rurounihime (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rurounihime) wrote2004-12-19 03:55 pm
rurounihime) wrote2004-12-19 03:55 pm
(no subject)
Damn. This fic is kicking my ass! Along with sporadically braving the malls and stores and Costco... Oh well, at least I'm keeping busy. But LOOK LOOK LOOK at the icon Fire made! *loves*
Title: Nine Days Till Christmas
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R (for language)
Summary: Harry decides to be very straight-forward about what he wants. Unfortunately, the answer he gets is more than a little disappointing. Now he has nine days to turn things around.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They're JK's people. Contains SLASH.
...
Days One Two Three
DAY FOUR: December 19th
Step 10: Take a day off
Great Hall, 9:31 AM
Harry picked at his breakfast and tried to pay attention to Ginny’s animated chatter. The girl had sat down next to him a few minutes after he’d arrived and proceeded to tentatively ask if he’d received her note. When he said yes in a rather dull voice, it was like a firecracker exploded. Ginny began to gush, smiling in relief, and it was all Harry could do not to blink and scoot away.
“Oh, Harry, I was so worried you would think it was too forward! I agonized for ages over whether or not to even leave it on the door. The rest of the team finally got fed up and started yelling, so I slapped it on and left. But I was so nervous. Couldn’t concentrate through practice because you distinctly said you thought the Yule Ball was silly and you didn’t want to go, but... Oh, but she’s so sweet, and I’m sure she’ll be rendered completely speechless in five seconds if you show up, and then you can just be polite and then go...”
Harry waited until she ended a sentence with an upward lilt to her voice and answered in the only way he could think to stop the babbling. “Yeah, sure, Ginny. I guess I could come by for a bit.”
“Oh, thank you, Harry, really. You are the best. Besides, what would a Hogwarts holiday event be like without you there?”
She smiled and got up, grabbing a muffin. “Dean’s organizing that Muggle game he loves out by the lake... you know... football? I don’t know, but he’s getting a whole group of students and Hermione’s going to spell the snow away for a bit. She’s discovered a nice continual heating spell in some book. You know Hermione. Anyway, you want in?”
Harry pretended to think about it for a bit, but in the end, he'd known his answer the second she began the question. “Sounds fun, Gin, but actually I have a lot of reading I haven’t had a chance to get to yet. I really should take care of that first.”
His friend smiled at him, and for a moment Harry felt guilty about disappointing her. “Hermione will be so proud! But I understand completely, Harry. I should really be doing my homework for Potions as well. But of course... football.”
She grinned and moved down the table to chat with some other sixth years, and Harry sighed heavily. Potions? Lord, he’d forgotten all about his project. It was a good thing the mixture had needed to sit for the past day. He poked his eggs with his fork. His day suddenly looked a whole hell of a lot darker... if that were even possible. He highly doubted it. All he had to do to remind himself not to get too happy by accident was think about the harsh words Draco had yelled before storming out of the shop. The way his face had twisted so angrily.
It wasn’t even an issue anymore, what he might have done to bring on Draco’s fury. Harry could not bring himself to care about that. All that was left was the fact that the headway he thought he had made had been completely negated. Draco had made it quite clear how he felt, and it stung Harry deeply to know he was the focus of so much ire. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d been hated; Harry knew he was definitely not everyone’s favorite person, no matter what Ginny said, and he had no qualms about it.
But he had not felt Draco’s anger directed at him so heavily since that time just before the end of fifth year, when the Slytherin had threatened him in the hallway over getting his father thrown into Azkaban. Harry hadn’t cared then, of course. He’d been too aggrieved over Sirius’ death, and he'd hated Draco with a passion then anyway. But now, feeling it again and recognizing that feeling, it hurt so much more. Draco hated him. Again.
Harry looked up from his plate to find Hermione’s eyes on him. He’d not even noticed she had sat down, but there she was, thoughtful and knowing, and Harry didn’t want to deal with it. He’d managed to avoid Ron’s questions that morning about why he hadn’t been at dinner, simply saying he’d been reading and had fallen asleep. Ron had let go of the subject with an unsuspecting smile, and Harry was glad; he felt no need to elaborate on the events with Draco. Ron did not need another reason to be furious with the Slytherin. But Hermione... She had zeroed in on his discomfort the second he’d entered the Common Room. Luckily, she’d only greeted him and left the rest of what she wanted to say silent, but now she was looking at him again, begging with her eyes for him to tell her what was wrong.
When Seamus made a particularly facetious comment a few seats down, causing Dean to laugh so hard he knocked his pumpkin juice all over Ron’s plate, Hermione leaned in and grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, what’s wrong?”
Ron was spluttering in outrage, frantically throwing every napkin he could find on the widening pool of pumpkin juice, and Seamus was in hysterics. No one was even paying attention to Harry or Hermione. Harry sighed and hunched his shoulders. “Nothing, Hermione,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
She squeezed his arm. “Harry, come on. I know you better than that. Did something happen yesterday?”
He smiled weakly. “Just didn’t find all the gifts I wanted to buy.”
She started to protest, but her eye was caught by something else and she looked up toward the entranceway. Harry glanced over before he could stop himself and saw Draco walk into the hall at the end of a noisy group of Slytherins. His gut clenched and he looked away quickly. And cursed himself because Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him in sudden understanding. Damn. Had to learn to be more careful around her if he ever wanted to have any secrets of his own.
“Harry—”
He shot her a look and she shut her mouth. The rest of his friends were still kidding around noisily, Ron now threatening Seamus with his own pumpkin juice. Hermione tightened her jaw but forcibly kept herself quiet, and Harry felt his heart pick up speed against his ribs.
He wanted to look. You’re not ready to give up just yet, his brain told him. Just look at him. Meet his eyes. He’s probably looking at you. Come on, just one glance, one look... In the end, Harry could not summon the courage. He stood, mumbling something to Hermione about going back to the tower, grabbed a banana from the table, and walked out. He wanted to think Draco was watching, but... hell, it didn’t really matter anymore.
...
Step 11: Take time for real life
Castle battlements above inner courtyard, 3:45 PM
It was Harry’s favorite place, even on cold days, because the two highest towers in the castle so effectively blocked the wind and ice from getting at the small ledge on which he sat. Snow flurried through the air past him, drifting just beyond the walls of the ensconcing towers as if it were its static counterpart on a television screen. The inner courtyard was filled with thick fog that did not reach anywhere else over the grounds. It floated, a smoking potion hovering just under the edges of the surrounding walls. It looked like a bowl full of cotton, and Harry could see the faintest outlines of students passing through the courtyard, disappearing into the misty sea. The snow was not quite reaching the ground; Harry could see the football game going on below him out by the frozen lake. His friends looked like ungainly insects wrapped in weird layers of winter clothing, dashing about. Hermione’s bushy hair floated out behind her as she dribbled the ball around Luna. Harry watched with the closest thing yet to a smile on his face as Ron, covered from head to toe in mud, dashed up behind her and lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug, completely ignoring the ball. Her indignant screech – Ronald! – echoed up to his ears. Ron hugged her tightly and leaned in. Harry could just picture the sweet peck on her nose. He’d seen it a dozen times. For a moment it made him forget he was still upset.
Ron had finally managed to ask Hermione out in the middle of sixth year. Well... alright, that was not entirely correct. It went more like this: Hermione had been enhancing the protection spells around the gates of Hogwarts with a group of teachers and older students when the Death Eaters had arrived, providing the best test possible to the new rather unorthodox set of spells. Hermione stayed behind just long enough to put the finishing touches on a trumped up rendition of Stupefy, meant to stun whomever used an unlocking spell on the gate itself. Ron caught her in the Great Hall as soon as she returned and railed on her furiously in front of everyone, about how stupidly she had behaved by staying out there, demanding she explain herself, and making her so mad she began shouting back. The row had reached a feverish pitch and Hermione was nearly in tears when Ron suddenly grabbed her off the floor, crushed her to him and gave her the deepest kiss Harry had ever seen.
And the rest was history.
It was one of his fondest memories, that night in the middle of the war, an image he returned to time and time again. They’d needed it, all of them, needed that moment of tenderness as if Ron and Hermione had shared it with everyone. And in a way, they had. It was hopeful, a light in the center of the darkness, and it was more than enough to dispel the fear everyone was feeling for an hour or so. For Harry, it was a buoy in a tossing ocean, one of many reasons to find Voldemort and make certain he never hurt that fragile spark he saw that night between his best friends.
Harry watched the game resume below. Dean’s team was winning handily, that Harry could tell, though he was not certain if that was because of the overall lack of skill or the lack of seriousness. He’d brought his Transfiguration text out with him and his finger was holding his place... on the same page he’d been on the night before his impromptu Quidditch practice. He’d long since given up trying to read it. There was no point. All he could think about was Draco and the way he’d leaned on his Firebolt outside the Common Room, smirking at him, the knit cap shadowing his amused grey eyes. And then of course the way those eyes had sparked just before Draco had stormed away in Hogsmeade. The images kept switching back and forth until Draco glared at him furiously while clutching his broom handle, and Harry had to stop because he was tainting that wonderful pre-flight image and he wanted to be able to savor it when it was all he had left of the Slytherin.
Hence the distraction of the game.
It was gradually that Harry realized there was someone else on the battlement with him. A vague prickling on the back of his neck, the heaviness of the silence up there. He froze, half turned, half-hoped...
Draco stood there cloaked in black, hatless. He was leaning against one of the towers gazing at him, and his body stiffened visibly when Harry’s eyes met his. The Slytherin frowned vaguely, his normal nonplussed expression, and suddenly the anger Harry had been looking for was there, hot and trembling in his chest. He looked away, hunching his shoulders. “Couldn’t find anywhere else to sulk?”
A soft sigh behind him. He heard Draco move closer, coming to sit next to him. Not too near. No, there was a cautious few feet between them still, and judging from the way he was feeling now, Harry could not protest Draco’s instinctual intelligence.
“Harry...”
He cut him off. “How the hell did you find me here?”
Draco raised his eyebrows, looking away over the grounds below. “Granger. She said you might be here.”
Harry stared at him. “You got it out of Hermione?”
Draco made a face and flicked at an invisible speck on his cloak. “I asked Hermione. She didn’t seem in a hurry to hide it.”
Harry scowled. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask Ron. Any opportunity you can get to argue with him. Thought you’d jump at the chance.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, he starts things just as often as I do, Potter.”
Harry tried to remain belligerent, but in the end he only sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. “Yeah.”
Draco moved like he was about to speak, and Harry waited, but nothing came. He looked down at the game again. It was rapidly falling apart, the players filthy and laughing themselves into huddles of hysterics.
“So,” Harry said to the wall. “Yesterday.”
He might in fact have been talking to the wall for all the response he got. But he didn’t want to look at Draco. Didn’t want to see whatever expression was on his face. Several moments went by and the snowfall grew heavier.
Draco stirred. “I haven’t... actually bought my mother’s present yet.”
Surprise made Harry look at him. Draco was gazing at his hands, fiddling with the finger of one glove. Harry’s brow creased. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to get her anything.” Draco’s voice was harder, full of the winter’s chill.
“What?”
With a sigh, the Slytherin turned to look at him. “You have so many people who send you gifts. People you want to buy gifts for. You must spend a fucking week's worth of hours each winter just thinking about other people! How many presents did you buy this year?”
Harry blinked, thinking the question was rhetorical. But Draco waited, and Harry had to hastily do a run-down in his mind. “Um... seven yesterday.”
“Total?”
“Maybe eleven.”
Draco laughed, a short harsh sound. It startled Harry. “I’ve bought three. One for Blaise, one for Pansy, and one for Greg. And there’s no one else on my list.”
Harry gaped at him. “What about your mum? And Snape?”
“You try buying something for Snape and see how he likes it.” Draco shook his head, smiling humorlessly. “And as for my dear mother... She will be getting as much as she has given to me.”
“Draco, you aren’t going to—”
“Save it, Harry. She hasn’t been on my Christmas list – or any other list – for a long time.”
Harry studied the other boy, noting the faint lines around his eyes and mouth. He hadn’t seen them before. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked. Draco’s face suddenly looked too tired, too worn for his seventeen years. Harry wondered if the war had done that to him, if perhaps his own face looked like that as well and no one said anything.
The Slytherin closed his eyes. “Before the war, I had a list. Like yours. Friends on it, people who I wanted to get things for simply because I could and they wouldn’t really expect it. Vincent was on it. Until he went over to Voldemort. And Theodore. But he died.”
“Was... was your father on it?” Harry asked, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Draco opened his eyes and stared at him, then looked away.
“Yes, he was. But not for the same reasons. I never got him anything like what I got for Blaise or Pansy. It was just something to do with him. Like paying my fee to live under his family name.”
Draco laughed to himself softly. “Even though it’s my name now. Always was my name. He saw to it.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Draco solved his problem by glancing at him, a sneer planted on his features.
“But you always had a long list, didn’t you? Like a built in family. I wager it hasn’t altered all that much over the years.”
“Draco, I—”
The blond raised his hand and his body shivered fitfully once. “You have so many people to buy for. I was watching you yesterday and I... You probably have to write them out just to remember them all. Hell, you even have a ‘father’ to shop for again. And I won’t even buy a licorice pop for my damn mother.”
Harry chewed his lip. “I never got to buy anything for my mother.”
“Would you have wanted to, though?” Draco countered.
Harry opened and closed his mouth once. “I think so. I never knew her, but...”
“But.” Draco shook his head ruefully. “But she was one of those people with a long list of her own.”
Harry thought about that. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”
They sat silently for a while, and Harry began to realize that this was the closest thing he would get to an apology from Draco Malfoy. And looking at the pensive boy next to him, catching a glint of those faraway eyes, he didn’t really mind.
“Do you hear from her?” he asked softly.
Draco snorted. “Oh, yes. Like clockwork, once every two months. She’ll write again in a day or so, and I’ll read it and throw it away as I always do. It won’t matter if I write back, she wouldn’t notice anyway.”
Harry wanted to argue with him as he argued with Ron and Hermione over trivial things. But he had a feeling Draco was not searching for someone to refute his claims, not looking for a voice to confirm whatever little hope was left. It was fact and, Harry saw with a vague sense of horror, it had been fact for a long time. He felt like he was too late for something. He should have done something. But that was ridiculous. What could he possibly have done?
You could put him on your list, a voice whispered in his head. And then Harry nearly smiled because it was so obvious. He really was an imbecile for not thinking of that sooner.
When he looked at Draco again, he got something of a shock because the Slytherin had not followed him into his better mood. But how could he have? He sobered at the questioning impatience in Draco’s eyes and fought the urge to lay a hand on his arm. “At least she writes, though, right?”
Draco’s eyes went a little bit hollow. “Harry, do you know why she writes to me? Because I don’t. Haven’t the faintest idea. She writes bi-monthly, but she didn’t even write when—”
He cut himself off abruptly and scowled, but Harry could see the franticness around his features. He waited silently and Draco let out a small breath, as if he had been holding himself in check, and went on.
“When I was sick. After the last battle. I woke up and... she didn’t even acknowledge that I had been in trouble.”
Harry swallowed. He remembered it very clearly, so clearly he almost shut his eyes instinctively. But the image would have been there in his mind anyway. “Draco... what do you remember about that?”
The other boy shrugged noncommittally, looking away toward a sweep of dark cumulo nimbus clouds against the horizon. “Not much. One minute I was casting a spell at Rodolphus Lestrange, and the next... I was... I was in St. Mungo’s. The rest is all blurry.”
Harry felt something close up inside him. So Draco had no idea he’d saved him on the battlefield. No memory of screaming in agony while Harry struggled to rid him of the myriad spells wreaking havoc on his body, no knowledge of the blood he’d lost to the loamy earth beneath him. Harry did not realize how much he had been counting on that knowledge, how much it powered his belief that perhaps he had a chance to be friends with Draco. Perhaps Draco liked him now because he remembered.
But it was apparent that he didn’t. Harry bit back a sigh.
“Well,” he said, and noticed Draco was looking at him carefully. Harry just knew he was going to ask, to demand knowledge that should have been his, and he didn’t know if he could lie successfully enough to deflect the righteous curiosity. He did know he could not deal with the truth just then. It was too much. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Shouldn’t have dragged you along.”
Draco smiled briefly. “You didn’t drag me, Harry.”
They sat in companionable silence for a time as the temperature dropped and the wind changed direction, whisking bits of ice and snow into their faces for a confused moment. The football game had long since been abandoned, Hermione’s spell extinct. Snow had already covered the playing field over once again. The lake was nothing more than a vast but shallow indentation in the white sweep. Thunder rumbled far off.
Draco stood, brushing chips of ice from his cloak. He straightened his gloves. “It must be nearly dinner time by now. Let’s go, I can’t stand this odd fetish of yours any longer.”
“Fetish?” Harry said, getting to his feet carefully on the ledge. Draco cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded.
“Well, yes. What else would you call it when one sits out here in the freezing cold gathering ice on his eyebrows and Transfiguration book for no good reason?”
Harry raised a hand to his brow and found that there were indeed frozen chips of moisture there. He brushed them off, rubbed his dampened textbook vigorously, and followed Draco off the battlement to the small door leading into the corridor just below Trelawney’s Divination classroom. Draco held the door for him and then followed him inside, knocking a bit of snow from his shoulder with one hand as he passed.
...
Step 12: Take him to dinner
Great Hall, 6:08 PM
“It seems you have an admirer.”
Harry looked up at Draco’s words to see him half turned toward the Ravenclaw table. He followed his gaze and groaned.
“Oh... yeah. That’s that Seeker I was telling you about.”
Draco snorted. “Well, now you’ve done it. She’d redder than that ball we were tossing around Friday night.”
Harry smiled gingerly at the blushing girl, causing her eyes to widen. She giggled and flipped her gaze back down to her supper, a wide grin on her face. Harry shook his head and turned his full attention to Draco. “Just wait for it. She won’t be interested in me once she plays against Slytherin.”
He waited for the tart comeback, but Draco was studying the girl intently. The Slytherin had one arm laid across the table in front of his chest, the other cocked up on his elbow, his fork poised between thumb and forefinger. And he was... slouching. Just a bit. Harry thought it was rather interesting; he’d never managed to catch Draco with bad posture or elbows on the table, and had just chalked it up to his pure-bloodedness and parents. His poise dictated a lifetime of careful control in all things, from dinner to Potions, and apparently to Quidditch. Pansy Parkinson was the same way, and Blaise Zabini. In fact, most of the Slytherins were. The uneven slope of Draco’s relaxed shoulders was strangely endearing, exuding a comfort Harry had never felt from him before. He fought back a smile, taking a bite of broccoli to occupy his mouth.
He’d planned to sit at Slytherin automatically when they’d entered the Great Hall. No big deal. He’d done it before. But Draco had gone to Gryffindor table ahead of him and that was intriguing in of itself. Harry had wondered what Ron and Hermione would think – well, alright, he didn’t wonder about Hermione – but his housemates must have already come and gone. The only Gryffindors there were second and third years.
Draco finally turned back to him with one raised eyebrow. “I’d offer congratulations, but then, you’ve always had a fan club of some sort.”
Harry sighed. The Ravenclaw Seeker was darting glances at them now that Draco was no longer paying her any attention. It was going to be difficult to ignore her. Harry could already feel his shoulders twitching under the scrutiny. He shrugged and changed the subject. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?”
He’d been a little worried about how to get around to that question with Draco because of the obvious way it could be taken by one who knew he had a crush on him. But the Slytherin only laughed. “Fuck, no. Are you joking? I’ve got better things to do than waltz around a dance floor for three hours.”
Harry nodded, his heart sinking just a bit. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Draco glanced at him, still smiling slightly. “And you somehow don’t strike me as the type to go to dances either.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to go. Rather read, or fly, or something. But I sort of... have to go.”
Draco grinned suddenly. “Oh, yes. The Boy Hero must attend. How could I forget?”
“It’s not that. Dumbledore wouldn’t care if I didn’t come. But... I sort of promised Ginny I’d go.”
The smile on Draco’s face was replaced by an odd frown. He sat back, straightening. “You’re going with the Weaslette.”
Harry gave him a look before picking at his food with his fork. “Don’t call her that. And no, I’m not. It’s a favor to her. She’s friends with that Ravenclaw girl.” He flicked his eyes to the girl in question and clenched his jaw. “Who is still giving me eyes, for crying out loud.”
Draco’s lips quirked and he leaned in again slowly. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been pimped out by the youngest Weasley?”
Harry scowled. Draco began chuckling. “You know, I could be wrong about that family. Apparently they’re doing rather well for themselves.”
Harry sighed and pushed his plate away, grumbling. “Yes, well, when you’re finished gloating, perhaps we could talk about something else. Wednesday night’s going to be the longest night in existence. You’re lucky you weren’t stupid and didn’t promise to come.”
Draco gazed at him briefly, eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression. They sat for a few more minutes as the Slytherin finished his dinner, and then Harry rose with another sigh. Damn, but he was sighing a lot today.
“I’d better go. I have loads of reading to do for Transfiguration.”
Draco frowned quizzically. “Thought that wasn’t until Tuesday for you.”
Harry blinked at him. “Well... no, it’s not. But I'm going to need all of tomorrow night to deal with that blasted potion. And half of tonight.”
Draco rose as well and fell into step on the other side of the table. “Not going as well as you’d hoped?”
Harry shrugged. “I’ll manage, as long as Snape doesn’t assign something else tomorrow.”
Draco snorted, smirking. “Good luck. It’ll probably be his Christmas gift to each and every one of us. So thoughtful of him.”
And so it was that when Harry ultimately parted from Draco that night, he was grinning.
...
On to Day Five
...
...
*wipes forehead* Okay, almost halfway done! ^__^
Title: Nine Days Till Christmas
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R (for language)
Summary: Harry decides to be very straight-forward about what he wants. Unfortunately, the answer he gets is more than a little disappointing. Now he has nine days to turn things around.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They're JK's people. Contains SLASH.
...
Days One Two Three
DAY FOUR: December 19th
Step 10: Take a day off
Great Hall, 9:31 AM
Harry picked at his breakfast and tried to pay attention to Ginny’s animated chatter. The girl had sat down next to him a few minutes after he’d arrived and proceeded to tentatively ask if he’d received her note. When he said yes in a rather dull voice, it was like a firecracker exploded. Ginny began to gush, smiling in relief, and it was all Harry could do not to blink and scoot away.
“Oh, Harry, I was so worried you would think it was too forward! I agonized for ages over whether or not to even leave it on the door. The rest of the team finally got fed up and started yelling, so I slapped it on and left. But I was so nervous. Couldn’t concentrate through practice because you distinctly said you thought the Yule Ball was silly and you didn’t want to go, but... Oh, but she’s so sweet, and I’m sure she’ll be rendered completely speechless in five seconds if you show up, and then you can just be polite and then go...”
Harry waited until she ended a sentence with an upward lilt to her voice and answered in the only way he could think to stop the babbling. “Yeah, sure, Ginny. I guess I could come by for a bit.”
“Oh, thank you, Harry, really. You are the best. Besides, what would a Hogwarts holiday event be like without you there?”
She smiled and got up, grabbing a muffin. “Dean’s organizing that Muggle game he loves out by the lake... you know... football? I don’t know, but he’s getting a whole group of students and Hermione’s going to spell the snow away for a bit. She’s discovered a nice continual heating spell in some book. You know Hermione. Anyway, you want in?”
Harry pretended to think about it for a bit, but in the end, he'd known his answer the second she began the question. “Sounds fun, Gin, but actually I have a lot of reading I haven’t had a chance to get to yet. I really should take care of that first.”
His friend smiled at him, and for a moment Harry felt guilty about disappointing her. “Hermione will be so proud! But I understand completely, Harry. I should really be doing my homework for Potions as well. But of course... football.”
She grinned and moved down the table to chat with some other sixth years, and Harry sighed heavily. Potions? Lord, he’d forgotten all about his project. It was a good thing the mixture had needed to sit for the past day. He poked his eggs with his fork. His day suddenly looked a whole hell of a lot darker... if that were even possible. He highly doubted it. All he had to do to remind himself not to get too happy by accident was think about the harsh words Draco had yelled before storming out of the shop. The way his face had twisted so angrily.
It wasn’t even an issue anymore, what he might have done to bring on Draco’s fury. Harry could not bring himself to care about that. All that was left was the fact that the headway he thought he had made had been completely negated. Draco had made it quite clear how he felt, and it stung Harry deeply to know he was the focus of so much ire. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d been hated; Harry knew he was definitely not everyone’s favorite person, no matter what Ginny said, and he had no qualms about it.
But he had not felt Draco’s anger directed at him so heavily since that time just before the end of fifth year, when the Slytherin had threatened him in the hallway over getting his father thrown into Azkaban. Harry hadn’t cared then, of course. He’d been too aggrieved over Sirius’ death, and he'd hated Draco with a passion then anyway. But now, feeling it again and recognizing that feeling, it hurt so much more. Draco hated him. Again.
Harry looked up from his plate to find Hermione’s eyes on him. He’d not even noticed she had sat down, but there she was, thoughtful and knowing, and Harry didn’t want to deal with it. He’d managed to avoid Ron’s questions that morning about why he hadn’t been at dinner, simply saying he’d been reading and had fallen asleep. Ron had let go of the subject with an unsuspecting smile, and Harry was glad; he felt no need to elaborate on the events with Draco. Ron did not need another reason to be furious with the Slytherin. But Hermione... She had zeroed in on his discomfort the second he’d entered the Common Room. Luckily, she’d only greeted him and left the rest of what she wanted to say silent, but now she was looking at him again, begging with her eyes for him to tell her what was wrong.
When Seamus made a particularly facetious comment a few seats down, causing Dean to laugh so hard he knocked his pumpkin juice all over Ron’s plate, Hermione leaned in and grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, what’s wrong?”
Ron was spluttering in outrage, frantically throwing every napkin he could find on the widening pool of pumpkin juice, and Seamus was in hysterics. No one was even paying attention to Harry or Hermione. Harry sighed and hunched his shoulders. “Nothing, Hermione,” he muttered. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
She squeezed his arm. “Harry, come on. I know you better than that. Did something happen yesterday?”
He smiled weakly. “Just didn’t find all the gifts I wanted to buy.”
She started to protest, but her eye was caught by something else and she looked up toward the entranceway. Harry glanced over before he could stop himself and saw Draco walk into the hall at the end of a noisy group of Slytherins. His gut clenched and he looked away quickly. And cursed himself because Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him in sudden understanding. Damn. Had to learn to be more careful around her if he ever wanted to have any secrets of his own.
“Harry—”
He shot her a look and she shut her mouth. The rest of his friends were still kidding around noisily, Ron now threatening Seamus with his own pumpkin juice. Hermione tightened her jaw but forcibly kept herself quiet, and Harry felt his heart pick up speed against his ribs.
He wanted to look. You’re not ready to give up just yet, his brain told him. Just look at him. Meet his eyes. He’s probably looking at you. Come on, just one glance, one look... In the end, Harry could not summon the courage. He stood, mumbling something to Hermione about going back to the tower, grabbed a banana from the table, and walked out. He wanted to think Draco was watching, but... hell, it didn’t really matter anymore.
...
Step 11: Take time for real life
Castle battlements above inner courtyard, 3:45 PM
It was Harry’s favorite place, even on cold days, because the two highest towers in the castle so effectively blocked the wind and ice from getting at the small ledge on which he sat. Snow flurried through the air past him, drifting just beyond the walls of the ensconcing towers as if it were its static counterpart on a television screen. The inner courtyard was filled with thick fog that did not reach anywhere else over the grounds. It floated, a smoking potion hovering just under the edges of the surrounding walls. It looked like a bowl full of cotton, and Harry could see the faintest outlines of students passing through the courtyard, disappearing into the misty sea. The snow was not quite reaching the ground; Harry could see the football game going on below him out by the frozen lake. His friends looked like ungainly insects wrapped in weird layers of winter clothing, dashing about. Hermione’s bushy hair floated out behind her as she dribbled the ball around Luna. Harry watched with the closest thing yet to a smile on his face as Ron, covered from head to toe in mud, dashed up behind her and lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug, completely ignoring the ball. Her indignant screech – Ronald! – echoed up to his ears. Ron hugged her tightly and leaned in. Harry could just picture the sweet peck on her nose. He’d seen it a dozen times. For a moment it made him forget he was still upset.
Ron had finally managed to ask Hermione out in the middle of sixth year. Well... alright, that was not entirely correct. It went more like this: Hermione had been enhancing the protection spells around the gates of Hogwarts with a group of teachers and older students when the Death Eaters had arrived, providing the best test possible to the new rather unorthodox set of spells. Hermione stayed behind just long enough to put the finishing touches on a trumped up rendition of Stupefy, meant to stun whomever used an unlocking spell on the gate itself. Ron caught her in the Great Hall as soon as she returned and railed on her furiously in front of everyone, about how stupidly she had behaved by staying out there, demanding she explain herself, and making her so mad she began shouting back. The row had reached a feverish pitch and Hermione was nearly in tears when Ron suddenly grabbed her off the floor, crushed her to him and gave her the deepest kiss Harry had ever seen.
And the rest was history.
It was one of his fondest memories, that night in the middle of the war, an image he returned to time and time again. They’d needed it, all of them, needed that moment of tenderness as if Ron and Hermione had shared it with everyone. And in a way, they had. It was hopeful, a light in the center of the darkness, and it was more than enough to dispel the fear everyone was feeling for an hour or so. For Harry, it was a buoy in a tossing ocean, one of many reasons to find Voldemort and make certain he never hurt that fragile spark he saw that night between his best friends.
Harry watched the game resume below. Dean’s team was winning handily, that Harry could tell, though he was not certain if that was because of the overall lack of skill or the lack of seriousness. He’d brought his Transfiguration text out with him and his finger was holding his place... on the same page he’d been on the night before his impromptu Quidditch practice. He’d long since given up trying to read it. There was no point. All he could think about was Draco and the way he’d leaned on his Firebolt outside the Common Room, smirking at him, the knit cap shadowing his amused grey eyes. And then of course the way those eyes had sparked just before Draco had stormed away in Hogsmeade. The images kept switching back and forth until Draco glared at him furiously while clutching his broom handle, and Harry had to stop because he was tainting that wonderful pre-flight image and he wanted to be able to savor it when it was all he had left of the Slytherin.
Hence the distraction of the game.
It was gradually that Harry realized there was someone else on the battlement with him. A vague prickling on the back of his neck, the heaviness of the silence up there. He froze, half turned, half-hoped...
Draco stood there cloaked in black, hatless. He was leaning against one of the towers gazing at him, and his body stiffened visibly when Harry’s eyes met his. The Slytherin frowned vaguely, his normal nonplussed expression, and suddenly the anger Harry had been looking for was there, hot and trembling in his chest. He looked away, hunching his shoulders. “Couldn’t find anywhere else to sulk?”
A soft sigh behind him. He heard Draco move closer, coming to sit next to him. Not too near. No, there was a cautious few feet between them still, and judging from the way he was feeling now, Harry could not protest Draco’s instinctual intelligence.
“Harry...”
He cut him off. “How the hell did you find me here?”
Draco raised his eyebrows, looking away over the grounds below. “Granger. She said you might be here.”
Harry stared at him. “You got it out of Hermione?”
Draco made a face and flicked at an invisible speck on his cloak. “I asked Hermione. She didn’t seem in a hurry to hide it.”
Harry scowled. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask Ron. Any opportunity you can get to argue with him. Thought you’d jump at the chance.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, he starts things just as often as I do, Potter.”
Harry tried to remain belligerent, but in the end he only sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. “Yeah.”
Draco moved like he was about to speak, and Harry waited, but nothing came. He looked down at the game again. It was rapidly falling apart, the players filthy and laughing themselves into huddles of hysterics.
“So,” Harry said to the wall. “Yesterday.”
He might in fact have been talking to the wall for all the response he got. But he didn’t want to look at Draco. Didn’t want to see whatever expression was on his face. Several moments went by and the snowfall grew heavier.
Draco stirred. “I haven’t... actually bought my mother’s present yet.”
Surprise made Harry look at him. Draco was gazing at his hands, fiddling with the finger of one glove. Harry’s brow creased. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to get her anything.” Draco’s voice was harder, full of the winter’s chill.
“What?”
With a sigh, the Slytherin turned to look at him. “You have so many people who send you gifts. People you want to buy gifts for. You must spend a fucking week's worth of hours each winter just thinking about other people! How many presents did you buy this year?”
Harry blinked, thinking the question was rhetorical. But Draco waited, and Harry had to hastily do a run-down in his mind. “Um... seven yesterday.”
“Total?”
“Maybe eleven.”
Draco laughed, a short harsh sound. It startled Harry. “I’ve bought three. One for Blaise, one for Pansy, and one for Greg. And there’s no one else on my list.”
Harry gaped at him. “What about your mum? And Snape?”
“You try buying something for Snape and see how he likes it.” Draco shook his head, smiling humorlessly. “And as for my dear mother... She will be getting as much as she has given to me.”
“Draco, you aren’t going to—”
“Save it, Harry. She hasn’t been on my Christmas list – or any other list – for a long time.”
Harry studied the other boy, noting the faint lines around his eyes and mouth. He hadn’t seen them before. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked. Draco’s face suddenly looked too tired, too worn for his seventeen years. Harry wondered if the war had done that to him, if perhaps his own face looked like that as well and no one said anything.
The Slytherin closed his eyes. “Before the war, I had a list. Like yours. Friends on it, people who I wanted to get things for simply because I could and they wouldn’t really expect it. Vincent was on it. Until he went over to Voldemort. And Theodore. But he died.”
“Was... was your father on it?” Harry asked, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Draco opened his eyes and stared at him, then looked away.
“Yes, he was. But not for the same reasons. I never got him anything like what I got for Blaise or Pansy. It was just something to do with him. Like paying my fee to live under his family name.”
Draco laughed to himself softly. “Even though it’s my name now. Always was my name. He saw to it.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Draco solved his problem by glancing at him, a sneer planted on his features.
“But you always had a long list, didn’t you? Like a built in family. I wager it hasn’t altered all that much over the years.”
“Draco, I—”
The blond raised his hand and his body shivered fitfully once. “You have so many people to buy for. I was watching you yesterday and I... You probably have to write them out just to remember them all. Hell, you even have a ‘father’ to shop for again. And I won’t even buy a licorice pop for my damn mother.”
Harry chewed his lip. “I never got to buy anything for my mother.”
“Would you have wanted to, though?” Draco countered.
Harry opened and closed his mouth once. “I think so. I never knew her, but...”
“But.” Draco shook his head ruefully. “But she was one of those people with a long list of her own.”
Harry thought about that. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”
They sat silently for a while, and Harry began to realize that this was the closest thing he would get to an apology from Draco Malfoy. And looking at the pensive boy next to him, catching a glint of those faraway eyes, he didn’t really mind.
“Do you hear from her?” he asked softly.
Draco snorted. “Oh, yes. Like clockwork, once every two months. She’ll write again in a day or so, and I’ll read it and throw it away as I always do. It won’t matter if I write back, she wouldn’t notice anyway.”
Harry wanted to argue with him as he argued with Ron and Hermione over trivial things. But he had a feeling Draco was not searching for someone to refute his claims, not looking for a voice to confirm whatever little hope was left. It was fact and, Harry saw with a vague sense of horror, it had been fact for a long time. He felt like he was too late for something. He should have done something. But that was ridiculous. What could he possibly have done?
You could put him on your list, a voice whispered in his head. And then Harry nearly smiled because it was so obvious. He really was an imbecile for not thinking of that sooner.
When he looked at Draco again, he got something of a shock because the Slytherin had not followed him into his better mood. But how could he have? He sobered at the questioning impatience in Draco’s eyes and fought the urge to lay a hand on his arm. “At least she writes, though, right?”
Draco’s eyes went a little bit hollow. “Harry, do you know why she writes to me? Because I don’t. Haven’t the faintest idea. She writes bi-monthly, but she didn’t even write when—”
He cut himself off abruptly and scowled, but Harry could see the franticness around his features. He waited silently and Draco let out a small breath, as if he had been holding himself in check, and went on.
“When I was sick. After the last battle. I woke up and... she didn’t even acknowledge that I had been in trouble.”
Harry swallowed. He remembered it very clearly, so clearly he almost shut his eyes instinctively. But the image would have been there in his mind anyway. “Draco... what do you remember about that?”
The other boy shrugged noncommittally, looking away toward a sweep of dark cumulo nimbus clouds against the horizon. “Not much. One minute I was casting a spell at Rodolphus Lestrange, and the next... I was... I was in St. Mungo’s. The rest is all blurry.”
Harry felt something close up inside him. So Draco had no idea he’d saved him on the battlefield. No memory of screaming in agony while Harry struggled to rid him of the myriad spells wreaking havoc on his body, no knowledge of the blood he’d lost to the loamy earth beneath him. Harry did not realize how much he had been counting on that knowledge, how much it powered his belief that perhaps he had a chance to be friends with Draco. Perhaps Draco liked him now because he remembered.
But it was apparent that he didn’t. Harry bit back a sigh.
“Well,” he said, and noticed Draco was looking at him carefully. Harry just knew he was going to ask, to demand knowledge that should have been his, and he didn’t know if he could lie successfully enough to deflect the righteous curiosity. He did know he could not deal with the truth just then. It was too much. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Shouldn’t have dragged you along.”
Draco smiled briefly. “You didn’t drag me, Harry.”
They sat in companionable silence for a time as the temperature dropped and the wind changed direction, whisking bits of ice and snow into their faces for a confused moment. The football game had long since been abandoned, Hermione’s spell extinct. Snow had already covered the playing field over once again. The lake was nothing more than a vast but shallow indentation in the white sweep. Thunder rumbled far off.
Draco stood, brushing chips of ice from his cloak. He straightened his gloves. “It must be nearly dinner time by now. Let’s go, I can’t stand this odd fetish of yours any longer.”
“Fetish?” Harry said, getting to his feet carefully on the ledge. Draco cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded.
“Well, yes. What else would you call it when one sits out here in the freezing cold gathering ice on his eyebrows and Transfiguration book for no good reason?”
Harry raised a hand to his brow and found that there were indeed frozen chips of moisture there. He brushed them off, rubbed his dampened textbook vigorously, and followed Draco off the battlement to the small door leading into the corridor just below Trelawney’s Divination classroom. Draco held the door for him and then followed him inside, knocking a bit of snow from his shoulder with one hand as he passed.
...
Step 12: Take him to dinner
Great Hall, 6:08 PM
“It seems you have an admirer.”
Harry looked up at Draco’s words to see him half turned toward the Ravenclaw table. He followed his gaze and groaned.
“Oh... yeah. That’s that Seeker I was telling you about.”
Draco snorted. “Well, now you’ve done it. She’d redder than that ball we were tossing around Friday night.”
Harry smiled gingerly at the blushing girl, causing her eyes to widen. She giggled and flipped her gaze back down to her supper, a wide grin on her face. Harry shook his head and turned his full attention to Draco. “Just wait for it. She won’t be interested in me once she plays against Slytherin.”
He waited for the tart comeback, but Draco was studying the girl intently. The Slytherin had one arm laid across the table in front of his chest, the other cocked up on his elbow, his fork poised between thumb and forefinger. And he was... slouching. Just a bit. Harry thought it was rather interesting; he’d never managed to catch Draco with bad posture or elbows on the table, and had just chalked it up to his pure-bloodedness and parents. His poise dictated a lifetime of careful control in all things, from dinner to Potions, and apparently to Quidditch. Pansy Parkinson was the same way, and Blaise Zabini. In fact, most of the Slytherins were. The uneven slope of Draco’s relaxed shoulders was strangely endearing, exuding a comfort Harry had never felt from him before. He fought back a smile, taking a bite of broccoli to occupy his mouth.
He’d planned to sit at Slytherin automatically when they’d entered the Great Hall. No big deal. He’d done it before. But Draco had gone to Gryffindor table ahead of him and that was intriguing in of itself. Harry had wondered what Ron and Hermione would think – well, alright, he didn’t wonder about Hermione – but his housemates must have already come and gone. The only Gryffindors there were second and third years.
Draco finally turned back to him with one raised eyebrow. “I’d offer congratulations, but then, you’ve always had a fan club of some sort.”
Harry sighed. The Ravenclaw Seeker was darting glances at them now that Draco was no longer paying her any attention. It was going to be difficult to ignore her. Harry could already feel his shoulders twitching under the scrutiny. He shrugged and changed the subject. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?”
He’d been a little worried about how to get around to that question with Draco because of the obvious way it could be taken by one who knew he had a crush on him. But the Slytherin only laughed. “Fuck, no. Are you joking? I’ve got better things to do than waltz around a dance floor for three hours.”
Harry nodded, his heart sinking just a bit. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Draco glanced at him, still smiling slightly. “And you somehow don’t strike me as the type to go to dances either.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to go. Rather read, or fly, or something. But I sort of... have to go.”
Draco grinned suddenly. “Oh, yes. The Boy Hero must attend. How could I forget?”
“It’s not that. Dumbledore wouldn’t care if I didn’t come. But... I sort of promised Ginny I’d go.”
The smile on Draco’s face was replaced by an odd frown. He sat back, straightening. “You’re going with the Weaslette.”
Harry gave him a look before picking at his food with his fork. “Don’t call her that. And no, I’m not. It’s a favor to her. She’s friends with that Ravenclaw girl.” He flicked his eyes to the girl in question and clenched his jaw. “Who is still giving me eyes, for crying out loud.”
Draco’s lips quirked and he leaned in again slowly. “So let me get this straight. You’ve been pimped out by the youngest Weasley?”
Harry scowled. Draco began chuckling. “You know, I could be wrong about that family. Apparently they’re doing rather well for themselves.”
Harry sighed and pushed his plate away, grumbling. “Yes, well, when you’re finished gloating, perhaps we could talk about something else. Wednesday night’s going to be the longest night in existence. You’re lucky you weren’t stupid and didn’t promise to come.”
Draco gazed at him briefly, eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression. They sat for a few more minutes as the Slytherin finished his dinner, and then Harry rose with another sigh. Damn, but he was sighing a lot today.
“I’d better go. I have loads of reading to do for Transfiguration.”
Draco frowned quizzically. “Thought that wasn’t until Tuesday for you.”
Harry blinked at him. “Well... no, it’s not. But I'm going to need all of tomorrow night to deal with that blasted potion. And half of tonight.”
Draco rose as well and fell into step on the other side of the table. “Not going as well as you’d hoped?”
Harry shrugged. “I’ll manage, as long as Snape doesn’t assign something else tomorrow.”
Draco snorted, smirking. “Good luck. It’ll probably be his Christmas gift to each and every one of us. So thoughtful of him.”
And so it was that when Harry ultimately parted from Draco that night, he was grinning.
...
On to Day Five
...
...
*wipes forehead* Okay, almost halfway done! ^__^
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