Draco thinks this must be the worst Christmas he's ever had. He's dreadfully hungover and he and Harry are supposed to be at his parents' house in half a hour. He's not showered. He doesn't know what to wear. But those things are the least of his problems. The first of which is sitting upright without vomiting. His head throbs and he allows himself to lay flat for another twenty seconds.

If he can just get to the kitchen, he knows he has some Weasley's Wizard Wheezes anti-hangover potions. But the kitchen is two floors below him and that feels like an impossible distance.

He supposes he could try summoning them, but in his state, he's just as likely to get them halfway up the stairs before his magic just gives up. He lets out a small sob. Mother is going to kill him if he's late.

Well, being alive was nice while it lasted.

"You're a saint," Draco mumbles as Harry hands over an anti-hangover potion.

"I know," Harry says. "That's why you always called me Saint Potter in school."

"Exactly. Got it in one."

"Prat," Harry says affectionately. He bends down and kisses Draco briefly on the nose before disappearing into the bathroom. Draco hears the shower turn on. He groans, then forces himself to sit up. Uncapping the potion, he throws it back in one go, shuddering at the bitter aftertaste. A moment later, the warmth from the potion starts to spread through his body and he feels well enough to get out of bed.

He joins Harry in the shower for expediency's sake, batting Harry's wandering hands away as he lathers shampoo into his hair.

"We have to leave in fifteen minutes."

"Fine," Harry says. "I'll go get dressed." He squeezes Draco's left butt cheek as he leaves and Draco glares after him. By the time that Draco gets out of the shower, Kreacher has laid out an outfit for him. He blinks in surprise and looks over at Harry.

"Kreacher's got great taste," Harry says. "Better than mine at least."

"Kreacher is knowing all about pureblood Christmas customs," Kreacher intones. "He is telling Master Harry to wear complementary colored dress robes." Draco looks at Harry again and sees that he is indeed wearing dress robes in a deep navy, which complement the rich gold robes Kreacher has set out for him.

"Kreacher, you are the best house elf," Draco gushes and Kreacher beams. Draco throws on the robes, drags a comb through his hair and then they make their way downstairs. Harry picks up a box by the fireplace and Draco looks at him, confused as they've already sent Kreacher ahead with their presents for his parents.

"They're Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Super Deluxe Christmas Crackers," Harry says. "I thought they might be fun."

"You think my parents are fun?"

"Your parents had a long standing bet on when you would get together with me. I think they're more fun that you realize." Draco scowls but he doesn't say anything further on the subject. Instead, he picks up a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle and throws it into the grate. Then they're on their way.

Pansy is miserable. There's no other word for it. She's at her mother's annual Christmas dinner, surrounded by family and her Great Aunt Bertie has asked her four times already about her love life and is now asking her again. It's not Great Aunt Bertie's fault that her memory is going, but it sure is making it difficult for Pansy to keep a smile on her face. It feels a little rigid as is.

Her sister, Daisy, is on Bertie's other side and Pansy wishes she would just blather on about her busy, vapid socialite life instead, but of course Daisy won't do that. She's far too interested in making sure Pansy's Christmas is hell.

"So you're dating Gregory Goyle?" Daisy asks, leaning forward to look at Pansy around Great Aunt Bertie.

"What of it?" Pansy asks. Irritation flares in her chest, making her perhaps more fond of Greg than she has been in the past few weeks.

"Oh, nothing," Daisy says. She picks up her wine glass, pinky extended, and takes a long sip. "It's just," she pauses and puts down the glass. She brings a finger up to her lip and pretends to look thoughtful. "He's just so, oh, what's the word?"

"Much more attractive than your boyfriend?" Pansy asks, lacing her words with syrup. Pansy knows that Greg's been in recent editions of Witch Weekly, thanks to his association with Harry, and he was listed in the Top Fifty Hottest Wizards of 2008. She also knows that Daisy will have seen this.

"I was going to say lower class," Daisy says. "He works in a bookshop for Merlin's sake."

"We can't all have affairs with members of the Wizengamot who are fifteen years our senior," Pansy snipes back. "How is dear Hector, anyway? Has he left his wife for you yet?" Daisy makes a face at Pansy, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue.

"Girls," Great Aunt Bertie admonishes. "It's Christmas. Now Pansy, dear, tell me more about your young fellow. What's his name again?" Pansy plasters the grin back on her face and vows to drink as much of the wine as she can before her mother cuts her off.

Harry knows that if he can just get through lunch with the Malfoys, he has dinner with the Weasleys to look forward to. Not that he's dreading the lunch with Draco's family, but he would be lying if he said he was looking forward to it. Still, they are here now, so he is going to make the best of it.

Narcissa greets them as they step out of the fireplace. She sweeps Draco into her arms and then, to Harry's surprise, does the same with him. He brings his arms up awkwardly and pats her gently on the back. Lucius is more more straightforward and just shakes Harry's hand.

They follow the senior Malfoys into a different sitting room than the last time they had visited, which Harry realizes with a jolt was when Draco had come out to them. It seems like forever ago. In that time they've become a real couple and fallen in love. He can honestly tell Narcissa that he would do anything to keep her son safe. Not that he wouldn't have before, but now he can certainly keep Draco's heart safe too.

As they walk into the living room, Harry almost stops walking. The room is decked from head to toe in Christmas decorations. There is tinsel festooning down from the ceiling; there are stockings hanging over a roaring fireplace; there are Christmas pillows on all of the chairs and sofas. But the most magnificent part is the gigantic Christmas tree that sits in the corner of the room. Looking at it, Harry estimates that it must be at least twelve feet tall. It's covered in sparkling, colorful ornaments and topped with a silvery star. As they walk closer to the tree, Harry spots some obviously handmade ornaments, most likely made by a young Draco. He itches to go and inspect them, but Narcissa is ushering them onto the sofa and so he sits.

"Right then," Narcissa says, beaming at them. "Time for presents." She snaps her fingers and a house elf appears and begins to ferry presents out from under the tree. After a few minutes, both Draco and Harry have a small pile of gifts in front of them — Draco's is larger, of course — and Harry is starting to feel as though they should have brought more things for Draco's parents.

"This is so kind of you," he says to help assuage his guilt. "You didn't need to get me anything."

"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa says. "You're Draco's boyfriend." Harry blushes, touched by their inclusion of him into their holiday tradition.

"You first, mum," Draco says, indicating her pile of presents. Narcissa reaches out and picks up a box that is on the towards the top of the stack. She lifts it up to her ear and shakes it.

"Hmm," she says, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I think it's a portrait of General Coldwell riding a dragon." Draco rolls his eyes and Harry looks sideways at him, unsure of what is going on.

"Family tradition," Draco says, leaning into Harry to whisper in his ear. "We try to come up with the most bizarre and outlandish incorrect guess for each gift."

"Right," Harry says and then watches as Narcissa opens the Hermès scarf that Draco had bought her in Paris.

"Oh darling," she says. "It's beautiful." She immediately wraps it around her neck. Draco beams.

"Dad," he says. "You next."

Lucius regards his presents for a moment before selecting a small, oddly shaped parcel. Harry thinks this must be from Narcissa as he does not recognize the wrapping paper. He holds it up to his ear and shakes it, the same way that his wife had.

"Sandwiches," he says confidently and then tears open the paper. It is not sandwiches, though Harry cracks a grin at the guess. Instead it is a beautiful remembrall that glows red as Lucius holds it.

"Thank you, darling," he says. He looks over at Narcissa. "Of course, you know I shall never remember what it is I've forgotten." Narcissa lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

"It might help," she says and Lucius reaches out to squeeze her hand wearing the warmest expression Harry thinks he's ever seen Lucius wear. He's lucky, he thinks, to see the Malfoys in this unguarded manner.

"Harry," Draco says. "You now." Harry feels a nudge to his side and he obliges by picking up one of the gifts in his pile. He pauses, then brings it up to his ear and shakes it.

"Tricky," he says, stalling for time as he attempts to think up something humorous enough. "But I think it might be a 'grow your own mandrake' kit." Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees the corner of Narcissa's mouth twitch. He figures that's the best he'll get and so carefully rips open the paper. It is not a 'grow your own mandrake' kit. It's a buttery soft cashmere jumper in a beautiful turquoise color.

"Thank you," he says, his voice breathy in his excitement. He pulls the jumper out of its box and holds it up against his chest. "It's lovely." Before he can say any more, Draco interrupts him with an excited,

"My turn!"

They go around in a circle of present opening for what feels like no time but ends up being several hours before they adjourn for lunch. By that point, Narcissa and Lucius have exhausted their piles, but Harry and Draco still have a few to go. Harry is amazed at the Malfoys' generosity and he remarks on it several times as they make their way over to the dining room. Each time, Narcissa graciously tells him he's more than welcome. After a point, he stops.

Lunch is a much fancier Christmas lunch than Harry has ever had. They start with blinis covered in creme fraiche and caviar and accompanied by champagne. It's a far cry from his usual Weasley Christmas, but Harry supposes he should have expected that.

The caviar course is followed by a plate of fresh, buttered pasta covered in shaved white truffles. Harry is dying to ask Draco if his family always eats this well, but can't find a way to do that without the senior Malfoys overhearing. So instead, he just savors the food and tries not to think about it too much. The savoring part is easy enough at least.

Between the pasta course and the main, Harry decides to broach the subject of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes crackers. Draco looks concerned but Lucius and Narcissa appear delighted. Which means either that they are delighted, or they are not but are very polite.

"Thank you all for coming," Pansy's mother is saying. Pansy is glowering at her from a couch in the corner of the room. They have moved onto her least favorite part of Christmas Day: her mother's white elephant party. There are more people here than ever before which means it's going to last longer than ever before. Pansy thinks she would rather crucio herself than sit through it. But she has to, and so she sits in the corner and glowers.

"Sorry we're late," comes a voice from the foyer. Pansy looks up in time to see Roisin McLaggen enter the room, followed a moment later by Cormac. Well fuck.

Cormac's face lights up in a smile as soon as he sees Pansy and he makes a beeline across the room to sit next to her.

"I can't even escape you on my days off?" she hisses at him.

"Happy Christmas to you too," he says. He reaches over and squeezes her upper arm affectionately. Perhaps it is the wine, but Pansy's first inclination isn't to flinch away the way that it normally would be. It's either the wine or the fact that last night had actually been rather fun. Pansy stops herself there. Because there's no way that she's starting to like Cormac McLaggen, is there?

A house elf appears in front of Cormac to take his drink order. Pansy convinces the elf to bring her a fresh glass of pinot noir as well, even though she's only halfway through her current glass. Cormac raises his eyebrows at her but says nothing, which makes her like him just a little bit more. Which only means that maybe he's not the absolute worst. She shifts slightly in her seat until she's not quite as close to him and raises her glass to her lips.

"Did you hear?" he whispers, leaning right back into her space again.

"Hear what?" She spares a worried glance at her mother, but Rosemary is loudly explaining the rules of the game and ignoring her daughter.

"Winola Swinn turned up on her parents' doorstep this morning, disoriented but unharmed."

"What?" Pansy gasps. "Why weren't we called in?"

"It's Christmas, Pans," Cormac says. "Hermione has one of the other hit wizards dealing with her. She sent me a message and said not to worry about it today. We'll question her after the holiday." Pansy's watch is upstairs in her bedroom at her mother's request, so she imagines she has just missed the message.

"Fine," she mutters.

"Cheer up," Cormac says, nudging her in the ribs. "It's Christmas." Pansy groans.

"You haven't been subjected to my great aunt's questions about your love life."

"You're dating Greg, aren't you?" Cormac asks.

"Yes, but—" and then Pansy stops herself. Cormac is absolutely the wrong person with whom to talk about her relationship concerns.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing," Pansy says quickly. The house elf reappears at that moment holding their drinks, so Pansy downs the last of her glass of wine and collects the new one.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"What? No. It's nothing." Pansy is saved further conversation by the beginning of the game. Her mother waves her wand and scraps of parchment bearing numbers appear in every guest's hand. Pansy looks down at hers. It reads twenty-seven. She frowns at it. It's going to take forever to get through that many people.

"Oh, snap," Cormac says. "I've got twenty-eight."

"We both have to sit through an age and a half then," Pansy says. She slumps back into the couch cushions. After a moment, Cormac does the same. She can feel him beside her. Though they're not touching, he's very close. Pansy finds she doesn't mind.

The Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Crackers are a certified hit. When Harry and Draco pull the first one, an actual firework dragon flies out as the cracker booms. The dragon circles the table a couple of times, breathing sparks over them, before it fizzles out. Narcissa beams and claps her hands in excitement.

"That was wonderful," she gushes. Harry can't wait to tell George about this. He'll be thrilled.

The hat that pops out of the cracker is a purple glitter covered top hat and the gift is a pair of sticky trainers. Harry thinks they could come in use on missions, and not for the first time he wonders if the Ministry, or more precisely the Unspeakables, should hire George to create gadgets for them. Harry picks up the sparkling top hat and puts it on his head. Then he watches as Narcissa and Lucius pull another cracker which releases a galloping golden horse firework.

By the time they've finished with all their crackers, Draco is wearing a knitted hat shaped like a frog, topped with large, knitted googly eyes, Narcissa is wearing a silver sequined beret, and Lucius has a flower festooned, wide brimmed hat that Harry thinks would not be out of place at Ascot. Everyone seems pleased with their hats and their gifts and so they all tuck into the main course — beef tenderloin, roast potatoes and creamed spinach — with gusto.

The conversation flows surprisingly naturally. Harry supposes it's because he has Draco in common with the senior Malfoys and most of the conversation is centered around him, but even still, he's pleasantly surprised. Draco regales his parents with the story of Harry and the snowbank and Harry even musters up a self-deprecating smile, helped along by the very good wine that the Malfoys are serving.

Really though, Harry thinks, looking around the table. He could almost imagine himself in this family. And isn't that a strange thought. Not that he's ready to marry Draco or anything like that. But it's nice to think that it's a possible future. He catches Draco's eye and Draco smiles, still chattering to his mother, and warmth blooms in Harry's chest.

His sentimental thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of dessert. One minute, there is nothing in the middle of the table and the next there is a towering cake covered in whipped cream, chocolate shavings and cherries.

"This isn't the usual Bûche de Noël," Draco says, looking back and forth between his parents. Narcissa shrugs.

"But it's your favorite," she says. "So we decided to have it instead." Draco grins and Harry makes a mental note to get Draco this cake for his birthday.

A house elf appears and cuts the cake quickly before passing it out and disappearing again. Harry digs into his cake with gusto. While everything in the meal has been delicious, this might be his favorite thing. The richness of the chocolate cake is complemented by the the whipped cream and cut by the tartness of the cherries. He savors it, just as he's savoring this entire afternoon, and when he sits back to look around the room once he's finished eating, he feels nothing but contentment.

Two more glasses of wine later, Pansy's number is called. She stands, perhaps a bit unsteadily, and makes her way to the middle of the room. She makes a show of looking at all of the gifts under the tree before she turns to one party goer and points to the bottle of Ogden's Finest that he's holding.

"Sorry, Nigel," she says. "I'm stealing the whisky." Nigel puts on an exaggeratedly sullen look but hands over the bottle. Pansy takes it and makes her way back to her seat. Nigel chooses a different present from under the tree to replace his stolen gift, but Pansy pays him no mind.

Then it's Cormac's turn. He doesn't even bother to stand up. He just turns to Pansy and holds his hands out.

"What?" she cries. "That's not fair." He smiles beatifically at her and she glowers at him as she hands over her whisky.

"The Ogden's has been stolen twice," Rosemary Parkinson says. "It stays with Mr. McLaggen."

"I hate you. We are no longer friends," Pansy hisses as she stalks past him to the middle of the room again. This time she chooses a gift from under the tree and opens it while everyone watches. Things could be worse, she supposes, because the gift she's opened is nicer than the bottle of whisky. It's a thick cashmere throw blanket in a slightly odd olive green color. That it's in the White Elephant gift pile at all is an indication that it was geminio'd from another blanket, and poorly at that, if the color is any indication. But cashmere is cashmere, so Pansy's not complaining.

"Do you still hate me?" Cormac asks as she sinks back down on to the couch next to him.

"Yes," she says. "I wanted that whisky."

"What if I shared it with you?"

"You could, but I'm not sharing the blanket in return," she says. She unfolds the blanket and places it over her legs. She pointedly does not let any of it cover Cormac. He pouts at her and she rolls her eyes. "No," she reiterates.

"Not even for a bit? Your mother keeps the house so cold." He gives a fake shiver and she glares at him, but it's a wine soaked glare, so it's not her most effective.

"Suit yourself then," he says. He uncorks the whisky and pours a measure into his empty glass. He looks her right in the eye as he raises it to his lips and takes a sip. Pansy feels a blush rise in her cheeks and to distract him, she says,

"Fine," and makes a fuss of pulling the blanket up in order to place it over him as well. Trust McLaggen to get under her skin like that.

"Lovely," he says. He hands her the bottle and then leans back in the cushions. He pulls the blanket up and over one shoulder, keeping the hand holding his drink above the throw. "Now I shan't freeze to death." He takes another sip and Pansy takes this as a sign that she should claim her half of this bargain. Making sure that her mother is distracted by the party, she clicks her fingers to summon a house elf. The elf takes her half finished wine and hands her a fresh, empty glass, into which she pours her allotment of whisky. She reaches over and clinks her glass to Cormac's and that's when she feels his hand slide gently onto her left knee.

Pansy turns to stare at Cormac, but he's pointedly watching the next person in the White Elephant game. So she debates her options. She could remove his hand, presumably without causing a scene. She could get up and get something from the other room — her jumper perhaps. She could break her whisky glass and stab his hand with the shards of it. But that seems rather too extreme. And there is another problem: she likes the feel of his hand there. Curse everything, but she likes it.

She shifts her leg, almost without meaning to, as if in thinking she should stay still, she ends up doing the opposite, and his fingers move up a few centimeters, where they reach the edge of her dress. She bites her lip and tries to bring her heart rate under control.

"So you mentioned Swinn was back home?" she asks Cormac, bringing his attention back to her. He turns to face her, angling his chest so that he's facing her. His hand slides higher, under her dress now, and Pansy barely manages to keep her face impassive.

"Yes," Cormac says. "She arrived home this morning." Pansy shifts her weight slightly, opening her knees more and Cormac takes the opportunity to pull her leg up and over his, sliding along the sofa cushions until his hip is pressed up next to her. He pauses there, his eyes questioning. She nods almost imperceptibly even though a part of her is telling her that this is a bad idea. But that voice is quickly drowned by whisky and hormones.

"And she didn't say where she'd been?"

"Granger didn't mention it." His hand moves farther up her leg and Pansy's breath hitches in her throat. "It was a short message." Pansy looks around the room, terrified that someone is going to see what's happening, but they're in a rather dark corner of the room and most people are more interested in the gift opening that is still going on.

And it's a good thing, because a few seconds later, Cormac's fingers drift underneath the fabric of her underwear. Her eyes snap back to his and she realizes he has been looking at her the entire time. Her lips part as she gazes back. His fingers start to move and it quickly becomes apparent that Cormac knows what he's doing, and oh, Circe, Pansy's in trouble. Any thoughts of saying no, or stopping this fly from her head.

"I expect we'll be able to question her on Monday then?" she asks after a few minutes. She is doing her best to keep her voice steady but she's pretty sure she's failing.

"Most likely." His fingers become more insistent and suddenly Pansy can't take it any more. She sucks in a breath.

"Fuck this. You. Third door on the left down the corridor," she whispers. "Now." She forces herself to rise, hoping her dress will fall naturally back down and clutches the blanket in front of her until she's sure that it does. Then she leaves and makes her way to the door she'd mentioned. She pushes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. She stares at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed and her pupils are wide. She makes a quick attempt to neaten her hair but then the door opens behind her and she turns and practically throws herself onto Cormac.

He doesn't waste time with words, just presses his mouth to hers and Pansy melts. She fumbles with the door behind him, making sure to turn the key in the lock, and then brings her hands up to clutch his face closer. He wraps his arms around her waist and steers her backwards until her back hits the vanity counter. He boosts her up onto it, not breaking away from their kiss, and pushes her dress up with one hand.

Pansy busies herself with his belt buckle and she shortly has his trousers undone. She stops there, because once she's gotten his trousers down, there really is no going back. He senses her hesitation and pauses, pulling his head back to look at her.

"Are you okay?" he asks. She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and chews on it as she stares at him. He really is irritatingly attractive, with his softly curling golden hair and deep blue eyes. Not to mention the abs she can feel underneath his shirt. Sure, he can be boorish and arrogant, but his manners have improved since the early days of hit wizard training. He's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but he's not the worst option. What about Greg, a small voice in the back of her head asks. What about him? She's quite sure now that she's going to break up with Greg. She's known it for weeks now, even if part of her has been in denial. And now, staring at Cormac, she knows she can't stay with him any longer.

"Yes," she says. Cormac's face breaks into a grin and he reaches up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"You're so beautiful," he says, before leaning in and kissing her again. Pansy's heart rate picks up and her hands go back to his trousers. She pulls them down, taking his underwear with them, and his erection springs free. She takes him in her hand as he tugs rather ineffectually at her panties. He growls and reaches into his jacket pocket for his wand.

"What are you—?" she starts to ask when he then vanishes her underwear. She stares at him for a moment, trying not to laugh because she knows he was trying to be sexy even as she finds it hilarious. But then he summons a condom and then all she can think about is how much she wants him inside of her. She says as much and he smirks at her.

"Happily," he says. He pulls the condom out of its wrapper and rolls it on. Then he pulls her to the edge of the vanity, steadying her with his arms, and spreads her legs wide. She leans slightly back and then stifles a moan as he enters her. As he begins to move his hips, she puts a hand on herself, continuing what he had started.

It doesn't take long. She'd already been well on the way when she'd suggested they meet in the bathroom. So the combination of the friction from Cormac's cock and the movement of her hand soon has her gasping in pleasure, arching her back and hitting her head on the mirror behind her. Cormac isn't far behind her, shuddering in his release and whispering her name like a prayer.

"Thank you," she whispers once she starts to think straight again. He nods into her shoulder, still too blissed out to respond. He slips out of her and picks up his wand again. He vanishes the spent condom and cleans himself up before reaching down to pull up his trousers.

"Are you going to return my underwear?" Pansy asks. Cormac shakes his head.

"I want you thinking about me for the rest of the afternoon," he says. Pansy rolls her eyes. "Also I can't get them back." She sighs.

"May I?" She indicates his wand and he raises his eyebrows but hands it over. She uses it to summon a new pair of underwear from her bedroom. She hops down down the vanity and pulls them on. Then she smirks at him and hands his wand back.

"See you around," she says and then walks out of the bathroom without a backwards glance.

...

Once they finish lunch, Harry and the Malfoys head back to the sitting room. While they've been eating, the house elves have tidied their piles of presents and cleared away any crumpled, spent wrapping paper. Harry and Draco each have three more gifts to open and Harry has come up with what he thinks are humorous guesses for his. He picks up a small, rectangular package from his pile and holds it up to his ear. He shakes it.

"I think," he says. "This is a Firebolt X." Draco catches his eye and smirks at him. Harry is pleased with this response and so tears open the paper. He misses that Narcissa looks at Lucius with a similarly amused expression. Had he noticed it, he would have been less surprised that when he looks down at what he thought was maybe a pen, he sees the words Firebolt X on the box.

"What?" he says dumbly. He stares at it. He is still staring at it when Narcissa walks over and taps it with her wand. The box expands to the size of a broomstick. "I," Harry stammers. "What?" Narcissa smiles warmly at him and he remembers his manners. "Thank you so much! This is incredible."

Harry stands up and throws his arms around her. She stiffens in surprise for a moment before she lays her arms gently on his back. After a long moment he lets her go. He looks over at Lucius and thanks him too, a huge grin on his face. Lucius gives him a small smile in return. When Draco opens his own Firebolt X, Harry has to bite back a desire to suggest they play quidditch in the gardens. This desire is made even stronger when their two remaining gifts turn out to be new sets of quidditch pads and flying robes.

"These are brilliant," Draco says. "Thanks Mum. Thanks Dad."

"Yes," Harry says. "Thank you both so much."

"You are most welcome," Lucius says. "Now then." He claps his hands together. "Why don't you two go put those on so that Narcissa and I can spectate some Seekers' Games, eh?" Draco turns to his father and raises an eyebrow.

"Have you got a bet going on us again?" he asks.

"Of course not," Lucius says, far too quickly.

"No, darling," Narcissa says. "We have several bets." Draco slaps a hand to his forehead and Harry bursts out laughing.

"I won't do it," Draco says.

"Why not?" Harry asks. "Scared, Malfoy?" Draco turns to him and narrows his eyes.

"You wish."

"Let's go get changed, so I can trounce you once and for all then." Draco reaches over and shoves him but Narcissa claps her hands and interrupts by shooing them out of the room. Draco sighs but drags himself to his feet. Harry follows him out into the entrance hall and they move towards the stairs. They're halfway across the room when Draco stiffens and stops walking.

"What is it?" Harry asks. Draco shakes his head and makes a beeline for the side table.

"I can't believe it," he whispers, picking up a scroll of parchment that had been lying there. "I can't fucking believe it."

"Believe what?"

"This," Draco all but yells, brandishing the scroll at Harry. Before Harry can ask any more, Draco is pushing past him and stalking back into the sitting room.

"Draco," Harry calls after him, but Draco ignores him, so Harry follows him. Narcissa and Lucius look up in surprise as they cross the threshold.

"What is this?" Draco asks Lucius, walking up to him and waving the parchment in his face.

"What is what, darling?" Narcissa asks him. She glances at Harry but all he can do is shrug, wide eyed and confused.

"Dad, why do you have a letter from the Simurgh Society?" Draco asks. "Why?" Ice slides into Harry's stomach and just like that, he thinks, the day is ruined.


I'm juggling 4 different stories right now. I'm so sorry that this is so late.