Snakes and Lions

An Exchange Of Gifts

Tuesday, the students were due back at school. Harry and Malfoy spent most of Sunday afternoon out on the pitch, even though it was a cold, grey day. Once, Harry looked down and saw Hagrid standing by the gates, watching them. He pretended he hadn't noticed.

When they landed, in the icy, refrozen snow, Malfoy nudged Harry. "My place tonight -- in Slytherin, I mean. Wear your cloak, and meet me in the library after dinner -- we can walk down together." With that, he jogged off towards the castle. Harry gave him a bit of a head start, then walked up more slowly.

When Harry got to the library, he saw Crabbe and Goyle first. They were frowning at nearly-empty rolls of parchment. The Slytherin second year was sitting with them, glowering.

"Why do I have to help them with writing?" he whined.

From the stacks, Harry heard Malfoy's voice.

"You don't have to, Ruthven," he drawled. "You could finish your Potions homework by yourself, instead."

The boy looked sullenly back at Crabbe and Goyle, then bent to read Crabbe's work. Malfoy chuckled. Harry went around the other end of the stacks and tapped Malfoy on the shoulder.

Malfoy spun, and Harry had to step back quickly to avoid getting hit by the boy's arm. He was startled to see that Malfoy had pulled his wand out while turning. Malfoy blinked at the empty space, then mouthed Harry's name.

"Hi," Harry whispered.

Malfoy nodded and relaxed. He tucked his wand back into his robes.

"See you in the morning!" he called to the three students. Harry could picture Malfoy's smirk just from the tone. Malfoy strode for the door and Harry followed.

A level below the Great Hall, Malfoy slowed. "Still there?" he whispered.

"Still here," Harry replied. Malfoy smirked and strode on.

They went down, further and further under the castle, not meandering aimlessly, as Ron and Harry had done, the time they had gone looking for the Slytherin dormitory, but at Malfoy's assertive pace. Finally, Malfoy stopped in a corridor that Harry would not have known from the others and whispered to the wall. A section of it slid back, giving entrance to the low, dim, Slytherin common room.

Harry stepped nervously into the light of the hanging green lamps. The burning fire at the end of the hall turned everything before it into a dark silhouette.

"You can take the cloak off, now," Malfoy said, in a normal tone. "Everyone else is in the library, and Snape's away for the evening -- I saw him leave."

Harry had seen Snape, during dinner, twitch with sudden pain, then leave the Great Hall, his left arm pressed inconspicuously to his side. Snape, then, was with the Death Eaters, and Malfoy sounded like he knew it. Harry hoped he didn't have any visions while with Malfoy. Voldemort seemed unaware that Harry had these glimpses of his actions, and Harry wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

Harry took off the cloak. He and Malfoy moved up the Slytherin common room. From further in, Harry could look back on the fire-lit sides of things, which made the room a little less creepy, though no more cheerful.

"This way," Malfoy said. He went through a door to the right of the fireplace, down a short corridor, left, up, and left again. The next door brought them into a square dormitory slightly larger than Harry and his yearmates' tower room. From there, Malfoy went through another door, into a smaller room with one bed.

"Father pays for me to have my own room," he said proudly. "Of course, that enables me to do certain things. . . ." He met Harry's eyes and smirked. Harry repressed a shudder. He suspected Lucius Malfoy coached his son in Dark Arts, and this room provided privacy for practice.

"So? What do you think?" Malfoy prompted.

Harry looked around. The room was impressive. The bed, trunk, and desk were all of ebony with silver inlay. A thick carpet in green and black covered the floor between the bed and the desk, which was closed. A signed and framed Quidditch poster, with five wizards and two witches, all in blue and silver, was the only break in the Slytherin colors.

"Wow," he said. "Very ... um, Slytherin."

Draco walked over to a huge, medieval-looking sideboard, also ebony and silver, that stood beside the door. It had four doors below, a wide shelf above those, then carved columns of dragons supporting an upper, narrower set of cabinets, fronted with narrow diamonds of opaque Tudor glass, letting them overhang a still narrower, solid set at the back of the counter.

"Well, of course, Harry."

Harry stared at Malfoy's back. Malfoy had just called him 'Harry'. He was glad Malfoy was facing away and so could not see his face. He wondered if he could manage to call Malfoy "Draco." He wasn't sure it would come out right.

Malfoy opened an upper cabinet, and took out two crystal snifters and the more expensive cognac. "I hope you don't mind I brought this up here -- I haven't had any yet." He demonstrated this by unsealing the bottle. "I thought it would be pleasant to be someplace comfortable, for a change."

Smiling, he walked back and handed Harry one of the snifters. Seen from above, the cognac seemed to barely cover the bottom of it. Harry looked at it from the side and found the pouring looked deeper that way. Malfoy sat in the room's only armchair (ebony and green velvet, Harry noted, only just managing not to roll his eyes), so Harry sat in the chair by the desk.

"Skol," Malfoy said, lifting his glass. Harry did the same, then took a cautious sip.

The cognac burned, but at the same time, tasted pleasant. Harry took a second sip and held it on his tongue for a moment, trying to categorize the flavor.

"Do you need some water in that?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"No, that's fine."

Harry glanced over at the desk. It was closed, but a few books had been left on top. He picked up the first one, a slim, red book with plain, black lettering. "The Dueler's Dictionary," he read. "Effective One and Two Syllable Hexes."

"Isn't that great?" Malfoy said. "In spontaneous fighting it doesn't matter much, but when your opponent knows the exact second you can start, it helps to use short incantations."

"Or you can just cheat," Harry said, in mild rebuke.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "In something overseen by Snape and Lockhart, I can cheat. There are times that is less advisable."

Malfoy sat a moment, then jumped up. "I know something you'll like," he said. Thence followed what seemed like hours of Malfoy showing Harry things. There were toys, like the stormcloud, books, ornaments, animate games, knives and other small hand weapons, and pictures, mostly of other things, such as Malfoy Manor, which Harry would have classed as a small castle. Harry sipped a refill of the cognac, which he had decided to characterize as "butterscotch, followed by a burn and tingle" and tried to comment politely on what he was shown. Most of it would have been interesting individually, but taken altogether, it was stupefying. Finally, while Malfoy was rummaging through a drawer to find something else, Harry lay down on the thick carpet.

"Too much cognac?" Malfoy asked solicitously, bending over Harry at a dizzying angle.

"Too much stuff," Harry protested, wishing his tongue didn't feel so thick. "Don't make me look at any more stuff. It can't be interesting when there's this much of it."

Malfoy went away. Harry closed his eyes, and immediately the room began to spin clockwise. This was interesting and fun for about three seconds, then it was horrible. He opened his eyes and focused on the ceiling beams.

"You know, you just grabbed the floor," Malfoy told him, teasingly. Harry followed the voice. Malfoy was lying on his side on the bed, regarding Harry thoughtfully.

"Okay," Harry acquiesced. "Too much con-- brandy. Ooo!" He'd let his eyes drift closed, and the room had taken off again, moving in quick, clockwise quarter-turns. His eyes snapped open. He focused hard on the edge of the desk and willed it to stay still.

"If you're going to be sick," Malfoy said, "try to make it to the bathroom. It's that door." He pointed, and dizzily, Harry looked.

"Don't think so," he said. He was feeling better, he thought. He just had to continue to focus on something with straight lines.

"If you're not going to be sick, I think you'll find my bed more comfortable than the floor."

Harry dared a glance over at Malfoy, who smirked, and patted the space in front of him. The bed looked very far away, and much too high up. Harry cautiously let his head relax back. "But that would mean standing," he answered lazily. "I'm comfy here."

"As you wish," Malfoy returned. He was silent for a while. "What's wrong with 'stuff?'" he asked finally.

Awkwardly, Harry tried to explain why things could only be interesting a few at a time. Finally, he gave up on that. "The thing is," he said "you talked at me for a long time, but I don't know any more about you -- just about your stuff."

Malfoy was silent for a long time. Finally, he said:

"I've got one more thing to show you, and I think it matters. I'll wait until tomorrow, though, because you won't appreciate it now."

Harry thought that was a good idea. After that, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke later, in complete darkness. He could faintly hear Malfoy breathing somewhere above and in front of him, probably on the bed. By moving away from the sound, Harry managed to find the bathroom. He used the toilet, then drank several handfuls of water from the tap, stumbled back to the carpet, and went back to sleep.

"Wakey, wakey!"

The irritatingly cheerful voice was accompanied by the even more annoying feeling of someone tickling his nose with the feather end of a quill. Harry swatted the hand away and felt slightly nauseous from the motion.

"Jesus, Draco, what are you doing in --" Harry stopped abruptly, as his surroundings came into focus. He was lying on the floor of Draco Malfoy's room, and had apparently slept there, which explained the crick in his neck, and perhaps some of the headache.

"In my room?" Draco asked wickedly. "Well, let's see ... maybe because it's my room?"

"Fine. Ouch."

"Aww. Poor widdel gryffy have a drop too much?" Draco teased.

Harry grimaced. He managed to roll over to his side and get up to one elbow. "My neck hurts," he said petulantly. "And my head. And I seem to have a nest of snakes in my stomach."

"Well, let's see," said Draco, with a wicked smile. "Butterbeer is two to three percent alcohol. This cognac is ..." he lifted the bottle and peered at it -- "forty-four percent alcohol." He put down the bottle and looked back at Harry. "You do not need three glasses of it. I don't even need three glasses of it."

Harry managed to sit up. Slowly, he tried standing. He didn't feel any better, vertical, but he didn't feel any worse. "Great," he said. "This would have been useful information twelve hours ago."

He headed for the toilet. As he closed the door, Draco called, perhaps unnecessarily loudly, "Don't forget -- we're going to Hogsmeade today. Last chance!"

Harry felt a bit better after using the toilet, and though he wouldn't consent to go to breakfast, he agreed to meet Draco in thirty minutes, outside the Great Hall.

"Before you go...?" Draco sounded almost shy. Harry had never heard anything like it from him. He felt a little better when he looked at Draco and saw the sly smile on his face.

"Yeah?"

"I want to show you my collection."

Draco crossed back to the sideboard, pointed his wand at one of the solid doors at the back of the counter, and whispered a charm. The door clicked and swung open, as did two of the other three. Inside each compartment was a large rack partially filled with something. Harry came closer and saw the racks contained glass vials -- almost like old-fashioned test tubes -- filled with all sorts of different liquids.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Potions. I nick two samples of anything we make that looks useful."

Gingerly, Harry slid a vial out of the rack and read its label. "The Hair-Raising potion is useful?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll think of something," he said.

Harry looked at more of the potions in the front of one rack. Draco seemed to have sorted them by type, so they went from physical effects at the left to mental effects in the middle, then emotional effects at the right. Harry pointed this out and Draco nodded a confirmation.

"Are the racks different?" Harry asked.

Draco pointed. "Beneficial, Neutral, Harmful."

"Ah. Good to know." Harry wondered what was in the fourth cabinet. He looked at the potions once more and nodded. "I am impressed. We'd better go, though, if you want breakfast."

Harry felt better yet after walking up to Gryffindor tower, changing his clothes and washing his face a second time. He put on his winter cloak over his robes, got the Marauder's Map from his trunk and tucked it in a pocket, then went down to meet Draco.

"Here," Draco said, handing him a napkin-wrapped bundle. "I nicked some toast for you. There's nothing on it -- it should stay down. You need to eat something, or you'll feel sick all day." He gestured to the door. "Shall we go?"

Carefully, Harry shook his head. "I have a sort of present for you. Follow me."

He started up the stairs, and Draco followed. They went to the third floor.

"Gryffindor isn't this way, is it?"

"No."

"Where's my present?"

"It's not an unwrap sort of present."

"Oh." Draco pouted. Harry had to laugh.

"You have enough stuff. This is a place. We're nearly there," he said.

However, in sight of the one-eyed witch, Draco cocked his head to the side.

"Someone's coming," he said. Harry, listening, heard footsteps.

"Duck in here -- quick!" he said. He pulled Malfoy into an unused classroom. The door muffled enough sound that they could no longer hear the approaching person. Draco knelt down and pressed his ear against the door, but Harry motioned him back.

"We can't hear!" Draco protested.

"It's okay."

Harry pulled out the map and unfolded it. Currently, of course, it was a blank piece of paper. Draco stared.

"What -- are you going to write an essay?"

Harry took out his wand and tapped the paper. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he whispered.

Draco stared. Then he covered his mouth with both hands, presumably to keep from laughing. Harry thought Draco might actually be biting his fingers. Harry checked the map.

"It was Snape," he said. "But he's leaving. Half-way down the stairs."

This seemed to cut through Draco's hilarity. He edged forward and looked at the map. Harry pointed to the dot that said "Severus Snape".

"What is this?" Draco breathed. He would have taken the map if Harry had let him, but Harry was sure he didn't trust Draco that much.

"The Marauder's Map. It was made by my father and some of his friends, but I actually got it from Fred and George. Anyway, the coast is clear." Harry wiped and rerolled the map. "Let's go."

Out in the hallway, Harry brought Malfoy to the statue. "You touch the hump here," he said, bringing out his wand, "and say 'Dissendium.'" The hump opened. "Climb in," Harry offered.

"You first."

Shrugging, Harry climbed in and slid down to the passageway, then moved out of Draco's way. He whispered "Lumos." Draco followed seconds later.

Draco looked around at the bare passage. "I'm not thrilled, yet," he said.

Harry smiled. "This is the passage to Hogsmeade. The other end of it comes up in the basement of Honeydukes."

Draco's eyes widened. "Now that," he said, "is worth the trouble. Let's go!"

In Hogsmeade, Draco suggested Harry get some clothes that fit.

"I'm low on money," Harry explained. "I mean, I have plenty in Gringotts, but I probably won't have a chance to go there until next September."

Draco stared at him. "So send someone! Hagrid goes in every few weeks or so -- you'd trust him to get some gold from your vault, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, all right, then. I'll loan you some for today."

"For what interest?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Draco looked offended. "I am not a merchant, Harry, and I've said I like you. A loan, no interest --" he scowled -- "but only if you do not insult me again."

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I didn't mean ... I'm not used to you being generous, that's all."

"Well, I'm not used to associating with people who dress like house elves," Draco drawled, "so let's remedy both of those, shall we?"

An hour later, Harry had spent a theoretical thirty-six galleons on clothing, and had a pair of almost normal-looking black jeans, some flowing, loose-legged black trousers that wouldn't pass on Privet Drive, a dark crimson velvet tunic with black and gold edging at the neck and sleeves, a bright red silk top with gold embroidery, and a plain black silk shirt. He also had comfortable socks and underwear. Draco had failed to persuade him to try anything in green.

"It would bring up your eyes," he said a final time, as they left, "really."

"I don't want people looking at my eyes."

Draco dismissed the matter with a shrug. "In any case, this will be much better than what you have had."

"I'm kind of embarrassed I never thought of it," Harry confessed. "I don't have any money when I'm with the Dursleys, so buying things never occurs to me."

"You could take money home."

"Then they'd find out I had money in the wizarding world, and then they'd try to take it from me. No, I just need to wait until I'm eighteen."

Draco shook his head. "That's so ... strange. Imagine you being no one at all."

The Three Broomsticks was quiet on a Monday afternoon. Draco went to claim an inconspicuous corner spot. When Harry got back from placing their order at the bar, Draco had a present out on the table.

"It is the unwrapping sort," he said. "Go ahead."

Harry unwrapped his present. It was a book, bound in red leather. A gilt stag and sparking wand adorned the front cover. The title read simply "The Potters."

"What is it?" Harry asked, at a whisper, as he opened the front of the book. The title page was a little more helpful. It read:

The Potters:

The complete lineage, with edifying anecdotes and events of an historical interest.

"It's your family book," Malfoy said. "All the old wizarding families have one. If you'd been raised properly -- by wizard relatives, I mean -- you would have been given a copy between the ages of six and eight. I could tell from how you've talked that you've never seen it."

Harry turned to the back of the book. The last page detailed that the only currently living Potter, Harry James, had survived his parents and was currently enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland. Oddly, it had no mention of Voldemort, curses, scars, or murder.

"See?" Malfoy said. "From 1196 -- your family isn't terribly old -- to now."

"What's yours like?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ours," he said, "is the union of two lines. One goes back to 519 -- not terribly old, either, just terribly pure -- in Norway, and the other to 138 BCE -- which is quite respectable -- in Rome. The name "Malfoy" is much more recent, of course."

"Where did that come from?" Harry asked. He'd always wanted to know -- "bad faith" seemed like such an odd name to keep, much less be proud of. Of course, Malfoy probably thought the same of the plebeian "Potter".

"From an ancestor of mine who was murdered as a devil worshipper -- by Muggles who knew he practiced magic," Malfoy said haughtily. "They ambushed him in his keep, then burnt it to the ground. The family kept the name in his honor when they fled to England, in 1292."

"They were in France rather briefly, then?"

"In Perche -- that's part of Normandy, now -- for a few centuries. One of my Norse ancestors conquered part of it during the Viking age. That's where they married into the Roman line. Of course, we've maintained a tendency to marry into French families." Malfoy smiled tightly. "This is the sort of thing you should know about the Potters, Harry. You may not be a pureblood, but your father's name is enough to get you into the best parties --" Malfoy shrugged apologetically -- "politics aside."

Their drinks came. Draco took a large draught of his butterbeer. Harry, who was still feeling rather unwell, sipped cautiously at his own, and wished he'd thought to order pumpkin juice, instead.

"I rather wish you would," Draco commented idly, "so they wouldn't also be the most boring parties. I'd bring you, but you'd be murdered, I'm sure. A pity."

"Quite what I'd say myself," Harry said boldly.

Draco looked coldly at him for a moment, then smirked.

"Yes, I suppose that would be worse for you. It would at least provide some excitement for the rest of us."