Chapter Text
"What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his arch-enemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream..." - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling
It's not as if Harry was thinking about Draco all summer. It was just his birthday, is all, and he didn't expect everyone to forget. He thought back to that last moment on the train, knowing that he wasn't headed home, but rather away from home. His summer had been slightly better than previous years; The Dursleys were terrified of him and avoiding him at all costs, opposed to their usual thread of verbal torture and neglect.
Harry thought back to his last birthday, spent on the floor of the cave, surrounded by dirt, isolated by a thick current of a dark sea. Then, Hagrid had shown up, pink umbrella and all, and took him away. In the end, he had to return.
He felt that same isolation today. In a weird way, it was worse, knowing that Hagrid wouldn't come slamming down the door at any moment. Only one more month left, and he'd be back to the comfort of the castle.
--
In retrospect, the morning of his birthday was now one of the best days he had all summer. Between Dobby's ominous warnings, the letter from the Ministry of Magic Improper Use of Magic Office and the fear of never returning back to Hogwarts, Harry had slipped into a darkness he was afraid he would never return from. The walls closed in as Uncle Vernon repeatedly teased him through the cat-flap on his door, kicking into it as he walked by. Food was shoved in haphazardly, providing Harry small glimpses of time passing. He huddled in the corner of his bed, struggling to stay awake, struggling to go to sleep, and struggling to remind himself that this would not be the end.
Harry thought of the previous year as a way to pass the time. He went through every move they had made on the large Wizards Chessboard, and how the Devil's Snare had caught Ron to the point where Hermione had to gather all of her courage and blast it away. He thought about his broomstick, and how great it felt that first ride. How wonderful it felt to have that first catch of the Snitch, of the Key, of the Remembrall.
He had been put out at the beginning of flying lessons; of course this class was shared with Slytherin, and of course, Draco would see him make a fool of himself. Malfoy had lept on his broomstick, flying so high and so well, even on the first day of lessons. It had been impressive, but he did have years of practice on Harry. When Harry kicked off, the whush of flight was unlike anything else. He turned that memory in his head, chasing after Malfoy on his broom, the look on his face when Harry caught up to him high in the air. Malfoy had looked happier than Harry had seen him, and Harry had felt wonderful and at ease on his broom.
It's not as if any of that mattered now. Harry wouldn't be leaving his room, except possibly in a body bag.
--
His first time in the Floo had been a disaster. Spinning through fireplaces and falling face forward onto the ground, he was covered in soot. His glasses had snapped and once again he found himself completely alone. Fear crept in as he tried to survey his surroundings. Blonde hair perforated his peripheral vision, and his head snapped toward the comforting color. He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, as his eyes surveyed the 12-year old boy. Malfoy was here, and if he was here, Harry couldn't be far off from where he was supposed to be.
He knew Draco couldn't see him like this, dirty, disheveled, broken. He hid in a large cabinet, leaving just a crack to listen and see through.
"...everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick -" - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling
Had Malfoy seen him? Is that why he was talking about him? Harry barely caught Mr. Malfoys statement, something about hearing this a dozen times already. Harry closed the doors so only the tiniest sliver of light shown through. The Malfoys continued their business, making no reference or taking any glances at the large cabinet. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, still unsure why Draco was discussing Harry at length with his father.
Draco was walking closer to the cabinet where Harry hid, face red from an offhanded remark his father had made about his grades. Harry could see the pink rising high on his cheeks, flushing his usually pale neck. As Draco got closer, the strong smell of wood was replaced with spicy cinnamon. Draco's breath was just inches from the cabinet and Harry forced himself to breathe through his nose, leveling out the quickness of his heart. He saw deep grey eyes scrutinizing the dark cabinet. Harry should close his eyes, close them to hide the bright emerald color there, but he couldn't. Draco froze in his step, peering even harder through the cabinet, and Harry shuddered.
"Come, Draco," came a call. Malfoy blinked, bringing back the mobility in his legs, and walked away.
Harry couldn't wait to tell Hermione who he saw.
--
Harry was so happy to be back at Hogwarts. He was surrounded by his friends, had a comfortable bed, and had access to food whenever he needed. Malfoys teasing hadn't let up, though. First, Malfoy teased him about a girlfriend, as if Harry wanted one of those. Then, he teased him about autographs, which he definitely knew Harry wouldn't be passing out.
He hadn't seen Draco grab the photo from Creevy. He didn't see how Draco carefully placed it in his back pocket, making sure it stayed smooth and didn't bunch up around the edges.
--
It didn't surprise either of them that they were the first to be picked to duel. Harry Potter was the Boy who Lived, and Draco was king of the Slytherins.
"Scared, Potter?" muttered Malfoy.
"You wish," said Harry.
The snake rippled out of Malfoys wand, and the rest was a blur. Parseltongue was a Slytherin trait, and Harry worried once again that he had sorted into the wrong house. Was he the Boy who Lived and the Heir of Slytherin? It's not as if he could ask anyone; Uncle Vernon wouldn't answer any questions about his parents, so he surely couldn't find out about his grandparents, his great-grandparents, back over a thousand years. He did know one person who certainly knew his lineage back that far and boasted about it every chance he could get. Harry needed to find Draco.
Harry was finally alone as Hermione and Ron headed to bed. He hurried to his room, threw on a pair of jeans and a soft black shirt as he padded towards the mirror. His hair was disheveled, but what was new. A quick swipe of his toothbrush, he grabbed his invisibility cloak and headed out of the dormitory.
The Fat Lady looked confused as the portal opened and closed, yet no student could be seen. Harry hurried down the steps, hoping to catch Draco before he settled in for the night. Malfoy routinely had a house elf meet him near the library with a mug of hot tea close to curfew. Harry hoped to catch him before he tucked in for the evening.
He spotted Malfoy sipping his tea as he walked towards the direction of what Harry assumed was the Slytherin common room. Harry slipped off of his Invisibility Cloak and walked towards Draco. He rolled his shoulders back, hoping to seem confident, unsure if this was really a great idea.
"Potter," Malfoy sneered as he saw Harry approach.
"Malfoy," Harry responded. He paused in his steps. It was weird for Harry to see Draco out of his robes. His green and silver striped pyjamas looked soft and worn, and the steam coming off of his mug was adding a slight curl to the front of his usually perfectly combed hair.
"What do you want," Malfoy said sternly, and Harry realized he'd been staring at that little lock slightly longer than necessary.
"Er..." Harry regrouped, "I wanted to talk about earlier."
"You mean, how I beat you in the duel, or how precious Harry Potter has a dirty little secret," Draco said with a smirk.
"I don't have a secret," Harry exclaimed. "At least, well, I'm not sure I do."
"Spit it out, Potter, I haven't got all night and my tea is getting cold."
"Well, erm, you see, I can't trace back my lineage, so I'm just not sure..." Harry's eyes shifted at the floor.
"Want to know if you're the Heir of Slytherin, huh, Potter? Think you're so special that you're related to one of the greatest wizards there ever was, do you?" Malfoy jibed at Harry.
"Listen, Malfoy, you don't know how lucky you are. You know exactly who you are, exactly where you came from. I don't. I didn't choose to not know," Harry spat.
"Oh, geez, Potter, don't get all riled up. This is going to take a while, I can tell. Come on, follow me."
Draco turned and started walking back towards the library.
He put his mug on a table and motioned for Harry to sit.
"The lineage you speak of, the muggle way of looking at it, is that your blood is your fathers' blood, his fathers' blood, and so forth" Malfoy started to explain as he snapped his fingers. A house elf appeared.
"Refresh my tea, and grab a cup for Potter here, 2 sugars, 1 milk," Draco stated to the elf, who quickly snapped back out of existence.
Harry blinked. Draco knew how he liked his tea? Before he could fully process this, Malfoy was speaking again.
"Lineage of Magic, however, is in your core, not in your veins. Since it's magic..."
"We can look at it with a spell!" Harry exclaimed.
"Good boy, Potter," Draco said, raising one eyebrow.
Harry flushed.
With a pop, the house elf arrived with two steaming cups of tea. Another pop signaled its return to the kitchen.
"Well, what's the spell?" Harry returned his gaze to Draco.
Draco smiled. "Do I get to teach the oh so famous Harry Potter a spell?"
"Come on, Malfoy. I'm not famous, at least not for anything I've actually done."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Malfoy chuckled. "Give me your hand."
Draco turned his hand over and reached his palm toward Harry. He waited and watched as Harry struggled to do the same.
"I won't bite," Draco said, smirking.
Harry flushed again, moving his hand from the comfort of the warm mug to the open palm.
Dracos palm was soft, his skin warm after holding his tea. His thumb reached over Harrys fingers, holding it still.
"This might hurt a little," Draco warned, his eyes slightly worried. "Legionem Corporis"
The wand touched where Harrys palm met his wrist. A quick sharp pain coursed as a gold thread appeared. Draco adjusted his wand to pull the thread longer and longer from Harrys skin, as the colors shifted from a light, shimmering gold to a deep amber, shifting again to black. The thread tapered out, finally settling on a dark rust color. Harry stared at the thread curiously.
"Ok, here we go."
Draco pulled the thread off of his wand and examined it closely. He tutted as he checked where the colors changed.
"I'm not sure what all of these colors mean, but I do know none of them are green. That's a pretty clear indicator that Salazar Slytherin's magic isn't directly tied into your core," Draco stated as easily as it were the weather.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. He then realized that his palm remained in the hand of Draco Malfoy. His eyes shifted to the thumb that was rubbing back and forth on his ring finger.
Draco's eyes mimicked Harrys, and he yanked his hand back. Giving it a good shake, Malfoy placed his hand back on his now cooled mug. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Well, erm, thanks, I guess. Could you not tell anyone about this?" Harry said, risking a glance at the boy sitting across from him.
Draco's eyes were unfocused for just an instant. Then he snapped back.
"Don't want your girlfriend to know you were hanging out with a bloke, huh?"
Harry grimaced. "She's not my girlfriend, Malfoy. I don't care if everyone knows we were hanging out. I just would prefer you don't go telling everyone that I don't know where my magic comes from."
Draco's eyes softened. "Sure, Potter. Glad I could help."
"Thanks for the tea, D-Draco," Harry stuttered, extending his hand.
His green eyes met grey as Draco's soft hand once again cradled Harrys. A small smile formed on his face.
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