After that day the last two weeks before the Christmas holidays seemed to fly by, and soon enough it was the last day that everyone would be at Hogwarts. It was a Saturday, which naturally meant that everyone was doing last minute packing, wrapping, and scurrying. It also meant that Harry and Draco once again had an appointment to meet out on the snowy Quidditch pitch. The blonde was standing in the shadow of one of the nearer stands clutching a piece of parchment. “What’s up?” Harry asked as he approached. Malfoy whirled to face him.There was a brief unidentifiable look on Draco’s face before he took a breath and smoothed his features. “Have plans for the Christmas hols?” he asked, trying for a neutral tone and failing.

“Not really,” Harry said surprisedly.

“No?” Draco pressed, “Not going home to your loving, muggle relatives?”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. “No,” he said.

“Not going to stay with the Weasleys either?”

“No,” Harry replied. He was becoming extremely puzzled and more than a little suspicious. Why was Malfoy so agitated?

Draco took a deep breath and asked, “You were planning on staying here at the castle for holidays, then?” He prayed that the answer was no.

“Yes, I was.”

Draco flushed. Why, oh why, were the fates doing this to him? “In that case,” Draco said, drawing himself up and straightening his shoulders, “It would honor my family greatly if you would pass the holidays with us.”

Harry looked and him and blinked, then frowned a little. “You can’t be serious,” he said at last.

“I assure you I am perfectly serious,” Draco replied in the same formal tone he had used to issue the invitation.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you invite me home for Christmas? Why would you think I would come?”

The disbelief on Potter’s face was pushing him out of the calm place he clung to to make the invitation. “Because,” he said in a slow, careful voice, and with the air of one explaining a concept they think beyond the listener’s grasp, “that’s what friends do, of course.”

“No, that’s what close friends do, friends who actually like each other. A little flying and not entirely innocent banter does not close friends make,” Harry returned. “Besides, you didn’t tell me why you would want me to come with you. Merlin, half the time I don’t think you even like me,” he continued.

“For your information, Potter,” Malfoy said through clenched teeth, “I don’t want you to come home with me; I’m hoping you don’t come at all.”

Harry just looked at his companion a moment. “Well,” he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He was grateful the blonde hadn’t started hexing things yet. “If you don’t want me to go then why on earth did you ask me?” Harry asked.

“Because my parents told me to,” Draco answered bitterly. “That’s what those of us with parents do, Potter,” he was unable to resist the jab.

“Well, then, it looks like you get your wish, Malfoy,” Harry said aggressively. “No way am I going home with you, especially since your father’s out. I have no desire to be presented to the Dark Lord like some trussed-up Christmas Goose!”

“Good!” Draco said fiercely.

They stood there a moment, breathing a little heavily.

“So, are we flying or what?” Harry asked at last, breaking the silence.

“Well since we’ve already declared how we feel about each other what’s the point?” Draco asked stingingly.

“No point really,” Harry said with the calmness of one about to deliver a jibe, “just that I feel like it and you need the practice.”

“I do not!” Draco said hotly.

“Of course not,” Harry said patronizingly.

“Just leave me alone, Potter!”

“Okay,” Harry said, “But what will you tell your father?”

“What?” Draco snarled.

“He’s the one who told you to befriend me, right? No doubt because Voldemort asked him to.” Malfoy stared at him a few moments longer then picked up his broom and headed out onto the pitch. He couldn’t answer Potter’s question; he had no idea what he would tell his father and he knew, having watched his father come home from meetings over the summer, exactly what his failure meant.

Harry watched him a moment before picking up his own broom and ran after the blonde prefect. “Maybe you don’t have to tell him yet,” he said when he had caught up.

Malfoy looked at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and said, “What’s in it for you?”

“The flying of course,” Harry said lightly, ‘and Voldemort leaving me alone a little longer,’ he continued silently. “Come on, race you round the pitch,” Harry said aloud and threw his leg over his waiting broomstick. Draco scarcely managed to mount his broom before Potter was up and away, but bare seconds later he was giving chase.

Unbeknownst to the boys and to each other, two silent shadows had watched their interaction. One strode off after they took off. Snape had wondered for a moment whether he would have to stop a duel, but he had been pleasantly surprised when he had not been needed. Now he just needed to talk to Albus.

The other shadow had been rather seriously displeased. Obviously his son had not had the success he’d hoped for or implied. More interestingly it was possible that Severus had failed, too. One steeped in the Dark Arts was generally not given to acts of kindness or charity. It could be, he supposed, an act, but with Potter that was highly unlikely. Lucius no longer underestimated the brat’s spell-casting abilities, but the boy just wasn’t clever or subtle enough for that.

It wasn’t a bad idea to let his son think he’d fooled him successfully, though. And as for Potter’s refusal, well, this eventuality had been acknowledged as a possibility and planned for by the Dark Lord. In the event that Potter refused these advances a very special spell had been found. It was a beautiful, if somewhat old, piece of magic. It was very dark, of course, and had been mostly forgotten by the witches and wizards of today. Lucius was looking forward to casting it very much.

As the boys landed, Lucius aimed his wand very carefully and muttered the incantation then he took off running toward the apparation point, trusting his disillusionment charm to hide him from unfriendly eyes. He made it just as Snape and Dumbledore arrived on the pitch and couldn’t keep himself from grinning wickedly as he disapparated to his master’s side to cast the second half of the charm.

They had just landed when Harry felt a strange tingling pass over and through him and was short of breath for a moment. He stumbled and grabbed Malfoy’s arm to steady himself. “Get off, Potter,” Draco shoved at him.

Just then they saw Professors Dumbledore and Snape approaching rapidly. “What did you do?” Snape demanded as soon as he drew near enough.

“What?” both boys asked with puzzlement.

“The wards indicated that someone was practicing Dark Magic out here,” Dumbledore explained. “So I’m afraid we must ask you what you two have been up to.”

“We were just flying and when we landed Potter fell on me,” Draco said.

“I didn’t just fall on you,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, “I felt something, a…” he broke off and his eyes widened a moment then he pressed them closed and shivered slightly.

“Harry?” Snape asked and began to step forward.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, blinking and opening his eyes.

“What did you feel, Harry,” Dumbledore asked, looking intently at him.

“It’s sort of like a tingling, its not really painful, but it…wants to be, I think.”

They just looked at him. Dumbledore with concern, Draco in disbelief, and Harry could have sworn it was worry creasing the lines around Snape’s eyes. “It wants to be?” Malfoy asked, breaking the silence. “Potter, that’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard, and I live with Crabbe and Goyle,” the blonde said, crossing his arms.

“Perhaps not, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said. “Come, we should go inside,” the Headmaster turned toward the building and the rest followed him. Malfoy turned immediately with Potter a little behind and Snape trailing thoughtfully along behind. Luckily for his reputation, Severus’s frown of contemplation made him look quite as menacing as the students would expect him to when following Harry Potter.

The little troupe traveled up to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey checked both boys over thoroughly, frowning when she detected nothing unusual. She released them with an admonishment to come back if they felt at all odd. “Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” they chorused with identical eye rolls that indicated they would do no such thing. Snape nearly snorted in amusement and it seemed to be all Dumbledore could do not to burst out laughing, if the twinkle in his eyes was anything to go by, though neither youth seemed to realize what was so funny. Both of them headed off, Draco to return to Arx Serpens and Harry to Gryffindor Tower and futile attempts to avoid his friend’s questions and allay their concerns.

In a darkened room of the house on the hill overlooking Little Hangleton a tall, pale figure was once again seated contemplatively before the fire. Nagini was curled at his feet, enjoying the warmth as she digested the rats she had eaten earlier. It had been quite amusing watching Pettigrew’s face as he fed the snake. The animagus had turned a lovely shade of green. Riddle’s face curled into a cruel smirk as he recalled the scene.

He had just been feeding Nagini the last of the rats when Lucius Malfoy appeared and made his obeisances before him. “Risse, Luciusss,” he said and gestured for Wormtail to leave. The small man scurried away in relief, all too ready to leave the presence of his master.

“Master,” the blonde said. “I have just come from Hogwarts and I beg leave to cast the remainder of the spell on you.”

“You may.” A whispered word later it was done, and he took a moment to feel the new connection before turning his attention back to the minion waiting patiently before him.

Voldemort savored that. The only person Lucius Malfoy waited on was him. It was a delicious and satisfying irony. Lucius Malfoy, a veritable prince of pureblooded society, rich and powerful, with the ministry still half-prostrated at his feet, kowtowed before him, a half-blooded orphan who had had nothing but cunning and ambition, determination and a little luck. Not that he would ever admit to having relied on luck, even if he had been very young at the time. “You have other newsss to report, my Luciusss?”

“I have, my lord,” the blonde answered with the barest hint of hesitation.

“Well? I presume you are not merely going to tell me that your sson hasss not been ssuccessful. I know you would not wasste my time sso, nor would you casst the sspell if he had been ssucessful.”

“No, my lord, I simply wondered how strong this new bond with Potter is, my lord.”

“And why would you wonder that?” he asked dangerously softly.

“I fear, my lord, that Severus has not done as he promised. The boy does not behave as one who practices the Dark Arts.”

“You sspeak againsst Sseverusss again?”

“No, lord, only I speak out of concern for you.”

An eyebrow twitched in amusement at Lucius’s professions of concern, but he calmly said, “You are dismissed, Luciusss.” Normally he would not have let his follower get off so easily, but he had wanted to explore this link further, especially given Lucius’s comments about Severus.

More than likely, Voldemort now considered, Lucius was just jealous of Severus. Then again, the link was nowhere near as strong as he had assumed it would be. He had not forgotten the suspicions he had had over the summer; this bore looking into. Then too, now that he was no longer trying not to antagonize Potter, there was the matter of making sure that the wizarding world was aware of his return. The approaching yuletide festivities made for a perfect opportunity.