"You can't do that!" Harry argues hoarsely as Lucius ushers him into a side room and onto a low sofa. "We're not in school!"

"My apologies, Potter," Snape says dryly. "I hadn't realized you were enrolling elsewhere." Sirius looks furious, and he shoves Snape away from Harry: Lucius responds by grabbing Harry's godfather by the collar of his robes and dragging him back by a foot.

"If you hadn't noticed, Sirius," Malfoy murmurs, obviously trying to speak lowly enough that Harry can't hear, "Severus is distracting your godson from panicking in this situation." Sirius opens his mouth, then seems to reconsider his position, and just scowls at Snape as he comes back to Harry. Harry isn't panicking. In fact, he feels surprisingly calm: the idea that someone's just tried to poison him settles in his mind like a stone, but doesn't really cause him any undue distress. Maybe he's starting to get used to attempted murder - it would make sense, at this point.

"I'm not panicking," Harry says, accepting the glass of water Lucius pushes into his hand. He drinks from it greedily, letting it soothe the prickling sensation in his throat, and he looks down at the bezoar in his other hand. "Do you just keep these to hand?" Bezoars seem a strange thing to keep immediately in reach, but Lucius gives him a serious little look.

"I'm poisoned rather often," Lucius says dispassionately, settling on the edge of the sofa and looking down at Harry with his silver brows furrowed and an expression of concern on his face. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Harry says, swallowing hard.

"Was that the whole plan, Malfoy? Bring my godson here and then get him killed?" Snape rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment, and Harry watches him as he makes his way towards the door.

"I'll speak to Narcissa, Lucius, and find Ms Lovegood amidst the chaos." Lucius nods his head, pouring a glass of something else for Harry, and Harry is relieved to find when it touches his lips that it's pumpkin juice.

"Were I to kill Harry, as I'm sure the young man is aware, I wouldn't be so stupid as to do it in my own home," Lucius says. Sirius shuts his mouth for a little while, but he's all but vibrating with anger, and Harry puts his hand on his godfather's arm, hoping he'll just calm down. "Now, we can call in Bartemius Crouch and see that he creates an investigation," Lucius says quietly, "Or-"

"We keep it under our hats, don't panic anyone unnecessarily, and bide our time. Yeah, I've already made my decision." Harry speaks firmly, considering it carefully. He doesn't want everyone in the next room to fuss over him, and he especially doesn't want this whole ordeal to appear in the Prophet.

"Harry!" Sirius protests sharply.

"No, Sirius - if Aurors get involved, I won't get any whys or hows, and I'll probably end up with some bodyguard. It'll be all over the papers, there'll be all this ridiculous fuss..." Harry shakes his head. "No." Lucius gives a small nod of his head, and Sirius looks between the two of them, shaking his head.

"Strange things happen to people in Slytherin," he says with a mild element of disgust.

"Sirius," Harry says quietly, "Can you go see if Luna's alright? I feel really bad that I brought her here, and I know that Mrs Malfoy is probably sorting stuff out, but-" Sirius is standing immediately, nodding his head and obviously ready to do his duty as a devoted godfather: he leaves the room in a hurry, shutting the door behind him, and Harry looks at Lucius' back. He's pouring a drink of some amber liquid that smokes slightly, and Harry guesses he's looking at Firewhiskey.

"You didn't do it, did you?" Harry asks quietly, and Lucius turns to stare at him, his eyes widening slightly. He doesn't look irked like he had with Sirius - he looks honestly offended, and Harry's glad of that.

"No," he says firmly, taking a sip of his drink and staring at Harry coolly. "I would never."

"Never?" Harry asks.

"Never," Lucius says. "You're a friend of Draco's, and no less, a young man I know."

"I believe you," Harry says, and he actually does - Pureblood honour is a weird thing, full of contradictions, but in some ways it's simple. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course," Lucius assures him.

"Can you show me your left arm?" Lucius stares down at him, his lips pressed tightly together. The question has shocked him, but Harry just needs to know, needs to know. And even without Lucius rolling up his sleeve to show Harry, Harry already knows what he'd see there.

"Harry, I-"

"Never," Harry repeats again. "Even if he came back tomorrow?" Lucius' nostrils flare, and his grip is so tight on his glass it looks like it might shatter at any moment, but Harry doesn't break the other man's gaze or shrink back from him. "Even then, you wouldn't?"

"Even then," Lucius says quietly, in a very serious tone. "Draco told me what happened in your first year - Quirrell, the Dark Lord, the Philosopher's Stone. Were Draco to have reached that final chamber with you, he would have been killed with no remorse."

"Okay," Harry says. Lucius icy gaze is focused on Harry's face, scanning his features.

"Okay?" he repeats. "What does that mean?"

"I can't out you as a Death Eater, or someone would have done so already. Can't kill you. I can take your word that you won't try and murder me anytime soon, though, and just bide my time." Lucius opens his mouth to say something, but the door comes open, and Snape slips into the room.

"People are beginning to notice your absence, Lucius." Snape leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and Harry watches him.

"Is Slughorn blabbering?" Lucius asks tersely, and Snape gives a slow, slow shake of his head.

"No. I've told him it was a mere allergy. He's drunk." Snape says this with an obvious disgust, curling his lip slightly, but Lucius just nods his head. "Go, Potter. Take care not of what you eat and drink."

"Yes, sir," Harry agrees, and he rushes out of the little room and into the hall again, quickly finding Luna. He glances around the room, at Percy and Draco, Daphne, Pansy, Theodore, Frank, at Snape and Gudgeon, at Cedric Diggory and Septima Vector. Three attempts to kill him so far, and whoever they were must have had access to Hogwarts.

All of a sudden, he feels very, very tired of all this stuff.

---

The last of the guests filter out of the doors of the Manor at around eleven o'clock, slowly, and in dribs and drabs. Sirius is Apparating Luna home, and Harry waits with Draco at a table in a comfortable little lounge. He's tired, fatigue weighting heavily on him, and he tries not to think about the mark he knows is on Lucius Malfoy's arm. "You alright?" Harry asks as Draco gives a little yawn, and the other boy shrugs.

"Fine," he says. "No one's tried to kill me tonight."

"Don't get too jealous," Harry replies. "Or your Christmas present will be a knife in the back." Draco laughs. Gryffindors, Harry has discovered, don't take as well to this kind of humour as Slytherins do.

"Speaking of," comes a voice from behind them, and Narcissa enters the room with five matching packages flanking her. "Let's get onto something more cheerful, shall we?" Draco smiles, and Harry pulls his chair back, letting Narcissa sit next to him as Lucius settles himself by Draco. "Merry Christmas, boys."

"Merry Christmas," Harry says with the Malfoy men, and he reaches for the gift the Malfoys' have got him.

---

"Those are nice," Sirius admits, sounding almost annoyed as Harry carefully sets the new set of robes on a hanger to put in his wardrobe. They are nice: the robes are a deep, plum red with golden hummingbirds embroidered on their long sleeves and on their hood, and despite the Gryffindor colours, he likes them. They really did spend far too much on him. "You excited for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Harry says quietly. "Yeah, I am. Just me, you and Remus, right?"

"It's not how it should be," Sirius murmurs in a wistful tone. "Your first Christmas, it was the six of us. Me, Remus, James and Peter, then Lily, and you." His fists clench at his sides, and Sirius grits his teeth. "I bet he was spying on us even then. A bloody Death Eater." The anger fades a little from Sirius' face, and for a few seconds he just looks sad - sad, and utterly exhausted.

"Don't think about it," Harry advises. "Merry Christmas, Sirius."

"Merry Christmas, kid," Sirius returns, and he offers Harry a small smile as he pulls his door shut. Harry glances at the clock on his bookshelf, which is ticking slowly towards midnight: he feels tired, but not tired enough to sleep, and so he picks up the Prophet he'd received and not even glanced at that morning. When he settles in his armchair, Hedwig joins him, settling herself on the back of the seat and nuzzling the top of Harry's head affectionately.

"Merry Christmas, Hedwig," he murmurs, reaching up to give her a little scratch on the belly. Catching his eye on the back page of the Prophet is a private advert, asking for any and all information about Muggle explosives. Harry recognizes the name printed in neat letters at its base: Jacqueline Flockhart.