See the end for Author's Notes.

Chapter Seven

There were several good things to note about Harry's life following the Philosopher's Stone escapade. The first was that Marcus Flint did not in fact kill them. He was much too busy trying to pummel Oliver Wood from Gryffindor who was shouting threats about quidditch next season. (Harry wondered at Helena's strange insistence that the two were obviously in love with one another. He couldn't see how when not even Professor Snape's scowl would make Flint back down if he was heated enough.)

Hufflepuff ended up winning the house cup which was rather nice actually. They celebrated by sharing their sweets with the other tables. Harry quickly learned that Zacharias Smith and Ernie McMillan were not outliers for the badger house. Hufflepuffs, as it turned out, could be right scary bastards. Which made it all the more impressive that both Wood and Flint were silenced by a Hufflepuff prefect and goaded into accepting victory biscuits.

The second good thing was that despite being heavily dosed with a pain potion of some kind that made his arm feel like it was wrapped in a warm blanket and running on three hours of sleep from the night before, Harry managed six O's and an E (Astronomy, of course. He didn't have the luxury of being descended from a family who named their children after constellations). Luckily Malfoy had no room to brag as he got an E in History of Magic ("Binns has droned on and on about goblin wars for the last year! How was I supposed to know anything about MACUSA's Rappaport's Law?").

The third, final, and probably best of all three was this: Harry didn't have to go back to the Dursleys. Draco had invited Harry to spend the summer with him at Malfoy Manor. It was an invitation that Harry had no reserve in accepting even while considering the effects it would have on their rankings in the Slytherin hierarchy. Draco could enjoy the boost in his rank and Harry wouldn't have to worry about the Dursley's for another year. If he could manage to find his father soon, he might never have to again. He could spend Yule and Beltane at Hogwarts until that day. Everything was going rather well for Harry as he started his first summer of his new life. (And if Professor Snape still didn't look at him when he tried to wish the man goodbye, well Harry supposed he deserved that.)

The suite they gave him was across the hall from Draco's rooms and could fit the Slytherin dorms within them twice over. His bathroom was the size of the common room alone! And the bed was this monstrosity that felt like a cloud. Harry spent the first fifteen minutes in his room simply spread out onto the soft comforter. It smelled like lillies. Mrs. Baker of number six Privet Drive grew an assortment in her garden along the fence line that separated number four and six. (Aunt Petunia hated Mrs. Baker of number six.)

A knock at the door roused him from his mind wanderings. "Come in!" he shouted.

Draco opened the door with an exasperated huff. "Just so you know, it is improper to tell someone to open the door to your own suite. You have to open it yourself and invite them in."

"But I did just invite you in," Harry pointed out.

Draco sighed. It was the same one that Vincent and Daphne used when he had missed something they thought to be obvious. "But I'll remember to do so from now on," Harry continued before he could start in on his version of Daphne's "proper etiquette" rant.

"It won't matter much with us being peers, but if my mother or father come calling, you must rise to offer them entrance. They're your hosts and will respect what little privacy you are afforded while enjoying their hospitality."

Harry nodded again, a tad more seriously. Draco seemed to accept it as such because he smiled. "Right then. It is time for supper. I've just come to collect you."

At the mention of food Harry scurried off the bed, his own smile adorning his face. "Brilliant. I'm starved."

Draco's mouth twisted into a confused wrinkle when Harry came to a stop at his side. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

Harry glanced down at his tunic and pants. He had removed his robes as soon as they entered, following the lead of the Malfoys. It felt a bit strange not wearing them for the first time in almost a year but Draco wasn't wearing any either. "I am dressed."

Draco rolled his eyes. "For supper, Harry."

Harry looked at the boy like he had lost the plot. Draco's own expression of exasperation quickly turned into a mirror image. "By the gods Harry, we're not at school. In a proper household one gets dressed for the evening meal."

Harry had never heard of such a thing. "So... I should wear robes then?"

Draco flinched. 'Okay, not the right thing to say,' he thought to himself as the blond stormed towards the wardrobe his clothes had been put away in. "Please tell me you have something better than school robes and traveling clothes in your closet."

"I have a set of dress robes."

The look his classmate sent him clearly indicated that this was also not the right answer. "Dress robes are outerwear. Do you have a suit? A tunic made out of silk? A finer fabric of trousers? Dinner clothes, Harry! Do you have dinner clothes?"

By the end of this little tirade Draco was rummaging through Harry's wardrobe in a panic. He didn't seem to be finding whatever he had hoped to amongst the several pieces of fabric he began throwing out onto the nearby bed. "I just got a set of everyday clothes from Madam Malkin."

Draco froze. Slowly (a rather dramatic slowness Harry thought) his friend turned back to him with the most scandalized expression. "You actually bought clothes from Madam Malkin?"

Harry knew whatever he said next was going to be the wrong answer, but he had to say something. "Yes...?" He lengthened the word hoping to deter whatever explosion of snobbishness Draco was about to enact next. It was all for naught. "Mibby!"

A house elf popped into the room. Before it could say anything Draco turned to it with a most fearsome expression for a twelve year old. "Mibby go get me my forest green tunic from the Minister's inauguration and the obsidian trousers and doublet from last Yule."

When the elf disappeared he turned his gray gaze back on Harry. "Get undressed now. Where are the gifts Daphne gave you? I know she gave you that Sleekeazy's kit for Yule. Which one did you get?"

Harry resisted the urge he had to sigh heavily. Draco meant well, he really did. He was just annoying at the best of times and Harry had a very low tolerance for annoying people. He supposed that it was a monster trait. It made sense that his father's own lack of tolerance led him to torture and kill indiscriminately during the later years of his campaign.

Rather than answer, Harry turned to his trunk where his school books and other items were still tucked away. He noticed rather belatedly that the mysterious gift from Yule was still tucked away in his potions compartment and made a mental note to take it out and ask Mrs. Malfoy to test it for dangerous spells. He trusted her a bit more than Lucius Malfoy that was for sure. Hearing 'my father says...' on an endless loop through his first year had given him a rather healthy dislike for the Malfoy patriarch early on. No one's father could really be that great. (Well no one but the Dark Lord of course.) Harry grabbed the bag he had tucked the hair concoctions away in and passed it to Draco, already accepting that he was going to be manhandled into proper pureblood dinner attire. Honestly, Harry had had no idea that there was such a thing. It was his understanding that a member of the old houses were always well put together and only put forth any extensive effort for things such as Ministry gatherings or holidays and balls. Not a simple family dinner. "Oh! She's gotten you the extended treatment. This thing is worth a year's subscription to Goblins and Galleons."

Harry didn't know what Goblins and Galleons was, a newspaper maybe? Draco continued to prattle on as he walked towards the large basin that sat on the side of the room. "Come on then. We don't have enough time for the whole treatment, but we can at least detangle that nest of hair of yours," he said as he uncorked a vial and set it down.

Mibby returned just then with an outfit floating in the air next to her. "Mibby be shrinking the doublet and trousers for Young Master's guest. Can Mibby be doing anything else?"

"Excellent! Yes, Harry will need a quick rinse. Do his hair and have him dressed. I'll go stall my parents." And with that Draco bounded out of the room.

Harry turned to the three-foot tall creature. "I'm not going to get out of this am I?"

It blinked large oval eyes up at him. Harry sighed. "Alright. Do your worst."

By the time Harry was escorted down the hall, around the corner, down a flight of stairs, and up another hall to the dining room, his head still tingled uncomfortably from the potion and he had only just managed to loosen the cravat the elf had magically tied around his neck enough to be able to breathe. "Mister Potter," Lady Malfoy greeted as she came to a rise.

Draco and his father also rose and nodded in greeting. Harry bowed at the waist and only just managed not to trip over his own feet at the sudden light-headed spell from bending over too fast. "Lady Malfoy," he said in his best 'Heir Potter' voice (he had practiced with Daphne). "I am honored by your gracious hospitality in inviting me into your home."

"It is our honor," Lucius spoke up as he came to stand at his wife's side.

Lady Malfoy gave him a soft smile before motioning for them to sit once again. Harry found himself to the right of Lady Malfoy and across the table from Draco who kept making understated head gestures of some kind at him. Harry hoped the boy was satisfied with that terror of a house elf he had unleashed upon him. He decided he didn't much care for a creature that didn't have the good sense to be scared of a monster.

When Harry finally returned to the guest room set aside for him, it was with a sudden and unending loathing for the pointless protocol for what Draco insisted was a 'proper dinner'. There had been seven separate plates- courses- and although the portion sizes were small and Harry had managed to improve his appetite after a full year of Hogwarts meals, he had barely been able to finish the fourth one. By the time the seventh came around, the mere smell of food made his stomach ache. He decided he would never admit to being 'starved' while enjoying the Malfoy's hospitality again. For all he knew, Draco had told his parents and they had saw it as a challenge.

"Oh good you're still awake," came the sound of Draco's voice from somewhere behind Harry.

He groaned in dismay. The bed was soft enough that Harry was buried under miles of covers and pillows. This didn't keep his ally from pulling the pillow covering his face away. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to sleep..." Harry grumbled.

"Well, not in those clothes, you'll get them wrinkled. Take them off and set them aside. Mibby will make sure they are properly put away. Do you want some tea?"

Harry groaned again at the thought of putting anything else in his stomach. There was absolutely no way he was going to fit another bite of anything in there without bursting at the seams. "There are chocolate biscuits," Draco said.

As weak as only a boy who hadn't had chocolate for a decade could be, Harry immediately roused himself and followed Draco to the sitting area where Mibby was indeed setting down a platter of chocolate biscuits. Just to spite his stomach's protests Harry ate two. "You're lucky I checked on you," Draco said after he finished his fifth biscuit. "That could have been a disaster."

Harry had no idea how the boy wasn't as big as Dudley with the way he ate sweets. Even at Hogwarts the blond's sweet tooth was a thing of stories. He could out-sweet even Goyle and Vincent who both simply liked food as a whole. Furthermore, Harry had no idea what Draco was talking about just now. "What are you on about?"

"Be serious, Harry. You almost went to dinner in subpar clothing for no other reason than simple negligence. Can you imagine the look on mother's face if she had caught sight of you?"

Honestly Harry couldn't imagine Lady Malfoy looking anything more than the proper pureblood lady of a powerful house and said as such. Draco sniffed. "Yes, you're quite right. But still, father would have most definitely said something."

The simple act of imagining what the great and oh so wonderful Lucius Malfoy would have to say about Harry's attire seemed to feel Draco with an insurmountable amount of dread. It made Harry roll his eyes. "But we won't have to worry about that," Draco said hurriedly to dismiss the thought. "Get some rest. We're going on an outing tomorrow."

In a flurry of elf magic and well wishes for a good night's rest, both Draco and the tea set were cleaned up and whisked away. Harry still had his third biscuit in his hand where he had still been nibbling on it.

He stuffed the rest in his mouth and went about getting ready for bed. If they were going for an outing, did that mean they were going to Diagon Alley? He had a need of a few more books about his father. Harry was still trying to find a credible source that didn't breeze over his father's accomplishments and ideologies as some crusade to destroy everyone but dark magic wielders.

That night when he dreamed it was of his father's cloaked figure from the Mirror of Erised and Professor Quirrell's turban. Harry kept speaking to his father, but it was the turban that kept answering his questions. (Harry wondered briefly if the black smoke that had flown away from Quirrell's ashes was another monster?)

By the time that Mibby bid him to rise the following morning Harry hadn't slept well at all. He must have looked truly dreadful because the house elf set out a pepper up with yet another set of Draco's clothes that morning. Harry didn't make a single complaint through the two hour escapade of getting dressed (the majority of which was spent trying to tame his hair that had undone any effects that yesterday's treatment might have had overnight).

Breakfast at the Malfoy Manor was no less extravagant, but at least all the food was served all at once rather than as separate courses. Harry systematically sectioned and resectioned his porridge so that it looked like he had eaten some and palmed an apple for later in case he got hungry. Lucius was the first to excuse himself that morning with some important business to attend to at the ministry at the crack of dawn. Harry didn't envy him, but knew that one day he might have to do his father's bidding at sunrise for one reason or another. "It is best that we are off as well," Lady Malfoy announced not even ten minutes later.

Harry made no attempt at hiding his eagerness to leave the table. He hadn't wanted to take the journey back to his guest room when they were to leave at any minute. Draco set his cup down and patted his face with the napkin before he too rose. As expected, they flooed to Diagon Alley (an altogether horrible way of travel and Harry will not be repeating it any more than absolutely necessary). They made an efficient exit out of the Leaky Cauldron and were walking through Diagon Alley within minutes. When Lady Malfoy showed no signs of slowing her purposeful gait Harry became concerned. "Where are we going?" he dared to ask.

"Shopping, Mister Potter. Draco has informed me that you have a need for proper attire befitting an Heir of your status. We will seek to aid you in this endeavor."

Harry groaned. He hated shopping. "But I've already bought clothes from Madam Malkins."

"Yes. Madam Malkin's Robes for Every Occasion," Draco said. "She makes uniform robes like for ministry employees, Hogwarts students, or quidditch players. You don't go to her for actual clothing. That's what Twilfitt and Tattings is for."

Harry's confusion must have been obvious because Lady Malfoy explained.

"There are differences in craft, Mister Potter. You wouldn't go to a baker for a gauteau, you would go to a patisserie. The baker might be able to create a cake for you and it will be delicious, but it is the patisserie's craft. Obviously one would want the specialized craftsmen rather than the generalist."

Harry didn't know what a patisserie or a gateau was but assumed both had something to do with baking. "So it's the difference between going to an alchemist or a potioneer for a panacea. You would have to wonder if the potioneer was simply giving you a tonic or a bezoar solution and whether or not it was appropriate for your needs."

Draco beamed at him. "Exactly. So you can see why it is horrible that you bought clothes from Madam Malkins of all places. What if someone had called for my father at dinner and then seen you dressed as a pauper at our table? Can you just imagine the outcry?"

Harry, in fact, could imagine it and it sounded remarkably like Daphne's voice. "Then would it be inappropriate to get a regulation robe from T-tilfinch and Tatterings...?"

"Twilfitt and Tattings and no. They are capable and have access to the specific measurements, but it is a bit beneath them. It would be akin to asking a master herbalist to provide you with a dandelion flower."

Harry wanted to point out that dandelion was technically a weed and furthermore its roots came in very useful for certain types of potions, but he figured that was besides the point. You didn't ask a master for something you could get from a corner store apothecary.

"At least that explains why your attire is the way it is," Draco continued as they came to a stop in front of a violet-colored shop in one of the alleys that branched off of Diagon. "I had thought you were one of those progressive sorts like the Selwynns."

Harry wasn't sure what his choice in clothing had to do with his political views. He had known that pureblood customs and etiquette were convoluted and in some instances seemingly pointless. A lot of it was also contradictive. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the stitching on his inseam had an obscure meaning that indicated he was right handed. As it turned out, it wasn't anything nearly so specific. A pureblood traditionalist like the families Malfoy and Black simply had a more dated attire that was different to Harry's current fashion which was closer to 1940s Muggle attire.

The man and woman duo that ran the shop had been pleased when the Malfoys had walked in. They went completely mental when they discovered Harry was to purchase an entire set of summer and winter clothing. He never thought he'd have such a wide variety of shirts to choose from in so many shades of white and gray (cream and silver or eggshell and moonbeam or on and on and on), but he was sure that he had ten the exact same shade of white no matter what batty Master Twilfitt said. Then there were doublets, jerkins, and waistcoats which generally looked the same but Madam Tattings assured him was not. And breeches which were not to be confused with riding pants, both of which he would need fourteen sets of each on top of actual trousers which could be worn informally (seven sets). There wasn't a single pair of jeans in sight.

All of this was just the summer wardrobe, he was reminded after the fourth hour. Suffice it to say Harry would never again go shopping with the Malfoys. He never wanted to go shopping again and knowing the amount of clothes he had been coerced into purchasing he wouldn't need to. He would transfigure his own clothes for whatever growth spurt he might have, but damned if he was ever going to go into a store to buy even so much as a pair of socks again!

"Wasn't that fun?" Draco smiled.

Harry would have hexed his friend if Lady Malfoy wasn't right next to them. "I think I will have a stroll through the gardens upon our return. Would you boys care to join me?"

"Harry needs to do his next eye treatment and he will have to remain out of sunlight until tomorrow. We thank you for the invitation," Draco answered for the both of them before Harry could get in a word edgewise.

When they flooed back into the atrium of Malfoy Manor, Harry turned on the blond as soon as the Lady disappeared amongst the endless halls. "I would actually have liked to see the grounds. I've been cooped up inside all summer."

Draco rolled his eyes. The hierarchical status that they held while at school did not seem to affect the boy's interactions with Harry within his own home, not that he had expected it to. What was disheartening was that he was sure Draco would take this newfound informalness and bring it back to Hogwarts with him. Vincent was bound to find the entire situation amusing when he visited in two weeks.

"You never attend mother when she visits the garden. It is where she goes when she wants time to herself. I believe she feels at peace there."

"Then why did she ask us if we wanted to go?"

"Good manners. You are experiencing her hospitality. Of course she would offer the opportunity for a guest to come along."

Harry had no doubt that if he had been allowed to accompany her, the Lady Malfoy would have been as kind and cordial as she had been his entire stay. The perfect hostess. "Your mum's pretty amazing."

"Oh please," Draco scoffed. "I have a mother, not a mum. And of course she is. She's a Malfoy."

Harry wanted to point out that Lady Malfoy hailed from the House of Black but refrained. It was more likely to start an argument than prove a point and he had already filled his weekly quota of sanity he could waste on Draco Malfoy. True to his earlier claim, the blond did make Harry take his next eye treatment and he spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled out on the bed with watering eyes and talking about all the foreign wizarding cities that Draco has visited, of which there were many. Harry thought that his favorite thus far was Byzantium in modern day Istanbul. Draco said that it was warded similar to Paris, where the wizarding world existed in an 'alternate' space of its own next to the muggles. A lot of older magical cities were like that even before the Statute was imposed.

By the time it was ready to get dressed for the evening meal Harry had taken to staring at everything they passed in the halls. When they had went to Diagon Alley earlier he had still needed to wear his glasses to see anything more than a few meters in front of him with any clarity but had noted the difference in clarity. Now it was obvious that he hadn't really been able to see much differently at all. He could see the different shades in the shadows that flickered across the walls from the dozens of chandeliers that hung from the ceilings. The portraits looked more life-like in his vision than people had with his old glasses (although several of them rebuked him for staring so openly).

Draco, for his part, was no help at all and snickered the whole time, allowing Harry to gawp at the manor to the point where they were late for the evening meal and a house elf was sent to retrieve them. "Young Masters are requested in the dining hall by the Lady Malfoy," quivered the new house elf that stared at Harry with large round eyes.

Harry blinked at the sudden appearance of the creature then immediately frowned. The thing looked absolutely wretched. What Harry had always assumed to be some sort of uniform now appeared to be a grimy pillowcase. It's fingers on it's right hands were covered with bandages and Harry was sure he saw a bruise peaking out from its pillowcase. "Come along, Harry," Draco said, grabbing his arm and pulling him past the shaking elf. "I think we've had enough time staring at the portraits. Onward to dinner."

Harry spared one final look behind him to look at the house elf once more.

The elf was gone.

A/N: One of my favorite things about being a reader of UA and AU fanfictions (Universe Alterations and Alternate Universes, respectively) is to read the author add more to a part of the canon world that wasn't heavily visited within the series. For the Harry Potter fandom, this tends to be pureblood households and some more orthodox practices that the more traditionalist houses would potentially practice. Like I'm not saying all wizarding families didn't practice Christmas, but it seems rather silly to expect the older houses to practice something that is probably originally a "Muggle holiday". Some of the oldest generation of magical folk can probably remember a time when their grandparents or great-grandparents didn't practice the holiday (if we consider that a magical lifespan is somewhere in the ballpark of 170 years (or reasonably double of a Muggle's life span)). So I play around with traditions of these older households and other silly rules and whatnot they would observe.

But, otherwise, this was a good stopping point for this chapter and it offers a lot of extra information. Severus and Harry will be butting heads the entire year, so don't expect anything different in the next few chapters. Tom is marked to show up soon so look forward to future updates.

Also, for any of you re-reading this story, this is probably the first moment of obvious edits that weren't in the original story. It's the starting point I recommend anyone who won't mind an additional read through to start at because the next two chapters are completely new additions to the January 2021 updates and as such fills in more plot holes. Otherwise, I've directed others to the actual part that starts after the Chamber of Secrets debacle. Totally up to you where you wish to read.

À la prochaine~

Updated: January 2021