A/N: Okay I realise it has been a very, very, very long time since I last posted. I've had a lot going on :( However, I have now officially finished school, meaning I have a lot more free time over the next couple of months :) It's hard to believe that I started working on the Christmas scene when it was actually Christmas and I'm still writing it in May.

This kind of became more detailed than I originally planned it, so there's going to have to be a part three as well, which I promise will be up in the next week.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Thirteen

For several long moments, Draco simply stared at his mother.

"How are you here?" he asked eventually, "I thought … I thought you were in Azkaban."

He hadn't been able to bring himself to contact his parents, or even to ask Potter what their sentence had been. He'd been sure they would both be sentenced to life in Azkaban. He supposed once his own sentence was up he'd have tried to find out, so that he could go and visit them, but until then he hadn't really wanted to think about his parents. He was torn between never wanting to see them again after everything they'd put him through, and desperately wanting them to be safe. He'd sort of hoped that if he just didn't think about them for long enough then maybe his anger towards them would go away.

It hadn't worked. As he looked at his mother standing on the doorstep, his emotions towards her were as complicated as ever.

"Harry Potter spoke at my trial," she said, "He testified that I'd saved his life by lying to the Dark Lord. Which is true, but he made it sound far more heroic and unselfish than it really was. I was pardoned completely."

"And Father?"

"Three years in Azkaban. It's not as long as it could have been. He was treated more leniently because he didn't actually fight in the Battle of Hogwarts, and because he didn't have a wand for the last year. But there are still all his actions from before that."

"Oh." Draco wasn't sure what to think of that. His father deserved Azkaban; he knew that. And the prison wasn't nearly so bad now the dementors were gone.

"Why don't you come in?" Ginny said politely, gesturing for the two women to make their way through to the living room. She paused for a moment outside the door with Draco.

"Nobody meant to offend you with that jumper," she said quietly, "Mum knits them by hand every year, for everyone in the family. She said it was a shame that people so often just wear the colours of their house. She always makes Harry a green one, to match his eyes, and she thought red would suit you. It's got nothing to do with Gryffindor or Slytherin."

She walked into the room to join everyone else in cooing over the little blue-haired child, but Draco stayed standing outside the door. He was still processing something Ginny had said. She'd said that everyone in the family got a jumper. He wasn't a Weasley.

But as he slipped quietly back into the room, he realised that the Weasleys seemed to have a looser definition of family than the one he was used to. Yes, all the Weasleys were wearing a jumper, but so were Harry, Hermione and Dudley. And Andromeda was just unwrapping a tiny blue jumper handed to her my Molly Weasley, which she slipped over the head of the little child.

Draco had to blink tears from his eyes. What had he ever done to deserve being drawn into this extended family? He hadn't even met Molly Weasley properly before today, and yet she'd spent the time considering what colour would suit him, and then knitted him a jumper.

Flushing a little at the way he'd behaved, he grabbed the jumper from the floor where he'd dropped it and pulled it over his head. Most of the family didn't notice, still too focused on the newcomers, but George turned and grinned at him.

It occurred to Draco suddenly that this must be George's first Christmas without his brother. In fact, the whole family must be painfully aware of Fred's absence today. How did they manage to enjoy themselves like this without him?

He didn't have long to consider the question. His mother drew him over to join them.

"Draco, I don't think you've ever met your Aunt Andy properly," she said, her tone regretful, "And this is her grandson, Teddy." Draco smiled and shook Andromeda's hand, suddenly remembering who exactly Teddy was. He was the son of Draco's cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus Lupin. Both of whom had been killed at Hogwarts. So this was Andromeda's first Christmas without a loved one, too.

How was it that they could all be so cheerful?

Molly Weasley beamed at him when she saw the jumper he was wearing.

"Yes, the red complements your hair nicely," she mused, "So many young people your age wear such dark, dull colours. But you really are dreadfully pale, my dear. Comes of being cooped up in that awful house all the time, I suppose. And you're looking very thin. I do hope Harry's feeding you properly?"

Draco was quick to assure her that Harry provided him with plenty of food, and that his skin was just naturally pale. Then he thanked her for the jumper. It seemed impossible that a single thank you could convey the gratitude he felt for the way she'd welcomed him into the family, and the way she fussed over him like her own son, but she seemed to understand. Unexpectedly, she enveloped him in a hug. He stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then relaxed. When she pulled away again, he could see tears sparkling in her eyes.

"You're very welcome, dearie," she said, then shook her head quickly as if to pull herself together.

"Ginny, Ron, come through and help me with the food. And Bill, you and George get the spare tables out. There are a lot of people coming, so we're not going to fit into the kitchen."

Draco quickly offered to help with the tables, partly because he felt bad about how he'd behaved, and partly because he was curious about where they were going to fit. After all, the kitchen seemed to be the largest room in the house. Just how many people were coming?

"Normally we only eat outside in the summer," Bill explained as he led Draco and George towards the front door, "But there are going to be so many people round for dinner this Christmas that we won't all fit in the house at once."

"We're eating outside?" Draco said incredulously, "But it'll be freezing!"

"That's why we need to start setting up now," Bill grinned, "We're gonna set up a massive bubble around the table, which people can still pass through, but which will keep out the weather. Plus a heating charm."

"Oh, I can't really help with that," Draco said awkwardly, "Don't have my wand."

He'd found it surprisingly easy to live without his wand over the last few months, but all of a sudden he felt very unprotected, almost naked, without it. He supposed it was being back around other witches and wizards and surrounded by magic. When he'd just been hanging out with Dudley it hadn't been such a big deal.

Bill grimaced sympathetically.

"That must be tough," he said, "But don't worry, you can still help. George and me can do all the spells if you sort out the tables."

Draco nodded. He followed Bill's instructions to find the tables in a large cupboard, grabbing Dudley along the way and asking him to help carry them back out. When they came back outside with the first one, Bill and George were marking out a large area. Bill swept his arm round, muttering incantations, and all of a sudden a transparent bubble popped into place. Draco and Dudley set the table down in the middle of it, then went back inside to get the second one.

It took another two hours to prepare everything, and in spite of Dudley and Draco's lack of magic, they found themselves constantly busy, rushing around carrying out instructions and generally helping out. Draco revelled in the noise and bustle and the feeling of being part of this big, crazy family. It was about far from the quite, orderly Malfoy Christmases as possible, and that was definitely a good thing.

He avoided his mother as much as possible. He wasn't sure how he felt about her right now. He was glad she was safe, of course, but actually seeing her just made his resentment grow. It didn't help that Molly Weasley was constantly buzzing around, being the perfect mother and showing him everything he could have had. Molly Weasley, who smiled as her sons gently teased her, who cooked for hours to give them the perfect Christmas dinner, who made Christmas jumpers every year for everyone she considered a part of the family. Molly Weasley, who had lost a son to Death Eaters and yet still welcomed Draco, the son of a Death Eater. Molly Weasley, who had taken on Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the most terrifying witches in existence, in order to protect her daughter.

Why couldn't his own mother have been a little more like that? Why couldn't she have done something other than stand by as her own son was abused and bullied and forced into making the worst decision of his life?

He rounded a corner, on his way to carrying a pile of plates outside, when he heard a quiet sob. He paused by the open doorway to the living room and glanced inside. His mother and Aunt Andromeda were sitting on the couch, their backs to him, and his mother had one hand over her face.

"Ssshh … it's okay …" Aunt Andromeda was saying softly, patting his mother's back.

"It's not okay," his mother replied, "I was so stupid, coming here, thinking Draco would be thrilled to see me. He hates me. Of course he hates me! When I think what I let Lucius do … what I let the Dark Lord do …"

"Cissy, don't be silly. You couldn't have stopped the Dark Lord from doing anything he wanted to do. Draco would never have wanted you to end up dead."

"But I could have stopped Lucius. I could have stopped him years and years ago, when he taught Draco that Muggleborns ought to be wiped out and that it would be an honour to be a Death Eater. I should have given him the chance to make up his own mind."

Andromeda pulled away slightly, and Draco could see the surprise in her face.

"When did you get so open-minded, Cissy?" she asked, "I always thought you believed all that pureblood stuff too."

"I don't know what I believe. I never cared about blood or politics or any of that stuff. It didn't matter much to me either way. But I hated the way it drove you away from us. When I married Lucius I supported him in everything he did, because he mattered more to me than anything in the world, and I wanted to be a good wife to him, and because I didn't have a strong opinion either way. But I should have realised the danger it could lead Draco into if he was brought up with the same beliefs. And Draco … Draco means more to me even than Lucius. I thought by staying quiet I could keep him safe but …"

She started crying again, burying her head in Andromeda's shoulder. Draco had never seen his mother cry like this. He knew he could stop it. All he had to do was step into the room, hug her, and tell her it was okay. Tell her it wasn't her fault and that he forgave her.

But he couldn't. He couldn't honestly say that it wasn't her fault, because a part of him agreed with every word she was saying. A part of him, a tiny, vicious part, was glad that she was so unhappy. She ought to be, after everything she'd done to him. She was his mother! She was the one who was supposed to make him feel safe and loved, not stand by while he desperately tried to live up to his father's expectations in the hope that one day he would feel a tiny bit less inadequate.

"I just want my son back," his mother said, and her voice sounded so broken that he almost wanted to drop the plates he was holding and throw his arms around her. But Malfoys didn't do things like that. Hadn't his father always taught him that to show love was to show weakness?

He turned silently away from the door, and almost did drop the plates when he discovered Harry Potter standing directly behind him.

Harry jerked his head, indicating for Draco to follow him outside, but rather than going out the front to where everybody else was, they went out the back door. It was empty out here, and surprisingly quiet considering there was only a house between them and the entire Weasley family. Harry stood with his back leaning against a tree, while Draco sat down on the doorstep, setting the pile of plates down beside him. He was grateful for the protection his jumper gave him against the chill wind.

"I'm not going to tell you what you should do, or make judgements," Harry said quickly, answering the accusation Draco had been about to make, "I had pretty crappy parent figures too, and I'm not sure I'd be forgiving Aunt Petunia if she came round here apologising, not that she ever would. I just wanted to tell you something."

Draco nodded silently for him to continue. He didn't trust his voice right now. He wasn't sure if he would start yelling or crying if he opened his mouth, but either would be embarrassing.

"On the night of the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry said, "Voldemort hit me with a Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest. For various reasons, it didn't kill me, but it looked like I had. Voldemort sent your mother to check if I was actually dead. She knew I wasn't. She lied, and it probably saved my life."

Draco turned his head away. Why was Harry telling him this? He didn't want to hear about his mother's heroics. And he certainly didn't want to hear about the way she'd been willing to protect the precious Potter against the Dark Lord, even if she wouldn't protect her own son.

"She didn't do it for me," Harry continued, "The one thing she asked me before deciding what to do was whether you were alive. I was very glad I'd pulled you out of that fire, because I don't think I'd have been able to lie in that moment, and I have no doubt she'd have killed me herself if she'd known I'd failed to save you."

Draco shrugged. He still didn't see the point of this little story. Harry sighed.

"Look, I know it's not what you really want to hear. Merlin knows I'd rather have a mother who was there to support me and tell me she loved me than one who made heroic sacrifices for me. But just … I dunno. I just thought you should know what she did, even if it doesn't change anything. She put herself in a lot of danger, you know. You know what Voldemort would have done to her if he'd realised she was lying."

He grabbed the pile of plates from beside Draco, grunting at how heavy they were, and walked away around the house. If he'd been in a better mood, Draco might have laughed. It was funny how Harry always seemed to forget that he had magic. He'd do things the muggle way that would be ten times easier if he just took out his wand. Came of growing up with muggles, he supposed.

He thought about what Harry had said. Much as he wanted to deny it, he knew he was being immature about this. Harry had drawn so many comparisons between them, comparisons which he didn't really deserve. After all, his situation was a lot better than Harry's. His mother was still here, still alive, and wanted to make amends with him.

It was hard to take advice from Harry, though. Harry Potter was the most utterly, annoyingly forgiving person he had ever met.

But it was probably time he stopped complaining about Harry being better than him and actually started doing something about it. After all, if Harry could forgive him and Dudley – and even take them into his house – then he could forgive his own mother. Particularly after everything she'd done for him, even if it hadn't really been what he'd wanted her to do.

He made his way back inside. Andromeda looked up as he came through the living room doorway. Thankfully his mother had stopped crying. Andromeda gave him a little smile.

"I'll give you two a moment," she said. His mother looked up, startled.

"Draco! I … please come in."

He took Andromeda's place on the sofa. Up close, his mother looked very tired. She was paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. These last months must have been hard for her, with her husband in prison and her son not making contact. For the first time, he felt a surge of sympathy.

There was a long silence. Draco wasn't sure what to say, and his mother seemed to be waiting for him to speak first. He stared down at his hands.

"I should have tried to find out what had happened to you," he said eventually, "I just assumed you were in Azkaban, and I didn't really want to know."

"No, it's my fault," she replied, "I should have written to you after the trial, but I thought you might not want to hear from me."

"I didn't."

They fell silent again. They'd been hiding behind masks for too long, and didn't really know how to interact without them.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," his mother burst out, grabbing his hands, "I never wanted … I'm so sorry."

"I know."

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again. If I could go back and do it again … I wish I could be a proper mother. That was all I ever really wanted from my life. To be a wonderful wife and mother. Somehow I've failed at both, and now it's too late to–"

"It's not."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not too late. I want … I want to be a better son. And I want you to be my mother, properly this time."

"Really?" she breathed, and the fragile hope shining in her face was the most beautiful thing Draco had ever been responsible for. So much better than the pain he'd wanted to cause her before. He felt ashamed of that now.

"Really."

And then she was hugging him, and it was awkward because they didn't really hug, but it was better than Molly Weasley's hug, because it was his and his alone. His mother wasn't perfect, and they'd never be like the Weasleys, but she was his mother, and that was the best Christmas gift he could have asked for.