Harry was having more fun than he had ever had, in his entire life. The Malfoys were so friendly, and always had an idea for a game, or a challenge, or an experiment. Dobby's flying courses really were ridiculous, but figuring them out, and then racing Draco to maneuver through the floating, rotating, padded objects the little elf suspended over the pitch for them was incredibly satisfying. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy refused to do the obstacle courses, but they had agreed to a couple two on two quidditch games with Harry and Draco, already, and Harry was happy to see that neither of them allowed grown-up propriety to hold them back.

This was the first time that Harry had every truly seen what a family was supposed to look like. The way that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy treated Draco was nothing like the Dursleys treated Harry, or even how they treated Dudley. Dudley was given whatever he wanted to keep him busy, and validated however it took to keep him happy and quiet, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never spoke to 'Duddikins' like he was a real person, who could be challenged into becoming something better.

Draco was spoiled, Harry knew that, but he was held accountable for his attitude before he devolved into a full tantrum, and he was asked questions that made him think before he answered. It was beautiful to watch Draco's mother or father gently prod him to justify his off-the-cuff assumptions about which subject at school was the best, or which peacock was the meanest, or which flavor of exotic ice cream Pansy or Greg would like most. Harry felt honored to be allowed to witness it.

He just… he felt guilty that it wasn't enough.

The Malfoys were doing everything they could to make him feel included, and he was included, in all of the activities, and all of the conversations, and all of the family high-fives.

But he wasn't family.

He thought that maybe it would be easier to fool himself into thinking that he was, if there were more people around, if the Malfoys were a bigger family, like the Weasleys.

Harry had spent his entire life being the extra, unwanted piece, in a completed, packaged set of three.

He had been excluded in big ways, but he had always noticed the small ways, too. The inside jokes that everyone was in on, except for him. The way that everyone's favorite food was made for dinner at least once a month, except for his. The way conversations would lull awkwardly for a moment, whenever he entered a room.

It was different with the Malfoys, not malicious in any way that Harry could detect, but the trio of blondes just knew things about each other that Harry didn't. They had a lifetime of shared experiences that bound them together in a way that one semester at school could not compete against.

They would casually mention a name in conversation, then have to backtrack for Harry's sake, when he didn't know who they were talking about, or wave it off as an insignificant detail to the point of their story. Mrs. Malfoy would ask Dobby for everyone's favorite snack by memory, and then have to ask what Harry wanted.

They were little, insignificant things. They did not diminish the care that he knew the Malfoys felt for him.

But they did set him apart.

They reminded him that he was trespassing on someone else's family Christmas; the fact that he had been invited to do so did not change that fact.

The preparations for the Ministry Ball did not help.

It had become apparent very quickly to Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy that Harry did not know the finer points of formal etiquette.

They were very patient as they taught him which fork to use, how to bow properly, and the steps of a wizarding waltz, but ever time Harry needed to be taught some new behavior, he felt more and more isolated and inadequate.

Dancing wasn't easy. The steps were complicated, and Harry had always reacted more on instinct than a sense of timing. Posture and fork-usage were easy to remember when he was concentrating on doing it right, but whenever he got excited, or caught up in a conversation, he slipped into his old habits without even realizing.

And then there was the matter of being 'properly attired'.

Mrs. Malfoy meant well, she really did, but her standards for the tailor when he came to the manor to fit Harry for proper outfits to the various social events that he'd be expected to attend were so high, that she was stressing Harry out.

Harry wanted to be polite, and patient, but it was taking all of his energy not to yell at her that he didn't care if the emerald fabric was a touch too reflective, or if the paisley pattern on the black-on-black was bordering on gauche. All of this fussing over him was foreign and uncomfortable. It was giving him a headache, and he just wanted to run away, and hide in some dark, isolated corner of the manor for a couple of hours.

Draco had noticed Harry's distress, and had begun to complain about his own robes, until his mother had been forced to come over to offer her input. Harry had let out a heavy sigh that he had not known he'd been holding in, and Draco winked at Harry over his mother's shoulder, before directing her attention to a bit of stitching that was apparently unforgivably offensive.

Harry was hoping that the fitting would be last of Ministry talk for the evening, but when dinner came, Mr. Malfoy began give Harry hints as to acceptable topics of discussion, and Harry could not help but notice that Mr. Malfoy was leading his examples in directions that Harry did not entirely agree with.

Harry did not want to start a fight over politics. He had watched Uncle Vernon and his sister Marge ruin more than one family dinner over some policy or upcoming vote. Harry had been too young to know what they were talking about, or to care, even if he had, but that was changing.

Like it or not, Harry was public figure in the Wizarding World. He owed it to people to be informed on the big issues, and to have thought through his position on each one thoroughly, and on his own. He did not like that Mr. Malfoy seemed to be accidentally placing words into Harry's mouth.

Harry nodded his way through the suggestions, biting his lip to keep quiet, and pushing the remainder of his dinner around his plate as an excuse to avoid eye contact with the man.

Mr. Malfoy had welcomed him into his home. He had accepted Harry right from the start, and treated Harry like a son. Harry owed him. Surely, he didn't really mean the things that some of his example statements seemed to imply. He didn't really think that muggleborns were biologically different than everyone else. He didn't really want a handful of dark artifacts that Harry knew were dangerous, he'd been curious and looked them up about a month ago, to be reclassified and unrestricted. He didn't mean to imply that Wizards were inherently superior to muggles, goblins, and other sentient beings.

Harry was reading into things. There were innocent ways to interpret the things that Mr. Malfoy was saying. He needed to give his benefactor the benefit of the doubt. He was being ungrateful to question his motives. He was betraying Draco.

He needed to do more research. He'd been cataloguing the different ways that different purebloods seemed to view blood status. He had been digging up old research papers and data sets. Nature vs. nurture. Culture vs. biology. Right and wrong vs. different but equal. Harry had been researching them all.

There were some points where he was confident in the conclusions he had drawn, but others where there just was not enough data to prove a claim one way or the other. It was complicated.

It was emotionally charged.

Dangerous.

Maybe the Malfoys had different books than the ones he had already read, that he could borrow.

Maybe Mr. Malfoy had read different studies.

Maybe he would be willing to talk to Harry about it.

Maybe…

Harry's fork scraped against his plate in a way that sent a shrill, teeth-jarring noise echoing through the informal dining room. He jumped at the noise. "I'm sorry!" he said, dropping his fork, as if it had burned him. "I must be more fidgety than I realized. I think I'd better skip desert tonight, if that's alright, Mrs. Malfoy. Too much sugar."

He stood up abruptly and practically ran from the room.