Oh, dear, so few reviews. Makes FFF sad. Ah well, got to roll with the punches and all that. I won't bore you with tales of my first day of school--that's what LJ's for, if anyone's interested (snort). Here we go--allow me to apologize in advance for such shortness. Next chapter's two or three times as long, promise.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Where Power Lay

"Remind me why we're doing this, please," Harry said, nervously adjusting his cloak.

Malfoy sighed beside him and threw the Floo Powder into Snape's office's fireplace. "Because, you forgetful prat, you know Father won't let me spend the hols at your place unless we go."

"It's more denial than forgetfulness," Harry groaned, staring into the emerald green flames.

"No, it's just a bloody Christmas party is what it is. Quit getting your knickers in a twist."

"A Malfoy Christmas party. Honestly, do you know how quakey I get around your family?" Harry cried, forgetting the fire for a moment.

"It's one day; you can last that long, you ninny."

"Not if you never get there, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's cold voice—apparently, he wasn't enjoying this conversation. "In fact, this whole debate will be utterly worthless until one of you actually decides to use the fire for which you are wasting my time right now."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said dramatically. "I'll go, at risk to my own life. Farewell, Professor Snape, o epitome of kindness! Farewell, dearest Malfoy—"

"Shut up, you sod, I'll be seeing you in half a second," Malfoy said, shoving Harry into the fire.

Harry cringed and said, "Malfoy Manor," making sure to tuck in his elbows, which proved to be a challenge as he was also carrying his trunk.

A moment later, true to his word, Malfoy joined Harry, tumbling out of the fireplace onto the cold stone floor of his father's manor. The place was just as he'd remembered it, classically decorated with curtains the color of dark wines, violent tapestries depicting supernatural battles, ornate rugs covering the stone floor. In short, the entire house screamed of long-winded ancestry and Pureblood pride.

Malfoy's father greeted them as they brushed themselves off and stood up. Harry eyed him warily. Even fifteen years of growth surrounded by his sharp-witted family could never prepare him for the cold solemnity Lucius Malfoy seemed to carry round in his pockets.

"Draco, Mr. Potter, glad you could join us," he said, and even this salutations came wrapped in mockery. His eyes slid over Harry's glasses to the Muggle sneakers poking out from beneath his disheveled robes. Harry could already feel the younger Malfoy starting to fume silently beside him. He lightly nudged his friend's arm and Malfoy gathered himself.

"It's a miracle, Father, I quite agree," he said stiffly. That was always the way he'd been around his father in the years Harry had known him—for all the complaining Harry would emit at the idea of a Malfoy gathering, it was the Malfoy himself who was the most uncomfortable.

The elder man smiled grimly and broke the tension in the air by gesturing towards the sweeping staircase across the room. "Dobby will get your trunks. Go wash up and get ready for the party, will you?"

Malfoy jerked his head in a nod and started towards the stairs; Harry followed after setting down his trunk, amused slightly by the image of the Malfoys' goggly House-Elf staggering under its weight.

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Lucius Malfoy had, understandably, been quite surprised when he found that his son was running with the Potters' boy at school. A half-blood boy whose only Pureblood relations were Muggle-tolerant. Moreover, he was the godson of that blood traitor, Black; Bellatrix had flown into a rage when she'd found out. Fortunately, she'd been in Azkaban at the time for killing the Longbottoms after You-Know-Who's downfall, and a set of thick bars had separated the deranged woman from her visiting brother-in-law.

As for Lucius, though surprise had been his first reaction, a quiet disappointment had been his next. The boy was silly—his son, not Potter. Well, most likely Potter as well, for that matter. But Draco…he obviously hadn't learned what Lucius had known in his Hogwarts days. It was elementary to know where power lay, and how to get on its side. What possessed the boy to befriend someone as unknown as himself, obviously a useless bond, Lucius did not know. Draco was hopeless.

And this is the boy I'm staking my entire life's planning on, Lucius thought sardonically.

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