They Shook Hands: Year Two (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Two

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Fifteen - A Right Proper Christmas

Casa de Nott was a magnificent home, in Harry's humble opinion. Once his head stopped spinning from the trip through the Floo, the splendour of the sitting room impressed him immediately. Swallowing hard, Harry took a deep breath and decided that he would, in fact, live.

As the three wizards dusted themselves off, two house elves ran into the room to seize the luggage.

"Take Harry Potter's things to the guest suite," Mr. Nott instructed. "Make sure that all his clothes are laundered and pressed."

The elves bowed silently and vanished noisily.

"Now, I do believe it's time for lunch. I hope you boys didn't fill up on snacks on the train."

"No, I was looking forward to ravioli," Tim revealed.

"They've been at it since I left the mansion," Mr. Nott affirmed. "It should be just about ready now."

"Excellent. Let's get to it. I'm starved. Harry, I hope you're hungry."

"I am," he said. "But don't I get to meet your mum?"

There was a horribly awkward silence. Harry immediately sensed he'd made a dreadful social blunder. He knew that he should apologize, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Mr. Nott waved him to silence.

"My wife Sarah passed on three years ago," he said in a tight voice.

"I never told you," Tim choked. Nor had any of Harry's other friends pulled him aside and warned him.

"It was very sudden," Mr. Nott continued. "Tim and I are still coping with the loss."

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. Boy had he put his foot in his mouth this time.

"Thank you." Mr. Nott cleared his throat and composed himself. "Now let's get at that ravioli before it gets cold."

Harry ate his lunch thoughtfully. He did his best to participate in the conversation, hoping to ease past his grave faux pas. Tim had never talked much about his parents, and now Harry knew why.

Mr. Nott, it turned out, was a scholar. He spent his days with books of all sorts. At present, he was researching the number five and hoped to have a book on the magical properties of numbers finished by next summer. With a little luck, he explained, sixth year Arithmancy students would be referred to his text.

When an invitation to see the library was extended, Harry could not refuse. After the libraries at Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, Harry felt he had seen large collections of books before, so he was ready to be suitably polite. He was not prepared to be astounded.

The room itself was so big that it could not possibly be natural. High-order Charms, Mr. Nott explained, were what allowed such a large room to exist in a small mansion. There were more books than Harry could conveniently estimate, and that wasn't all: the room was also part laboratory (towards the back) and part arboretum (off to the side).

"Wow," Harry breathed.

"Nice, wot?" Tim grinned. "I grew up in this room."

"This explains a lot," Harry teased him.

"Last time I checked," Tim retorted haughtily, "my marks were better than yours."

"Would you boys care to help me with an experiment?" Mr. Nott asked.

Tim looked askance at Harry, who shrugged. "Sounds like fun, Dad. What are we doing?"

"My hypothesis is that the number five is the most important of all numbers, in a magical sense."

"I thought that seven was strongest," Tim questioned.

"So common wisdom tells us," Mr. Nott nodded. "But seven does not exist in nature. Both living and non-living things exhibit traits of six, such as snowflakes and honeycombs, and six is a very useful number indeed, I have found. Five is different. Inanimate nature avoids fiveness. There are no five-sided crystals, for example. So far as I have studied, there is not one instance of fiveness outside of living beings. There, of course, fiveness is abundant, from our fingers and toes to the starfish on the beach. I have yet to run exhaustive tests, but I suspect that my hypothesis will be proven true."

"So what about seven?" Tim asked, not letting go of his original point.

"Practically useless," Mr. Nott sniffed. "Oh, it's good for a few showy things, but no serious wizard would ever depend on seven were his life at stake."

Mr. Nott's brief explanation had fired Harry's curiosity. "How can we help?" he asked.

* * *

Hours later, as he soaked in his hot bath, Harry concluded that Tim, even with one living parent, was truly blessed. Harry hadn't understood even a fraction of the magical principles involved with what they'd done that afternoon, but the older wizard had patiently taken time to answer his questions and gently corrected him when he was in error.

There hadn't been any flashy results like Harry expected, but Mr. Nott seemed most pleased with the day's tests, and he was yammering happily to himself as he quickly scribbled down his thoughts in a journal at his desk as Harry and Tim left to go wash up for dinner.

The hour was considerably later than when Harry normally ate dinner, but the food placed in front of him was just as delicious as that at Hogwarts. Harry wasted no time considering the clock and gave a brief thanks that he even had such a wonderful meal. It would only be fair to say that he stuffed himself, and he struggled to finish his last bites of sherbet.

"We haven't talked much about your classes, boys," Mr. Nott noted as he sipped his coffee. "Harry, what is your favourite subject?"

"This year? Definitely Potions." With Defence being such a joke, there was no question in Harry's mind.

"Not Defence? Tim informed me that you received top marks last year."

"That was last year," Harry emphasized. "I haven't learned anything this year other than that Cornish pixies are dangerous in large groups."

"Lockhart is not a good teacher?" the wizard queried.

Tim snorted rudely. "Dad, don't you read my letters? The man's a fool."

"I know you're a bit prone to exaggeration at times, Tim. That's why I wanted Harry's opinion."

"I agree with Tim. Lockhart couldn't teach a monkey how to throw poo."

Mr. Nott chuckled briefly at Harry's wit before waxing serious again. "They hired an incompetent teacher?"

"He left a class of second year Gryffindors to deal with the aforementioned pixies," Tim sneered. "Then he lied and said that he was never there."

"Outrageous!" Mr. Nott exclaimed.

"I don't even see how the man's so famous," Harry continued. "He can't even cast a basic Shielding Charm."

"He's taught you nothing?"

"That's right."

"Then it's high time you had a proper lesson," Mr. Nott decided. "Fetch your wands, boys, and meet me in the exercise room."

Hours later, well past Harry's normal bedtime, he was soaking once again in a hot bath. He'd come from his unexpected Defence lesson both tired and sweaty. It had been a gruelling time, Harry acknowledged, but time well-spent. Tim's dad knew a lot. He was a good teacher too, and Harry had learned more in the span of a few hours than in half a year's worth of lessons. Now he was stretching out in the hot, soapy water, wishing that every day could be so fulfilling.

There were only a few days left until Christmas, he realized. With all the goings-on, the holiday had snuck up on him. He needed to get presents for all his mates and for the Malfoys and Mr. Nott. While he pondered what to buy, his exhaustion overwhelmed him, and Harry drifted off to slumber land -- right there in the bath.

* * *

Harry tugged at the collar of his borrowed dress robes. The dark green fabric felt tight in the neck, though Tim had assured him that it was all in his head. Harry had never worn such splendid clothes as these. He was having trouble adjusting to wearing only his pants under the robes. He felt anxious as the minutes ticked down to the Christmas party at Pansy's house. It was to be his first social function in wizarding society.

"All right, Harry?"

"Nervous," he replied honestly.

Tim laughed at him. "You'll be fine. Just think about how nervous a lot of the adults are about meeting Harry Potter."

Harry forced a smile at Tim's melodramatic pronunciation of his name. "Oh, shut up," he said lightly.

"Ready, boys?" Mr. Nott asked as he stepped into the den.

"I am," Tim answered. "I think Harry might be ready to upchuck."

"I know an excellent Charm to clean up, so go right ahead, Harry."

"I'm ready to go," Harry ignored their joshing.

"Parkinson Place!"

Harry managed to hold his stomach together through the Floo, and the glass of cold water handed to him by a house elf helped immensely. Perhaps he was finally starting to get used to Floo travel.

When his eyes focused again, Pansy was standing there in robes of pale pink. Her hair had been done up, and she looked very nice.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" she exclaimed, as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

Harry felt blood rise to his face. "Happy Christmas, Pansy."

"Where's my kiss?" she demanded. She pointed above his head. There, hanging from a nail, was a sprig of mistletoe.

Cheeks burning, Harry acceded to tradition and gave her a quick peck.

"Where's my kiss?" Tim teased her from a few steps away.

"I'd rather kiss a Weasley."

"Well, Percy has an invitation, so maybe you'll get your wish," Tim needled her.

"Children, play nice now. It is the holiday after all." Mr. Nott's voice was mildly reproving.

"Yes, sir," they both answered.

"Harry, my father wanted to meet you." Pansy took his hand and tugged him off towards a small group of adults standing together. "Daddy?" she said to a distinguished-looking gentleman with a full brown beard. "Harry is here."

The wizard had been in the middle of a sentence, but he immediately looked down at his daughter. "Thank you, Pansy. Harry, I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Douglas Parkinson; my wife Lila."

"Harry, so glad you could join us tonight." Pansy had inherited her mother's eyes, just as Harry himself had.

"Ma'am," he inclined his head.

"Have you had a good holiday?"

"It's been a delight, sir. Mister Nott has been very good to me."

"Fine wizard, Theodore is; fine wizard. Very distinguished family, the Notts."

"Doug, don't they just look so adorable together?" Mrs. Parkinson was looking back and forth between Harry and Pansy.

Pansy caught Harry's eye and made a gagging motion. He choked back a snicker.

"Pansy is already betrothed, Lila. Surely you wouldn't want to insult Lucius by breaking it."

"No, certainly not, but you can't say that they don't make a good pair."

"Please forgive my wife," Mr. Parkinson said to Harry. "She has the romantic soul of a matchmaker."

Harry affirmed that no offence had been taken. Pansy led him off by the arm, and they circulated amongst the throng. Harry repeated the phrase, "Nice to meet you," so many times that he thought his tongue would fall out. It was twenty minutes before he finally saw someone he knew.

"Merry Christmas, Blaise!"

"Harry!" The blonde girl threw her arms around him. "Merry Christmas!"

"Give him a kiss," Pansy suggested. "He'll go as red as a tomato."

Harry started turning red even at the idea. Blaise giggled in a wicked sort of way.

"There's mistletoe in every doorway," Pansy continued helpfully. "You'll get him eventually."

"Thanks heaps, Pansy," Harry rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool.

"I'm going to go soak Tim's head for him. Blaise, can you escort Harry around?"

"Love to."

Brainy Blaise, with her potent intellect, recalled names by the hundred as she mingled. She made countless introductions and set Harry's head to spinning so much that it seemed he was clinging to her arm to keep his balance. She had the grace of a butterfly, never letting one group keep Harry over-long, but lighting here and there around the ballroom.

At half eight, the lights dimmed slightly, and the orchestra began to play a series of slow tunes. Husbands and wives gravitated towards each other to sway in time with the music. Older sons and daughters snuck away to secluded corners. Younger children wandered away from all the mushiness, left to their own devices.

Pansy gathered up her friends one by one and led them all upstairs to her bedroom. It was a very pink place, from the walls to the bed covers. Pansy shoved her doll collection to the side and collapsed with a tired sigh.

"Oh, my feet," she complained.

"Pansy?" Tim asked, suddenly looking confused. "Where'd your body go? I can only see your head!"

Her pink robes didn't quite blend perfectly with her blankets, but the two shades were very close. Pansy stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.

"So how is Elan?" Harry asked Draco.

"He's well. He misses Hogwarts, but he's got much better classes than we do. They actually have a teacher who knows the Dark Arts."

That little statement drew everyone's focus.

"They even get to learn some things at the Advanced level," Draco tantalized them.

"Spiffy," Jenna said.

"I'll say," Harry agreed.

"You want to learn the Dark Arts, oh Heir of Slytherin?" she teased.

"I am not the Heir of Slytherin," he denied.

"Tell me that in Parseltongue."

Harry wished he were witty enough to keep up with Jenna. Even after sitting with her once a week for breakfast, she still got in the last word. He turned back to Draco.

"Is their Potions Master really inferior to Snape?" he asked. That question had never been answered.

"Anybody would be inferior to Snape."

"That's true."

"Are Elan and Jamie still together?" Pansy asked Blaise.

"So she tells me. It hasn't been easy for her this year."

"That's so sweet."

"Draco, has your dad said anything about the Heir?" Tim wanted to know.

"A few things. Did you know the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?"

"What?!"

"Fifty years ago. He won't tell me any details; says it'll look suspicious if I know too much. But he did say that, last time, a Mudblood died."

"Died?" Crabbe echoed.

"Dee Eee Aay Dee, dead. That's what the legend means by 'purge the school' of those unworthy to study magic; the Beast will kill them all!"

"Try not to sound too pleased about that," Jenna advised him.

"But it's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Can you imagine a school with only pure blooded students?"

"Yes, it's called Durmstrang," Elan said as he let himself in.

"Elan!"

"A Merry Christmas to you all. Everything well?"

"Fine, Elan, just fine," his younger brother answered.

"Good. Mum wanted me to check on you."

"I keep telling her I'm perfectly fit," Draco complained.

"You know how she worries."

"I'm getting a little too old to be babied like this," he continued.

"She's not babying you, stupid. She loves you, for some unfathomable reason. Just accept it, and occasionally tell her you love her too."

"I'll remember that." Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious."

"I'll tell her tonight," he promised. "Happy?"

"Yes, and she will be too."

"Good to be home?" Millie interjected.

"It's very good," Elan agreed. "I like speaking English again. Please excuse me now, though. I left Jamie waiting for me."

"I guess they're still together," Pansy observed when he had left.

"So it would seem," Draco shrugged.

"Philistine," she scoffed at him.

"As I was saying before His Germanness came in, Father says I should stop asking questions. We all should just keep our heads down and let the Heir get on with it."

"Which fits with what Professor Snape told me," Harry chimed in. "Stay clear, and no harm will come to us."

"Sounds like a good plan," Goyle rumbled.

"I've got a better plan," Blaise offered. "How about you handsome boys escort us girls down to the ballroom and we pretend like we're all grown up?"

"Wonderful," Jenna declared. She bounced up and seized Draco's hand. "C'mon, you."

"Under no circumstances!"

"Malfoys are excellent dancers," she told him. "Isn't that what Elan said last year?"

"I wasn't there last year."

"Well he did. Now move it."

Jenna dragged Draco from the room as Millie linked arms with Goyle and Crabbe. Blaise latched onto Harry, leaving Tim and Pansy glowering at each other.

"I'm not dancing with him," she declared.

"She's not dancing with me," he reiterated.

Harry let go of Blaise's arm and took Pansy's instead. "You can dance with me," he told her.

"What do you say, Tim?"

"Blaise, it would be my pleasure."

Confrontation avoided, the friends made their way down to the party and mingled among the adults again. As he let his ears wander, Harry heard Pansy's mother say, "I told you they looked good together."

"Is that what these parties are for?" he whispered to Pansy. "Just a chance to pair off the offspring?"

"Pretty much," she replied. "We marry for political advantage, material privilege, and love; in that order. All three are important, especially the love. If there's no love, even if there's no mutual respect, a union won't last, and that would just be scandalous."

Harry mused on that for awhile. He was at the age where thoughts of girls and marriage and all that rot made him feel queasy. With a conscious effort, he considered how he would fit into the wizarding society's grand matrimonial plan. Shivers ran through his whole body -- eeeeww. The very idea was revolting.

He let it go and concentrated on not trodding heavily on Pansy's feet. Actually, she was doing most of the work of making sure his feet touched floor and not her shoes. Pansy was very graceful as they moved. Formal dancing lessons had been a part of growing up, she told him.

The song changed, and everyone changed partners. Harry found himself with Jenna. She looked up at him and made a terrific face. He snickered involuntarily and felt much more relaxed. Going round in circles was sort of fun, he concluded, if one had a good friend to do it with.

Several songs later found Harry and Blaise together on the edge of the ballroom. Harry fought back a yawn as the clock chimed eleven. "I need a break," he begged off.

"Me too," Blaise said. Together they lounged in the door frame.

Suddenly, without warning, Blaise raised herself up on tiptoes and mushed her lips to Harry's cheek. Harry recoiled with a start. Ack!

"Blaise, what-?"

She pointed above his head. There, hanging by a nail, was some of that blasted mistletoe.

"Did you have to?" he griped, wiping at his face.

"Yes."

* * *

When Harry woke the next morning, he was still so very tired from the party. He yawned hugely and seriously debated rolling over and drifting off again. Alas, such a decision was not to be left up to him, because Tim knocked on his door a few seconds later.

"Harry? Rise and shine, mate! It's Christmas!"

"Oh no, I haven't done my shopping yet!" Harry called back sassily.

Tim threw the door open with a bang. "You mean you didn't get me anything?" he demanded, and Harry snorted with laughter; Tim was doing a perfect imitation of Draco's voice. "Do not laugh at us; Malfoys are not laughed at."

Harry did his best to smother his mirth. "You do that too well."

"I hear his voice too much," Tim riposted.

Harry snorted again. Throwing back the covers, he reached for his slippers. As he thrust his arms into the dark green dressing gown, he changed the subject. "I hope your dad likes when I got him."

"He's hoping you like what he got you. And no, I won't tell you what it is. Let's get down to the tree and open boxes."

"Capital," Harry concurred.

The Christmas tree in the den was the focus of the whole room. Standing some ten feet high, the angel on top cast out a bright golden light, bathing the room in the glow. Lights and balls and garlands decorated the tree branches. The whole room smelled richly of pine. The tree stood in the room's centre, and the pile of presents beneath it was bigger than any pile the Muggles had ever had for Dudley.

"Wow," he breathed.

Tim wasted no words, diving right into the pile. He tossed a medium-sized package in Harry's direction, and Harry had barely put it down when another came flying out. "Hey, be careful with those!" he protested.

"Start opening."

Harry looked at the tag. "Thanks, Tim," he said. The present was from his friend.

"You're welcome."

Inside was a book, which was rather predictable from Tim. "Easy Defensive Magic," he said as he stuck out his tongue. "Thanks."

"Not easy like that," Tim informed him. "Easy as in, 'easy to cast, but still dead useful.'"

"Now that sounds useful," Harry decided. "Thanks, Tim."

"Lockhart can't even teach us so much as one single spell, so I figured Defence would be a practical sort of gift."

"Here," Harry said, handing Tim a package of his own.

"Easy Defensive Magic," Tim read in a flat voice. "You prat, you bought me the same thing."

"It's not so much that it's easy, but more of a 'easy to cast, but still dead useful' sort of thing," Harry laughed.

"Well, Dad always taught me to give a gift you would like to receive. Apparently this is why."

Mr. Nott's gift to Harry was a fine pocket watch. The thing was as heavy as a dozen Galleons. Harry flipped it open to see the time (7 AM) marked with finely-wrought hands, the date in equally pleasant numerals, and the current phase of the moon done in silver.

"That never needs winding," Tim told him.

"It's brilliant," Harry breathed, slightly awed. He'd never owned something as fine as this before. It was an important possession, one that he would value with his broomstick, or maybe his invisibility cloak.

"Glad you like it, Harry." Mr. Nott stood in the doorway. "I hope it's useful to you."

"Indeed, sir."

"Now where's one of my presents?" Mr. Nott demanded, joining the boys on the floor.

"Here," Tim said, handing him a box.

Inside was Harry's present, a fine snow globe. Inside was Hogwarts castle, with small golems of Harry, Tim, and the others throwing snowballs at each other in a never-ending war. It had cost Harry quite a bit of money for the last-minute, high-level magic to make the thing, but the stunned expression on Mr. Nott's face was worth every Knut.

"This is incredible," he declared. "I've never seen such a thing. Good Merlin, those look like your little group in there. What a delightful present, Harry. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir," Harry grinned. He truly hadn't known what to buy Mr. Nott. The only thing he could come up with as being mildly appropriate to give his friend's father and his host was a bottle of wine. He'd seen that on some Muggle programme once, but Harry wasn't old enough to buy wine. Even his celebrity couldn't pull that string.

* * *

A few shorts days later found Harry once again in borrowed dress robes, this time in an off-white number that made him wonder how he was supposed to have any fun if his robes showed the slightest bit of dirt. He'd taken his complaint to Tim, but had been brushed off.

"The new year is a symbolic sort of thing," he'd explained. "A new day dawning, and all that. Hence, we wear light colours."

"It's just a bit queer," Harry commented. "I'm used to black on the men, and red and green on the women."

"Wizards are big on symbols. We will be too, when we're older. I can't wait for some of those classes."

"Must you mention classes while we're on holiday?" Harry demanded.

"Sorry, it slipped out." Tim didn't sound at all apologetic.

"Your neck is definitely smaller than mine," Harry griped, changing the subject, but still griping.

Tim made a face at him. "It's all in your head. Next year we'll be able to get you squared away on a Hogsmeade Weekend. There's just no way to get any reputable tailor so close to the holiday; they're all booked months in advance at Christmastime."

"I could convince them to make an exception, but I just don't care enough to bother," Harry grumbled. "Though I wish a tailor was here so he could loosen this dratted collar."

"It's all in your head."

Harry was largely expecting the New Year's Eve party to be much the same as the Christmas party: mostly boring with scattered moments of fun. It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, to be greeted with raucously loud music upon exiting the Floo. They cast off their protective cloaks (the very thought of all that soot on the white robes was horrifying.) and were immediately drawn into the crowd of people dancing to the lively live band.

Whirling around, being bounced left and right, not having a clue what he was doing, Harry was having a blast. He had never felt so carefree. There was nothing that existed past the party; those things would be dealt with in the new year. Now there was only fun, celebration, and merriment. Harry laughed aloud from sheer joy, and stomped his feet harder.

Time passed as quick as an eye blink, and the music stopped as the countdown began. All eyes were fixed on the clock. Thirty seconds.

Blaise squeezed Harry's hand. "Having fun?"

"Your family throws a wicked party."

"Glad you could make it."

Twenty seconds.

Jenna handed Harry a glass of pumpkin juice, and he drank deeply. The frosty beverage had never tasted more refreshing.

"I needed that."

"I know. I know everything."

Ten seconds.

"Bye-bye, nineteen ninety-two!"

"It's been swell!"

Five seconds.

Four, three, two, one.

"Happy New Year!" the crowd roared in unison.

Blaise leaned up and kissed Harry's cheek and gave him a big hug. "Happy New Year, Harry."

Harry's cheek burned where she had touched him. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Harry!" Jenna exclaimed. To Harry's intense shock, his coffee mate hugged him hard and bounced up to kiss his other cheek.

"H-happy New Year, Jenna," he stammered. He felt slightly confused.

"Happy New Year!" the girls said to each other as they hugged.

Harry spent five minutes or so doing nothing but exchanging that salutation with everyone in sight. All his friends, of course were greeted, as well as numerous of their parents. Siblings, acquaintances, and diverse others. He felt like his tongue would fall out if he had to say it one more time.

"Blah, blah, blah," Draco said as he rolled his eyes in Harry's direction.

"And so on, and so on, and so on," Tim contributed.

to be continued...