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Chapter Text

“Is it almost time yet?”

“Harry, for Salazar's sake, if you ask me again if it’s time yet, I will contact Mrs. Malfoy and inform her you will no longer be attending and instead burden you with every household chore I can think of!”

Harry immediately cows in the face of Severus’s very real threat, sipping on his orange juice in the picture of innocence. He is under no illusions that the man is itching for a reason to do just as he promised.

And why is that? Well, as it turns out, that whole being grounded forever claim? There was a bit more truth to that than Harry had initially believed. Nor had it helped when Severus finally got around to speaking to Harry about his grades.

“But I passed every exam with at least an ‘A’!”

This had been a very poor choice in defence, based on the way Severus’s eye twitched like he had just suffered an aneurysm.

“Er… Sever–”

“And you think I am satisfied with a mere ‘Acceptable’, Harry James Potter?” Severus had sneered (Harry wisely said nothing). “Because I assure you, my most suicidal charge, that I. Am. Not. You cannot even begin to imagine the embarrassment I felt upon discovering – along with the rest of the faculty – the child I have been tasked with raising has settled for academic mediocrity!” Harry suddenly felt very small as Severus’s expression twists into one of fierce determination and tone levels into something terrifyingly calm. “So we shall see to it that you never again cast such poor reflection unto me, lest you wish to incur my… immense displeasure.”

Harry gulped, silently vowing to never again receive a grade so low and apparently unforgivable as an ‘A’. 

So, as one would imagine when they’ve A) so thoroughly failed to meet the (unfairly) high academic standards of their guardians and B) was promised by said guardian to “not expect a fun summer”, Harry has been having the exact opposite of one so far.

But, there are to be reprieves. The first being today, the 20th of June. Better known as Draco’s birthday.  

And Harry can hardly wait.  

He hasn't seen any of his friends since Severus (miraculously) let him ride the Hogwarts Express home with them. And as much as he enjoys his constant correspondence (to use a Severus word) with them… it’s just not the same. Not even close.

He checks his hair for the umpteenth time, making sure his normally wild locks have remained in place (they have) since early this morning when a hell-bent Severus (the most determined, unstoppable, and singular-focused force in the world) had used almost half a bottle of Sleekeazy’s combined with a the powers of a brush, comb, and a rather scary combination of wand-waving and curses (the bad word kind; a few of which being directed at his father who he has inherited his rebellious hair from. Though Harry suspects the other type was being held in reserve as a kind of final solution) to finally tame the unruly beast that is his hair.

He breathes easy: his hair is still slicked back and presentable. An absolute necessity if he’s going to attend Draco’s party. They are aristocracy, he has to dress to impress!

He casts one last look at his appearance, his scar completely exposed with his hair slicked back like this. He had been rather uneasy about displaying it so prominently, but, after everything that had happened last year, he has decided to try and not hide so much from it seeing as its (as Severus has told him) a part of who he is for better or worse.

It certainly hadn’t hurt that upon his dramatic return to school, Terence had called it “cool” – something the older boy had reiterated to him as they gave each other one last goodbye on Platform 9 3⁄4. 

“Terence!” Harry had hissed, trying to brush his fringe back into place over the thing, only to be stopped by the older boy. “It’s all exposed like this…”

“Exactly,” Terence had replied with an infuriatingly knowing grin.

“But I…” Harry’s voice dropped to a shamed whisper, “But I don't want them to see..”

Terence finishes re-exposing the scar, before moving his index finger underneath Harry’s chin, lifting it so that Harry could look into his kind eyes, a reassuring smile upon his face. “Let them see. It’s cool as fu– er, heck,” Terence corrects, smiling apologetically. Harry felt his lips curving up ever so slightly at the near slip. “Be proud of every part of you, Harry. Even the parts we’d sometimes rather forget about. That’s something my dad’s always told me whenever I was down about myself. So as my last bit of sage advice before we part: Own that thing. Don’t let that bastard hold anything over you, ok?”

Harry nodded in affirmative. Determined now to do just that.

“It looks good, not hiding it,” Severus tells him sincerely, having caught Harry staring at his reflection, deducing what he’s thinking about and wishing to reassure him. “Your parents would approve.”

Harry smiles appreciatively at Severus’s reflection. “Thank you, Severus. Terence told me to own so I’m… well, I’m trying. Still makes me a bit uncomfortable though.”

“Understandable. But eventually, you will cease to think anything of it. And there is no requirement for you to always expose it. It’s hardly the general public’s right to gawk,” he says with such disdain his face contorts as if he’s eaten a lemon. It’s enough to elicit a snort from Harry.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna show it off in Diagon alley or anything, but, I figure amongst my friends and schoolmates is ok.”

“An excellent place to begin to – how did you and Mr. Higgs put it – own it.”

And at hearing his guardians attempt to sound hip, Harry bursts into laughter. Severus’s reflection is scowling at him, but Harry just catches sight at the upturn of his lips.

Finally, the clock nears 11:00 AM. And as it does, Harry shoots Severus his most impatiently pleading look, big green puppy eyes and everything.

With a great sigh that is all things both exasperated and, judging by the twitch of his lips, reluctantly fond, Severus stands from where he's been reading one of his many books and shoots Harry the you’re lucky I like you and care about your happiness look. “Come, my most impatient charge. I’ll ready the Floo.”

With a wave of his hand, the fireplace roars to life as Harry giddily comes to stand next to Severus, his excitement beyond palpable. He finally gets to see the palace Draco lives in! 

And let it be known, when he finally received the official invitation to the party, green and silver embroidered (because of course) and stamped with the official Malfoy seal, it had been a trying affair to convince Severus to actually let him attend. There had been a series of letters exchanged between Severus and Draco’s mother, detailing everything detail of the party. From when Harry was to arrive and when he would leave, to who all would be in attendance. Even then though, Severus seemed as if he was going to deny allowing Harry to attend, much to his dismay and leading to the first temper tantrum he’d thrown since he was six and had wanted to go to the wondrous, mythical place known as the Muggle Zoo.

But unlike that time, which indeed with an exhausted and stressed Severus caving after Harry promised to “cease his infernal crying. For the love of Merlin I thought I was done with this!”, this ended almost the exact opposite way and with a further promise to ban him from all his friends' birthdays. Needless to say, Harry quickly shut up.

Shockingly however, it was Lucius Malfoy himself that finally convinced Severus to allow Harry to attend. Apparently, when you are as aristocratic and old fashioned of a Pure-blood as Lucius is, promising the safety and well being of a guest upon the honour of his family name is a pretty big deal. The ancient laws of hospitality, as Severus had called it, were sacred pledges of courtesy, safety, and guest privileges that no respectable member of society like the Malfoy’s would dare violate.

So, here they are, standing in front of the fireplace with Harry bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and clutching his gift for Draco as it was the most precious thing in the world as Severus clutches a small fistful of Floo powder, shooting Harry a wary side eyed look.

“Overly excited child, calm yourself. I have taught you proper etiquette for behaving oneself in polite society, have I not?”

Harry grumbles, shooting a look towards the clock as he watches the seconds draw nearer to eleven. “It’s not like we're going to one of those snooty galas or something – it’s Draco’s birthday,” Harry says as if that makes all the difference in the world. It does not.

“And you are a guest of the wealthiest, most influential family in all of Wizarding Europe. Draco’s birthday party or not, I expect you to put forth your most exemplary behaviour,” Severus informs him in a tone that conveys just how much trouble he’ll be in if he does anything to the contrary.

“Fine…” Harry sighs in annoyance as the clock ticks down to only seconds till eleven, though he does give himself one last quick glance over to make sure his outfit (A dark green button up – because Draco loves green and it is his birthday – with pressed black trousers and a pair of oxfords Severus had acquired just for the occasion) is in perfect condition. 

Severus raises a brow at him, but says nothing else on the matter. He faces the flames, casting the powder into them and declaring, “Manoir des Malfoy.”

The shield charm holds under the weight of his father’s hex – but only just. Draco can feel the protective magical barrier buckling under the strain. It feels as if gravity itself is trying to crush inwards upon him and he knows that if his father puts just a touch more effort into his attack, it will give. But he doesn't. Instead his father breaks off his attack, nary a bead of sweat upon his brow, and regards a wary and exhausted Draco with a critical eye as he fights to keep his exhausted body from sagging.

Finally, his father – who doesnt look even the least bit winded – stands erect and poised, dropping his wand to his side and giving Draco a curt nod of permission.

He immediately allows his entire body to go slack, only just remaining standing. He’s breathing heavily, having been pushed to his limits during the one hour training session. He maintains eye contact however, a hopeful look that dares to ask for the one thing he wants above all else on his birthday: his father’s approval.

With a snap of a finger, his father summons Dobby to Draco’s side, who offers him a replenishing potion. Draco accepts it wordlessly, knowing better than to thank a House-elf in his fathers presence. Drinking it takes more effort than he’d dare admit, what with his limbs practically gelatin at this point, but he manages to bring the vial to his lips, letting the ice-cold liquid within to rush past his lips where the potion takes an instant effect; easing the aches and pains of his muscles and joints while providing him with a burst of stamina. 

He cannot help the sigh of relief that escapes him as he pulls the vial away, finished, and hands it to Dobby who offers a timidly pleased smile, and vanishes with a pop.

“Well done, Draco,” his father comments appraisingly as he pockets his wand into his holster and walks towards him, hands clasped behind his back. 

Draco stifles a gasp, his lips threatening to twist into a grin as his eyes widen with thrill and rejoice as a feeling of pride swells within him. But he’s quick to remind himself of expectations. Malfoy’s do not preen at praise. They acknowledge it and only so much as to show it is expected that they be praised. He clears his throat, reigning in his emotions and standing tall and proud in a mimic of his father, chin jutted out like the heir he is supposed to be and, with a gracious tone, responds, “Thank you, father.”

“Next Saturday, expect a longer session. But seeing as today is your birthday, I know better than to keep you any longer.” His father’s eyes flick fondly to where his mother sits in picturesque ladylike form near the exit of the duelling room, having spent the entirety of the session with conflicting looks of pride and concern. She smiles warmly at them both before giving his father a knowing look and tapping a finger against her wrist, indicating the time. “Go, prepare yourself for your party – but remember,” he adds with an air of warning, narrowing his eyes critically at Draco, “Even your birthday is not about having fun. It is an opportunity to showcase your family's power and prestige in front of all those who will one day be either your associates, or your lessers. Every social gathering is an opportunity to lay the groundwork of future connections and allies in your pursuits. These are not your friends, Draco. You do not have friends. They are your future swords and shields, in whatever capacity you need them. And that goes especially for Potter.”

Draco swallows, nodding even if privately he could never feel that way. Being friends with Harry and Theo (as much as the latter loves to push his buttons) is worth far more than any metaphorical sword or shield. Not that he’ll ever tell his father that. His mother however…

As his father takes his leave, she walks over to him, hands clasped in front of her and smiling at him. “You did very well, my little dragon. I could tell your father was very pleased with how well you handled yourself today.” Now in the presence of only his mother, Draco doesn't even attempt to hide his jubilation at the praise his father had offered him.

“He really was wasn't he?” Draco gushes, grinning ear-to-ear. “I’m finally showing him I can be a great and powerful wizard!”

And he can be. Will be. Because he has to. After being freed from that wretched closet by Higgs and watching the older boy run off to save Harry, just to see his best friend lying unconscious in the infirmary, had devastated Draco to his very core. He had not just felt helpless, he had been helpless. His best friend in the world had gone off (recklessly, he might add, though he will digress) to try and stop what had turned out to be the bloody Dark Lord with his other best friend and Granger, while he had run off like a disgraceful coward. The fact that Harry had not only forgiven him so readily – again – but had also insisted (and Draco will begrudgingly admit he was not entirely wrong here) that him not being there had saved his life boggles his mind.

But never again, Draco had sworn to himself once Harry had finally woken back up. Never again would his best friend face mortal peril and he not be there at his side. Harry has been a better friend to him than he could have ever deserved. Even after how he had treated him in some sort of idiotic attempt to prove he didn't need anyone to be powerful and successful.

Next time – and as long as the spirit of the Dark Lord endures, Draco knows there will be a next time – he will be there at Harry’s side. 

“But what would Father think about that?” he finds himself wondering before shelving the thought. Not a worry for today, he reasons.   

His mother tilts her head, smiling adoringly at him as she cups his cheek with a fond hand and strokes it with her thumb, that act breaking him from his thoughts. “That you are. I have often told him his expectations of you have been too lofty and rushed. I think he is finally realising this and allowing you to grow at your own pace.”

Draco beams at that, filling with pride and more than a little relief. But still, there is still that one issue…

“I do wish he would accept that I don’t just want ‘associates’ in life. Harry and Theo are so much better than that,” he sighs almost dejectedly, knowing his mother will neither scold him nor betray his confidence.

Her expression softens at his confession, though it likely isn't one to her. “You know, your grandfather Abraxas believes the very same as your father. In fact,” she offers Draco a conspiratorial smile and leans in closer to him, “he was even stricter. You see, he didn't even believe in loving one’s spouse. They too were just a ‘means to an end’. Your father was quite the rebel for actually marrying me out of love instead of for political or social reasons – even if I did come with many. Otherwise he very likely would have been betrothed to your aunt Bella.”

Draco blinks up at his mother in shock. He knows his father loves his mother more than possibly anything, but it still seems incredible to him that he would defy his grandfather's expectations and go against what his grandfather Abraxas would have demanded of him to marry his mother instead of, say, his aunt who’s currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban.

He also wonders if that may be why he sees so little of his curmudgeonly Grandfather. Not that Draco is particularly upset about it. The last time he saw him the man had barely been coherent. 

Actually, maybe that's the reason.

His mother winks, clearly revelling in sharing this little secret with him. “And don’t forget, he did in the end convince Professor Snape to allow Harry to come to your birthday today. So perhaps he is not quite as opposed to your friendships as he lets on. Speaking of which…” She wordlessly casts a quick Tempus, noting the time. “He will be arriving within the hour. So hurry up now and get ready. I’ll have one of the elves prepare your shower.”

Harry, almost predictably, comes close to embarrassing both himself and Severus almost instantly upon arriving at Draco’s home when he stumbles out of the Floo and very nearly faceplants himself onto the gleaming marble floors of the room parlour they arrive in. Fortunately, he catches himself just in time. Unfortunately, it's by Severus’s shirt, yanking it partially out of his trousers.

The man sends him a highly unamused look out of the corner of his eye, to which a sheepish Harry offers an apologetic smile as releases the man's button up and stands on his own. Severus shakes his head, muttering a couple of soft spells and within an instant, his shirt is tucked back in and both of them are completely cleaned of any soot that clings to their clothes after emerging from the fireplace just in time to receive an extremely enthusiastic welcome.

“Harry!”

“Draco!”

Both boys sprint towards each other with face splitting grins, almost colliding with one another in their excitement. They prepare to embrace but, remembering that hugs are not considered acceptable forms of greeting in the Malfoy household (Draco had been sure to warn Harry about this in a letter) and that Harry is still carrying his present, awkwardly abort halfway into the motion and settle for a bit of stiff handshake as the adults in the room watch them with amusement.

“You’d think it has been years,” Severus drawls with a shake of his head, though when Harry shoots a scowl back at his guardian, he catches sight of the fond twitch of his lips.

“Children are such affectionate things, aren't they?” Mrs Malfoy agrees with an airy laugh while both boys blush at the light teasing, but act as if they heard none of it.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Draco exclaims, grinning with all teeth. His eyes then widen comically. “Your hair! It’s tamed!”

“Of course I made it!” Harry replies with the lighthearted duh all but said. He also really appreciates Draco (and Mrs. Malfoy) for not even mentioning his scar being so visible, especially since Draco knows how he feels about it. “And yup! Had to be presentable!” He suddenly finds himself flushing, flicking a nervous glance and small smile in the direction of Mrs. Malfoy, who politely dips her chin in acknowledgment. He turns his attention back to Draco, and presents his gift: a small black rectangular box with a thin green ribbon wrapped around it and tied into a neat bow. “I got you a present!” And if possible, his friend's grin grows even larger. 

“Well how thoughtful of you, Harry. And look at you, so smartly dressed!” Mrs. Malfoy praises, smiling endearingly at him as he blushes. And Harry cannot help but feel immensely grateful she neither comments on or even glances at his scar. She then shoots Draco a look. “And what do we say…?”

Draco’s eyes widen by a fraction, clearly realising he’s forgetting his manners. He clears his throat, a light shade of pink tinging his cheeks now, and quickly thanks Harry for the gift; satisfying his mother.

“Very good. Mippy?” With a ‘pop’ a timid, spindly creature about two-and-a-half feet tall with long arms, huge bat-like ears, and violet eyes that seem to bulge out of its oversized head appears next to the Lady of the Manor, dressed in what looks like an old pillow case.

“What can Mippy do for the good Lady Narcissa?” the House-elf, the first Harry’s ever seen, asks in a high, squeaky voice that is most definitely female.

“Please take Draco’s present from Mr. Potter here and deliver it to the gift table in the pavilion.”

“Of course, Lady Narcissa!” the elf nods enthusiastically before it scurries over to Harry and meekly offers its arms out to take the gift. He gives it to her with a smile and a cheerful “Thanks!”, earning a squeak of surprise from the elf and impossibly making her eyes even larger before she vanishes with another ‘pop’.

Harry looks back towards the adults. Severus is glancing impassively around the room while Mrs. Malfoy is eyeing him with slight curiosity, causing him to wonder if he’s done something wrong. But before he can dwell on it for any length of time, the bundle of excitement that is Draco captures his focus once more. 

“Harry, you simply must allow me to show you the manor!” Draco insists, practically hopping in place with eagerness. “We have just under an hour before Theo and the other guests arrive. I can show you my room and all the other cool places!”

And Harry would be lying if he said he hadn't spent a great deal of time since meeting Draco wondering what his home looks like, his sometimes overactive imagination running wild with ideas that got more and more over-the-top the more he learned about his best friend; somewhat aided by things Draco’s said or mentioned.

Harry whips around to face his guardian, expression pleading. “Can I please?”

“Of course you may, eager child. Enjoy yourself today and be a good guest. I’ll return at eight o’clock on the dot to retrieve you.”

And that was all the boys needed to hear. Draco grabs Harry’s hand and the two boys race out of the room with speed that rivals a Nimbus, Draco quick to begin the mini tour in earnest.

Harry cannot believe his eyes as Draco leads him out of the manor's apparently many sitting rooms and into an extremely long hallway somewhere in its west wing. He’s shown so much by his friend that he can barely keep up. From the massive, mirror lined drawing room used to host (adult) parties and events, to the enormous dining room housing one of the biggest, and definitely most elegant, table Harry has ever seen, to the great kitchen filled with a platoon of House-elves working like crazy to prepare what must be Draco’s birthday feat (they are quickly shooed out, apparently Mrs. Malfoy gave strict orders that they are not to be allowed in there). There are numerous parlours and rooms that even Draco has no idea what they are for, a whole wing of the manor dedicated to hosting an army of guests that Draco only tells him about, hallways lined with portraits and paintings along with priceless artefacts and decorations, and even a grand music room filled with only the finest and most beautiful instruments that includes a huge mahogany grand piano that sits next to the massive windows that overlook the vast gardens and hedges that sit behind the manor before turning into seemingly endless manicured lawns stretching as far as the eye can see. The only exceptions are a small lake in the distance and the edges of a great forest Harry can see on the right-most edges of what the view affords him.

But it's what he sees strutting around the manor grounds that interests him.

“Draco! What on earth are those?”

Draco follows Harry’s finger to where he’s pointing at a flock of beautiful albino birds strutting about the lawn, occasionally darting their beaks into the grass.

“Oh, those are just the peacock's father breeds,” he comments nonchalantly.

Harry looks at him, surprised. “Your father breeds peacocks?”

Draco nods. “Yeah. Apparently, my great-grandmother loved peacocks and started breeding them as a hobby. My father has kept the tradition alive.”

“Huh,” Harry thinks to himself. Peacock breeding was definitely not something he ever would have associated with Draco’s dad.  

They move on, continuing the tour of the manor. But despite the thrill and excitement of getting to see Draco’s palace of a home, Harry can’t shake the odd feeling he’s being watched. He looks around more than a few times when Draco isn’t looking, prattling on about some family heirloom or portrait, but always finds nothing.

He tries to shake the feeling, but it never quite leaves.

Eventually, they reach Draco’s bedroom, which is what Harry determines he loves the most.

When Draco opens the oversized stained oaken door to his room, Harry is blown away. It’s huge. Not that Harry ever thought it wouldn't be, seeing as the manor is “thirty-six thousand and four hundred square feet nestled upon eight thousand acres” (he absolutely says this in his head using Draco’s pride-filled and eager to show off voice when he repeats it in his head), he fully expected a bedroom that dwarfed his own rather modest one. But this? This might actually dwarf his entire house.

(That might be a bit of an exaggeration. But the point stands. HUGE)

Harry’s mouth games in awe as he looks around the room, with its ginormous four-poster bed for for the Queen herself that's flanked by massive windows on each side, a large rosewood desk against the far wall for Draco to study at when not at school, an entire corner a practical mini-library while opposite that was an actual sitting area complete with a fireplace. Separating those two areas is a rugged walkway leading to what Draco says is his walk-in closet (Which is also huge! Draco has an entire clothing store for a closet! There's also another door leading to Draco’s private washroom. He doesn’t get to see it, but he’s sure it's worthy of royalty).

But what really draws his attention is the massive glass tank against the wall opposite the bed. In it he sees a beautiful reddish-brown adder lounging lazily upon a smooth rock. The viper raises its flat, triangular head with their arrival, its forked tongue licking the air inquisitively as its eyes, almost lidded in appearance due to its scales, focus on Harry.

“Woah…” he breathes. 

“That's Corra!” Draco tells him excitedly. “She was my best friend before you and Theo!”

“Really!?” Harry asks, full of awe as he watches the snake raise its body into the air and looks at Draco, appearing excited to see him. Merlin, he would have loved to have had a pet growing up…

“Mhm!” Draco nods. “Wanna meet her?”

“Do I ever!” Harry excitedly exclaims.

They rush over to the large tank, where, much to Harry’s surprise Draco removes the rectangular lid and fearlessly reaches into the tank.

“Er… Draco? You sure that’s a good idea? She is an adder…” 

“Hmm? Oh! Don’t worry! She was my best friend, remember?” Draco encourages him, opening up his palm and allowing the snake to slide up his arm and wraps its sixty five centimetre body securely around his limb, flicking her tongue at his cheek as he gently lifts her out of her enclosure, earning a soft titter. “She’s completely harmless, promise!” Draco grins as he turns to face Harry, cradling his snake-wrapped arm between them as he smiles down at Corra, lovingly stroking the back of her head with his finger as the adder, who’s cocked her head to the side and watches him with a look that can only be described as content, tongue licking the air regularly. “Wanna hold her?”

“Er…”

“C’mon, I can already tell she likes you! Just hold out your hand!”

Harry does so, albeit a bit tentatively. He has no idea how Draco “knows” Corra likes him. But, then again, he had never thought he’d see a snake look content either (at least without a full belly). But he trusts Draco completely and if his friend says Corra likes him and is harmless, then by Merlin, he believes him!

But he does jump slightly when Corra, with what can only be described as eagerness, darts forwards and wraps herself around Harry’s arm much like she did Draco’s, the warm, dry, yet silky touch of her scales where she makes contact with his bare skin not at all being what he imagined.

They both stare at each other curiously, the adder’s tongue still tasting the air – no doubt its unique method of ‘smelling’ being focused on Harry – while he offers the snake a half nervous, half friendly smile and wave. He opens his mouth, a simple “hello” being the only awkward thing he can think to say to Draco’s beloved pet, but before he can utter a single syllable, he is overcome with a strange set of feelings that are definitely not his own.

He tenses up slightly, at first fearing the presence of Voldemort, but quickly realises his scar is no warmer than usual and definitely doesn't hurt. Plus, the feeling of genuine excitement and fondness he’s sensing, along with a desire he can only describe as wanting to “hug and kiss” are a far cry from the plethora of negative feelings that tear through his skull when his scar is triggered.

He frowns slightly, confused, and looks Corra in her lidded eyes. This however intensifies the emotions he’s feeling, and with widening eyes he quickly realises he is sensing Corra.

“Don’t be afraid!” Draco suddenly speaks up from beside him, startling Harry as he had honestly forgotten his presence. Harry looks at him, shocked in more ways than one, and scrambles to try and explain that yes, he is actually kinda sorta freaked out by this but not in the way his friend thinks; opening his mouth, then closing it, only to repeat the process as words are suddenly impossible to come by because this is freaking crazy!

Draco, however, continues to misinterpret Harry’s panic.

He grins smugly, folding his arms and raising a rather judgemental brow. “Well, well, well, have we finally found something the Boy Who Lived is actually afraid of? Snakes?” Draco’s brow arches even higher in realisation. “Oh Salazar help me! You truly are a terrible Slytherin! You're afraid of snakes? They are our bloody mascot for crying out loud you twit!”

This snaps Harry out of his freakout over somehow being able to sense Corra’s emotions, and he frowns at his friend. “Hey! I am not scared of snakes! I'm just…” he pauses, trying to find a way to explain what just happened that won't make Draco want to summon Severus. 

“Maybe I should keep this to myself. Besides, I don’t need to risk freaking Draco out on his birthday.”

So, he offers the best excuse he can come up with on the fly. “Er… I’m just not used to having a snake stare at me with such interest before. I didn’t know they could stare with that much interest! Unless they are sizing up a meal…” Harry explains with a lame smile, flicking his eyes back at Corra with a pretty convincing hint of concern, he believes.

Draco though seems to buy it, huffing and rolling his eyes. “Merlin, Harry – she’s like, half your length and a fraction your weight. Even if she wasn’t the friendliest snake in Britain, you’d hardly be on her menu.” Draco then forms his lips into a thin line, tilting his head consideringly. “Besides, she only eats once a month and I already fed her.”

“She only eats once a month!?” Harry exclaims, shocked. 

Draco nods in confirmation, and prepares to commit further, when his bedroom door bursts open and they are greeted to the sound of a voice Harry has been dying to hear almost as much as Draco’s.

“There you guys are!” Theo says, face stretched into a broad grin and words dripping with the same excitement that’s radiating off the boy in excess. “Been looking all over this bloody manor for you two! Happy Birthday Draco – oh, you’ve got the snake out? Wicked!”

Theo’s arrival was met with much excitement: a series of grins and hugs, questions about how they’ve been (as if they haven't been writing letters daily), and general excitement for Draco’s party.

Theo eventually ends up with Corra wrapped around his arm, grinning excitedly because he’s always wanted to hold her and remarking how silky smooth she feels. Harry comments how he always assumed snakes would feel wet and slimy, but Theo is quick to inform him that isn't the case with most snakes unless they spend most of their time in water.

They don't spend much time in Draco’s room, as within ten minutes of Theo’s arrival, Mippy pops into the room and squeakily informs them the rest Draco’s guests are set to arrive any moment and they are to make their way to the back lawn to greet them.

Draco dismisses her after telling her inform his mother they will be there shortly, and quickly retrieves Corra from Theo and returns her to her tank before the trio take their leave, guiding them through the maze of hallways and down a spiral staircase towards what Harry thinks is the back of the manor, eventually leading them outside where Harry finds that there are now a few changes from when he had gazed out the windows of the music room.

Since that time, the manors small army of House-elves have erected a huge pavilion that's filled with tables and chairs, including a long one against the very back where a mountainous assortment of finger foods and drinks has been placed on one end, while the other appears reserved for gifts as both Harry’s and Theo’s are already there. The other tables, circular ones of a dark wood with six chairs each, are covered in a pristine white cloth with silver plates and cutlery set upon them along with expensive looking green serviettes with the Malfoy family crest embroidered upon them.

“Chi-chi as always, eh, Draco?” Theo smirks ribbingly, to which Draco shoots an unamused look as Harry wonders what in the Seven Hells chi-chi means.

“You’re just jealous,” he sniffs, chin jutting out because apparently it's time for posh git Draco, “because you know that Harry is going to have more fun at my party than yours.”

“You pompous twat–”

“Hey now!” Harry cuts in, raising his voice to ensure he gets their attention. “Do not drag me into this! I will have equal fun at all parties!” 

Theo grins victoriously at Draco before childishly sticking out his tongue, which goes over about as well as stealing an egg from a dragon with Draco, and Harry sighs, already knowing his lanky friend will be going in for another round. He ignores both of them however (Draco absolutely responds as if his honour has somehow been insulted. A ridiculous notion if you ask Harry. They are twelve for Merlin’s sake), and marches over to the refreshments table where grabs a crystal chalice that immediately fills itself with pumpkin juice and resigns to wait out his two best friends bickering.

The rest of the guests, fortunately, have begun to arrive. Ending Theo’s grating of Draco’s nerves for he is required to both greet his guests, as well as thank them for coming (As it is the gentlemanly thing to do). He likes the other boy, he really does and he values him as every bit of a friend as Harry, but Salazar's beard he hates how that boy loves to needle him! 

It’s all the usual suspects, his fellow classmates and their families, along with more than a few of his parents' acquaintances coming to show their respects. Both Greengrass sisters and their parents, the Davis family, the Parkinsons and the Bulstrodes, along with the Crabbe’s and the Goyle’s and, much to Draco’s immense displeasure, Zabini and his mother.

The arse-faced git saunters up to him after thanking both Vince and Greg for coming and directing them towards Harry and Theo over at the refreshment table, looking haughty as can be.

“Malfoy,” he greets coolly. “I suppose I should thank you for the invite, if only to be proper, but I’m sure like everything else involving you this –” he gestures daintily around with his hand “– was handled by your parents.”

Draco grits his teeth, glowering intensely at the dark-skinned boy and his smug smirk, before releasing a pent-up breath and relaxing while crossing his arms, offering a disarmingly smug smirk of his own. “Oh, you weren't actually invited, Zabini. Truth be told Mother and Father only invited your Mother over, she just couldn't seduce a sitter in time to take you off her hands.”

Zabini’s nostrils flare, a look of fury filling his eyes, while a van on his long neck seems to bulge. But before he can retort, Draco’s parents appear as if summoned by his mention.

“Draco, dear, I certainly hope you’re not antagonising your guests?” His mother asks, arching a disapproving brow. 

He whirls around to face, making sure to stand a little straighter and show off his aristocratic poise that he’s been taught growing up for when in formal company. “Not intentional, mother. I just sometimes forget Zabini doesn't have the same sense of humour as me and unfortunately my joke failed to land.” He smiles sweetly up at his mother, very pleased with his little white lie. He dares a darting look towards his father, and is immensely pleased to see his lips drawn into the barest hint of a smile. This day truly couldn't get any better.

His mother purses her lips, apparently not buying the lie, but says nothing. His father, however, does.

“Young master Zabini, we thank you and your mother for attending, as always. Do make your way into the pavilion and enjoy yourself.” He lifts a finger from where both are overlaid atop his cane, pointing commandingly towards where Draco’s gifts are piling up. “And if you haven't already, you may deposit the worthy gift you’ve surely brought for my son over there.”

Draco turns to face Zabini once more, looking even more smug than usual while the other boy is clearly several shades paler than normal. “Yeah, Zabini, I can’t wait to see what you got me,” he quips, oozing faux friendliness. 

“Y-yes, sir, Lord Malfoy, Draco” he stammers out before stiffly turning and marches into the pavilion.

“Darling I think you frightened him,” Draco hears his mother quip, amused.

He faces his parents again, waiting for his father to respond, regarding the man's impassive looking face as he watches Zabini walk away before he turns his head to his wife. “Beloved, would you kindly see to getting the guests sat? I’d like a quick word with our son,” he asks her, punctuating it with a kiss to her cheek.

Draco fights a grimace (what child enjoys seeing their parents be affectionate?), seeing his mothers milky cheeks achieve a pinkish hue before departing to do just that. He looks up expectantly at his father, anxiousness fluttering around in his stomach like moths, but doing his best to not let it show.

“That was an amusing little lie you told there,” his father appraises, voice betraying no emotion but face stern.

Draco feels his stomach drop. Had he disappointed his father? But he smiled. He swears he did! And he’s been doing so good lately… “I’m sorry, father.” He bows his head, praying he won't be berated. “I won't–”

“You did well.”

Draco can't help but raise his head, his confusion evident on his face. “I did… well?”

His father nods, though his expression remains stern. “A Malfoy does not let their quarrels with contemporaries be acknowledged – not in public. What you said was clever. An obvious lie, but clever nonetheless.” His fathers gaze flicks into the pavilion, Draco turns his head to follow it, seeing it land on both Zabini and his mother – The Black Widow herself, Lady Anastasia Maeve Delphani Zabini.

She is darker-skinned than her son (Zabini having gotten his more mocha coloured appearance due in thanks to his late fathers much lighter complexion)– closer to ebony but not quite – with the most unusual but striking yellow irises that flirt with being gold in the right light. Dressed in a black strapless midi dress with one side coming up to her black pearl necklace, lipstick that is every bit as crimson as her elbow length gloves and high heels – like she's just drank the blood of a man – and diamond ring adorned finger, she seemed like a lady out on an expensive evening with one of her many “late” husbands rather than a twelve year olds birthday.

“Maybe she’s trying to pick up her next victim,” Draco thinks amusedly to himself.

He may only be (freshly turned) twelve, but Draco has heard the whispers uttered under harsh, judging breaths at his parents' many parties and social gatherings both hosted and attended. Rumours of how this strikingly beautiful woman has worked her grasp around many a wealthy wizard, running off with them to elope, only for them to die under mysterious circumstances some time after and always with them leaving her the sole benefactor of their fortunes – hence her moniker “The Black Widow”. And though both foul play and the Imperius curse have been thrown around liberally as accusations, none have ever been able to prove a thing.

And despite these accusations (along with even more biting ones such as harlot), Draco has noticed she is a person of great interest to his father; who regularly invites her to Malfoy hosted or sponsored events (which also, very unfortunately, tends to include her son). Though he has no earthly idea what the predatory looking woman with such an unsavoury reputation could offer. Because if Draco was ever certain of anything in his life, it was his fathers faithfulness to his mother (who, he might add, is completely unthreatened by the other woman).

“I would demand of you, however, to maintain a level of cordialness with her son,” his father commands him, the sternness of his tone leaving no room to argue.

Draco starts to sigh, but catches himself, attempting to cover it up by clearing his throat before stating, “I will try, father. Though he does make it rather difficult. He has a rather annoying tendency to butt in where he’s not wanted and say things that demand a rebuttal.”

His father begins to stride inside the pavilion, no doubt being beckoned by his mother. Draco quickly follows suit, eyes looking upwards towards his fathers who are focused dead ahead. “You think he will be the last? Unlike, say, a Weasley who are specks of filth beneath us and only just above Mudbloods,” Draco’s stomach twists itself into a bit of knot, his mind flashing to Granger, “the Zabini’s are both pure of blood and despise muggles and those born of them – along with their sympathisers. They are allies, Draco. Useful ones. If you wish to continue to prove yourself to me you should learn how to work with and use those you take a personal dislike to.”

Draco makes a thoughtful hum at that, digesting his father’s words as they arrive at the family table. His mother is already seated, along with Harry and Theo who he had succeeded in begging his mother (who promptly convinced his father) had to sit with him. He quickly takes his seat in between his two friends and across from his mother.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, a tinge of concern in his voice, leaning in, “Is everything ok? I saw you talking to Zabini. I was gonna come over but then your parents showed up. I don’t know what your dad said, but it seemed to scare the heck out of Zabini.” And despite Harry’s wariness towards his father, Draco can detect the amusement in his voice from witnessing that.

“It’s nothing. Just Zabini being a prick –” Harry has to stifle a small snort at that “– as usual. Father may have implied a certain level of expectation for my gift from him and nobody in Pure-blooded society ever wants to disappoint a Malfoy, so I’m sure he’s about wetting himself with worry that his gift isn't good enough and I’ll let everyone know it – loudly,” Draco grins, savagely; Harry returning it with a snicker while Theo (who’s been listening in) adds one of his own.

But their attention is brought to his Father, who has yet to sit, as he taps his chalice with a knife (etiquette 101: when taping glass in preparation for a toast, a knife produces the best sound), garnering the focus of all who've attended.

“I’d like to thank you all for attending this gathering to honour and celebrate the twelfth anniversary of the birth of my son and heir: Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry, quite frankly, had no idea birthdays could be this extravagant – even taking into account, well, Draco. 

As soon as Mr. Malfoy finished his toast, everyone's chalice filled instantly with drink: wine, for the adults, Butterbeer, for the children. They all wished Draco a happy birthday to conclude the toast, Harry, Draco, and Theo sharing a grin, before they each took a giant gulp of the chilled, frothy, slightly less sickly-sweet butterscotch flavoured drink.

And now Harry, who had only heard tales of the stuff from his friends, understands why it's so popular with young wizards and witches: This stuff is freaking delicious!

Following the toast, a well-drilled and very professional battalion of House-elves pop into existence between the tables, working diligently (if timidly) to deliver the first course in what turns out to be an extravagant fourteen (fourteen!) course meal that, by the end of it, leaves everyone nearly bursting at the seams.

They are afforded time to digest thankfully, because once the last course is finished – a combination of, depending on personal tastes and/or age, coffee, liquors, and sparkling waters – Mrs. Malfoy directs everyone's attention to the pile of presents awaiting Draco.

With a burst of excited energy that Harry finds infectious, Draco begins tearing through his gifts with abandon, earning an indecipherable mutter from Mr. Malfoy and a fond chuckle from his mother while Harry and Theo watch with matching grins at all the stuff Draco receives. Only a few things catch his notice however: The Serpentis Legendarium: A Comprehensive Collection of all Knowledge and Myths of Serpents is from Theo (Which is a large book that covers any and all things snake and has a etching on its leatherbound cover of a particular huge and frightening looking serpent that Harry means to ask the name of later, but forgets), a pair of Goblin silver cufflinks with emerald studs from the Zabini’s (Which are admittingly very nice even if Harry wonders what twelve year old– nevermind, this is Draco we’re talking about), and, of course, his own gift. Which Harry happily, and a bit smugly if he were to be honest, notes Draco saves for last.

And by the face splitting grin that, well, splits Draco’s face? Harry knows he did good. Much better than that Rubiks Cube Draco still (inexplicably) hasn't solved. 

“And what did Harry get you, Draco?” Mrs. Malfoy queries, leaning ever so slightly forward as to try and get a better look.

“A wand holster!” Draco exclaims excitedly, reaching into the box and triumphantly hoisting Harry’s gift in the air, causing said boy to beam with pride while Theo “Oos” next to him.

It's a standard shaped holster, the sheath more-or-less triangular in shape with a hole in the bottom for the tip of the wand to stick out, but not too big for it to slip through, and made of shiny black leather with green leather straps criss crossing down it and using a silver clip on its back to attack it to one's belt. He watches as Draco excitedly hurries to do just that, pulling his wand out of his pocket and sheathing it proudly and jutting his hip out to make sure everyone can get a good look.

“Yeah, I did really good,” Harry thinks, just in time for Theo (which is somehow very unsurprising) who ruins Harry’s moment of being the best gift giver that ever gift gave.

“Hey, where are the gifts from Draco’s parents?” the boy asks, craning his neck to study the present table, now completely devoid of any and all presents. Harry quickly joins him, searching about for any remaining gifts, but seeing nothing in sight.

There's a soft clearing of a throat, and both boys turn their attention to Mrs. Malfoy. “I see you two smart boys have noticed that. I certainly hope you wouldn't dare to think that we would fail to provide gifts for our son!” she teases, causing them to blush. With a smile, the Lady of Manoir des Malfoy rises to her feet and, with the snap of her fingers, summons Mippy who appears instantly with a crack and squeak, holding a tightly wrapped parcel in a very distinctive shape.

“I thank all of you for the wonderful gifts you’ve provided my little dragon tonight –” 

“Mother,” Draco hisses, flushing at the nickname. Harry grins both teasingly and fond. He can't explain why, but seeing Draco like this makes him feel warm inside.

“– but, as you all know, the best must be saved for last.” 

She gives them all a knowing, teasing look, before taking the parcel out of Mippy’s hands (who vanishes instantly with another ‘pop’) and hands it to her son, who’s staring at it with wide, disbelieving eyes, stirring up feelings of jealousy within Harry.

“Great. Now my gift is the second best one he’s gotten,” he grumbles to himself while next to him, he can hear Theo roll his eyes and comment beneath his breath, “Yeah, like he totally didn't ask for a broom, knowing his mother would get it for him.”

They watch the boy as he tears open the parcel and shrieks with excitement as presents not just any broom, but the new and improved Nimbus 2001.

There's a chorus of ooh’s and aah’s throughout the pavilion, stemming mostly from Draco’s jealous classmates (Harry included) as well as a few Quidditch obsessed adults in attendance. Only Theo abstains, instead chuckling to himself and muttering, “Of bloody course.”

Draco, somehow having heard, looks at Theo and, in what can only be an act of petulant retribution for earlier, sticks out his tongue in response; far too excited by the broom he’s clutching like it's his first born child (ew) to bother with a more dignified response. Not that Harry cares. He snorts in amusement. But Draco’s father is less than amused. 

“Draco,” he reprimands cooly, causing the blonde to snap nervously to attention and shoot the man an apologetic look while Harry fights the urge to give the man the stink eye. Who is he to rain on Draco’s fun?

Still looking unamused at his son's antics, Lucius Malfoy stands and Harry begins to worry. And by the look of it, so does Draco. But instead of further reprimanding his son, Lucius turns to address the guests. “I suppose it is now my turn to present a gift.”

At this, the pavilion vanishes, exposing all of them to the bright and cheery sun. Mr. Malfoy turns towards the direction of their family's private lake, a large, empty, but well manicured piece of acreage sitting halfway between it and where they all sit. He raises his hands and with a single, loud clap, everyone's draw drops.

Appearing out of thin air, a professional quality Quidditch Pitch now sits on said acreage, missing only the stands. And while a display of wealth and prestige is probably expected by the adults, all of the kids present collectively drop their jaws.

“Of bloody course,” Theo groans next to him.

“Happy birthday, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy announces. “And well done finishing tops in your year.”

“Holy shite!” a stunned Harry thinks. “Draco has his own Quidditch Pitch now!? Maybe Mr. Malfoy isn’t so bad after all–” He pauses before he finishes that thought, now realising that his gift has fallen into third place, and groans.

“There, there, Harry,” Theo reassures him, reading his thoughts. He pats Harry on the back consolingly as in the background Draco is squealing in delight over his private pitch. “On the bright side, Draco can wear your gift practically anywhere, right?” Harry does smile a bit at that. Theo then makes a considering face, “Think we could get matching ones?”

Harry blinks at him. “Pitches? Theo I sincerely doubt either of us can afford one…”

“Or can I?” Harry wonders ever-so-briefly as he thinks about the mountain of money that is his inheritance before rationality kicks in and he remembers that there is no way in all Seven Hells Severus would ever let him do such a thing. Besides, he has nowhere to put it. Their backyard is…

He takes a brief look out across the Malfoys' expansive lands.

…  depressingly small.

Theo snorts, snapping him out of his thoughts, and rolls his eyes fondly at Harry. “No you dimwit! I meant matching wand holsters.” 

Harry feels his face heat up. “Oh. Right. ‘Course. That makes much more sense.”

Theo giggles again, and Draco chooses this moment to remember he has friends to play with on his new pitch, running over to his friends and begging them to come play a game of Quidditch with because apparently not only did Draco’s father build him a professional quality bloody Quidditch Pitch, he also bought enough Cleansweep Sevens to to field a pair of teams for Draco to practise with and against (“Of bloody course!”).

So, naturally, a series of friendly, though spirited, games go on for the next couple of hours with Draco and Harry opposing each other as Seekers. And Harry has to say, Draco has a natural talent for it. In fact, with some serious practice, Draco could definitely be almost as good as him. 

“Almost,” he smirks to himself, as he manages to snag the practice Snitch once again – despite his inferior broom (It’s not a bad broom, but it’s certainly not his Nimbus) – earning a pout from his best friend before attempting to swat at Theo, who's flying upside down in circles around him and teasing him mercilessly.

“Shuddup, Theodore! You’re on my bloody team for Salazar’s sake!” he decries before muttering bitterly, “Bloody useless one I might add…”

“And you're upside down!” the boy ludicrously accuses, blithely ignoring Draco’s criticism, before suddenly righting himself. “And now you're not!”

Draco proceeds to then abandon the game to angrily chase a cackling Theo around the pitch, accusing him of being a good-for-nothing collection of limbs and curls while Harry and the others laugh uncontrollably. Merlin, he really loves his friends.

As the day draws to a close and night begins to engulf where the sun no longer shines in the sky, the party – and one of the best days of Harry’s young life – begins to draw to a close. 

Harry still has some time before Severus is due to pick him up, but most everyone else is taking their leave. So, while Draco stands with his mother, thanking all the guests for coming, Harry stands back closer to the manor with Theo.

“Think you’re gonna be able to top this on your birthday?” the lanky boy jokes as they watch the Greengrass’ take their leave.

“Ha!” Harry sarcastically exclaims. “As if! You?”

Theo blows a small raspberry. “Heavens no! I’m still trying to convince my father to let me have a par–” Theo’s mouth snaps shut, face flushing as he looks at the grass with way more interest than it merits.

“Your father may not let you have a party?” Harry questions, looking at Theo incredulously. 

Theo chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, ya know. He’s always working and what not. And since my birthday falls on a weekday…” He shrugs. “We will see.”

Harry frowns, bothered immensely by the fact his other best friend may not get to celebrate his birthday simply because his father was working. The very idea is unfathomable to him, seeing as every single birthday he can remember, Severus has always made sure to spend the entire day with him. 

Suddenly, Harry realises something else: while everyone else’s parents were present for Draco’s party, Theo’s father was noticeably absent. “Where was your dad today?”

Theo sighs, looking and sounding tired. It's a very strange look on his normally upbeat and quirky friend. “Working, I ‘spose.”

“But it's Saturday,” Harry protests in disbelief.

Theo merely shrugs again, the small smile on his lips clearly for show.

Harry’s heart falls in his chest, feeling terrible for his friend. “Does his father ever spend time with him?” he wonders, dreading the answer. Harry bites his lip, an idea forming in his head for something he’s always wanted to do but never been able to. He doesn't even deliberate on it, already having come to a decision..

“Hey, Theo?” His friend looks at him questioningly. “Do you wanna… spend the night?”

Theo blinks at him. “A sleepover?” Harry nods hopefully. “Really?”

Now Harry feels himself blush, suddenly finding why the grass is so interesting. “Er… I don’t know, yeah. Sounds fun and I’ve never had a proper one before…”

“I’d bloody love to!”

Harry’s eyes shoot up to his friend, who’s grinning broadly and radiating fresh excitement, any and all dourness from just a moment ago vanished. 

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaims, matching his grin. “Severus picks me up at eight. We’ll talk to him then! But don’t worry, I know he’ll say yes!”

Harry doesn't actually know Severus will say yes, but, in his enthusiasm and excitement to both be an awesome friend and have his first ever sleepover, Harry can't help but be convinced that there is absolutely, positively no way Severus can say no! It would be like… the most uncool thing ever!

And judging by the fever anticipation Theo is exuding, he can’t be bothered by the idea of a “no” either.

“Alright! Awesome, I just…er – well, I suppose I’ll still need to floo home and talk to my father – still need to get permission and all – as well as pack an overnight bag!”

Harry nods in agreement, all that making perfect sense. “Right, ‘course! Um… when do you need to do that, exactly?”

Theo pauses, making a considering face before checking the watch on his wrist. “Merlin! It’s already past six! I better get on it! Lemme go get Mrs. Malfoy!” And with that, Theo sprints off in the direction of the Lady of the Manor, his gait as awkward as one would expect with his long limbed-ness.

Now standing by himself, Harry finds his mind occupied with cheerful thoughts of all the fun things he and Theo are gonna do tonight and how this really is the best day ever. Heck, the only way it could get better would be if Draco could come too! But Harry already suspects that would be pushing it and besides, it’ll be nice to spend some time with just Theo.

Suddenly, as visions of staying up late (“Maybe I can talk Severus into eleven!”), eating sweets, and playing board games are running through Harry’s mind, he once again gets that nagging feeling that he’s being watched.

Pausing his planning of the Greatest Sleepover in the History of Sleepovers, Harry whirls around in the direction of the manor, searching its many windows for any sign of exactly who or what might be looking at him, only once again to find noone. He bites his lip, feeling a slight sense of unease he’s about to take a step towards the gardens and peep around the hedges when suddenly a voice behind him startles him.

“I would advise against exploring the hedges at night, Mr. Potter.” Harry spins around with only a minor increase in his heart rate – and he certainly didn't squeak like one of the House-elves! – to find Mr. Malfoy standing behind him, hands overload atop his snake head cane. “One could easily get lost until morning. And I’m sure Severus would be most displeased to come retrieve you only to find you missing,” the man states with a smile that Harry can’t tell is teasing or threatening.

“Er… no, he wouldn't like that at all,” Harry says around clearing his throat, now feeling very nervous. “I was just looking though,” he quickly adds.

Mr. Malfoy hums, then changes the subject. “Did you enjoy my son’s birthday, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, very much!” he replies, unable to help the excitement that seeps into his voice despite his unease. Nor is he able to help but gush, “You and Lady Narcissa threw an excellent party for Draco! It was brilliant, truly!” Then, before he forgets, he quickly adds, “Oh, and um, thank you. For convincing Severus to allow me to attend.”

At the praise, Mr. Malfoy bows his head appreciatively. “I thank you for the praise. And think nothing of it, Mr. Potter. It is of course a great honour to have The Boy Who Lived as a guest in my humble home.” Harry stiffens slightly at that, still uncomfortable being referred to by that. But if Mr. Malfoy notices this, he makes no indication of it. But he does bring an end to their little conversation. “Well Mr. Potter, I must see off my colleagues from the Ministry who were gracious enough to attend as well. Enjoy the rest of the party, I’m sure I’ll see you again before school starts.”

Harry watches as Mr. Malfoy turns on his heel and strides back towards a group of adults who are looking at him with gazes that make Harry feel self-conscious as they seem to be looking directly at his scar. He averts his own gaze, trying his best to ignore them by looking away and focusing on the question of when exactly Mr Malfoy thinks they’ll see each other again runs through his mind. Draco hasn't mentioned any other parties at his place and he sincerely doubts Mr. Malfoy will be dropping his friend off at either his or Theo’s (Or Vince and Greg’s combined – turns out they share a birthday), so maybe he means Diagon Alley?

He shakes his head, deciding to drop it. He then looks back over his shoulder towards the manor, taking one last look for any sign of someone watching him and, failing to do so, heads over towards Draco, who looks positively dismayed all the sudden and Harry is willing to beat every last Galleon in his vault that Theo mentioned the sleepover right in front of him.

Draco crawls into bed just before ten o'clock, absolutely exhausted. He’s had a wondrous day. Easily the best birthday he’s ever had even if he is still rather annoyed that Harry and Theo are having a sleepover tonight without him (And Merlin, how Harry had ambushed Professor Snape with that. He hadn’t answered Harry before they left, but based on the weary look on the man's face, Draco is positive he gave in). He’d continue to have a proper pout about it but seeing how tired he currently is… 

He can resume grumbling over this in the morning. He needs his beauty sleep.

Draco’s head hits his feathered pillow, still tasting his spearmint toothpaste on his breath, and is almost instantly overtaken by sleep when suddenly there is a loud ‘pop’ right next to his bed. His eyes open in confusion, and finds himself looking into the big, distressed eyes of one of the house-elves.

With a startled yelp, Draco leaps upwards and almost falls off his bed, while the trespassing house-elf begins to wail, “Oh, Dobby is sorry, Master Draco! Dobby is a very bad elf; he knows it! But Dobby didn’t know who else to go to!” Catching him and helping him back into his bed as tears begin to stream down its face.

“D-dobby! What the bloody hell are you doing in my room at this hour!?” Draco demands in an irate, cracking voice. 

“Please, forgive Dobby, Master Draco! But Dobby had no choice! Harry Potter be in danger!”

“Like hell you didn’t have a choice! When father hears about– WHAT DO YOU MEAN HARRY IS IN DANGER!?”