The twinkling fairy lights of the massive Christmas trees and floating candles beckoned Draco forward, accompanied by the rhythmic thrum of the live band playing withing the ministry's grand ball room.

He impatiently broke off from his parents, who were content to walk at the glacial speed adults considered dignified, and tugged Harry forward by the hand.

"Let's see who's hear already!" Draco encouraged, hoping to nip Harry's growing anxiety in the bud. "Neville's grandmother always like to show up early. We can grab some snacks and find an alcove to spy from."

Harry brightened at the idea of passively observing people from the shadows, so Draco steered them towards a line of tabled filled with sugary confections and savory hors d'oeuvres to stock up. He had plenty of time to coax Harry into making his introductions, and it would not hurt to give his friend the lay of the political landscape, before marching him through the battlelines.

Sure enough, Neville Longbottom was already there, and lingering awkwardly by the punch. His hawkish shrew of a grandmother was hovering nearby, her face pinched in disapproval when she noticed Draco approach her heir.

"Hi Neville," Draco said loudly, in a cheerful, friendly tone. "Have you been here long?"

"Hi Draco. Hi Harry," Neville greeted in return, with a shallow formal bow. "Maybe half an hour or so. Nothing much has happened, yet. How have your holidays been, so far?"

"Uneventful," Draco said dismissively, "have you started on your holiday homework, yet?"

"Gran's made me work on it for an hour every day. She seems to think that if I flounder often enough, I'll eventually learn how to swim."

Draco laughed. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Nev. You'll ace the herbology, easy, and even the potions essay has a lot to do with the effects of plant-based ingredients."

"You can owl me, if you have any questions on the other parts," Harry chimed in, "if you let me do the same with herbology. I can do anything with a plant's corpse, but keeping them alive and happy is another story."

"That's not true, Harry," Neville said. "I've read your essays. You do just fine."

"Not good enough, if I want to beat Professor Snape's record as the youngest potions master," Harry said, a determined glint in his eyes.

Draco smiled. "You're serious about that? Snape likes you, but I'm not sure he'll want to share his glory."

"Herbology's not that important for potions, anyways."

"Sure it is, Nev. Tell me, if I grew my own boom berry plant, and its restorative properties were weaker than they should be, how would I make the next crop stronger?"

Neville bit his lip as he thought for a moment. "Move it to an area where it gets more direct sunlight. Use a mirror to reflect the light back on itself, if you need to. Add more nitrogen to its soil; earth worms or nagaworms will work better than potions or fertilizers, and make sure the soil has not been exposed to any direct magical discharge for at least three months before harvesting season."

Harry grinned. "You see? I'll need your help to beat the record, for sure."

Neville actually blushed at that. Draco rolled his eyes. It was as if the boy had never been praised before, in his entire life.

"You aren't allowed to replace me with a Gryffindor, Harry," Draco chastised, "no matter how smart he is. I called dibs."

"I'm not replacing anyone, you arrogant goof. Maybe if you'd studied potions harder over the summer, you wouldn't feel so left out."

Draco squawked in mock outrage. "I'm just behind you in potions, prat."

"Only because we always partner together."

Draco stuck out his tongue. "Whatever. I've still got you beat in transfigurations and charms."

"We're practically tied in charms, and I'm ace in DADA… I'm a better flier, too."

"Low blow. Just you wait until seeker tryouts, next year. I'll be ready to take you on, by then. Plus, I'm no Nev, but out last assignment put me over you in herbology again. And do we need to even talk about astronomy and history of magic?"

Harry scoffed. "Those don't count. You're named after the stars, you clearly have an unfair advantage, and Professor Binns is so boring, I can't possibly pay attention in his class."

"No one does. The trick is to read about it after class."

"It's still boring."

"You just focus too much on names and dates. You need to pay attention to the cause and effect. Make it a story, or an equation of ingredients that add up to volatile battles and healing treaties."

"You're both too much," Neville said, looking utterly bemused at their argument. "Don't you find it all stressful?"

"We've learned to pick our battles.," Draco said, with a dismissive wave, "School's not worth going crazy over. It's easier to keep it fun when we make it a competition, and I'm not afraid to half-arse an assignment here or there to stay sane."

Neville turned to refill his drink, but Draco caught the tension in his shoulders. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Nev, I didn't…"

"It's fine," Neville said, sharply, without turning around.

"Is everything alright here, boys?" Madame Longbottom asked sharply, descending upon them like a vulture.

"Yes, ma'am," Draco replied. "It's a pleasure to see you, again."

"We were just talking about school, Mrs. Longbottom," Harry chimed in. "Draco and I got a little carried away."

"It's fine, Gran," Neville said, tensely. "They're friends."

"Are they, indeed," Madame Longbottom said, her thin lips pressed together in open displeasure. Her eyes conspicuously lingered on Draco as she spoke.

Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't Harry's aunt, after all. Nor was his father the notoriously rumored Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy.

"We have potions class with Neville," Draco said brightly, plastering a wide, vapid smile on his face. "He's our favorite Gryffindor, for sure. He might be the quiet type, but he's not afraid to stand up for his friends, when it's needed. He's had Harry's back more than once. You should be very proud of him."

"Yes, well, I will keep my own council on where to dispense my pride, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said, allowing his smile to falter, slightly.

"We're in a study group together, too," Neville said, edging his way between Draco and his carrion grandmother.

Draco's jaw twitched with the effort to repress his smirk. Brave Gryffindor, indeed.

"Neville's absolutely brilliant at herbology," Harry said earnestly. "I've learned a lot from him, already."

"He has always insisted on playing with his little plants," Madame Longbottom said, with a longsuffering sigh. "It is a pity he's never shown more acumen in subjects that actually require magic so succeed."

Draco cocked his head, feigning innocent curiosity. "We don't share many classes, but from what I've heard, he's done pretty well, considering his wand doesn't suit his magic, at all."

Neville flinched, and his grandmother's face hardened into something truly cold.

Draco remembered, too late, why that had been a profoundly stupid thing to say.

"That wand belonged to his father," Madame Longbottom hissed, fury rattling the timber of her voice. "My son would be using it, still, if it wasn't for your family, boy, so don't you dare lecture me on mine."

"That's not fair," Harry said, jumping headfirst into a battle he did not understand.

Draco tried to wave his friend off, but Harry's burning eyes were locked with Madame Longbottom's and blazing with a righteous fury. This was bad.

"Draco has done nothing but be nice to Neville," Harry proclaimed. "He's nothing like the lies idle old women like to spread about his family."

"Idle old lies, is it?" Madame Longbottom asked, poking Draco hard in the chest. "How would you classify the lies you've been telling him, then?"

Draco clawed desperately at his panic, reigning it in. He could fix this. "Harry," he said softly, spinning his friend by the shoulder until he was forced to look at him, "I told you about my crazy aunt, remember? The one in prison?"

Harry frowned, and then paled. His eyes darted to Neville, and then to Madame Longbottom. "Neville's parents," he whispered. "I'd forgotten. Mrs. Longbottom, I am so sorry. I'm used to people telling me untrue things about Draco's parents. I forgot that he'd mentioned what his aunt was in prison for."

"We don't like to talk about her," Draco said, hanging his head in contrition. "Her crimes are a stain on our family that can never be washed clean. I spared Harry the details, Madame Longbottom. I only wanted him to hear the truth, from me. I haven't been spreading rumors about your son at school, I promise. I just, Harry didn't know. No one bothered to tell him anything about the wizarding world, growing up, and he deserved to know, about that psychotic monster, before he committed to being my friend."

Madame Longbottom was startled for a moment, but recovered quickly. "You told the boy about the family skeleton that escaped it's closet, but you're still lying to him about the ones still hidden, in the dark. We all know they're in there, boy. Your father will face the consequences of his crimes sooner or later. IF you want any hope of maintaining your influence over the Boy Who Lived, you'd better come clean, before he does."

Harry scowled, but Draco squeezed his arm, keeping him quiet.

"I am sorry, ma'am," Draco said, in a calm clear voice, "for what my aunt did to your family. You did not deserve that. No one deserves what she did, and I know only a fraction of it. I was, after all, a baby at the time. Still, my family owes Neville a debt that we can never repay. My friendship will never replace or undo what was lost, but I've offered it to him, anyway. I've offered it freely. I won't insult you by offering you anything more than that."

With that, Draco bowed deeply, a public show of respect and supplication, and then spun and walked away. Harry trailed closely behind him and, to his surprise, Neville followed, too.

"I'm sorry about her," Neville said, when they had found a shadowed alcove away from prying ears. "It's still raw for her, you know?"

"It's okay, Nev," Draco said, his head still reeling at how closely he had come to true disaster. "I don't blame her. If something happened to me, my mother would be the same."

"Still," Neville said, "you aren't your aunt. I know that. Deep down, she knows that, too. You're a good person, Draco."

Draco blinked, and felt a lump balloon in his throat. "I… not too good, I hope," he joked, instead. "I'd hate to become boring."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, heaven-forbid you aren't the center of attention every second of the day."

"Not every second," Draco drawled. "We switch off, or have you lost the schedule?"

"It's hard to lose when it's been carved into my forehead," Harry harrumphed, pointing at his scar.

"You two are so weird," Neville muttered around a mini quiche.

Sticking out his tongue, Draco scanned the room, looking for a safe or entertaining conversation to ease Harry into the night.

He found Pansy, instead. She caught his eye, and made a big show of sauntering over to their alcove. Draco groaned.

"Hey Draco, Harry," Pansy said, before glancing dismissively at Neville, "Harry's pet Gryffindor."

"Knock it off, Pans," Draco said, giving her a sarcastic smile. "Neville is our friend."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "If Harry hadn't decided to adopt him, you would never have given him the time of day, and you know it."

Draco pulled her aside, gesturing to Harry to give them a moment. Neville's blush was starting to look painful, so Draco flashed him a reassuring smile.

"Pansy," Draco hissed, when they were out of earshot. "Stop being difficult. Harry wasn't raised like we were. He thinks different. You know that! Why are you trying to start trouble?"

Pansy rose an eyebrow. "Isn't that the fun of a ministry ball?"

"Well, yes, but not against our friends! Listen, don't tell anyone this, but something has been bothering Harry all break, and I can't figure out what. I need tonight to go well, so that maybe he'll talk to me. Instead of sabotaging my good work, could you please help me out, instead?"

A thoughtful look settled onto Pansy's face. "Did your parents say something to him?"

Draco threw up his hands. "He's living in our house, Pans. Of course, they have."

"No, have they said something pureblood to him? You know, like what Avery's always going on about."

Draco dragged a hand over his face, letting his fingers tug at the skin beneath his eye, and his lip. "I don't know. Nothing that I noticed, but I'm not Harry, am I? I don't see the same things he does."

"Is there any embarrassing boy stuff that might be going on?"

"Boy stuff?"

"You know, like with girls, when they become women stuff… changes. Is there a boy version of that?"

Draco made a face. "Boys aren't as gross as girls, no. Ow!"

He rubbed the pain from his arm, where Pansy had punched him.

She shrugged. "Well, if it isn't that, and it isn't the rhetoric, then I don't know how to help."

"Just, help me make sure Harry has a good night, please? Be nice to Neville and whatever other strays he's managed to pick up. Tag team the more… blunt… adults with me. Keep the conversation from dwelling on Harry's fame, or his parents, or bloody pureblood politics. Please?!"

"What will you give me for your help?"

"I'll dance with you?" Draco asked, hopefully.

Pansy snorted. "Nice try, sweetie. You're going to have to cough up more than that."

"I'll write your next transfiguration essay for you. From scratch. No chance of McGonagall cottoning on."

"Deal."