A Rush of Blood to the Head

Harry was silent when the three children entered the ward, followed by Blaise's father. He did not move, or speak, or otherwise acknowledge his friends' presence - he merely stared at the landscape painting hanging on the otherwise empty wall of the ward.

A Hufflepuff scarf hung over one bedpost, and there was a small, Muggle photograph on Harry's bedside table, of him and Blaise, arms slung carelessly around one another, standing outside St. Margaret's Orphanage.

Blaise took only a second to take all this in.

'Harry,' he said, and finally, slowly, the younger boy turned his head to look at his visitors. 'Happy Christmas.'

The sentiment was echoed by Blaise's companions - Susan Bones of Hufflepuff House, and Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor. They each held out a gift, but Harry did not take them.

Instead, he began to sing. 'Dance for your daddy, my little laddie-'

'Neville!' a voice called out suddenly, from the other side of the dividing curtain, and the aforementioned boy donned an apologetic look.

'Sorry,' he said to Harry and the others, placing his gift on Harry's bed. 'I've got to go and say hello to Mum and Dad. I'll see you in a few minutes, okay?'

He darted off, before anybody had a chance to disagree, and Blaise stared after him for a moment, then shot his father a pleading look.

Johan Zabini got to his feet. 'Susie,' he said, 'come with me. You have five minutes, Blaise.'

'Thanks, dad,' Blaise responded, while Susie placed her gift with Neville's and then left.

'-dance for your daddy, my little man-'

Blaise sat carefully on the floor beside the younger boy, and Harry sidled closer almost automatically. 'I've missed you,' Blaise said. 'It's been… different at Hogwarts, without you there.'

'-you shall have a fishie-'

'Dumbledore says you're going to have to fight You-Know-Who, some day. There was a prophecy about it, even.'

Harry giggled slightly, through the words of his song. '-on a little dishie, you shall have a fishie-'

'Blaise! We're leaving!'

His head shot up, and then he looked back and leant towards Harry, brushing unruly black locks away from one ear and whispering, 'I'll see you at Easter, probably. Bye, Harry.'

Then in one swift movement, he twisted his head around and kissed the corner of Harry's mouth, leapt to his feet, deposited Harry's gift on the bed, and dashed away after his father, the strains of a childish melody drifting after him:

'-when the boat comes in…'