When there was no spectacular show of rage, Harry decided it might be best to slowly untangle his arms, counting on the possibility that Draco was still asleep, even with eyes open. This was met with a displeased groan.

"Don't do that..." Draco muttered drowsily. "Hold me tight as frozen hell and never tell anybody, ok?" Now, anything else, Harry could have coped with. A fit of rage, no problem. Repulsion, just as trouble-free. But this? Lying there, stuck in his own confusion, his companion found his lack of compliance disturbing enough to hiss angrily and more or less burrow into the requested embrace.

"Hard as frozen hell, eh?" Harry said, bewildered. And this is? He wondered to himself. They need to write a book on this subject: "How to cope when your arch-nemesis acts like a cuddly kitten". Unable to think of a better solution, he obeyed. As if reading his mind, Draco gave off a purring-like sound and nestled even deeper into his shirt. Once again, Harry found that it wasn't quite as bad as it could have been. Once again, he was confused and slightly terrified by the notion. Why would I like having Draco Malfoy cuddling in my arms? My arms that are, in any case, going numb because I'm trying to do as he said. Why did he do that? Why do I conform to this? How can I... The train of thought was interrupted by movement. Draco stirred restlessly in his arms, somehow managing to catch his attention entirely. Lying like that Harry found it harder and harder to stay awake and soon he was sleeping peacefully once more, his deep breathing calm and smooth.

The young man in his arms watched him quietly. I want to stay like this forever, he admitted to himself. But whatever time I can get on my own is too precious to waste. I'm home. The thought didn't feel entirely correct, but he ignored the uneasiness and crawled out of the warm embrace. Then he settled in a comfortable chair by the bed, opening his mother's book carefully, beginning his research.

Veela... nope, I already knew that... he thought to himself as he turned a page. Interesting, but it's not what I was looking for. Damn the fact that she never wrote an index to the thing... His mother had been extremely precise – not writing an index was unlike her, even when it came to something like a diary. Could Narcissa have been so paranoid that she kept it hidden if it should ever come to rest in hands it was not meant for? She must have been sure that any Malfoy could find their way through it without the help of an index. How do we stand out in that case? He began slowly, trying out different ways. When the classical index-rules didn't apply, he went on to the ones he used to call the "Dark Arts 101"-indexes. Those were definitely Malfoy-esque, but could also be deciphered by any Death Eater. Not that it worked. After another three or so tries his head was pounding from the effort. Sighing, he put the script down. I can work on it any day. Right now I just need a break... Silently, he almost floated over the floor and into the next room. He realized he would not be able to concentrate as much as he wished to while the other boy was that far away – even if the pain had lessened greatly since they left that horrible little house at the end of nowhere, he was certainly curious about how far he could stray and still stay somewhat alert. He had to find information on this and why it affected him so... why his home made such a difference to his headache when only his proximity to Harry had seemed to matter before. Rousing from his contemplation, he decided to move the things he needed into his bedchamber. When he had finished doing that, he stood watching the silent figure on the bed for a moment, before seating himself.

"Silencio," he whispered, creating a wall of silence around himself and the most precious piece of furniture his father had ever bought him. Then he settled and let his hands rest on the sparkling white keys. A few chords later he remembered what his long absence at Hogwarts had begun taking away from him, letting his fingers play over the piano's keys with a speed that spoke of mastery. He run his fingers through complex sonnets of a wide range of classical composers, as the music flowed in the little space. Then he played a wide range of everything, straight from memory – musicals, muggle and magical movie themes alike, wizard psalms and bits and pieces of just about anything. Then, at last, he returned to his favourite – a piece so intimately tied to himself he could never play it to its fullest without weaving his own soul into the flashing fingers across the piano in the hardest piece he had ever learned.

As the last string fell silent inside the piano he stroked its wonderful ebony beauty. This beauty is unmatched, this love is unbreakable. Nothing can take it away from me... we'll be together forever and nobody will ever have the strength to tear us apart. He rose slowly and, with a wave of his wand, the piano began floating back into the other room. When that was finished he turned toward the bed, only to find a pair of piercing green eyes watching him intently, leaning on one elbow with the raven hair falling in its usual, messy way.

"It wasn't nice of you to silence the whole thing. I would have liked to listen."

"I don't give concerts, not even to you."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" The grin that was fixed in Harry's face was met by a cold stare.

"I'd have to owe you something, and something substantial at that, to ever play for you. Like I said, I don't give concerts."

"Then I'll just have to get that something, won't I?" Harry's comment ended the conversation as he went out of bed and yawned. "Better get ready, if we don't want Parkinson taking over the place." That, Draco could agree with.

They arrived in the Entrance Hall just minutes before the Slytherin girl, who came through the fireplace with the help of floo powder. She was dressed in lush, purple robes and had a light blue ribbon holding her long hair back.

"Pansy," Draco greeted her.

"Drake, sweetie," she smiled, until she saw his company, when the smile suddenly fell. "Potter?!" She spluttered the words out along with an expression of very real bewilderment.

"Parkinson." He nodded toward her, keeping his serenity, although he really wanted to grin childishly. This little game of the Slytherins' was actually rather fun.

"Blaise told me you had a guest, Drakie, but I assumed... well, this was slightly unexpected." Obviously, this girl had a little of the Slytherin wits about her, even if Harry guessed, from what he had seen of her those past years, that she wasn't too intelligent anyway. Draco only smiled.

"How were you planning to wreck my house this year, Pansy?" he wondered.

"Yeah, Drakie, you're going to love this..." she giggled, as they began changing her plans to fit the idea of a traditional Slytherin party – much of which Harry didn't understand a word.

--------------------------------------------

So, there will be no Ron and Hermione at the party, sorry. It would have been fun to try and make them get along with the Slytherins, but... honestly, do you think Draco would have been so stupid as to ruin his own party by inviting them? I don't.

The chapters seem to be getting longer and longer and I don't have a clue as to why... I'm still trying to keep them around 4 pages in Ms Word, but they just keep growing!

I think I'm out of my dead end now, I've got an idea... just let me polish it for a day or two. I would update sooner, but one of my betas goes to a really tough university abroad and the other just recently got the stuff from me... the way it looks right now, with this chapter length and the new ideas, finished work would be expected around 13 chapters or so (not less). Will tell you more when I know more. I was even thinking about translating it to Swedish just for the fun of it, but I probably won't have time for that.