Chapter Two – Growing Pains
Previously in Following the Stars: "Thank you Lily." She quickly stopped speaking quickly upon hearing her own voice nearly break. Instead, she thought the rest. 'Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for ending the war. Thank you for your son. Most of all, thank you for being my friend'. A single tear dribbled down Narcissa cheek as she shut her eyes, hoping sleep would take her quickly.
It had been a long night. The war may have ended, but the rest of their lives was only just beginning. However, she wasn't afraid. Albus' voice echoed in her ears. Everything was going to be alright, so long as they managed to follow their hearts… and the stars.
1989
"Wakey wakey, eggs and Drakey!" A decidedly uncivilised grunt tumbles from the mouth of Draco Malfoy as he's dragged into the world of the living, and the awake. Desperate for another hour, another minute, another second of sleep, the ice prince rolls over, burying his face in his pillow with the hope of drowning out the voice of the ebony haired nuisance currently doing everything in his power to ruin Draco's morning.
"Go away." Draco mumbled, his voice further muffled through the pillow. A familiar giggle assaults his ears, but other than that the aggravator does not respond. Draco, knowing the younger boy far too well, doesn't let himself even hope for a second that Harry might acquiesce to his wishes and allow him the luxury of sleep. In fact, the thirty-seconds of silence that follow merely make him fear for the worst.
Draco's fears are realised as he feels the fiend fling himself onto his bed. The silver haired boy expels a deep sigh, finally giving up on any hope of a sleep in, as the rambunctious child jumps around his head, making a mess of his habitually flawless head of hair.
"Draco… wake… up…" Harry grunts between jumps, giggling all the while. Suddenly Draco, who had just a moment before been silent and perfectly still, pounces like a snake attacking its prey, reaching out to grab Harry's legs and dragging him into a horizontal position. A playful squeal of delight erupts from Harry's throat as the older boy's finger's assault his ribs in a shower of tickles.
"Draco… stop… that… tickles!" The child squeals, his high pitched laugh filling the small bedroom. Draco can't help the soft smirk that dances on his lips, nor the playful glint which touches his eyes. After a few minutes, just as quickly as he had started, Draco ceases the fire of tickles. As the assault end, he drapes a lazy arm across the smaller boy's stomach, trapping him in a horizontal prison cell. The raven haired boy gasps, attempting to catch his breath after being tickled for so long, before a bright grin lights up his face. Draco turns his face ever so slightly, still lying on his stomach but now facing the other boy. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut though, quite unsuccessfully feigning sleep. Harry, finally catching his breath, turns his own head to face the silver haired boy, giggling quietly. Slowly, Draco opens a single leisurely eye to glance at the child. He can't keep a smile from his own lips upon seeing the bright grin radiating from Harry's face.
"Good morning Draco." Harry chirped, his voice brighter than the sun. Draco grunts, not that he would ever admit to making such a sound.
"What's so good about it?" Harry giggles.
"Did you forget? It's out first day back at school, silly!" A pale hand reaches out and tugs on one of Draco's silver locks playfully. Draco raises an artfully sculpted eyebrow in question.
"Of course I didn't forget. However, my question remains. What is so good about this morning?" Harry rolls his eyes.
"Don't be so silly, Dray. Just because you don't want to share me with anyone else." The boy giggled as Draco rolled his eyes.
"And why on earth would I care whether or not you play with one child or a hundred?" Harry smirks in response.
"Because you love me."
"Oh do I now?"
"Uh huh." Draco shakes his head and pulls his skinny arm back, releasing Harry from his prison. Of course, everything that the smaller boy had just said was true. The first day back after summer break was always the worst for Draco, as his best friend had the most unfortunate habit of being a delight to all around him. Harry's bubbly personality and bright grin made him a magnet, attracting every child in their year (along with a number of older and younger children, if Draco were to be entirely honest) and consequently leaving Draco all alone. Not that he particularly minded. While Harry was squealing with laughter, playing with any and every other child in the playground, Draco was allowed the luxury of reading, a precious commodity when one lived in a home with the loudest child to have ever existed. He was happy enough in the company of his books, immersing himself in fantastical and beautiful worlds, honestly he was. However, he could not deny the pang of hurt he felt deep in his chest whenever Harry would joke with someone else. Harry was the only friend Draco ever needed… Why couldn't he be enough for the smaller boy too?
Expelling such ridiculous and petty thoughts from his mind, Draco shoves himself from the bed, although he can't keep his eyes from grazing the blankets lovingly. The boy took immense pleasure from all of life's luxuries, although sleep was quite likely his favourite. His eyes flickered quickly to Harry, who smiles sweetly at him as he follows him out of the bed, their short conversation clearly over. Following their usual habits, Harry departs for the dining room, hunting down breakfast, while Draco saunters towards the bathroom to prepare his appearance. Draco and Harry had been companions, best friends and brothers for the past eight years, as long as they had lived with each other and as far back as either boy could remember. It was long enough to build a ritual; a dance that each boy lived by in perfect unison with one another. Draco would shower in the mornings, Harry in the evenings. In the afternoons Draco would read, diving into the world of literature, while Harry, always curled up against his side, would draw. On weekends, Harry would find joy in running about on a field, playing whatever sport his endless cohort of friends would be willing to amuse him with, while Draco would watch, silently cheering from the sidelines. They had always fit together like two puzzle pieces, the perfect combination, brothers to the very end.
Of course, Draco's mother had always made sure they were aware of the facts; of how Harry's parents, best friends of Sirius and Narcissa, had passed away when the boys were just babies so Sirius and Narcissa had decided to raised them together. However, the understanding that they weren't in fact brothers did nothing to dissuade their bond. They were Harry and Draco, the perfect inseparable pair balancing each other out. Draco was the only person capable of drawing Harry back when he was acting like an insufferable, spoilt brat and Harry was the only person capable of making Draco smile when he was in one of habitual bad tempers. They were just argumentative enough to enjoy their ceaseless tiffs, the only two people (aside from Narcissa herself) who were unafraid to stand up against each other, to step on each other's toes. Yes, for as long as Draco could remember, Harry had been there, tearing him down when his ego got the best of him, building him up when his surprising insecurities ate him alive and filling a void none other could ever take. As sad as the death of his best friend's parents made him, a selfish voice often whispered in the back of Draco's mind that the demise of James and Lily Potter was fate; that Harry was meant to grow up with him, meant to be his best friend.
Of course, Draco feels horrible whenever thoughts like this invade his mind. Like right now, as he stands in the shower washing shampoo from his silky locks. Nonetheless, he can't help but shudder, imagining how different his life would be if Harry weren't a part of it. Draco shakes his head quickly, as he turns off the shower and steps out. He refuses to think of such thoughts. He was Draco, and Harry was Harry; they belonged together, friends for life.
Draco takes another half an hour to dry and comb his hair and dress himself for the day before joining his family in the dining room. Immediately, the scent of his mother's Bi-Annual 'Back to School' breakfast graces his nose and delights his tastebuds, his mouth inconspicuously starting to water. Everything from bacon and eggs to pancakes and waffles are laid out on the table, complete with orange juice and hot chocolate. Draco smiles softly to himself; his mother had outdone herself this morning. A squeal of laughter drags Draco's eyes to the far end of the table, where Harry sits next to his godfather, Draco's uncle Sirius. Of course, Sirius wasn't really his uncle, not on a technically. He was his mother's cousin though, their closeness often causing them to refer to each other as brother and sister. His mother often told Draco that there was once a time she did not like Sirius; once a time she thought him too headstrong, too reckless to be of likeable character. Draco would laugh hearing this, as the thought of anything less than a great friendship between the two people who raised him appeared a joke. The idea that they once hadn't even liked each other seemed ridiculous. Draco smiles to himself now just imagining it, watching Harry and Sirius laughing with each other at the table. Sirius was another person who wouldn't be in his life if it weren't for the deaths of Lily and James Potter, another reason for him to feel morbidly thankful for their demise.
As Draco draws closer, taking the seat beside his best friend, Draco notices the Nutella covering Harry's nose, clearly the reason for the giggles which erupt from his chest. Draco rolls his eyes.
"Harry, haven't I ever told you not to play with your food." Draco nudges an elbow into the smaller boy's ribs, a smirk playing on his pink lips. Harry's eyes twinkle with amusement as he smirks back.
"Wasn't me." Harry giggles. "It was Sirius' fault!" The raggedy-haired man chuckles deeply at this, reaching out to ruffle his Godson's wild mane even further.
"Now don't you dare blame me for your mess, Prongslet. I'm an innocent bystander in your dastardly games." Harry giggles once again, attempting to stretch his tiny tongue to lick the chocolate-substance from his nose. Shaking his head incredulously, Draco reaches for a napkin to wipe the condiment from his companion's face. The raven-haired boy pouts an adorably pink lower lip in dissatisfaction.
"You're no fun, Drakey." Harry whines, although Draco can hear the playful edge to his voice.
"I might not be fun but at least I'm sanitary. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for some." Harry's perfectly square, pearly white teeth shine in a sheepish smile. At that moment, ringing like a bell, the clear laugh of Narcissa Malfoy is heard by the three boys as she exits the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee for her and Sirius held in her delicate hands.
"Oh boys," She sighs, amusement clear in her voice. "You keep me young." She hums slightly as she pours her dear cousin a fresh coffee, the man smiling gratefully back at her. "Now hurry up dears, we have to leave soon or you'll be late for school." At that, Harry takes the last bite of his pancakes, which had long since gone cold, as Draco aligns a piece of bacon on a plain piece of toast. Despite taking pleasure from the luxuries of life, Draco's tastes were often minimalistic in nature. Such was true when he regarded food. His younger friend danced into the kitchen to clean his dishes. Narcissa takes Harry's place at the table, collecting her own breakfast. She turns to her son, a graceful eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "How are you feeling sweetheart?" She questions, her voice low. Although she doesn't say it explicitly her true question is clear; how does Draco feel about going back to school and subsequently losing Harry's constant attention. Draco merely shrugs, a tiny movement as he doesn't wish to appear outwardly upset.
"I'll be fine. You know I have Orwell and Dickens to keep me company." He jokes, his voice light. Narcissa smiles softly, reaching out a pale hand to stroke her son's smooth hair.
"My precious boy, far too smart for your nine years." Draco's fine features crumpling in distaste to his mother's touch. Draco has never handled the physical contact of anyone, aside from Harry of course, particularly well. Even that of his mother.
"I just like to read, mother." The boy murmurs, ducking his head in embarrassment and pretending to be quite interested suddenly in his barely touched breakfast.
"Whatever you say dear." Narcissa laughs, similarly diverting her attention to her own breakfast. Beside her Sirius chuckles, grinning brightly to the boy he has treated as a nephew and a surrogate son for the past eight years.
"Well Draco," he begins, his deep voice solemn. "You don't need to make friends with authors you know. You could always play with Harry. You know he'd love it." Sirius' eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes in the silver-haired boy's horrified expression.
"Sirius, please. As if I could ever lower myself to games of tag and catch with those germ-infested cesspools." The boy sniffs his pale nose in the air, expressing his disdain at the mere thought. The two adults who raised him merely roll their eyes and offer each other a pointed look.
"Well Narcissa, one thing's for certain. He most certainly is his father's son." Instantly, Narcissa and Draco tense up at the reference of the third Malfoy member. The wild haired Black merely chuckles under his breath, not noticing the tension quickly filling the room.
Lucius Malfoy was certainly a taboo subject within the Malfoy-Potter-Black household; he had been for as long as Draco could remember. In fact, he could count everything his mother had ever said about the man on the one hand.
He knew that he shared his pale locks and silver eyes with the older man.
He knew that his father worked closely in politics.
He knew that the union between his parents had been the result of an arranged marriage, and not based on any foundation of love or even compassion.
He knew that his father had banned Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre from what could have been Draco's childhood home, claiming that he didn't want the text giving Narcissa, to quote, 'any funny ideas'.
Draco knew that his father had been mixed up in some sort of sordid business, a gang of sorts. He knew that the older Malfoy's loyalty to the gang's leader, someone Narcissa would only ever refer to as 'a mad man', had been strong enough to place their entire small family at risk.
And now, thanks to Sirius, Draco knew that he had somehow just acted in a manner reminiscent of the morally-corrupt man. The fine hairs on Draco's arms stand up on end as goose bumps swarm his delicate skin… the thought was enough to make him sick to his stomach. The handful of things that Draco did know about his father were enough for him to know he never wanted to be anything like the man; he would never touch politics, would only ever marry for love, would value literature and education as much as humanly possible and would forever adhere to his own strict code of moral principles. Draco, cold and rigid as he often was, refused to be the kind of man who would choose a gang over his own family.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Draco hears the scrape of Sirius' chair against the floorboards. The blonde vaguely registers a scathing comment by his mother regarding his uncle's dismal treatment of the high-quality floor and a meek apology on the scruffy-haired man's behalf, although he's too caught up in his own thoughts to really care.
Twenty minutes later, once all the dishes have been cleaned, teeth have been brushed and, in Harry's case, an attempt to comb hair had been made, the two boys find themselves climbing out of Narcissa's black Audi, having arrived at the school. Within all of ten seconds Harry has kissed his surrogate mother goodbye and run off into the yard, hoping to greet his friends before classes begin. Draco attempts to follow the ruffian, although his mother has other ideas.
"Draco," she murmurs, so softly that at first the blonde doesn't realise that she has spoken at all. "Draco." She repeats, slightly louder as she notices him trying to walk away. Slowly, the young blonde turns to face his mother, recognising the tone in her voice. It was the same tone she used on the day she informed him of Harry's orphan status (at four years old she had decided the boys were old enough to understand); it was the same tone that meant she had something serious to discuss. Draco lets out a shaky breath although he schools his features into a careful, calm mask. He knows what the subject will be before she even opens her mouth, her icy blue eyes piercing into his own.
"My sweet dragon, you know how Sirius often forgets to filter his words before her speaks." Draco nods, not allowing any emotion to cross his mask. "I need you to know, my sweet boy, that you are not your father." Once again, goose bumps flutter along Draco's arms. His mother's gaze continues to pierce his own, as if searching for some sign to continue speaking. "One day, there will be people in your life… people who will see only him when they look at you; people with certain expectations of you. I want you to understand that you don't have to fulfil these expectations. You are and always will be your own person. Nobody can take that away from you. Not me, not Harry, and certainly not… certainly not Lucius." Draco internally curses himself as he feels his lower lip falter, shaking slightly upon hearing his father's name for the second time that day. He knows that Narcissa notices this weakness immediately, as her icy eyes melt into a warm puddle of compassion. "Do you understand, Draco?"
The young child couldn't say that he could understand. His father was not a part of his life; why would people ever expect to see any sort of correlation between their actions? However, he nods slowly. His mother often offered him cryptic messages, little pieces of advice he would have to save for later, when the time was right. He assumes that her words now are of that variety and he files the short speech away in his mind. His mother smiles softly, her pink lips relaxing in such a way as to give her expression a nearly childlike essence.
"I understand, mother." Draco murmurs, offering a quick smile back before he turns to leave her. Narcissa, knowing how her son has never been fond of her touch, or of goodbyes, merely returns to her car and departs for her work as an interior designer with Dwyer Designs. Walking towards the school, Draco is lost in his own musings and imaginations of a silver-haired man with the coldest eyes he could possibly imagine.
- x -
Two lessons later, Draco sits alone in the quiet library, engrossed in C.S Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; one of his more accessible favourites. The boy didn't like to brag, but he knew his mother was right when she praised him for his intelligence. Okay, that was a lie, the boy loved to brag, although he'd never admit it. He loved knowing that he could read and understand texts that many of his peers would require another decade of developing just in order to make sense of. However, that didn't mean that he didn't love classic children's literature just as much, if not more, than the novels his mother habitually immersed herself in.
Just as Draco remembered before Summer break, the library was dead quiet (it was recess after all, and most of the students preferred monkey bars to reading). For as long as he and Harry had been at this school, Draco had spent every moment of his spare time in the library, always in the exact same seat; a plush violet beanbag situated next to a large arched window, close enough that he could see outside yet hidden so that no one else could see in. He couldn't possibly have any of the dirty hooligans Harry, for whatever reason, decided to claim as his friends, seeing him, Draco Malfoy the ice prince, curled up without a scrap of elegance on a bean bag. Could you even imagine how mortified he would feel? So no, he could not allow himself to be seen from the outside. However, considering an incessant desire to know that his best friend was safe, Draco had strategically found a vantage position for his smaller friend's antics. Every day, Draco would watch his best friend play soccer, play tag on the playground or whatever else he wanted on that day, all from his sanctuary of the library. And at no point, on any day, had he ever been disturbed.
Until today.
"Ehem." Draco's eyebrows nearly fly off of his face in shock as his ears pick up the sound of another person around him. Carefully disciplining his features, Draco glances up lazily to find the source of the disturbance. He is not impressed with what, or more accurately who, he sees.
Initially, he thinks that the girl in front of him must be a tuft of walking hair. He had always referred to Harry's dark, messy locks as a mane but it was only now with a human embodiment of hair standing before him, that Draco realised just how far off the mark he had been. The brunette curls must take up at least as much space as the width of her face on either side of her head, and equally as much atop her head. The bushy curls had been haphazardly tied back at the nape of the girl's neck in a failed attempt to subdue the mane, although Draco guessed that the locks would reach her mid-back if they were let free. Blinking twice in order to ensure that what he was seeing was not, in fact, a mirage but a true person standing before him, Draco focuses his attention on the child's face. Dark eyes and a plain mouth look back at him. The girl's face is nothing extraordinary, nothing special; she is neither beautiful nor ugly. However, Draco can't help but perceive a flame burning in her chestnut eyes. There is something unexpected about this girl, something he has scarcely encountered before within others. Immediately, Draco knows that he'll have to pay extra special attention to her.
"Ehem." Draco blinks again and can't help it when his eyebrows wrinkle with annoyance at the girl's unremitting 'eheming'.
"May I help you?" The blonde muses, his voice as smooth and sticky as honey. It's the kind of voice one could get lost in, swept up by the melodic tone.
"Perhaps." The girl responds, offering the pale boy a toothy grin. Draco resists the temptation to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the open excitement expressed on the girl's face. Other than Harry and, to an extent Sirius, Draco has never been able to stand people who display their emotions openly on their face. He had always found it took away some of the mystery, the thing he found the most fascinating about humans, when he could read their emotions so openly. "I was actually curious whether you might be able to give me a tour of the library. You see, I'm new here this year and so far this library is so radically different to the one I'm used to and I'm honestly a bit perplexed." Draco resists the temptation to roll his eyes. He does not need to know this girl's life story. Perhaps he was wrong about the fire he initially witnessed blazing in her dark eyes. So far, this girl seems just as dull as everyone else he's ever met.
"Well, there's not much to tell you. It's a library, it follows the Dewey Decimal Classification system. Happy reading." With that, Draco sniffs his nose and once again attempts to immerse himself in his novel.
"Ehem." Draco fights the desire to grind his perfect teeth together, not wanting to destroy them for the sake of an annoying girl. He glances up, hoping his sardonic expression is enough to dissuade the girl from his company. She smiles once more, hostility creeping into her eyes. "Of course I know that. However, my school used the Library of Congress Classification system and I've had no experience with Dewey. You appeared quite, erm, comfortable within the library and I was merely hoping you might extend a little assistance to a fellow bookworm. Of course, I've read all about the system… I just often find it helpful to have such things described to me by another person." Draco exhales slowly as he returns his bookmark to the page he had been reading but two minutes earlier, finally accepting the unlikelihood of the girl leaving him alone.
"If you insist." Draco drawls as he gracefully slides from his beanbag (well, as gracefully as one could slide from a beanbag at least). The girl smiles brightly, something Draco has started to realise is an irritating habit of hers.
Half an hour was not enough time for this girl's vexing tendency to habitually express her full range of emotions on her face to grow on the blonde. However, he discovered within ten minutes that he didn't hate her as much as he had assumed he would. The girl, whose name it turned out was Hermione, was smart, witty and easy to talk to. She was the first person he had ever met his own age who had read more than he had. In fact, she was the first person his own age he had ever met who he understood and shared his passion for literature. Although it would pain him to admit it aloud, Draco felt like there might even be, dare he say it, a friendship blossoming between the curly-haired girl and himself.
It turned out that Hermione was in Draco's form group. How he had missed her, considering the fact that her hair stood out like a florescent orange elephant juggling in the middle of a court room, he had no idea. Perhaps he had just been too focused, savouring the final moments when Harry cared about him and only him. Nonetheless, he was glad when, twenty minutes into their library discussion (it had only taken eight minutes for Draco to describe the Dewey Decimal System but the two had found it difficult to stop talking once they started) Hermione had informed him that they shared Mrs Wrangler as a teacher. The brunette had exclaimed excitedly upon discovering this, enthusing about the exceptional quality that their group assignments would be. Draco decided not to pop her bubble by enlightening her that he always chose Harry as a partner. Instead, Draco actually smiled, murmuring quietly (and surprisingly honestly) that he'd like that. Draco and Hermione were so engrossed by their conversation that they nearly missed the bell reminding them that class was resuming. That's how Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger burst into Mrs Wrangler's classroom ten minutes late. The first thing Draco noticed was the scathing expression on his best friend's face, emerald eyes glaring daggers into Hermione. Draco felt his eyebrow raising slightly in confusion; what did Harry have against Hermione?
The rest of the day was uneventful. Harry refused to speak to his best friend, no matter how hard Draco tried. He had even been willing to sacrifice his library time if it meant hearing what was wrong with his surrogate brother. However, Harry had merely run off, faster than Draco could follow. Begrudgingly, Draco had departed to the library with Hermione, where they had argued whether My Brilliant Career was worthy of being considered among the greats in a literary canon (Hermione was for whilst Draco against). The silver haired boy had never felt as alive as he had attempting to shoot down Hermione's profession that Harold Beecham should be recognised as one of literature's most romantic characters. His blood coursed through his veins, his heart beat impossibly fast in his chest and he hadn't even realised the bright grin spread across his lips. It felt incredible to finally have a fellow intellectual he could facilitate such debates with.
As incredible as talking to Hermione was, a large part of Draco couldn't keep his mind from his best friend; more specifically, the fact that his best friend was avoiding him. The ride home from school that afternoon was excruciating. It was extremely rare for Harry to be quiet, might as well silent. And the very few times he ever had given his family the silent treatment, such treatment had never been extended to Draco. The smaller boy hadn't talked to Draco for seven hours, a feat that had never been achieved before, aside from when they were sleeping. It had only been a matter of hours but Draco was already nearing his wit's end.
"Draco? Honey?" Draco merely grunts in response and wraps his duvet closer around him. Despite it only being five o'clock, the boy had been swaddled in his bed for an hour, partly due to his sleep in being cut so short that morning and partly to wallow in misery over his best friend's rejection. Narcissa Malfoy merely rolls her eyes and enters her son's bedroom. Draco feels the bed jostle slightly as his mother takes a seat at the foot of his mattress.
"Yes, mother?" Draco questions as he squeezes his eyes shut. He is so not interested in a deep and meaningful conversation full of a discussion about the silent treatment plaguing their home. Draco fully expects his mother to open her mouth and attempt to tease out his own voice. Instead, he feels her delicate hand press comfortingly against his shoulder. Surprisingly, instead of shying away from the touch, Draco leans into it, treasuring the warmth.
"I don't know what I've done." Draco whispers, his voice hoarse. "Everything was fine for the first couple of lessons today. And then suddenly he just wouldn't talk to me. It just doesn't make any sense. He's never been like this before." Draco is glad for the silence that ensues. Of course, that silence doesn't last. A few minutes later his mother responds.
"Dragon, Harry is in your life for a reason. Nobody would ever say that James and Lily's death was a good thing. Lily was my best friend, she was the only person I had ever entirely opened up to, and I would give anything to bring her back." Narcissa lets out a shaky sigh as her emotions overcome her. "However, their death, no matter how tragic it was, was meant to be. It brought Harry and Sirius into our home. It brought our family together. In ways that you don't understand yet, their death saved the world… or at least our world.
"Honey, I don't expect you to understand yet. But one day you will. And when that day comes you'll understand that Harry was meant to be in our life; it was fate for you two to be as close as you are. Always treasure that baby. Always protect your friendship; always protect your friend.
"There are terrible people in this world. The monsters that Sirius told you lived in your closet when you were five years old… well, they're not the monsters you should really be afraid of." Draco frowns in confusion, turning to face his mother. Narcissa takes the movement as a positive sign, changing in position so she's lying next to him. She smiles softly, but the sadness in her eyes makes it clear that it's not a real smile.
"What do you mean?" Narcissa merely shakes her head.
"That's not for you to know yet, sweetheart. But one day you'll understand. Just look after Harry, okay? He's in your life for a reason. He's in our life for a reason. And one day he's going to need us and I know that we'll be there for him. Never take him for granted, okay honey?" Draco takes his lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit he had never been able to fight off. Of course he would always be there for Harry. Of course he would never take their friendship for granted. He didn't understand why his mother was being so insistent on this, or how it related to the younger boy's recent cold shoulder. But, just like every time his mother gave him cryptic information like this he takes it on board. Draco nods slowly and doesn't even pull away when his mother wraps her arms around him, drawing him into a tight hug.
They stay like that twenty minutes, each lost in their own train of thought.
"I think I should go and try to talk to Harry." Draco whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. While he knows his words are true, he wishes he didn't even have to say them. Draco hates admitting when he's wrong, and whilst he has no idea what he's done, he knows that Harry wouldn't act like this for no reason. Draco, at some point in the next half an hour, is going to need to admit to his own wrongdoing and apologise for it. Narcissa smiles, giving her son one last tight squeeze before she climbs out of his bed. Draco follows her but, where she heads towards the living room to join Sirius, Draco departs in the hallway towards Harry's bedroom.
Draco takes a deep sigh standing outside of his best friend's room; the bedroom he knows nearly better than his own. That fact in itself should be enough to calm his nerves. Rationally, Draco knows that Harry won't reject him forever. But every time he tries to talk to the boy, just to have his attempts met with silence, a little piece of Draco dies inside. Swallowing his nerves, and his pride, Draco opens the door and walks in.
He's not particularly surprised to see Harry curled into a ball under his duvet, remarkably similar to how Draco had been positioned when Narcissa had come into his room. Draco and Harry had an impossibly long list of differences between them; however, their similarities included a tendency to hide from the world when it felt like everyone was against them. Rather than talking, as his mother had earlier with him, Draco immediately climbs into bed with the smaller boy, wrapping his arms around his best friend's torso. Harry stiffens for an impossibly short moment before relaxing into the embrace. Draco exhales thankfully; he wasn't sure he would be able to keep from breaking down if he had been rejected again. They stay like that for a long time in silence, Draco treasuring Harry's scent, the oaky aroma of the forest, and cherishing the familiar warmth of the smaller boy against his body.
"I'm sorry." Draco finally croaks, voice quieter than a whisper. "I don't know what I've done, but I'm so sorry." Draco's arms squeeze tighter around his best friend, pulling the boy closer to him. It wasn't often that the blonde would willingly pull someone closer into his own bubble of personal space and by doing so he hoped Harry would get the message; he would do anything to make it up to the smaller boy. The brunette strokes Draco's arm, currently wrapped around his chest, silently accepting his apology.
"Don't apologise." Harry whispers. "I'm just being silly." Draco nearly cries with glee at the fact he's finally hearing his best friend's voice. Instead he merely lets a bright grin take residence on his lips.
"What do you mean, Harry?" The blonde asks. The smaller boy sighs, clearly feeling ashamed.
"It's stupid, and petty. I'm just so silly Draco." The brunette twists around, now lying face-to-face with the blonde. "You're allowed to have friends. I have friends. I can't stop you and I shouldn't want to." The smaller boy digs his face into Draco's shirt, effectively hiding his expression. Draco nearly laughs, feeling like he's been slapped in the face with the truth. Harry is jealous… That's why he was glaring daggers at Hermione. Draco had never made friends with anyone else before, only ever Harry, and now it was killing the brunette. Draco knew exactly what to say.
"No one could ever replace you, Har." Draco's fingers run through his friend's thick locks comfortingly. "You're my best friend. My one and only best friend. And you always will be. Nobody could ever take that place and you know it." Draco can't help the chuckle that follows. Harry was right, he was being petty, but Draco couldn't help finding it humorous and more than a little bit adorable. "You have no need to be jealous, Harry. I like talking to Hermione, she's nice to spend time with while you're off playing football or basketball or some other 'ball'. But she's not you.
"You've always had a hundred and one friends, and you know what? I've never said anything because I've always known you would come home with me, your best friend. That it would be us watching movies on the couch later that night, us reading or drawing together, us playing Monopoly into the wee hours of the morning. And now I need you to realise that it's the exact same the other way around. Nobody will ever be more important to me than you, Harry. You're irreplaceable." Harry slowly lifts his face from the blonde's shirt, emerald eyes shyly gazing into the taller boy's silver ones.
"Do you promise?" Harry whispers, his lips trembling slightly. Draco smiles.
"Of course I promise, silly." Draco chuckles, ruffling the smaller boy's dark hair. "You're Harry Potter, I'm Draco Malfoy… We were made to be friends." With that, Draco reaches down and takes Harry's hand in his own, squeezing it tightly. The smaller boy smiles sweetly, resting his head back on Draco's chest.
That's how Narcissa and Sirius found them an hour and a half later, after calling out that dinner was ready for ten minutes. The cousins stood in the doorway smiling softly at the two children, curled up into each other in Harry's bed, their young faces peaceful in their sleep.
"I'm glad that they're back to talking." Sirius whispers as he pulls away from the doorway, heading towards the dining room. Narcissa smiles as she follows him, lodging the image of her two sons in her mind.
"I'm glad too. But I never had any doubt that they wouldn't. They're going to have to face much bigger problems than a little bit of jealousy… It's probably good that they get a little bit of practice now." Sirius nods in agreement as he takes his place at the table, hungrily digging into his spaghetti.
Narcissa quickly becomes lost in her own thoughts, slowly twirling her spaghetti despite a lack of appetite. Two years; in just two years her boys would depart for Hogwarts, and Merlin only knew what sorts of issues they would have to face when their pasts caught up with them. As if the usual pains and torments that adolescence would bring them wouldn't be enough, Narcissa knew that the return to the wizarding world of The Boy Who Lived and The Boy Who Should Have Become a Death Eater would be dramatic enough to keep the magical society occupied for months, if not years. Thanks to monthly updates from Albus, Narcissa knew that the location of the Potter and Malfoy spawn remained the wizarding world's best kept secret. The Daily Prophet would likely explode upon discovering that the boys had been raised together; that the Saviour of the Wizarding World had been raised by a Death Eater's wife and a man they had once assumed was a mass murderer and a traitor. Narcissa sighs, dropping her spaghetti-loaded fork into her bowl. Yes, her boys had a lifetime of drama ahead of them. More than anything, the blonde woman hoped that when times got dark, they would be able to recall how light it felt in moments like this, curled up in the safety of each other's embrace.