A/n: Wonderful thanks to Fireaquila, Kitten in the Shadows, smak978, megipegi, potterbuncker, HobbiyMagic for your encouraging reviews!

I will gladly and selfishly admit: I can't get enough of them :D


Chapter 12: Intricacies of Social Conversation

The raven's mouth opened.

That was it, nothing more. No sound, no movement.

"Harry," Mrs. Malfoy greeted him with a polite smile. "How is your shoulder?" She inquired.

"Good." He instinctively touched his shoulder where the stained towel hung. The soreness had vanished a while ago. "It's good, Mrs. Malfoy." He added after a second, remembering to switch back from 'silent' to 'polite mode'.

The raven's eyes flitted down from the woman with the long white braid to the boy with the same white head. He still had to look up though. It was annoying that Draco was taller. He was already older and more experienced, and he rarely missed an opportunity to point it out.

Draco's face at that moment was impeccable…but impenetrable. No expression could be deciphered there.

Seeing that neither of the boys was prepared to take the first step, Narcissa Malfoy decided to take over. "Harry, we were thinking you might…"

"Don't leave the door open like that!" A shrill voice snapped from behind Harry. "You're letting the warmth escape…" Aunt Petunia's voice wavered as her gaze fell upon the beautiful woman on her doorstep. A quick glance told her that the braided blonde was of a higher class. Her desire for recognition from the cultivated society took over and she responded with her own impeccable manners. Although, these didn't flow from the heart, but from the mind.

"I'm sorry to bother you, madam," Narcissa picked up quickly, "but my son would like to ask you something." And she pushed Draco a little forward so that he stood in the foreground.

Severa Snape had since long taught him to stand straight and move according to his family's values, but Narcissa thought it was about time he learned how to use appropriate language, and how to express himself while considering other people's feelings. She had never been able to get him to actually try before, but now that she had found something he wanted badly enough, she had leverage.

Harry was almost shocked to see Draco flush slightly. He'd never seen that before.

"Err, I'm Draco Malfoy," he addressed Petunia, "and this is my mother Narcissa Malfoy. I was wondering, Mrs. Potter, if Harry could…"

"Potter!" Petunia exclaimed before the boy could finish. She looked so shocked she even took a step back. By her reaction it would seem like Draco had just given her the finger.

Mother and son took a step back themselves, momentarily stunned.

"Vernon!" Petunia called weakly but urgently. She sounded out of breath. Harry's uncle came shuffling through the hallway moments later, bearing a questioning look.

"He called me Potter!" She hissed at her husband under her breath. Harry wasn't sure if the Malfoys had been able to hear. Then she turned to look at him. "What lies are you spreading around?" She demanded, though the raven noticed her tone was much softer, more indulgent than normal.

Well, that was it. He was toast, he thought. He had lied to the Malfoys, to everyone; enough to earn him a mile-long nose. He'd spinned that whole tale about his cousin visiting and his parents going to see his grandmother on Christmas. Other lies had naturally added themselves, layering in an intricate jumble that would not be forgiven.

Narcissa sensed that this situation surpassed her son's abilities. She had clearly caught the family at a bad time and she had not expected these developments. She took over the reins.

"I assure you Harry did nothing wrong, madam…" She trailed off questioningly.

"Dursley." Petunia took a deep breath, gathered her wits about her and recaptured a somewhat friendly smile. "Petunia Dursley. This is my husband Vernon. Our son Dudley -he attends St. Grogory's Primary School- is in the living room, and this is Harry, my nephew." She finished. It was the first time ever that she had uttered his name without as much as a grimace. "Would you like to come in for some tea? I baked fresh biscuits yesterday. I would be happy to offer you some; that is if my Dudley didn't get to them first." Vernon and Petunia chuckled nervously.

It had never occurred to Harry, but what a stressful life the Dursleys must lead. They were working so hard to make good impressions. It had to be taking a toll on their mental health.

The whole party moved to the living room where Dudley was introduced. Aunt Petunia went as far as turning off the television and making Dudley say where he went to school and how he liked his uniform and his teachers while Narcissa listened patiently, sipping her camomile tea.

Draco's face still looked impassable, though Harry was certain he must be itching inside to make a sneering comment about some of his cousin's obvious shortcomings.

That was as far as Draco was concerned. For Narcissa, there was another elephant in the room. Maybe a mammoth. Or it might just have been Dudley. Anyway, Narcissa was of course too polite and considerate to immediately come to the topic in question, but she was trying to find a way to work towards it, all the while throwing glances at the little boy in clothes that had clearly belonged to his cousin, and who's face had turned worryingly pale while he sat in his corner, not having touched his tea.

She didn't want to get the shy little boy in trouble, so she didn't mention what he'd told her. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, you have a lovely home." She praised them. "I would've loved to see those rosebushes in your front garden in the spring." She knew to add a little detail, so as not to sound forced.

The Dursleys relaxed, seeing Mrs. Malfoy's positive reaction to them.

"You are welcome to admire them when they bloom." Aunt Petunia refilled the empty cups. If it's no inconvenience, of course. Do you live far?" Yes, aunt Petunia possessed subtlety.

"Not that far actually. We live just south of the roundabout by the park." Narcissa replied, liking where the conversation was going. It would lead her where she wanted to go.

"Well, that's a wonderful neighbourhood!" Petunia Dursley exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm, for she knew that the grandest and most ornate homes occupied the streets around that roundabout. She poked her high heel at her husband's ankle, who -apparently just shaken awake- came back to life. "Didn't we always think that was a wonderful neighbourhood?" She added to bring him up to speed.

"Neighbourhood? Oh. Oh, yes. Absolutely." He nodded fervently, sipping from his refilled cup. "I always admire the cars as I pass by. Have you noticed the one in our driveway, it's a…"

Another ten minutes of patience (particularly hard to bear for the two ten-year olds and for the raven who was sinking lower and lower in his chair, wondering when his lies would be exposed, and what was going to happen when they did) were needed for Narcissa to be able to steer back in the right direction.

"I understood that your nephew, Harry, lives here." She began carefully. "Am I wrong?" Always better to suggest that oneself is wrong. It sounds much sweeter to another's ears.

"No, no. You're not mistaken." Petunia spoke with a tender smile on her face, but she wasn't looking at Harry. Vernon stayed quiet and concentrated on his teacup. He could pretend many things, but love was not one of them. "We've taken him in last summer, poor boy." She cast down her eyes for good measure. "My sister and her husband passed away." Mentioning a loved one's death was handy for provoking feelings of pity in other people, she'd found. "They were…involved in some very bad things." She whispered, knowing Narcissa would not ask for it herself, and wanting it to be clear. She wanted people to know that it wasn't her fault if her nephew had turned out as he had, and so she shoved the responsibility to her dead sibling every chance she could. It wasn't like Lily had ever looked back at her. The mean little witch.

"Really?" Narcissa didn't really have anything else to say. This was a very different story from the one she'd gotten from the wild-haired boy, who was looking paler than ever and seemed to have a desperate wish to disappear into his too-large clothes. She quickly checked on her son sitting next to her. He had been lying back before, bored out of his mind, but now he was sitting straight as a candle with his feet firmly planted on the ground, as if wanting to bound up in a second.

"It's been a difficult time adjusting for everyone." Petunia continued, not knowing what her nephew could have said. If he'd told about their fights, she needed to make her story match. "But we are all trying very hard. Losing two parents at once…it really is unimaginable for us."

A spark, a flame of coloured skin, fingers digging into his thighs inside his pockets. The raven was doing everything possible to keep his sudden rage from showing; an undying anger against his aunt for daring to pretend she cared anything about his feelings, anything about his parents. He now just wanted to end this, and was contemplating pouring his drink over himself so he could disappear into the bathroom.

The conflict inside Harry's body went unnoticed by everyone, except for a pair of grey eyes among the circle. The blonde was no raven, but he had eyes like a hawk.

"You said your son and Harry attend the same school?" Petunia went on, unaware of anything else but her quest to gain the approval of a seemingly rich and respected Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yes, my cousin teaches there, and though Harry is just seven, he's already in her literature class with Draco." Narcissa lightly rubbed her son's back to get him to relax. His passionate nature led him to do inappropriate things at inappropriate times. This was an inappropriate time.

"Oh, yes." Vernon joined in, finding one thing he could talk about again after his long rant about his company car. "I had to go all the way to the centre of London for that book!" He added a chuckle when Petunia glared at him, just so he wouldn't sound like he hadn't enjoyed the experience, and of course enjoyed taking care of his intelligent nephew.

"Well, we were wondering if Harry would like to spend the last weekend of the holiday with us." Narcissa finally finished what they'd wanted to say at the door. She felt they had wasted enough time on small talk.

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon turned on Harry.

The raven's stomach crawled onto itself, shrinking to half its size. His uncle and aunt were expecting an answer from him, but he didn't know which. He tried to decipher from their faces, but it looked like they weren't sure what they wanted him to do either.

He himself was conflicted. On one hand, he was mortified at the idea of going. It meant he would have to do a lot of explaining. It would be the end of Mrs. Malfoy's respect for him. But on the other hand, if he didn't go now, he might not ever have the chance to explain himself, to defend himself and his parents. And it would be the last chance he got to go to the Malfoy manor. Mrs. Malfoy would not extend this invitation again. He had only gone twice, but the feeling of being welcome somewhere, even if he felt he didn't belong there, was nice and warming when he lay alone in the dark at night.

He had to decide, everyone was waiting for him to say something. (Except for Dudley. He was eating cookies.) He moved his head in a way that looked like a cross between a nod and a shake. Then he caught sight of Dudley's toy gun lying under the table and was reminded of everything he hated inside that house. He suddenly felt he didn't want to miss his last chance to get out of there for a while. And even if he got in trouble with Mrs. Malfoy, it would postpone the trouble he would certainly have with his uncle and aunt. Usually, not seeing him for a while calmed them down, so the consequences were less heavy.

"I'll go get my bag." He said in a quick breath and sprinted out of the room before anyone could make him stay. Now that he'd decided, he couldn't handle it if the Durlseys told him he couldn't' go after all.

The raven got his travel-bag from under his bed, the one he hadn't touched since his arrival the previous summer. In a flash he had a change of dull old Dudley clothes (his own really didn't fit any longer), a tooth-brush, his library copy of Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and pyjama's (luckily still his own for his mother had bought larger sizes in advance). He wouldn't give Draco the opportunity to accuse him of stealing his clothes again.

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon were surprisingly compliant and friendly as they saw Harry off. They were happy to be rid of him for a while, eager to please an important member of society, and from the conversation earlier, they were convinced Harry had not told any filthy lies about them and would not do so either. They'd felt it was safe enough to let him go.

The raven's bag was in the trunk of the sleek 4x4, and he himself seated in the back seat. Draco had taken place next to his mother, clearly stating he was higher placed than the younger kid.

"It's very kind of your aunt and uncle to let you go on such short notice." Mrs. Malfoy began as she revved the engine. Harry nodded at her through the rear-view mirror. "Pardon my son, Harry," she said as she looked disapprovingly at the blond boy's distant countenance. "He was the one who was asking me when you'd come by again. He's been pestering me for two whole days now."

"I was bored." Draco shrugged, looking passively at the passing shrubs.

That sounded more like him that what his mother was claiming, Harry thought. Mrs. Malfoy was probably just being her polite self, and trying to teach her son about white lies. He didn't seem in the mood to learn though.

The ride to the manor was a quiet thing. The raven wasn't able to find anything to say. He was simply waiting for the bad part to come. It had to be coming. Draco was doing his best not to look excited, and succeeded. While Narcissa, once again, tried to get Harry to speak, and Draco to speak kindly. Once again, it was futile.

It was for that reason that she gave up when they got home. She saw that the boy was waiting for it, and it had to come sooner or later. So when they'd hung away their coats and put away Harry's overnight-bag, she prepared herself to ask him.

Draco beat her to it. "Why did you lie?"


Sometimes I really wish I could somehow put music to books. It helps convey stronger emotions. But I always get distracted when I listen to music while reading or writing.

So, I had a question from potterbuncker, asking me why I decided to make Draco older than Harry.

First, I made Harry skip a grade, so he's actually the same age as Ginny, one year younger than Ron and Hermione.

Second, Draco is two years older than them, and thus three years older than Harry, putting him at the same level as Fred and George, though he's not in the same class as them at school.

Usually, I simply start a story with the first scene, and the situation becomes what it is without me really making conscious decisions. I just felt like jumbling up the age hierarchy, I guess. But it actually fits well into what I have planned for later.

Hope this is a satisfactory answer. :)