The tension Harry expects at dinner is unsurprisingly present. However, it seems to be centered at Malfoy's end of the table. In fact, Harry's enjoying a perfectly lovely conversation with Narcissa at the other end about her Trilling Roses, while Draco's poking around at his trifle like it's insulted him personally.
"It's been quite troubling," Narcissa says. "They've bloomed perfectly like last year, but they just won't trill." She shakes her head with a soft sigh. "Perhaps I'm losing my touch."
"Nonsense," Harry chides her with a smile. "A witch as skilled as yourself? I don't think so, Cissa. Why don't you let me get Neville Longbottom out here and take a look?"
From the other end of the table, Malfoy shoots up straight in his chair. "Longbottom? Are you serious, Potter?"
Harry ignores him in favor of quelling the look of surprise on Narcissa's face. "Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have suggested otherwise. Nev's the best when it comes to plants. He's the Herbology professor at Hogwarts now."
Narcissa's straighter in her chair than Malfoy and a worried pinch steals across her lips. "I don't know, Harry. I would hate for him to visit and feel uncomfortable. The Manor has left its mark on so many in one way or another. I don't wish to reopen old wounds."
His hand reaches for hers on instinct, cradling it gently. "Neville Longbottom is a good man, and not the kind to let the past intrude on his present. He's made his peace with things. But if you're inclined to keep to yourself, I'll respect that." Harry's lips curve into a sly grin as he adds, "And I know for a fact that he'd love to get out here and see your famous gardens firsthand. From what I hear, they're legendary. Much like their mistress."
A faint blush steals across Narcissa's cheeks and she swats playfully at his hand. "Such shameless flattery." Her eyes twinkle as she directs her smile to her son. "Watch yourself with this one, Draco. He's a terrible flirt."
It's like someone's banging a gong right in Harry's brain. Narcissa Malfoy has all but outed her son over pudding. Even better, she sounds encouraging.
Malfoy, however, is as droll as ever, rolling his eyes with a put-upon sigh.
"I'll be sure to guard my virtue, Mother."
Narcissa lets out a hoot of laughter, and the unexpected sound is warm the air. "Darling, it's not your virtue I'm concerned with. If you're not careful, Harry here will steal your heart."
Harry's body goes flush at Narcissa's banter, but he keeps quiet and watches Malfoy instead with a pointed stare. Malfoy's gone all pink around the edges and stares daggers at his mother.
"It's all right," Harry says smoothly, hoping to deflect some of Malfoy's discomfort. "I'll give him fair warning before I take anything." He shrugs with amused self-deprecation. "Can't help it," he grins. "Gryffindor."
Narcissa chuckles and rises from her chair. Harry and Malfoy follow. "If you can get Mr. Longbottom here to look at my roses, I would certainly welcome his insight."
Harry nods. "I'll firecall him tomorrow."
"I'm going to retire for the evening. Perhaps Draco can show you the studio this evening?"
He shoots a glance at Malfoy, who inclines his head. "Of course, Mother. Rest well. We'll see you at breakfast."
"Wonderful." She glides forward to Harry and presses her hands to his forearms, sliding them slowly upward over his shirtsleeves. Misinterpreted, it would be a lover's caress, but her under hands all Harry feels is gentle strength and reassurance. It's a mother's touch through and through, as old and eternal as time itself. Her hands rest at his shoulders and she assesses him with that same motherly gaze, like she's taking stock of his health. She pulls him softly toward her and Harry goes without hesitation. He eases into her embrace and winds his arms around her slight frame.
"Thank you, Harry." The words are whispered into his neck with sincere gratitude and a heavy layer of fondness.
What gets to him the most is the slow and poignant nature of Narcissa's simple hug. It's not rushed, but savored, and carries more meaning that any hug ever given by Molly Weasley. Not that Harry doubts Molly's love, but her hugs are frantic and fierce, altogether short because she's moved on to another body to accost. There's a time limit, a rationing if you will, because Molly has so many to mother, so many to love. Narcissa just has Malfoy, but she makes Harry feel like she has him too.
She pulls back and presses a warm kiss to his cheek, drifting out of his hold with a swish of her skirts before she heads for Malfoy. Harry's breath stalls in his chest as he watches Narcissa enfold Malfoy with the same slow movements. He expected it to be a sort of lip service, what she said earlier about the wards recognizing him as family. But now, seeing her with Draco, it hits home. She's treating him exactly the same way she treats Malfoy. Not as a guest, not even as a friend, but as a son.
In that moment, Harry feels something slide into place within his heart. He can almost hear the click in his brain. Magic tingles on the surface of his skin, the same sort of feeling he got when he Apparated in. It's warm and settling, and he feels a bit heavier, like his feet are rooted to the floor. It's the Manor.
But Malfoy and his mother give no notice that the house is exerting itself. It's as if the feeling is reserved for Harry, and Harry alone. He's never felt anything like it, but he knows one thing.
He wants to feel it again.