a/n – another chapter of 'joining moments', I'm afraid.
Harry waited nervously on the platform, checking his watch and smoothing down his hair.
I'm going to see my parents.
He turned abruptly as the Hogwarts Express started up behind him, and watched with his heart beating somewhere in the region of his stomach as it pulled out of the station slowly. He couldn't see Draco.
He returned to watching the crowd, teeth tugging at his lip and eyes on the alert for that distinctive shade of platinum hair.
The crowd was thinning now, and it hadn't been large in the first place. No sign of any Malfoys so far. Was Draco usually left standing alone? Harry couldn't remember. He'd always given his hostile farewells to Draco on the train, he'd been too focused on his anxiety at returning to Privet Drive.
Harry waited.
He passed the time wondering whether Mr and Mrs Malfoy would like him. He even dared to entertain the thought that they might prefer him to Draco after all. He felt a twinge of guilt at that, but at the same time he couldn't help hoping that he was finally going to receive the acceptance he had always craved. Besides, he reasoned, for all he knew the Dursleys might prefer Draco to Harry, when they met him. Hadn't they always complained he was too unkempt and ill-mannered?
It had been ten minutes now. Surely someone should be here by now?
Harry swallowed, eyes wandering over to the platform entrance. Perhaps they were waiting outside?
It didn't seem right, that Mr and Mrs Malfoy would stand out among the muggles, but if they were…well this wasn't the best way to start off his life with his real family, keeping them waiting out there.
Mind made up, yet more nervous than ever, Harry lifted his chin, straightened his back and shoulders, and walked confidently to the barrier pulling his trunk behind him as if he had meant to do so all along.
"Master Malfoy!" a high pitched voice piped up as Harry got ready to walk through the barrier. He turned, relieved, then frowned.
A house elf wearing a dirty rag was standing next to the barrier wringing his – or her – hands and shifting from foot to foot in a manner reminiscent of Dobby.
"Er –" Harry started, glancing around quickly. There was still no sign of his parents.
"Master Malfoy!" the elf exclaimed again, tugging on its ears. "Mobby was late – she will iron her ears, she will! But then she is waiting, and Master Malfoy is not coming! Mobby is worrying, thinking she has lost young master, I is thinking mistress will have Mobby throw herself into the pond!"
"Sorry." Harry said automatically, and the elf swooned while Harry's gut lurched. Draco had said Narcissa'wasn't so bad'…surely she wouldn't really have the elf drown itself?
"Master Malfoy is thanking Mobby…Mobby hasn't ever been thanked-"
"Let's go." Harry said shortly, realizing abruptly that showing kindness to house elves was a sure way to give himself away.
"Yes, yes, of course, Mobby knows we should hurry!" the elf straightened up, wiped its knobbly hands on its rag-dress and held one of them out to Harry.
This is it.
Harry took the scaly little hand.
…ooo000ooo…
Draco pulled his scarf around him tighter, and began the long walk back to school. Down under Hogsmeade, the tunnel was freezing, but that wasn't the only reason he was breathing deeply through his scarf, which still smelled a little like Harry.
But these were pointless, stupid thoughts he was having. He inhaled again.
Shaking his head as the ground began to climb he tried to think about how he was going to pass the next week alone. Granger and Weasley were going to be away as well. They had changed their plans at the last minute. Draco knew they usually stayed to keep Harry company at Christmas, but as Harry wasn't at Hogwarts, and of course they didn't want to spend time with him…
He let that thought die as well.
So what, he was alone at Christmas? It wouldn't be the first time. Only…he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he had been…well, sort of looking forward to this year being accompanied by friends on Christmas day. Yes, he knew they technically weren't his friends, and even if they had stayed it wouldn't have been the same now that they knew who he really was, but still…
"Oh balls!" Draco huffed at himself "Gryffindor has made me soft!"
…ooo000ooo…
Harry could only stare.
The Manor was a large – no, a gigantic grey stone structure, looming five stories above the expansive grounds. There was no ivy crawling up the walls like in some old homes – something small, and almost unnoticeable until Harry was confronted with this bare monolith. Malfoy Manor screamed conformity and grim depression. The windows were many, and tall yet relatively thin. Similarly the front door was not narrow, and yet with its almost ridiculous height it appeared so. The building however was not a single grey block; behind the uniform front there was a wing jutting out towards the back of the building and eventually fading out of sight in the misty weather, and this part of the building was a bit more sprawling and uneven, the way an old house should be…yet it was still covered by the neat grey slate roof.
Harry had never felt so small and out of place as he did right now. This…building wasn't made for a family of three. It must contain literally hundreds of empty parlors, dressing rooms, bedrooms, drawing rooms, dining rooms…and for a couple and their only son – it was a ridiculous amount of space, and that didn't even count the gardens that surrounded it.
Harry began the long walk up to the austere front doors. He passed topiaries and fountains, all of them oversized and ostentatious. He could see leafy dragons and green serpents and less frightening natural sculptures like rabbits and peacocks, although they were almost hidden and further away. They made him feel like a dwarf passing the giant statues and towering walls of greenery.
He tried to imagine a little boy playing in this garden – or perhaps estate was a better word for a place so large – and smiled. He could just see a little blond head peeping through topiaries at arriving guests, climbing on top of the hedge shaped into the form of a serpent and pretending he was riding it, building dens beneath the tall statues, pretending to fish in the pond – a distant body of water that Harry caught glimpses of periodically, and perhaps playing with a puppy on the lawn. A crup puppy, probably, Harry reminded himself. Crups were popular among purebloods. It was nothing like the childhood Harry had had, and he found himself longing for it, his mood turning melancholy and pensive yet again.
…ooo000ooo…
Draco settled himself silently at a table in Gryffindor common room, Charms homework and a quill ready in front of him. Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth-years had been given for the holidays, Draco was in no mood to work. Ron and Hermione weren't here, but no one else knew his secret, and Gryffindor tower was hardly less crowded now than during term time.
It seemed to have shrunk slightly, too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. The Weasley twins, Fred and George had had a great success with their invented joke product, Canary Creams, and although Draco hadn't experienced their effect himself, it seemed that turning into a Canary at odd moments was an enjoyable experience and people kept bursting into feather all over the place.
"Hey Harry!"
It was Dean Thomas. Draco offered a weak smile.
"Come and play exploding snap! Whatchya' doing homework for?!"
Draco hesitated for a moment, looking between his poised quill and the raucous group of laughing teens gathered at the fireplace. It wasn't a very Slytherin gathering, and it certainly wasn't Malfoy-approved…but what people didn't know wouldn't hurt them. . He set his quill down.
…ooo000ooo…
Draco's bedroom was, like the rest of the manor, very large, and the furniture no less ostentatious than Harry had been preparing himself for. He could have run laps around the room, and the canopy bed was at least seven feet in width, and that alone had Harry staring in disbelief. The furniture was all black with silver knobs and feet, and carved in an elaborate and curvy style that made Harry want to label it as French, though he knew nothing about interior design. The carpet was, unsurprisingly, deep green, and was thick - and warm too, when Harry bent down to touch it in awe after his feet literally sank into it by a few centimeters.
If Draco hadn't added his own touch to the place, it would have been a perfect hotel room in some very expensive and exclusive getaway, comfortable and expensive, yet not homely.
Draco's personal effects made all the difference. A scarf casually folded over the back of a chair, old schoolbooks on the bookshelves, a stuffed toy dragon peeping out from under the bed…and then there was Draco's quidditch posters.
Behind the heavy (and no doubt hand-carved) door, was a life-sized poster of a muscled wizard with an easy grin, and a top-of-the-range broomstick casually balanced on his shoulder. Every now and again he would swap the broom to a different shoulder and run a hand through his dark hair which would ruffle and stand on end in a way that made Harry frown. He had the oddest feeling ... Unconsciously he mirrored the action.
Acting on suspicion alone, Harry moved towards one of the many wardrobes that lined the walls and on opening the door, was not disappointed.
This time twin posters with grey and white falcon emblems greeted him, one depicting a shirtless male with a snitch in one hand and a broom in the other, the other with showed a man holding a beater bat and flexing his biceps. Harry stared at it for a moment, then closed the door.
"Okay." He said slowly, blinking. Well I don't really know what to make of that.
Knowing Draco Malfoy liked men was very different from seeing proof of it.
"Master Draco?"
Harry jumped half a foot and slammed the cupboard door shut. "Oh, Mobby, it's just you-"
"Mistress is waiting for Master in the green room." The little elf said, looking stern "Why hasn't Master changed into his dinner robes yet?"
"Oh," Harry said guiltily. He had been too busy examining his surroundings to have followed the elf's instructions, and he didn't want to be late to see his…his mother. He smiled reluctantly at the though of finally using that word to address someone. True, he had thought he would say 'mum', but Narcissa Malfoy just wasn't that kind of parent – or so Draco said.
"I'll er – just get changed now then," he told the elf "If you pick out some robes for me." He added hastily, while thinking furiously.
The green room? Was that the dining room? Or one of the lounges?
…ooo000ooo…
Harry practiced his Malfoy swagger as he strode down the hallways and corridors of Malfoy Manor. Behind a rather fixed smirk, however, he was desperately going over Draco's maps in his head.
Green drawing room…above the sun room…down the stairs next to the second bathroom from my bedroom, opposite the portrait of Hesperius Malfoy…
Harry did not like his family home.
The Manor was beautiful, in it's own way…but whoever had designed and built it had had pride and grandness in mind rather than a home. The hallways were tall and dim, lit by ornate lanterns. The floors were made of dark wooden floorboards covered by opulent rugs which did nothing to dispel the permanent chill the building seemed to exude.
Every footstep was heralded by a creak, every movement watched by the disapproving eyes of a portrait or marble bust, and Harry was beginning to wonder if it was actually possible to have a happy childhood in such a place. The darkness, and creakiness of the place was enough to frighten any small child never mind the thought of hundreds of dim, empty rooms.
He finally reached the room where he hoped his mother was waiting, and paused outside. Of course she would have heard him coming, but he needed a moment to compose himself.
Cold and indifferent he told himself. Draco would never show gratitude for affection, nor return it, even if he reveled in it privately.
Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath and let himself in.
…ooo000ooo…
"Draco!"
Narcissa Malfoy had been standing in front of the window with her back to the parlour, but when the door opened she had turned around, and in a rush of silk robes, she was at Harry's side, planting feathery kisses on either cheek.
Harry forced a polite smile, and allowed her to draw him into a light hug which he drew no warmth from; her silk robes were cold and the lace around her neck and wrists was scratchy.
"Mother." He greeted her formally, as instructed.
"Oh Draco!" she gushed, drawing back to look him up and down, her expression soft. Harry found he couldn't make himself meet her eyes.
Her words weren't particularly genuine sounding, but he would have swapped her for Aunt Petunia in a heartbeat.
"Sabine will adore you! You remember Sabine, don't you? The Montpellier girl? Oh - look how tall you've gotten since June!"
Her grey eyes, so like Draco's - mine - passed over him, her cupid's bow mouth turning up in appreciation, and then she launched into praise for this much famed Sabine Montpellier.
If Harry hadn't met Molly Weasley with her bone-crushing hugs, he would have fallen for it, hook, line and sinker, he told himself. But then, before Mrs Weasley, Harry had never thought it possible that someone would display affection towards him in any measure. Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful, elegant and charming, but in a way Harry felt he could no more connect with this woman emotionally than he could with a butterfly or passing cloud. Draco had tried to explain, but he only understood now.
She loved her son, Harry could feel it as she spoke, and her words were light and pleasant sounding to the air, but there depth missing from her words, her touches. Harry could tell she'd had nothing to do with Draco's upbringing, he could tell it by the way she touched him, like china, that the house elves had been the ones to sit up at night with the crying baby, and tend to Draco when he was ill. He could see it in the way she looked at him, with the sort of short-lived delight that would pass when something else caught her attention.
She loved her son in the way one might like a pet, or a favored ornament. She didn't know him. She loved the idea of a son, but did she love in the way Harry knew Lily Potter had loved her son? Somehow he couldn't seem to apply that vision of unconditional love he had seen in his photo album to this beautiful yet distant figure.
Narcissa's pale hair was pulled into an elegant bun, and her jeweled earrings glimmered as she cocked her head and studied his face, pausing in her chatter. This time Harry met her gaze, and was suddenly unsure of his assessment.
Maybe he was perhaps just not used to seeing someone like her as a human being. She was almost intimidating with her beauty and refined manners. In a way it shouldn't be surprising that someone like her would show affection differently to people like the Weasleys; purebloods like the Malfoys weren't exactly demonstrative on the whole and the hug Narcissa had bestowed on him might have been as foreign to her as to Harry.
Suddenly she smiled again as she smoothed down his hair once more.
"It's been too long, Dragon."
Dragon?
Her touches might not feel as warm as Mrs Weasley's but the way she was looking at him, now that he had allowed himself to see, made him feel a little less judgmental.
Does it matter? She's my mother.
Despite himself, Harry allowed himself to lose some of his stiffness and leaned into her touch.
"Your father won't be home until tonight darling, but I thought we could have a cup of tea together while you tell me how school went."
"Of course, Mother." Harry agreed, smiling back at her. Remembering his manners, he added "but why don't you tell me about your time in France first?"
…ooo000ooo…
Tea went well, but Harry nearly lost it at dinner.
Lucius Malfoy had arrived in a bad temper, and he had seated himself at the head of the table where his wife and son waited and began eating immediately without a word of greeting.
Narcissa nodded at him politely, but he wasn't looking at her, so she picked up her spoon and began to take delicate sips of her soup.
Harry's eyes darted around the table before he reached for his own soup spoon.
The main course was the worst part. Harry had spent about thirty seconds looking at the array of cutlery around his plate before he used his brain and glanced over at Narcissa to see which knife he should use.
This was the point at which Lucius deigned to notice him.
He knew immediately, by the cold prickle of watching eyes on his neck. He wisely took a moment to finish chewing his cauliflower before raising his head to meet his father's gaze.
"I see you're still ridiculously short." Lucius snapped.
Harry felt his face redden, and he looked away. He knew he couldn't let himself get angry, Draco had told him that was a Very Bad Idea and it also might give him away.
"I thought," Narcissa said delicately, pausing with wine glass in hand "that Draco has become quite dashing."
Harry shot her a grateful glance without thinking about it. He hadn't thought much of her earlier. He'd started off very unsure of her, and she had shown genuine interest in his activities at school which had bolstered his hopes, but she was altogether too easily tricked into talking about herself for very long periods when he'd run out of things to say.
"Dashing." Lucius snorted, and lapsed into silence.
Harry was just about to take another bite when he started up again.
"What we need," Lucius said, his voice cold "is a young man. Not this dandy you've turned him into Narcissa. Look at him!"
"He's a fine young man." Narcissa replied evenly "The girls are enchanted with him at school, aren't they dear?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply but was cut off.
"Much good it'll do them!" Lucius scoffed "Girls grow out of wanting a pretty boy. Soon they'll want someone who looks as if they won't be blown over in a stiff breeze. Perhaps he should get his hair cut shorter. I don't like to go against tradition, but-"
"He'll come into his manly features in time, Lucius." Narcissa looked upset at his proposal
"And what of his school results? If I have to beat him for every test that Mudblood surpasses him in-"
"Dear, not at the table, please."
"May I be excused?" Harry stood up, waiting stiffly for Lucius's approval. All he got was a sneer, but he took it, and was hard pressed not to leave the room at a run. He pretended not to see Narcissa's lips tremble.
…ooo000ooo…
Harry's eyes were blurring slightly as he dropped onto the huge bed. He squeezed them shut furiously.
What did I expect? He's Lucius Malfoy! He nearly killed Ginny with the diary!
He had thought that Lucius would be a little more fatherly towards his own son, but instead he was as bad as Vernon Dursley.
Well, Draco had warned him.
Still…was it too much to hope for parents who simple loved him and treated him as much? Lucius was nothing like the ideal father that Harry had seen in James…but in the end, did it matter? James was dead, either way he had no father. At least Lucius was alive.
Narcissa confused him. He didn't want to trust her, but she seemed to care for him, and she'd stood up for him, hadn't she? It just disturbed him though, the way she didn't seem at ease around him sometimes. Had Draco been a difficult teenager? Or worse, was he like Lucius sometimes? Harry felt a moment of unease. It made sense that she might be tentative around a boy who might have been unfriendly and hostile, especially if she didn't see him often and wasn't used to being a mother…
He bit his lip. Draco is a good person .Even if he has learnt things…mannerisms…from Lucius, there's no way he would mean them in the same way.
For a long while, Harry sat in silence trying to imaging Draco speaking cruelly to his mother. No matter how he pictured it though, it didn't seem natural. Draco was not a monster. Not like Lucius.
He must have just been difficult…probably.
At least Harry hoped so.
Harry snorted and opened his eyes. Did I seriously just question Draco Malfoy being a difficult teenager?
He was just moving to lug himself off the bed and end his pity fest when his eyes caught on something moving above him.
"Oh my."
Sean Balton, Falmouth Falcons read a small label at the bottom of the poster that was haphazardly spell-o-taped to the roof of the bed's canopy.
For a moment Harry merely took in the vision of muscles and wind-tossed hair as the quidditch player grinned down at him.
Then he sniggered.
Suddenly it all seemed hilarious. Had Draco, like Harry, flopped down on his bed after being reamed out by his father, with Sean Balton to cheer him up? And Lucius, making pointed comments on how Draco needed to man-up? How ironic. It reminded him of Sirius; it was the sort of thing his godfather would do to piss of his family.
Harry's eyes passed over the poster once more, then forced himself to his feet before his eyes lingered.
…ooo000ooo…
"Draco." Severus sighed, not pausing in his stirring of the cauldron. "I thought I told you I needed absolute peace and quiet to work on this potion."
"No you didn't." Draco said sullenly, closing the door behind him with a click and sliding into a seat.
"I shouldn't have to tell you out loud." The potions master muttered, lifting the stirring rod from the mixture to take a delicate sniff of the clear liquid that was dripping from it.
Draco dropped his head onto the desk, and Severus noted the action with a roll of his eyes.
"It's only been two days. How is it that you are pining over him already?" Snape said, his voice mockingly delicate.
Draco's head shot up like a bullet, immediately the un-charming shade of red that only a Potter could achieve when angry – or embarrassed. "I'm not pining!" he snapped "He's an idiot-" he said with relished venom "he can hardly do any of those curses properly, he can't dance, and he's a terrible actor!"
He's cheering up already, Snape noted with smug satisfaction I must admit I have missed our little talks about Potter…which brings me on to that other matter…his lip curled in digust at the thought.
"And how, exactly – forgive me – would you know whether Potter is a good dancer?"
Draco had been getting into deriding Harry so much that his face had returned to its normal shade, but this comment soon had it flushing disgustingly again, and Severus had confirmation of his worst fears.
"I needed to teach him how to dance. For mother's ball." Draco muttered
"And naturally you were the only one for the job?"
"Granger was a terrible teacher!" Draco defended with unwarranted vehemence
"Of course." Severus conceded and Draco relaxed
"And who would have thought he would have, ah – connected – so much better with yourself." Severus added delicately.
Finally Draco seemed to gain control of his colour and looked at Severus directly, those green eyes telling no secrets for once.
"Stop implying things, will you." It was a command, not a question and Severus found some small delight in not paying attention to the hidden plea to please shut up, in return for the impudence.
"Of all people to choose…" Severus sneered "I thought you had a little more class."
Draco remained still. "You know nothing. Stop fishing for – whatever you're fishing for."
"I know nothing? Certainly." Severus inclined his head "But I have eyes. And I know you, Draco." he added a little more softly.
Draco lifted his chin defiantly. "It's really none of your business."
"And yet I hear no denials." Snape said, a tad morosely, reaching for a jar of scarab beetles and returning to his cauldron. "I am most disappointed, Draco. In your taste, as well as how it looks as if I shall have to rant and rage about Potter only to the headmaster now."
"I wouldn't count on it." Draco huffed, returning his head to the desk.
Severus could almost sense his godson's smile.
…ooo000ooo…
"Aduro!" Harry forced out.
The rabbit burst into flames, and Harry kept his eyes fixed on it without really seeing. Distantly, he heard Lucius make some remark, and he lowered his wand.
"We should start on house elves." Lucius said ponderously.
Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and Lucius's calculating eyes widened in triumph at the sight.
"Just as I thought," Lucius sneered "you're a sniveling little coward."
"A coward because I won't hurt things that can't defend themselves?" Harry shot back, anger suddenly enflaming him.
Lucius smiled grimly, as if he'd been waiting for it, and the bottom of Harry's stomach seemed to fall out.
"Crucio!"
…ooo000ooo…
Lucius didn't call on Harry to perform again. Harry had thought he'd heard raised voices one night, but he couldn't bring himself to go closer and listen in.
He'd done what he needed to. He told himself that it was only a transfigured rabbit, like Snape had used, but he didn't know that for certain. Hell, he didn't know if a transfigured rabbit was even real in the sense a natural rabbit was, and he truly did not want to ever find out.
What would he do if Lucius asked him to flay a house elf? Of course he'd refuse, but what would Lucius do to him for such disobedience? Surely he wouldn't kill his son?
He turned over in bed, pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to relax. His finger joints were still aching a little from the cruciatus.
Sean gave him a merry wink from up high.
A/N - So…another chapter. Hope you liked it. Please review if you did!