When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ XIII

All That's Left

"And we never know how to feel..." Buffseeds

"If you could just look into the mirror there, Mr Potter, that's right. Now if you can read the smallest line you see for me?"

"A?"

"No, Mr Potter, the smallest line."

"Yes, 'A'. Did you put this thing on right?" Harry shifted at the ridiculously huge contraption that had been placed in front of his face. "Even the 'A' is out of focus..."

"Really?" the optomewizard asked, perplexed. He shuffled over and put a couple of lenses into the contraption. "How about now."

"A, Q, B... F?"

"P, Mr Potter. Have you been watching that dreadful Muggle television?"

"No. Can we just get on with this? Just give me the glasses and let me go home."

"Harry, there's no need to be rude. I'm sorry - Harry's had a difficult few days."

"Don't I know it..." Harry muttered, intending to cast Remus a dark look but hindered by the arm of the apparatus stuck in front of his face.

"Now?"

"L-O-L-O-A-Q-I-C-I-8-2-Q-B-4-I-P?"

Remus barely suppressed a burst of laughter.

"There's no need to be facetious, Mr Potter."

"Can I just pick the glasses, yet?"

"Smallest line please, Mr Potter."

Harry was not having a good day.

~*~

"If you really think I'm putting that anywhere near my mouth, you've got another thing coming, Weasley. I've had more than enough trauma recently, thank you."

"Oh come on - it'll be fun!"

"For you, yes. I have no desire to turn myself into a Canary of Doom. I saw what you did to Longbottom. That must've been the twentieth time since last summer. It's only funny when it happens to Someone Who Isn't Me, now put it away."

George tutted and muttered, "Spoil sport" before stuffing the bag of biscuits back into the pocket of his Muggle army anorak. "D'you reckon if we snuck them on to a display in Honeydukes someone would buy some?"

"Why would anyone buy custard creams when they can buy chocolate?"

"You bloody girl!"

"Not girl - Slytherin. It's the basic logic of the juvenile mind - biscuits are boring."

"Well, I'm bored."

"And I'm miserable, so shut up."

George looked more chastised that he really should have done from the tone of Draco's voice, and said, "Well... I need to get a couple more presents, I s'pose... seeing as it's Christmas in about ten hours anyway..."

"Fine. Where?"

"Um... I don't know. Is there anywhere you need to go?"

Draco shrugged and turned his eyes to gaze at the shimmering fairy lights from one of the nearby awnings, "I have all mine. It's not as if I have any family to buy for, is it?"

"Well... you've got Harry..."

"I bought his months ago," Draco told him petulantly.

"Oh. Well... um... Morgana's then? I need something for Gin."

"I suppose."

"Come on," George said with a heavy sigh, wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders, "I'll buy you a drink, after."

Morgana's was a decidedly pink and fluffy shop full of kitch plastic trinkets and synthetic feathers. Draco was hard-pressed to deny that the multi-lock journals with their psychedelic mock-Escher covers made him want to buy several and write his innermost drivel in them in fluorescent ink from glittered quills. He blushed and pretended to look at the fun-fur picture frames trotting around the shelf when George selected the one he liked to buy for his sister, along with a selection of small boxes and one larger one. He hoped it wasn't one of those faux crystal balls that all the girls had at the moment. He'd seen them in the Slytherin common room, hunched over smoky glass with letters glowing in the mist inside declaring, "Yes!" or "He likes you!" or the cringe-inducing, "You will marry a dark-haired man with a recognisable mark". Unless they were planning on having a sex change and instigating extensive law re-forms Draco sincerely doubted it. He would have to disown the red-headed pillock for having no concept of When Teeny Goes Too Far if he really had bought one. Besides, the little idiot would probably die on the spot if she received that last prediction...

Hogsmeade looked pretty in the mid afternoon light; it was approaching twilight and the coloured glow of fairy lights hovering around the awnings and windows of buildings and sitting in fir trees outside shop doors gave the whole place such a comforting, seasonal feel as they made their way through the snow on their way to the pub, coming close to falling over on patches that had compacted into ice and grabbing at each other to keep their balance. It was impossible to keep from laughing, at times, and when they finally reached the old tavern they were both flushed and grinning and they sat down at a table in the corner by the Christmas tree, with their drinks.

George had been working hard to keep Draco distracted. The Slytherin had stoically carried on as if everything was okay, but after what had happened two days before it was insane to think that anyone could be anything other than royally screwed up. This was exactly what Percy did back when... well, when they had been through losing someone. It wasn't healthy. Percy hadn't always been the anal little moron he was now... He used to be quite fun, sometimes... It was like all the fun stuff in him died with Archie. George didn't want that to happen to anyone else; so he did what he could. And it wasn't much, but it was a damn sight more that he'd seen Harry doing since.

"Drac?"

The blond boy had been in a rambling daydream - spouting off about the necessity of a substitute for wormwood in some potion or other, but now he stopped abruptly and looked up at him as if he was mildly surprised to see him there.

"D'you wanna talk?"

"I... was."

"No, you weren't. You were going off on one."

Draco's earnest gaze faltered for a second and he looked back down at his butterbeer blankly. "I'm fine. I wanted the man dead. He's dead. Problem solved."

"Yeah, but... so's your mum."

Draco froze for a moment and George knew he'd hit the right button; he just wasn't sure what this one did. The Slytherin seemed to be ignoring the question, at first, but then he murmured:

"She's better off this way."

George frowned a bit and shook his head. He didn't know much about Draco's mother except that he clearly viewed her as some kind of demi-goddess; it didn't seem right that he was so blasé about her death. "Yeah, but what about you, mate?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks" There was no way on this Earth that Draco was fine and George could see that a mile off. "I don't think you're doing yourself any favours pretending, either. You've been trying really hard all day and I've really sort of been encouraging you, I s'pose, but... Look, if you need to talk or anything..."

The other boy glanced up at him and muttered, "Yes, I know. But no thanks."

George watched frustratedly as the blond boy took a sip of his drink and twisted slightly to gaze away across the pub. This wasn't working, obviously. He couldn't say he blamed him for not wanting to talk, either, but at times like this bottling everything up and forcing yourself to cope with it all on your own was madness. It'd just let his mind play tricks on itself and start analysing everything - what he could have done, if there was any way to go back and change it, whether it was all his fault - it'd drive anyone nuts if they let it.

Taking a dragging breath, George decided it was time to bring out the big guns.

"Look, you know my brother died, don't you?"

And there, he'd said it. The first time he'd ever spoken about it in front of someone outside of the family. It wasn't really the done thing to talk about it full stop, but that didn't stop him wanting to. It didn't stop Fred, either. He'd start to talk about it sometimes, and then stop himself. And he'd change the subject, but they both always knew because they understood it in exactly the same way. Everyone had rallied around Percy, he being the closest to Archie, and then they'd been shunting the kids out of the way because Ron and Ginny were 'too young to understand' and Charlie and Bill had just responded by going off and leaving home because it was too depressing being there and George and Fred had been left to their own devices, because they didn't fit anywhere. They weren't kids who people could pretend didn't know what was going on, and they couldn't run away to Romania or Egypt (only it was the Orient, back then; Egypt was later) and they didn't get everyone's pity because they weren't Percy who had always been so close to Archie and shared his room when they were small - they were just The Twins who could take care of themselves because they were practically teenagers anyway and they had each other, didn't they? No one ever actually sat them down and explained it to them - not that they really needed to. The things people said when they got back to school explained enough. But the fact was, George understood because George had loved Archie, just like everyone else. And everyone did love Archie. In fact, it was a classic tale of the family Golden Boy being tragically lost before he could move on to the Great Things he was destined for. Which was probably why he and Fred were so resented for not making an effort to be what Archie should have been, just like the others.

Underneath all the great righteous façade of the Weasley brood there was much more to their family than people actually realised. Even Harry and Hermione.

"He was called Archie," George said carefully, hardly focusing, but watching Draco's knuckles whiten on his glass, "And he was younger than me and Fred when he killed himself. It... it was Christmas... we didn't even know - things had been so bad at school and he was so miserable here he hang - "

"I know," Draco cut in sharply. "I've heard the story elsewhere. I'm sorry for your loss, but - "

"I know what you think - you reckon no one understands. Well, you're wrong. We all understand in this place. Me, Fred, Harry - Sirius and Lupin...We've all lost people and you can't pretend it's not happening, Drac. It won't make it go away - fuck knows I've had that idea rammed down my throat for years and it doesn't work. No one's going to think you're weak for being upset, you know. You've just lost your mum and dad - it's hardly - "

The other boy's voice was tight and desperate-sounding, and George instinctively reached out and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder as Draco leaned heavily on the table and pushed his hand through fine blond hair.

"You can talk to me. I'm not going to tell anyone, I promise."

"No. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not ready to think about all this." Draco looked up at him, slowly, "I'll deal with it my own way."

"You don't have to... y'know... I sound like someone's psychiatrist, but... you don't have to deal with all this on your own, okay?"

Draco gave him a faint smile and nodded, patting the hand on his shoulder. George gave it a brief squeeze and returned to his drink. He choked on his butterbeer when the blond boy suddenly announced, "God, I need a fag."

He was fairly sure his face was plum-red and his eyes were streaming by the time Draco stood up and began to thump him on the back, asking if he was alright. George nodded and tried to catch his breath, watching as Draco sank back into his seat and pulled out a cardboard packet. He took out a cigarette and lit it from his own hand, which George had to admit, internally, looked quite smart, even if the entire scenario was preposterous.

"Nothing like trauma to illustrate one's weaknesses..." Draco muttered as George studied him faintly dumbstruck. "Don't look at me like that, I'm stressed. We all resume bad habits when we're stressed. I did try to stop..."

"Um... bloody hell," George murmured, ruffling his hand through his hair. Draco had been wearing his hat, earlier, because people had started recognising him and staring. In an attempt to hide his hair as well as the mark still streaking down his face, George had put the blue beanie his mother had knitted atop the Slytherin's recognisable barnet, but it now lay on the table; the mark had been covered by a scarf pulled up around his face, but it now hung loose around his neck. "You know, with your looks and reputation you really probably shouldn't go around saying things like that."

"My 'reputation'? What exactly are you trying to say, Weasley?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at him, but George never got to answer as they were rudely interrupted.

A late-middle-aged woman waddled over and stared down at them tutting angrily, "Ooh, you're a wicked boy!" she said, scowling at Draco. "Your poor parents, both dead, and you're out here looking like the cat that's got the cream... Terrible, you are. Horrible boy."

"Oi!" George cried indignantly, "You mind your own business! How bloody dare you?"

"You watch your lip with me, sonny. You shouldn't ought to be messing with the likes of this one anyway," she said waving her wand under his nose before turning back to Draco. "What would your father say if he could see you now, sitting here, happy as Larry while he's down St. Mungo's on some mortuary slab? And your poor mother, you wretched child!"

Draco stared up at her with his eyes narrowed. "What would he say? 'Avada Kedavra', probably. The reason my mother is dead is because my father killed her. I don't particularly care what he would think. In fact, I shall thoroughly enjoy dancing on his grave once he has been buried. So if you'll just trundle off back to your sherry, I would like to continue having a quiet drink with my friend."

More people joined in, then, crowding around the table and watching the scene curiously. "Lucius Malfoy'd never do that!" someone said from further back, "All the things he did for charity! What a rotten thing to say."

There were murmurs of assent throughout the crowd. Draco's lips pressed harder together. George wanted to reach out and grab his wrist to stop him doing anything punishable by indefinite prison sentence, but he waited.

"Did you know he was a Death Eater and never actually repented at all?" Draco asked lightly, looking around them, trying to catch as many eyes as possible. "Did you? Are you all ignorant enough not to see that the donations to charity - a pittance which took absolutely no effort at all, if you must know - were a front to endear him to you proles?"

"Apple never falls far from the tree..." someone muttered.

And suddenly Draco was on his feet, and he arched both his eyes brows and said, "Well, if that's the case, as the only Malfoy left, hadn't you better be a little more careful what you say to me?"

A cold silence fell and no one moved for several moments, until George found himself on his feet, too, picking up Draco's coat and pulling him by the arm, through the crowd and towards the door.

"It'll come back to you by three," the old woman's voice called after them, and Draco stopped and turned and smiled and said:

"I know - that's what happened to my father."

They let the door slam behind them.

Harry walked out of the optomewizard's squinting and rubbing the bridge of his nose. His new glasses were in a bag in Remus' hand and instead he was wearing contact lenses, because somehow, entirely going over his head, it had been decided they were more practical. It was almost as if they thought he planned to get himself dangled off towers on a regular basis, and it felt weird and slightly uncomfortable to have nothing he could fidget with. He didn't feel quite as shielded from everything any more, like being in a car without a windscreen.

He was already in a bad mood, and Remus thought he was being stupid and irrational. At least, Harry thought Remus thought that. He just didn't think it was fair of Draco to go off with George as if it had been he who had been there, trying to save him from his father. Remus had carefully pointed out that, in the end, it had been Draco who had done the saving, but that wasn't the point! He hardly knew George! Harry had been taking care of him for months and now where was he? Shopping with Harry's best mate's brother who was only bothered at all because his twin had found better things to do with his time. And if even Fred had found someone he'd rather spend time with, what did that say about George? Nothing positive, surely?

And then, there they were, stomping out of the Three Broomsticks as if throwing simultaneous tantrums. Harry sped up his pace without even realising and glowered when George slung an arm around Draco's shoulder in an over-familiar fashion, something Harry would never have gotten away with. He called out when he was a few metres away, almost jogging to catch up.

"Draco? Drac, you alright?" He stopped when he was close enough to grab the Slytherin's arm, and pulled him - and subsequently George - almost to a stand still. A few passers by stared as they dragged their shopping up or down the hill towards the station or next shop.

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, glaring at someone over his shoulder and straightening his hat.

Hat? "Where did you get that? It's bloody ridiculous!" Harry laughed, pulling at one of the tassels from the ear-flaps.

Draco pushed his hand away impatiently and George answered, "It's mine."

Harry wanted to reply that it explained a lot, but decided instead, to let Draco answer for himself. He gazed at him expectantly, but was met only with an irritable, "What happened to your face?"

"Nothing... why?"

"You look funny."

"Oh - I'm not wearing any glasses, am I? Remus made me get contact lenses..."

"I didn't make you, I suggested it and you huffed something along the lines of 'Whatever...' and went and stood on the other side of the shop until you were asked to sit down and try them on." Remus's voice said from behind them, and he suddenly appeared next to Harry. "Hello, boys - have you had a nice afternoon?"

George pulled what Harry assumed was meant to be a jaunty face, which made Harry want to slap him, and muttered, "Could say that..."

"Yes, up until we wasted our time and money in there," Draco amended, scowling even more. "You wouldn't believe the nerve of some people - acting as if I'm the one in the wrong! They don't even know I - I..." He stopped and seemed to turn his scowl inward. Harry would have put a hand on his shoulder, supportively, if George's hadn't already been there. He was relieved when Remus sighed and said:

"Well, there will always be people who take what is said in the news papers as the gospel truth, I'm afraid. Things will improve very soon, I'm sure. Perhaps it's time we all went home? After all, Santa won't come if you aren't all tucked up in bed." He looked back at the three pairs of faintly mortified and disbelieving eyes gazing at him and added, "Yes, that was actually a joke, boys."

Harry wasn't in the mood for humour.

It wasn't until half past seven that night that George decided to make his way back to the castle, having been there since ten-o'clock that morning hanging around with Draco, taken two meals there and helped with the washing up. Sirius had even suggested that maybe he should just move in as well. Draco wouldn't have objected. It was just such a relief not to have to spend all his time with Harry or Sirius and Remus. George may be slightly older, but at least he was still school-age, wasn't prone to telling wistful stories that were somehow supposed to relate to whatever they were talking about but usually resulted in a vague and rather morose end to whatever conversation was supposed to have been in progress. And at least every other word wasn't 'Gavin' with George, either, and when he was mentioned he wasn't mentioned unnaturally loudly and forcefully, as if to draw attention to the fact that he was being mentioned. Draco rather wondered if Harry had been turned (more) stupid by the fright of being dangled several hundred feet from the ground by Draco's father. Either way, he was immeasurably delighted to have found a new focus for his time. If he were a little more uncouth he would have stuck two fingers up at the world for that.

Draco saw George to the door, leaving the others in the kitchen bickering about the best kind of biscuit for dunking in tea and whether the same applied for dunking in hot chocolate. He may have muttered 'plebs' as he left the kitchen, but he would deny all knowledge should he be questioned upon his return.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow," George said, tying his scarf around his neck and grinning. "If that lot haven't bored you to death."

"The maker of Canary Creams is looking down on a conversation about that very confection?" Draco smirked back, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. "Hypocrite."

George sniggered and shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging.

"Look, without wanting to sound like a social worker or something, you can chat to me if you want, y'know. Been there - sort of. It isn't fun, I know that, and you look like you're coping okay, but that's only a good thing if you're not faking it, y' follow?"

"I follow," Draco sighed, nodding wearily, "I'm not sure it has quite sunk in yet, that's all."

George gave a lopsided smile and took his hands out of his pockets to give Draco a hug. Awkwardly, Draco patted him on the back and George laughed again, lifting him off the ground, then dropping him back down and messing up his hair for him.

"You'll have to learn to do that properly if you're going to start hanging around with Gryffindors, y'know."

"Oh, goody."

"Stop being such a prissy little git. We'll make a hugger out of you, yet."

"A million galleons says you won't."

George held out his hand, "Done."

"You're not serious?"

"No, he's in the kitchen."

"Oh dear God - out, Weasley, before I'm forced to bludgeon you to death."

"One million galleons says we will, Draco."

"Oh shut up and go and find Fred, I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco shut the door, firmly, not realising that he was grinning to himself until George's voice called through the wood, "Merry Yule, scaredy cat."

"Merry Yule, Pumpkin-head."

He actually jumped when Harry's voice said, "He's finally gone, then?" from the doorway into the living room.

"It's getting late," Draco said, shrugging and dropping his grin for a closed expression and folded arms.

"Yeah. Been here a while, hasn't he? I've hardly seen you..."

"We were out most of the day. Contacts any good?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes. "They itch a bit, but Moony says it's better than risking that happening again. I've got some new glasses, but I'm supposed to wear these until I get used to them."

Draco nodded and lowered himself to sit on the stairs. "You'll have to show me, some time."

"Yeah."

There was a brief lull before Harry asked, "Have you been alright?"

"George has kept me occupied... I haven't had much choice."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. He just seems obsessed with not allowing me to dwell on it or 'keep things bottled up'."

"Maybe he's right. Sort of."

"Perhaps. I'll talk if or when I feel like it. I don't feel like it at the moment."

Harry nodded and shrugged, "Fair enough."

They sat in silence for a minute or two before Draco said, "Remus asked me if I wanted to stay here, for the time being. I said I would if you didn't mind."

"Why would I mind?"

"This is your home. Your family."

Harry stared at him, but Draco didn't turn from studying the carpet, "You're welcome here, you know that! Those two think you're great, for some reason," he said, giving a small grin and elbowing him amicably. "And it might not be a country manor or anything, but I really like it here - don't you?"

Draco hesitated, at first, but then allowed himself to nod and admit that yes, he did like it. It felt like home - not necessarily his home, but someone's home in which he was very welcome - unlike the Manor, which had been bleak and detached and rather like a storage warehouse for valuable paintings and books on dangerous subjects.

"Does this mean I have to share my room?"

"I don't think so. Remus mentioned something about moving in to Sirius' bedroom for a while."

Harry grimaced, "Ah, fantastic."

Draco gave a small laugh and said, "I can teach you soundproofing spells, if you're going to be that prudish."

"Pot, kettle."

"Oh, go away!"

Harry grinned and gave him a bit of a shove.

"Do you miss him?" Draco found himself asking suddenly, prompted by the prospect of the younger boy having an illicit use for soundproofing spells, even though he assumed he knew the answer and didn't, in fact, particularly wish to know whether he was right or not. "Do you miss Cross?"

Harry looked at him with his eyebrows arched in surprise. "Of course I do... I miss him like mad."

"Is that why you've been in such an appalling mood recently?"

"Maybe... Maybe it's just everything. It's going to happen soon... and then what? Did you see in the paper - half way through - the Missing Persons notices? The obituary page? No one's reporting it as news - it's like things like this happen every day! People vanishing... sometimes all that's left is a pile of clothes, as if they've just been sucked out of them and taken off somewhere. People think if they ignore it, it'll go away, but it's not going to, is it? And I feel like I'm responsible for everyone. Everyone knows it's coming back and expects me to be able to just make it go away as if I know what happened the first time. Did you know some old woman came up and tried to hug me today? It's like when I first came back here, when I found out who I am... First people were excited and stuff, like I was Michael Jackson walking right into the middle of the pub - "

"Who?"

"Muggle singer."

"Oh."

"Yeah, nutcase. But... yeah... it was all like, 'Wow - it's Harry Potter!' and then people sort of got bored with me a bit, and I liked that because I don't want them to think I'm Michael Jackson, I want to be me! But now it's starting all over again. It's depressing. And I might get killed if I face him again! No one thinks about that, do they?"

"I do."

"Well, you're a pessimist anyway."

"If you expect the worst you aren't disappointed."

"Maybe. Maybe it just means you never enjoy anything."

"I have plenty of things to enjoy. Other people's suffering is one of them."

"And you wonder why people really believe you're looking forward to becoming a Death Eater!"

Draco shrugged and looked up as the living room door opened to reveal a cheerfully grinning Sirius.

"Ah - there you two are! Come on, come in - we've got something for you."

"What?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Come in and then you'll know."

The two boys looked at each other for a moment and stood up. The living room had been decorated for days, but it somehow seemed much cosier, now, with its wreaths of holly suspended along the mantelpiece and window sills and a fir-tree as tall as Remus nestled in one corner and decorated with stars and baubles that contained holographic snowflakes fluttering and twisting continually. There were no fairies nesting in this tree, but a number of miniature candles were attached to the branches and flickered prettily, their soft glow shimmering off of tiny chocolates shaped like reindeer and pinecones wrapped in shiny, coloured foil. The fire was warm and homely and made Draco want to sit beside it with a blanket and drink hot drinks.

"Here," Sirius said, presenting them each with a small, rounded class, half-filled with a rich, dark liquid. "Seeing as it's Christmas."

Remus looked up at him from where he was curled up on the sofa, nursing a cup of something that steamed and smelled of apples and cinnamon, and gave Sirius a falsely stern look.

Draco took his glass and said thank you, sniffing it gingerly.

"It's sherry," Remus told him with a faintly wry smile. "Siri thought you both needed it. I did try to convince him a mug of hot milk would be far more suitable, but he didn't want to listen, did you, Padfoot? I can just see forces of morality cowering in the shadow of his rebelliousness, can't you?"

"Sherry's fine," Harry said quickly, sitting down on the sofa next to Remus. "Is something cooking again?"

"It's Christmas. They're minced pies," Sirius told him with a silent 'tsk', and squashed down on the sofa with them.

"Who did those? Remus was out with -"

"Sirius did."

"You did?" Harry asked, gaping at Black, who Draco thought may already be slightly drunk - which explained the biscuit conversation rather more clearly; less 'plebs' than 'piss-artists', then?

"I did," Sirius said with the broadest, smuggest grin he had yet given in Draco's presence.

"Oh," Harry said disappointedly, "I quite fancied one, too."

Remus sniggered into his mug and Sirius leaned over Harry to smack him on the top of the head. When Harry laughed, Remus scrunched up his nose a little and gave him a sly pinch, which made him jump and head-butt Sirius and... The Manor had never been like this. They all looked so happy. Harry had lost his melancholy air almost instantly, and Draco stood watching them, slightly apart and without even really thinking it, he was sure that this was how it would be. He would be the guest and he would be welcome, but he could not be a part of this, not really. And maybe he was jealous, because there was a twisting in his gut that he seemed to remember having associated with Harry long before The Great Confession and he rather felt the urge to go and sit by himself in a dark corner and revel in his woes. Instead, he pulled a cushion from the armchair and sat down next to the fire with his glass.

The ruckus on the sofa stopped abruptly.

"Hey, what're you doing down there, Sparky?"

Draco stared at him unamusedly. "I'm sorry?"

"No no no - come here."

"Are you joking? The three of you look squashed enough already...I rather enjoy my personal space..."

"It's a magical sofa, Draco," Remus told him, smiling placidly and looking slightly distant, "It can stretch to eight. Simple expansion charm..."

Draco looked at them doubtfully, but he really did rather want to. It looked fun and familiar and cosy and... He narrowed his eyes and slowly got to his feet; "As soon as I feel squashed - "

"Yeah, yeah, blondie... Harry, squash up."

Harry squashed up towards Sirius allowing a reasonably-sized space to form between him and Remus. Hesitantly, awkwardly, Draco made his way over and sat stiffly in the space between them. Harry's glass was already almost empty, but he held it up all the same and said, "Hey, Drac - cheers!"

Draco suppressed a grin as the other boy wriggled deeper into the seat so much that his feet stopped touching the floor properly, and chinked their glasses together.

"So, this is Christmas," Draco began, only to have the remainder of his sentence drowned out when Harry and Sirius began singing at precisely the same moment.

"So this is Christmaaaas and what have youuuuu dooooone -?"

"What the hell are you doing?" he found himself laughing and leaning forward to look at Remus, who was chuckling quietly to himself.

"That's a point, you know - can't you play any music at all, here? Christmas is rubbish without Christmas songs..."

"You're having a laugh?" Sirius replied flatly. "No one upon no one actually likes Christmas songs, Harry!"

"Unless they're fifteen and getting drunk on sherry surprisingly quickly," Remus noted, taking a sip of his apple brew.

"Fair point."

"What is that you're drinking?" Draco asked, leaning up to look into his cup. "It smells very Christmassy."

"Oh... it's sort of mulled wine, without the wine, really," Remus explained, looking faintly red in the cheeks and glancing around the room uncomfortably.

"There's no alcohol in it?"

"No. I have... well, it doesn't agree with me."

"Neither does Sirius, but you don't avoid him altogether!" Harry declared, before bursting into riotous laughter, muffled by Sirius' hands as he playfully tried to gag him.

"May I have some? I don't like sherry very much."

"What?" Harry demanded, pulling Sirius' hand away from his mouth and staring as him as if he'd just admitted to 'quite fancying a go with one of Gavin's Welsh sheep'. His attitude changed very abruptly as he eyed Draco's glass and said, "I'll have it." It was half way to Harry's lips before Draco had even realised he'd let go.

"Of course you can - we have practically a bucketful... Siri never was good with measurements, were you, Paddy?"

"Luckily for you, Moony."

"Oh, that's most certainly a matter of opinion," Remus grinned, climbing to his feet and causing Draco to slump slightly to one side. He put down his mug and stretched, several joints cracking, before grinning and shaking his head and walking out into the kitchen.

"What the bloody hell did you do to Moo, Siri?" Harry asked, now half-sprawled across both their laps, until Draco tickled his socked foot and he screeched and moved, kicking him playfully. "If he doesn't drink, what's he on? He's all happy..."

Sirius grinned and said, "Cheering charms..." he held up some fingers and squinted at them "Three cheer - no... hang on... five. No... no, maybe it was... lots of cheering charms!"

Harry laughed hysterically and collapsed as Sirius also climbed to his feet to collect the bottle from the mantelpiece. While he was there he picked up a bundle of mistletoe and giggled to himself faintly manically before tucking it all around his belt. Draco wasn't sure he even want to know.

When Remus returned, however, laden with a tray full of festive goodies - cakes and sweets and things that made Draco's sweet tooth twinge with delight - Sirius revealed his... joke.

"Hey," he began, grinning, "Hey, Moony, look - mistletoe belt! Kiss my arse!" before disintegrating into giggles.

Remus stared at him for a moment, before dryly asking, "Why, are we doing presents early?"

Even Draco had to laugh at that - while Harry clamped his hands over his ears and gave a long cry of horror.

"Aww, I think Harry's a bit -"

"'Mortified', I think is the word you're looking for, Black," Draco offered, jabbing Harry in the ribs, just because.

"Gerroff!"

"Nope." Jab. Jab. Jab.... Jabjab. "Ow! Potter, you little tart! That hurt!"

"Then sod off poking me!"

"I'm not poking you. I'm too scared of your monstrous boyfriend for that."

"Eh?"

"You're drunk. You imagined I just said that."

"No I didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Imagine you said that!"

"Said what?"

"That!"

"What?"

"Oh, sod off!"

"I certainly didn't say that."

"Now, now, girls..."

"Girls? Excuse me, Black, you're the one cooking minced pies and wearing flowers in your hair."

"They're berries and they're in my belt."

"Oh, and that makes it so much more manly..."

Lupin grinned and reached up to brush a small kiss to Sirius' cheek, ruffling his hair, "He serves."

"Oh my God. That I hope I don't remember!" Harry declared, pulling a tasselled cushion over his face. "I'm going to be disturbed for life at this rate."

"That isn't what I meant, actually!" Remus said, blushing slightly.

"Oh, yeah, right - I really believe that! No parents, brought up in a cupboard, a twat for a best friend and a pair of raving queens for godparents. A life of prescription potions and psychiatrist's bills beckons."

"And we'd never have guessed the fairy godparents would produce a raving drama queen like you, would we, Harry?"

"We'll that's the pot calling the kettle pink, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I'm not the world's poster-boy bachelor."

"Ha! You admitted it!"

"What?"

"That you're the campest thing since Gilderoy Lockhart minced into the tights shop!"

"How, exactly? Besides, I'm not the one with the six-feet-tall, muscle-bound boyfriend."

"Eh? Hang on, hang on, hang on - you normally just call him fat."

"Well, it serves my purposes to suggest otherwise. You and I and most of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team who have been subjected to Captain Tubby's Man-Breasts know full-well, that in fact, Gavin Cross is a fat, Welsh lard-arse."

"You've really got to stop hanging around with George," Harry said. "And he's not fat!"

"I have a sneaking suspicion," Remus said, almost suppressing a smile, while being wrapped in a boa constrictor-like grasp, "that it's not only someone's vocabulary that George Weasley is leaving an impression on..."

"At least George isn't fat." Three pairs of raised eyebrows later, Draco had the sense to add, "Not that there's any foundation to your foul rumour mongering."

"LIAR!" Harry cried, giving him small, jabbing kicks in the thigh. "You fancy him!"

Draco scowled at him, "Not everyone has to sexualize all of their relationships, Harry."

"Now, now, Draco - I'm sure Harry's perfectly capable of platonic friendship - look at his relationship with Ron," Remus said, quite blatantly mocking Harry.

"I snogged Ron, once," Harry declared, slurring slightly and squinting at the ceiling.

All the others stared at him blankly.

"What? We were just practising..."

"Please tell me you haven't kissed Granger..."

"She's a girl..."

Across the room Sirius grimaced and muttered, "Only just."

"Oh Siri, stop. Hermione's very pretty."

"Once you get past the hair and the teeth."

"Her teeth are alright, now!" Harry protested, pulling on Draco's arm to force himself back upright. "Since his lot turned her into a beaver-face and Madam Pomfrey put them back Hermione's got nice teeth!"

"Would you, if you weren't too busy trying to get into the pants of every other male in the castle?"

"...Maybe."

"You know, Harry," Remus mused quietly, "You really are so like your father."

A few hours later, most of which were spent laughing and pranking and stupidly allowing Harry access to even more alcohol, Draco found himself lounging drowsily on one end of the sofa, Harry slumped against his shoulder while stretched out languidly (and unconsciously) across the rest of the cushions. He was very, very drunk, and Draco was very, very aware of the fact. He didn't mind that much, really. He thought perhaps he should have done, and he thought about making Harry move off of him on principle, but he was comfortable now, and Harry didn't mean any harm by it and it was Christmas, so why cause problems? It didn't even hurt that much when he wondered if Harry and Cross ever sat like this and whether he was just playing surrogate boyfriend for the evening.

He stroked at Harry's hair softly when he thought Remus wasn't looking, dozing quietly in the armchair while Sirius washed the dishes. Even though it stood up at ridiculous angles and seemed to have been cut by a blind man using his feet, it was shiny and had a bluish tint. Sometimes, it had golden tints from the light of the fire and the candles on the Christmas tree, and that reminded him of something else. Of bright orange hair and freckles and being far too tactile. Maybe George was right, this was all about Gryffindor 'hugginess'. Maybe he'd be handing over a million galleons, if he ever came into his inheritance, because this was not a very Slytherin thing to be doing. Mildly drunkenly on Christmas Eve or Yule or any time at all... And maybe it had made his heart skip just a little bit when he had first felt Harry's hair brushing his cheek, but he could have pulled away if he was uncomfortable with it. Yet he didn't; he didn't mind this as much as he thought he would. Maybe because he knew it meant nothing to Harry other than "This is comfy and I'm a big, stupid Gryffindor git who must fondle all my friends as often as possible"; maybe because for the first time in a long time, his greatest concern in life was not Harry Potter.

Draco couldn't remember much about going to bed, the next morning, but he was awake by seven, staring up at the ceiling of Remus' bedroom and strangely aware, with a detached numbness, that it was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and his father would not be around to layer the atmosphere with dread and fear of one of his blackened moods. He loathed Christmas. He always said it was a celebration that belonged to their ancestors and had been raped by Christians trying to control the peasants of centuries past. His mother had always... or when she wasn't sick... she had always ensured he had presents to unwrap and the few Christmases he had shared with his grandmother had been filled with toffee apples and sweets and he had been allowed to play with the wrapping paper as most children wanted to, instead of neatly folding it for disposal.

Even though he was weighed down by heavy blankets, he shivered. He didn't want to leave this room, face what was outside and the fact that regardless of whether he had enjoyed Christmas in years past, he had no family to share it with now. Just as he would have no family to celebrate his eighteenth or twenty-first birthdays; his coming of age. No one to take home whomever - if anyone - he ever fell into a relationship with, to meet. No one. He couldn't stay here forever. Why should they let him anyway? How soon would he become a burden? Draco had been brought up to believe that the world owed him favours that had been denied their people, from birth, but not these people; they owed him nothing. Part of him felt compelled to dress and leave before they awoke. Take away that burden from them, and therefore himself. He could spend Christmas at the castle anyway....

He sat up wearily when there was a knock at his door and Harry's sleep-groggy voice called, "Draco? You awake yet?" through the wood.

He hesitated for a moment, tempted to pretend he was asleep, not get up just yet at all, but Harry knocked again and opened his door, and the he had no choice.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Harry squinted, trying to smile and looking rather foolish. "Are you getting up?"

"If I was I'm certainly not now I've seen you looking like that," he replied, almost rolling his eyes at himself. He threw back his covers and climbed out of bed. It was rather cold in the room, after all... the sooner they were downstairs in front of the fire, the better. "So what did you buy me?"

"Who says I bought you anything?"

"I believe the exact words were, 'No, Remus, put my present for Draco over here', when we were decorating the tree."

Even that had been done to try and distract him from the fact his own father had left him a bloody mess, and he had been forced to direct from his sick bed on the sofa.

"Bugger."

"How on earth do you wrap that?!"

"Eh? Oh, shut up! I've got a hang over..."

"Yes, well I have no sympathy for you at all."

"You wouldn't."

They trudged down stairs, the smell of cooking already wafting through the living room. Sirius and Remus were already in the kitchen, Remus cooking pancakes and Sirius idly mixing some syrupy-looking mess of fruits and dark-red sauce in a bowl, a lopsided wreath of holly sitting on his head. In the middle of the table were a jug of juice and a stack of attractive crockery that Draco hadn't seen them use before.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Remus beamed as they walked in. "Have a seat."

"What's that? Why've we got posh plates?" Harry asked, reaching out to stick a finger in the bowl his godfather was mixing.

"Harry, don't stick your hands in it!" he said, scowling playfully. "Fuck knows where they've been!"

"I should be so lucky..." Harry muttered, "But -"

"It's Christmas," Remus explained before Harry could elaborate, turning to put a plate of thin, crepe-like pancakes on the table, soon joined by jars of sticky substances like chocolate spread, syrup and clotted cream and some bananas, sugar and lemon juice. "This is an old Black tradition. We said we'd make our first Christmas special, didn't we, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned, eagerly sitting down next to Sirius and picking up an empty plate. "Can we start, yet? When do we open presents?"

"After breakfast," Sirius told him, waving a sticky spoon at Remus. "You can blame that tradition on his family."

"I can see the galleon signs totting up in my dentist's eyes already..." Draco muttered, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

Feeling thoroughly full and rather sick, they made their way into the living room some time later, to the promise of presents. During breakfast three owls had arrived, including the Weasley's owl, Errol, who had flown straight past Harry and collapsed on top of Draco's head. Draco had not been amused. Errol had, strapped to his leg, a tiny bundle, with a note attached reading, "Remus, dear, please unshrink. Don't let Sirius do it. Love, Molly"

The order not to allow Sirius to do it was underlined three times. Sirius was not amused.

"Why does that woman think I'm incompetent?" he complained, slumping down on the sofa, his present from Harry clutched in both hands. "I'd like to see her 102% NEWT in Advanced Charms..."

Remus placed the small bundle on the coffee table and drew his wand, the package looked like the sort of fake parcels people used to decorate Christmas trees, and it was quite intriguing to see how they expanded and ended with a soft pop, jumping slightly as they did so. Remus checked the labels and handed them out to their relevant owners. When he came to a large, squishy one, wrapped in paper decorated with hopping robins he blinked for a moment, and handed it to Draco, who stared up at him in surprise.

"What?"

"It's for you."

"Don't be ludicrous. There's really no need to try and make me feel better - I'm not expecting anything from them."

"We'll they've sent you something," Remus insisted, dropping it into his lap.

"Probably a jumper with 'Prat' on the front," Harry sniggered, tearing at the paper on his own parcel. He pulled out the anticipated woollen garment, plus an envelope and a mesh sack of chocolate galleons.

"This one's from Ron, Harry," Remus said, tossing him another, smaller one, which Harry dropped his jumper to catch.

Draco was still staring at his, wondering if it was full of nasties that would leave him blistered and unable to touch anything for a week. It took considerable courage to finally untie the string and pull off the paper. To his relief, Harry's prediction had been closer to the mark. A charcoal-coloured jumper with a big, green dragon on the front was wrapped up with a card and a bag of chocolates like Harry's. Awkwardly, he took the card and opened the envelope. He was immediately sprinkled with a glittering dust and for a moment thought that this was the inevitable Weasley prank. Instead, he felt a warm, creeping sensation throughout his body, like a happy, radiating warmth and the feel of being wrapped in a very mumsy hug. He thought he might be blushing, especially as most of it landed in his lap, but no one said anything.

Inside the card was a short note signed 'Molly & Arthur Weasley (and family)', thanking him for what he had done at the Quidditch match at the end of term and offering him anything they could give in gratitude. He almost felt a pang of guilt when his mind automatically offered "Stop breeding". Their son was a good friend; it was thanks to their incessant breeding that Draco had George at all.

He looked up again when Harry fell about laughing and pointing at Sirius's gift. It appeared to be a thick and heavy woollen scarf, and even Remus was chuckling at him, now.

"Obviously, someone's trying to tell you something," Draco said, smirking.

"I can't believe she sent me a muffler! The old cow!"

"Now, Siri," Remus scolded in his best parental tones, "She didn't have to make you anything at all."

"Well, I wish we'd bought her the apron that said 'Never Trust a Thin Cook' instead of the 'Mum Knows Best' one!"

"Don't be so petty!"

"Well she deserves it! I don't know what she's got against me, but it's obviously bloody serious."

Draco leaned over the side of the sofa and picked up the bundle he had wrapped up for Harry weeks before. He wasn't sure, now, if this was such a good idea, after all. It seemed almost too much. Maybe he'd put a little too much thought into it; but if he didn't give this to him now he had nothing else to offer and it wasn't as if he could send them back...

Casually, he settled back into his seat and held out the gift, muttering, "That's yours."

Harry stared at him for a moment, before grinning wildly and snatching it out of his hands. "Thanks!"

"It's...well. You needed them." There was no point saying it was nothing when it was very obviously something. Over eighty galleons of owl-order something and a fair amount of research that had been done, in part, when they weren't even talking, after their fight over Cross. For a Slytherin, he wasn't sure whether this illustrated his ability to pre-plan flawlessly or a fundamental flaw in his pre-occupation with himself.

Harry ripped the paper from his gift and tossed it onto the floor before he'd really looked at what he was holding. When he did, he froze.

"Your old ones weren't really fit for a Seeker," Draco said, trying to sound as though it had been an obvious gift. Harry would never realise that when Draco had ordered it they weren't even talking to each other. Hopefully.

Harry turned them over in his hands, slowly. They were impeccable quality. Buffalo leather Quidditch gloves; laces woven from the manes of winged ponies from ranches in the US. And on the front of the wrist-guard, embossed in gold, was what made them not only impeccable, but also utterly unique.

"It's your paternal ancestral crest," Draco told him, when Harry ran his fingers over one and continued to stare at it. "They really were potters, believe it or not. They owned a small company in Sussex, which grew into one of the biggest earthenware suppliers to the aristocracy in our world during the fourteenth century..."

Harry continued to stare and Draco found himself carrying on, feeling as though he needed to justify his purchase before it was rejected.

"...They... there were royal appointments... In 1612 the master potter of the family was knighted. Until the last war they... when everyone was lost.... Harry? Look, if you don't like them - "

"You're mad."

It was Draco's turn to stare, this time, uncomfortably aware that both Sirius and Remus were watching them intently.

"I can't believe you did all of this..."

"Well, I wasn't just going to buy you any old pair, was I?" Draco told him, forcing a superior drawl. "I do have standards."

"Drac..." Harry stammered, holding them reverentially, "They're... I..."

"Oh stop gawping, idiot."

Harry did. He stopped gawping and flung himself upon him, crushing him in a hug. Draco could feel himself blushing immediately and muttered that this hurt. Harry took quite some time to let go and when he did he looked at him earnestly and said, "Draco, I take back everything I said about you being a git."

"I'm flattered."

"My present looks crap compared to this..."

Draco raised an eyebrow and asked what it was. Harry responded by laying right across him to reach over the arm of the sofa. Draco grimaced and hoped the adults hadn't noticed... it was rather soon after the experience with the hug and he was still rather tender. It was a relief when Harry crawled back and shoved a box-shaped gift into his hand.

"You're not allowed to use any of it on Gavin," he warned as Draco unwrapped it. Inside was a collection of packets, vials and potion bottles. A large embossed label across the front of the box proclaimed, "Zonko's Prank It Yourself: Petty Vengeance Potions Kit".

Draco laughed and said, "You do realise that this is a red rag to a bull, don't you? You can't just give me this and tell me not to use it on your boyfriend when you know he annoys me beyond comprehension!"

"You'd better not, Draco."

"But it's just so tempting..."

"I'll hide it all before he gets back from holidays."

"Not if I hide it where you can't find it first!"

"How about," Remus interrupted, "we leave the rest of the presents for later and get started on dinner?"

"We've only just eaten!"

"Yes, but we have to cook it first; get your sleeves rolled up - I assume you can both be trusted with vegetable peelers, can't you?"

They hadn't long since finished lunch when there was a tuneful knock on the back door and two identical red-heads bounded in noisily; Fred wearing a hat with reindeer antlers on it, decorated with mistletoe. Everyone leaned slightly further away.

"A very Merry Yule to you all, gentlemen!" he grinned, bowing and knocking what was left of Harry's cracker on the floor with his antlers.

"May the very best of the season fall upon you - "

"- and not something heavy."

"Because that would be a crap way to end the year."

"Grave diggers think so anyway..."

"Fred!" George scowled and slapped him on the arm. "Bloody idiot..." He seemed relieved when he saw that Draco was grinning reluctantly and lounging back against his chair with his arms folded. "So - Happy Christmas!"

A faintly bewildered Remus managed a, "Likewise," before pulling himself out of his seat and gesturing to it. "Come in - make yourselves comfortable... season's greetings... or something."

"Cheers," George said, immediately plonking himself down next to Draco. Harry cast Draco a look that seemed to ask where he found the patience. Which was ironic, seeing as Harry had been perfectly good friends with them for years. Fred hoisted himself on to the side and sat idly swinging his legs against the cupboards below.

"Almost forgot," he said, digging around in his coat pocket, "we made you all a card - "

"- don't worry - this one won't explode -"

" - we put too much in Snape's - "

"- so we had to ration the rest - "

" - and we thought we'd be kind -"

" - to our second little brother - "

" - and family."

"'Cause we're good like that, aren't we, Fred?"

"Too right."

Sirius tentatively held out his hand to take the card and muttered, "Er, cheers."

Remus looked like he was in a gangster movie and wasn't sure whether to laugh at someone's joke or not, but that choosing the wrong option could mean sudden and untimely death.

"Breakfast was fun - "

" - we swapped that girl from Ravenclaw's pumpkin juice - "

" - with a cup full of orange jelly - "

" - she sat there for eight whole minutes -"

" - trying to work out what had happened!"

"She only did -"

" - when it fell out of her glass -"

" - and went straight down her top!"

"Which girl from Ravenclaw?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"The skinny one."

"Looks like she should be related to us - "

" - except our hair's better."

"McKnight?"

"Yeah, her."

"Isn't she the one - "

" - who was trying to steal your bloke?"

Harry seemed torn between a scowl and delight that she had been duped by the Twins. "Something like that..." he muttered finally.

"Wicked!"

"Our job here is done."

"Well it wasn't done that originally, was it?" Sirius said, "'Jelly in the cup'? That's right up there with 'glue on the chair' and 'sickle stuck to the pavement'."

The Twins raised identical eyebrows to an identical degree.

"I do believe, George, that that was a challenge."

"I believe it was, Fred."

"So what would you have done - "

" - Mr Padfoot?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow of his own and sighed, "Crackers full of Bubotuber pus - "

"We did that in first year."

" - minced pies with spiders in - "

"George doesn't like spiders."

"Why not?"

"Two words: Forbidden Forest," Fred nodded, matter or factly.

"You haven't been in there again!" Remus said impatiently, and looked rather as though he wished he hadn't when the Twins both stared at him.

"Of course we have - "

" - all the time - "

"- but not far, now - "

" - and neither would you if you'd seen the bloody size of it! It was... it was massive!"

"I bet you say that to all the girls, mate, don't you?" Sirius smirked.

George cast him a look that was dryly disbelieving, "I don't need to tell them."

"It's written all over the toilet doors."

Sirius chuckled. "You two would have made alright Marauders."

"Alright?"

"We'd be better than alright!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" they told him firmly.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Remus may have muttered a faint, "Oh God, no..." before picking up the kettle and going to fill it up.

Meanwhile, Draco was wondering what on earth was going on. Beneath the table a hand was groping around in the vicinity of his leg. He stared at George until the older boy finally found his hand, turned it over and pressed a shoddily wrapped box into his hand, then raised a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. Draco frowned, but nodded and laid the box on his lap.

He was too busy studying his box to realise what was going on when everyone seemed to start getting up and migrating into the living room. He climbed to his feet and started to follow, until George grasped his elbow and tugged him back. At the door, Remus cast them a glance and hesitated before giving them a slight smile and pulling the door quietly closed behind him.

"This would be mine, then?" Draco asked, holding up the present and looking at him enquiringly.

"Yeaaah," George said slowly, shrugging and tilting his head to the side, "But before you open it, just let me warn you that it's a bit of a joke, alright? Fred thought it seemed a bit evil, but it's not meant like that at all... I just thought it could be a laugh. So... yeah."

"What is it?" Draco asked, tugging at the paper apprehensively. "It isn't going to bite me or anything, is it?"

"Er, no... but if I've made a serious enough misjudgement you might bite me. Not that I have, or anything, but you never know..."

Draco studied him suspiciously for a moment, then pulled the box from its wrapping. He opened the lid carefully, and peered inside. Within the box was a glassy-looking ball, around the size of a large orange, and filled with an opalescent mist. He stared down at it, glanced up at George, and then asked, "Why have you bought me a crystal ball, Pumpkin-head?"

"I haven't."

"So what's that?"

"It's... well..." George reached into the box and removed the ball, carefully, "I thought, considering... it might be useful."

"What is it?"

"Look at the instructions and you'll work it out!"

Draco delved into the box and pulled out the miniature scroll accompanying it. "It'd rather you just told me what it was before it did what it's supposed to and we both end up convicted of crimes against humanity... or dead."

"It's not going to kill anyone, Snowflake, stop fretting! You don't think I'd buy you a bad Christmas present, do you?"

"Fred does."

"Yeah, well, Fred just wants everything to have some kind of underlying evil inclination. So he should probably love you, really..."

Draco raised an eyebrow and snorted.

The parchment was decorated in swirling script, curling down the page and incorporating diagrams as it went. At the very top, however, was a passage that answered Draco's questions rather concisely:

"New from ZONKO'S - The Next Generation of Divination Range brings you - THE MULTI-SENSORY, SELF-REGULATING, LIGHT-PROPELLED, ULTRA-ACCURATE JEZEBEL POLARI GAYDAR v.2.1!!!"

Draco blinked and looked at George again. "What?"

"It's a Gaydar: does exactly what it says on the tin."

"There is no tin."

"Yeah, but - never mind. It's cool - look - you just say the activating words and it will sniff out everyone around and tell you who goes for what. It's mainly focused on pointing out people who are actually gay, I think, but still... I think I'm turning into my mother, what with the practical Christmas presents and that..."

Draco continued to stare up at the ginger boy with one eyebrow raised.

"Why have you given me a Christmas present which points out gay people, Pumpkin?" he asked mildly.

George responded by clapping him on the shoulder and saying, "Don't kid yourself, Snowflake."

"What do you mean 'don't kid yourself'? If you knew you could have just said!" Draco scowled petulantly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why say anything? You didn't, so I didn't."

"Until now."

"Until now. Fact is, mate," George told him frankly, holding out the Gaydar for him to take, "bicycle-face and lover-boy are in it for keeps as far as they're concerned, and I'm getting sick of all the bitching and the dirty glances and stuff every time he's mentioned. There are loads more crumbs in the biscuit tin, yeah? That's your compass; go have a look."

Draco's scowl turned into an irritable frown, "How do you know all this, Pumpkin-head?"

"Some of us don't need bloody glowing crystal balls to see what's waving around in front of us like a streaker at the World Cup," George grinned, ruffling his hair. "So, you want to give it a go?"

"Um... my wand's upstairs...You do it. You bought it."

"And it's your Christmas present," George countered, pulling his own wand out of his pocket. He held it out to Draco, "Go on, use that."

Draco recoiled slightly, "No."

"What's yours?"

"Ash and Manticore hair."

"Manticore? How the fucking hell did you get that?!"

"It chose me. What's that?"

"Yew and Dragon heartstring. Fred's is yew and Sphinx hair, lucky bastard. Now come on, take it and activate the Gaydar."

Reluctantly, Draco held out his hand, and the other boy pressed his wand into it. There was a strange tingle as their hands met, which George clearly noticed, too, because he glanced at Draco and then looked away for a moment. Wands did that sometimes, though. Draco had picked up Blaise's wand, once, and it had made his whole hand vibrate. Of course, that one turned out to have a curse on it...

Draco took a deep breath and touched the wand to the opalescent ball, and said, "Quero". Nothing happened except a few sparks emitted from the end of the wand. He dropped it in surprise and George bent to pick it back up, grinning slightly.

"Yeah, sorry, it does that sometimes." He gave it a flick and rubbed it on his sleeve before handing it back.

"Quero," Draco said again, and this time the mercurial mist inside began to swirl quickly and from the very depths of the ball a faint glow began to build, growing stronger every second, until the entire ball issued with a dark, pinkish light. Suddenly it zipped into the air and a number of other tiny rays of light burst out of its middle, shades of rainbow with a bold, flickering beam of pink focusing on him as it whizzed in circles around his head before doing a wide figure-of-eight and looping itself around George several times in vast, aquamarine arcs. Then it seemed to hesitate, rotating on the spot and fading to a pale bluish-white and suddenly throwing itself towards the living room door, flashing every colour manically.

"I think it must be broken," Draco sighed disappointedly.

George looked at him as if he was a bit of a prat, and said, "Er, no. I reckon it's working just fine, actually. You want to take a look at the instructions when you get a chance. Read up on colours and things..." He clapped Draco on the shoulder as he reached for the tiny scroll again, and opened the door into the living room before the Gaydar broke a hole through it.

Immediately, the ball whooshed over to Remus and bounced on to the side of his head, turning a similar shade of pink as it had when it had attacked Draco. It fell with a soft flump to the sofa beside him before making a bizarre gurgling noise and zipping back into the air again, where it did a few more circuits of a very stunned Remus' head and then shot over to Harry, turning a warm purple.

"What's the hell is that?" Harry asked, laughing and raising his hands to shield his head from any unwanted assaults.

"George's Christmas present to Snowflake," Fred told them rolling his eyes from where he sat on the floor near the fire. He grinned as it zipped over to him and turned a vivid orange, gently batting it away towards Sirius, where it hovered for a moment, apparently sussing him out, and streaking through range of colours between yellow and indigo and circling Remus in a shade of fuchsia a few more times before settling on a bluish-green, not dissimilar from the colour it had turned when first presented with George.

"And what the bloody hell is 'George's present to Snowflake'?" Sirius asked, attempting to grab the ball out of mid-air and missing.

From the doorway, Draco grinned. "It's a Gaydar," he said, "And apparently you're a bit too blue to be bisexual."

"Sod off!" Sirius protested, grabbing at the gaydar again, playfully, but missing as it floated out of reach and returned to hover near Draco, fading to the bluish-white again and flashing the pink ray faintly.

"So, what colour did it turn for George?" Harry asked, leaning back in his seat and pulling his knees up.

George responded with a wink and said, "Now that'd be telling, wouldn't it, gay boy?"

"Yeah, well at least I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm starting to think those rumours were true..."

"What rumours?" Draco asked. He'd heard several rumours about the Weasley Twins over the years - some ludicrous, some probably true, and some...well, best left alone. He glanced at Fred, who had taken a rather keen interest in the hem of his corduroy trousers, and for a change, said nothing.

"Did you hear about that, Drac?" Harry asked, grinning with a slightly nasty glint in his eye. "I thought everyone heard that one."

"Heard what one?"

It was George who answered, looking at Harry as though he'd quite like to kick him; "The one about me and Ollie."

"Wood?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked over at Sirius, who was looking on with amused interest.

"Yeah..."

"Is it true?" Draco asked, feeling something inside him twist and contract in anticipation of the answer.

George and Harry were by now having a staring match, not scowling, but gazing at each other with such taught intensity that it was almost possible to see death rays between them.

"I don't think that's really our business, Draco, do you?" Remus asked, standing up. "Would anyone -"

"Say the word 'tea', Moo, and I think someone will probably hit you."

"Oh... well, I'll just get my own, then," Remus muttered and walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. The four boys stared at Sirius until he finally acquiesced and pulled himself to his feet to follow.

"So, is it or not?"

"What's it matter? He's gone now, anyway."

"It matters because Draco fancies you, don't you, Drac?" Harry said, and laughed. And Draco really, really wanted to hit him.

"No. I don't. Mind your own business."

Fred looked up quite suddenly and froze with his eyes on his brother, who was still staring intently at Harry.

"Well, that's okay, then," he said lightly. "And, as it happens, yeah. Me and Ollie... we..." he glanced at Fred and stopped altogether.

"Isn't there this term for that? Fuck-Buddies or something?" Harry offered.

Now George glowered. His hand twitched as if he wanted to thump the other boy right in the mouth. "It wasn't like that," he ground out.

"You don't have to justify yourself to him," Draco told him, holding his elbow in case Harry received the much-deserved punch. "He's just bitter because his little boyfriend isn't here. And the rumours I heard were that Harry liked Wood. Are you jealous or something, Harry?"

"You know what I reckon?" Fred said, finally piping up and casting Harry a pitying look, "I reckon it sounds a lot like Harry's jealous of George for things more recent than his first-year crush on Ollie Wood."

"What, for him?" Harry snorted, glancing at Draco and turning somewhat redder, even if he still sounded rather collected. "Yeah, right."

"Aww, I'm sorry, Harry," George said with a small laugh. "I didn't realise that you fancied him. Still, wouldn't want to go upsetting Gavin with you running off with Snowflake, would we?"

"Yeah," Fred added, "he gets upset easily, your boyfriend."

Harry's eyes narrowed, "No, he doesn't."

Fred chuckled darkly, "Maybe not at the moment, but from what was going on last year you might want to be a bit careful you don't go hurting him or anything."

"What - are - you - on - about?"

"Doesn't matter now - "

" - let by-gones be by-gones - "

" - and all that."

"Tell me."

George looked at Fred, who looked back and smirked, and together they shrugged and said, "Nah."

Meanwhile, Draco wanted to die. He had felt like someone punched him when Harry had declared that he had a crush on George - his friend, George, who had been the only person to really show any sympathy for what had happened on the tower - and he knew it had the potential to ruin everything - take away that friendship altogether; obviously, he didn't fancy Draco either, and now he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing because it saved the awkwardness, or a bad thing because if George had fancied him it would have been something Draco could have used to ensure he stuck around; and then, Harry himself making a mockery of how Draco felt... He hated him so much at the moment. So very, very much.

He wasn't really sure what he was still doing, standing there while the nasty comments spread amongst them, so he simply walked across the room and out of the door, heading for his bedroom. He wasn't staying around to deal with this. He hadn't even meant to slam the door behind him, but when it did he felt quite satisfied. Frustratedly, he picked up a book from the top of the stack he had smuggled out of the Manor and hurled it across the room, watching it crash against the windowsill, and fall to the floor, its binding broken, pages spilled across the carpet. He wanted to throw another, but he could hear footsteps on the stairs and if it was Remus he'd get told off for damaging books.

By the time the cautious knock at the door came, Draco was sitting on the side of his bed facing away from it. He muttered 'come in' but George was already half way into the room by then. He stopped and closed the door behind him.

"You alright?" he said, with a faint inflection of 'You'd better be or Potter gets it'.

"I'm fine."

"I'm starting to wish I'd never bought that bleeding thing, now," he said, gesturing to the ball that was now hovering near his face. He batted it away gently. "More trouble than it's sodding worth."

"It wouldn't be if Harry hadn't started being such a total bastard about it. I don't know what the hell's the matter with him..."

"Personally, Snowflake, and I hate to break it to you, and everything, but I think Fred was bang on when he said that..."

Draco gave a small, sardonic laugh and replied, "No, trust me. Harry doesn't. He's made that amply clear."

"If you say so." Draco felt George walk over and sit on the bed behind him. He sighed and sagged his shoulders. "Look, it's not going to make things difficult between us or anything, is it? 'Cause I know I probably shouldn't admit it, but..."

He paused, and Draco felt his stomach yank again, thinking Oh George, please don't complicate this...

"...you're my best mate. I know Fred's my brother and no one's ever going to be closer than he is to me, but... I never really see him, lately, and I like hanging out with you. So I s'pose that makes you my best friend. And I wouldn't want the fact that I could fancy you or something get in the way..."

Draco wasn't sure if he should be pleased that George wasn't interested, or disappointed, because regardless of what that might mean, it would mean someone found him in some way appealing, even if nothing came of it. He could have done with a decent ego massage...

George sighed and shifted nearer, wrapping his arm around Draco's shoulder and cross his chest in a tight squeeze, ruffling his hair with the other hand. "You're all miserable, now, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked sharply, looking at him over his shoulder - more sharply than he should have, because it made George pull away abruptly, which was vaguely disappointing.

"I just meant it's Christmas Day, Harry has pissed us all off and I feel bad that my present started it. I'm sorry, alright?"

"Don't be sorry, for pity's sake!" Draco said impatiently. "It's not your fault."

"Okay, okay... I don't want us to start arguing over that little prat downstairs..."

"We're not."

"So we're okay?"

"Yes."

"Good."

There was a long silence, and Draco found himself shifting so that he was more or less facing the other boy. Still, neither of them said anything, until Draco finally asked, "So, what happened?"

"When?" George asked, but from the look on his face he didn't need the clarification.

"When you and Wood broke up? I get the impression it - "

"We never 'broke up'..."

The twists in Draco's stomach could not be natural. Perhaps it was something he'd eaten... that was the last time he let Black cook for him. "So, are you and he still - ?"

The red-head snorted and said, "No... we were never really together in the first place...But we were more than bloody 'fuck buddies'!" he added, sounding affronted at the very thought of it. He sighed and scowled, before rubbing at his hair aimlessly and continuing, "It makes it sound sodding horrible, doesn't it? I'm not saying that I'm entirely opposed to meaningless debauchery or nothing, but still... And it's not like it was all Romeo and Juliet or anything, either, but... Fuck, I'd really like to hit Harry for saying that."

"Be my guest. If he wasn't bigger than me I would have done, too," Draco lied, and George laughed at him.

"Yeah, right..."

"Humour me."

"Alright," the other boy grinned, before beginning his allegory again. "The reason we... stopped... was because I was only your age, and he was about to leave school and... It's not like we could have carried on with anything. And that started to matter - it's not like we ever meant it to matter... Friends with Benefits - that's what he used to call it - but then it kind of... got too big to be that, so..."

"You ended it?"

"He did," George corrected, "And I s'pose he was right, really. You can't be a professional Quidditch star with an under-age boyfriend, can you?"

"He dumped you for his career? What the hell was he doing in Gryffindor?!"

"No, no - it wasn't like that either. It's just really complicated, Drac... you weren't there, y'know? I might've been fifteen, but I wasn't even a little bit naïve. Not even a little bit... He didn't take advantage, he didn't lead me astray or pressurise me or anything... If anyone was doing pressurising, it was me, but at the end of the day, it was never going to last, so it was best never to get too caught up in that, and we were failing. Both of us. And Oll could see it before I could, that's all. He did me a favour, I s'pose, 'cause I know by then he was pretty much as gutted about the prospect as I was."

"o you still love him?"

George gave a little chuckle, a cynical little laugh, and said, "I was fifteen - just about sixteen by the time he left - what do you think?"

Draco shrugged and offered, "I know it really pisses me off when people claim it's 'too young to understand'."

"You've really got to stop swearing..."

"I suppose you just have that effect on people, Pumpkin-head."

"Maybe I do..." He grinned and hazel eyes caught Draco's for the first time in several minutes, "Still, pastures new, eh?"

Draco looked back at him with an eyebrow raised and smirked, "Indeed..."

"So, what is it about me you don't fancy, then?" George asked suddenly, relaxing back on to his hands and making himself more comfortable. Draco's heart skipped about eight beats, but he still managed to remain composed enough to return:

"What is it about me you don't fancy?"

"I don't remember saying I don't," the other boy smirked.

"But - "

"And I never said I did..."

"Oh, stop it!" Draco ordered, pouting ferociously.

"Aw, you look like a disgruntled ferret when you do that!" George laughed, ruffling his hair so that some of it stood up from the friction. Draco reached out to push his hand away, but George merrily caught his fingers instead and twisted them just enough to hurt.

"Ow! Pumpkin!"

"Be nice. Stop pouting and be nice."

"I am being nice."

"You're not, you're being surly."

"Well, you're twisting my fingers!" Draco protested, starting to laugh a bit. "Is this just an excuse to hold my hand?"

"Maybe. Maybe I just like hurting you."

"Amounts to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"My, my, Snowflake, what a filthy mind we have."

"Yes, well, if the cap fits...Or homemade woolly hat, in your case."

"And yours. You like my woolly hat."

"It's a means to an end..."

"Well, I was going to get mum to make you one, but if you're going to be like that..."

"You haven't had your present, yet, have you?" Draco realised, suddenly, just prior to realising that they still had their fingers linked, and extricating his hand while it wasn't being tortured.

"That's alright, I'll get it later... I didn't come to get that, anyway."

"You came to give me the Gift from Hell, did you?" Draco asked as the almost-forgotten Gaydar twirled merrily on its axis not far away from them, apparently behaving itself, for now.

"No," George corrected, genially, "I came to see you." Draco froze for a moment as the Gryffindor's hand reached up to his face; he opened his mouth to say something - not that he was sure what - and almost felt his heart going into painful palpitations before George held out a tiny blond curve of hair on his finger tip and said, "Eyelash."

"Sweet," a voice said flatly from the doorway, making them both jump. Harry walked into the room without knocking, looking vaguely disgusted. "Fred's going back to school, if you feel like leaving any time soon."

"He'll leave when he wants to leave."

"What did you do to the book?" Harry asked, walking over to the scattered pages and scooping some of them up. "I hope this isn't one of Moony's..."

"It's one of my father's, alright? Leave it alone."

"Why? What is it, a book of poetry or something?" he help up a page and read aloud, "'Like spring dew upon the grass of morn...' A bit wet for your dad, isn't it?"

"I didn't send over any poetry. Maybe it was stuck between the pages. Do you mind? We were having a private conversation."

"Oh, don't stop for my benefit. Or wasn't it that sort of 'chat'?" Harry asked, smirking as he rifled through the pages. George began to stand up, casting Draco a look that suggested he was losing patience. Rapidly. Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him down again. He was too annoyed with Harry to let him win this. Whatever this was.

"What it was, is none of your business."

"I can see that," Harry replied, glancing up and then looking down at the page in his hand. He frowned and turned it over, looking at the back, then back at the front.

"What?"

"I dunno... I don't... This isn't from the book."

"Well it was probably put in there by someone when they were reading it, wasn't it?"

"It's weird."

"Well, that's alright, because you're not exactly bread-and-butter normal yourself, either, are you, mate?"

Harry glared at George, then walked over and handed it the page to Draco.

"It's ripped, look. And we only get half of it..."

"So someone tore up a love...letter... Or not."

"I'd say not."

"So what is it?"

"What's it say, Snowflake?"

"I'm not reciting it - it could be a spell!"

"Then give me it and I will..."

"George, we don't have the second half - we don't know what it does..."

"I doubt it invites the undead hoards to devour us, mate, so don't worry too much."

"You lot have no sense of self-preservation!"

"Some more than others..."

"When the Darkness Broke In? Sounds like a title of a poem more than anything, to me..."

"Maybe that's all it is..."

"...Get Fred," George said, glancing at Harry. "He should look at this..."

"He's your brother - you get him."

"Oh, Harry, shut up and do as he says."

"No."

"Don't be so petty!"

"FRED! COME HERE A MINUTE!" Harry yelled, and looked at Draco as if to say, Argue with that.

There was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs and Fred leaned around the door curiously. "What?"

"Look at this," George said, holding out the scrap of paper. "What d'you reckon it is?"

"Er, a poem, mostly."

"Look at the words, knobhead."

"When emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire... with... flam-ed Air and rain conspire...So then..." Fred frowned and looked intently at George. "I see."

"Me too."

"I don't."

"Neither do I."

The Twins looked at each other and seemed to reach some sort of silent agreement, before George began, "It's written almost - "

" - well - "

" - quite a lot like - "

" - a prophecy."

"You're winding me up."

"We're not, mate - "

" - it's definitely predicting something."

"Oh great. How am I going to die this time?"

"Now, now - "

" - don't be so blasé about it."

"It doesn't say anyone's going to die - "

" - not in the bit we've got, anyway."

"They normally do."

"I don't think Trelawney wrote this one, idiot. My father hated the woman."

"Why, because she made a prediction about his precious Dark Lord?"

"No, because she's a batty old cow."

"Fair enough."

"I think, Fred, that that's half the point."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Fred! Don't talk to your in-laws like that!"

"Piss. Off. Potter."

"Sore spot, George?"

"You'll have a sore spot, if you don't watch it..."

"You and whose army?"

"My right arm-y."

"Bloody hell, will you two just shut it?"

"Yeah - shut up for five minutes. We're trying to concentrate."

"Why concentrate when Sirius is down stairs? He can concentrate for us."

"You're trying to tell us Sirius Black has an attention span longer than an amnesiac goldfish?"

"He likes riddles. Prat."

"Him or Sirius?"

"Or both?"

"Well, now you mention it..."

Draco snatched the paper from George's hand and climbed over the bed, towards the door, "In that case, we show Sirius."

"No! Wait!" The Twins cried together, scrambling after him. "There's a rule -"

"- no grown ups - "

"- unless the situation's life-threatening."

"Absolutely life threatening."

"We'd never have guessed."

"Well, I'm sorry, but if this is a clue on how to get me out of this Pursanite thing - "

"Look, wait a week. There's a party, right - "

" - New Years' Party - "

" - down in the village - "

" - Oscar's parents are going away - "

" - so he and his sis - "

" - are having a knees-up - "

" - practically anyone's invited anyway - "

" - write to Ronniekins and Brainbox - "

" - we all meet there - "

" - six heads are better than four - "

" - well... depends on the heads, actually - "

" - and Hermione's the only one other than us - "

" - who even stands a chance -"

" - of getting it right."

Draco hesitated, looking at Harry. If this was his way out of this stupid situation, he'd rather just take the quickest route. What was the point in letting the M...Muggle-born look at it when there was a fully-qualified wizard downstairs?

"We've always done it our way," Harry admitted, shrugging. "It's worth a try..."

"Party, you say?"

"Yep. Party."

"Loads of spare rooms - "

" - maybe somewhere we can even look at this - "

" - yeah... Hang on - as opposed to what, Fred?"

Fred gave him a wicked grin.

"My God, you're so bloody funny you and him. You should be a double act."

"So is that settled, then?" Draco interrupted, loudly, knowing his face was burning but powerless to do anything but try to change the subject.

"Yeah, I think so - we go to the party, try to get Fuzz-ball to decipher this and..." Fred opened his mouth, but paused, waiting for optimum reaction.

"Say it, Weasley, I dare you. I will, unfortunately have to render your relationship with George Mk II a lesbian one when I tear your - "

"Oi - oi, Draco, calm down!"

"Just drop it, alright? It wasn't funny before, and it's still not. It will probably never be. So - just - stop."

There was a moment's silence, and the Harry said, "Well, now we know who's got the sore spot..."

Much later, when Harry's nose finally stopped bleeding from the damage inflicted by the book Draco had thrown at him and they'd arranged for him to write to the others, both boys saw the Twins to the door, some semblance of a truce attained for the time being. Harry stood leaning against the living room doorframe while Fred stomped out into the snow, kicking at the new powder layer while George made a great show of hugging Draco tenderly to wind Harry up.

"You're not funny, you know," Harry told him, arms folded across his chest.

"Yes, I am, I'm bloody hilarious," George insisted, grinning, and grabbed Draco by the cheeks and tried to plant a kiss on the middle of his forehead. Draco ducked away and after some scrapping George eventually settled for getting him in a near head-lock and kissing him on the crown instead. "See: hysterical."

"Oh yuk! I can't believe you did that! I don't know where your mouth has been, Pumpkin-head!"

"Well, you do now."

Draco grimaced and slammed the door. The sound of riotous laughter could clearly be heard from outside. Harry stared at him non-plussed for a few moments before turning and sauntering back into the living room, muttering, "He fancies you."

Draco stayed where he was for a minute, grinning to himself in irregular parts amused, content and happy, before leaning on the doorframe and calling, "Yeah, so what if he does?"

Harry didn't reply, but the sound of him kicking the coffee table said plenty.

23