Lucius Malfoy had ambivalent feelings towards the boy walking down the corridor with his son. On the one hand this boy had been responsible for the death of a charismatic leader when he was only one year old. On the other, his own attitudes had changed somewhat during the intervening years. Oh, he still despised Muggles, and felt that Muggleborn presented a danger to their world through their connexions with their Muggle friends and family, or in returning to the mundane world instead of staying with other witches and wizards, but when Lord Voldemort had started targeting purebloods, even with the excuse that they were traitors or a danger to the movement, he had started having doubts. Torture, and killing children just did not sit well with him, although in order to stay safe within the organisation he had done his fair share of that, as well. It was possible he had even been a bit overzealous in that regard. But he had rationalised that he had to keep his own family safe, so it had been better to be overzealous than seen as reluctant, and therefore suspicious. Since then, he had reconsidered his policies.

But that Harry Potter had not only been sorted into Slytherin, but had become his son's best friend was a development he never would have foreseen. Now that it was a fact, he wasn't quite sure what to do or think about it. The fact that his Dark Mark hadn't disappeared upon Voldemort's supposed death ten years ago was an indication that the Dark Lord hadn't truly died, despite all the evidence. It had even, for a time, darkened. However in the past month or so it had seemed to fade much more than it had in the intervening years. Was it now safe to hope?

And then the object of his thoughts had the temerity to stop him and complain about his pace. It had been irritating to have his thoughts interrupted, but the boy had a point; he hadn't taken their shorter legs into account. It was a nice turn of phrase, 'running like dogs at your heels'. Very amusing. It was at that point that he decided to give the Potter boy a chance.

The meeting with Mrs Malfoy at the manor had been much more friendly.

"It's so nice to see you again, Harry," Mrs Malfoy said warmly, shaking his hand. "You look quite a bit better since the last time I saw you."

It was true. Besides the clothing and haircut, Harry had been getting more to eat, and it showed. While Harry still ate less than most boys his age, not being used to having much, Draco had been urging him to eat more, including an afternoon snack, and Harry's body was slowly getting used to having the nutrition it needed. He'd put on about a stone, maybe a bit less, and as a result his ribs and cheekbones were no longer quite so starkly evident, and there was a little more colour in his cheeks.*

After ordering the house elves to take the boys' luggage to Draco's rooms, she led them to a small, tastefully decorated sitting room and ordered tea and biscuits to be served. She quizzed Draco about how he was doing in his studies, inquiring after Harry's progress as well (more out of politeness than real interest), while Lucius sat back and gazed intently at 'The Boy Who Lived'.

Harry felt like squirming under the man's scrutiny, but Slytherin House had trained him well, and he only gave the blond man an occasional glance, hiding his nervousness as well he could.

Narcissa noticed, but said nothing. Finally their initial meeting was over, and she sent them on their way, telling Draco to show Harry around the manor, then get cleaned up for supper. She waited until both boys were well away before turning her attention to her husband. She had every intention of discussing with him Draco's friendship with the Potter boy, and making sure her husband would do nothing to interfere. Her little boy had been lonely and unhappy for far too long, and if the Potter boy was what it took to make her son happy, then the Potter boy he would have.

"These are my rooms, Harry," Draco said when they finally got there. He was happy to be home, and happy to have Harry with him. "Your bedroom is just over there, through that door," he continued, pointing at a connecting door on the west wall. "But we could share if you like," he said quietly, trying to act as though he really didn't care one way or the other. In reality he felt much more comfortable sleeping with the dark haired boy now than by himself – something he would never have dreamed of before. He had been used to sleeping by himself in his own bed, and would have kicked up quite the fuss about sharing anything with anyone before he'd met Harry, let alone something so intimate as a bed.

"I'd like that," Harry said, "but what of your parents? Will they mind?"

"They won't know!" Draco replied happily. "They almost never come to my rooms unless summoned by a house elf, and that only happens if I get ill. But I don't think Mother would mind. I'm not sure about Father," he added with a slightly worried look. He shook it off. "But only Mother might make an unexpected call. Father summons me if he wants to speak with me."

Harry thought that rather odd, but as his own situation was so much worse, he had no room to say anything. He was just happy that Draco still wanted to sleep with him: there weren't so many nightmares of his life in Little Whinging, and it felt nice to cuddle with his friend.

". . . and I will not have him growing up to be a morose, brooding, neurotic waste! Draco has shown more energy and joy in life since he met this Potter boy than I have seen in him since he was five years old! I will—"

"I grew up—" Lucius interrupted angrily.

"Having a grand time whenever you could escape your own father!" Narcissa retorted, interrupting in her turn. "You told me you hated him for ruining all your fun, and here you are, improving on the sour old bastard's methods, and being worse than he ever was!"

"I most certainly—"

"Don't pretend! You most certainly are! I let you train him, and what happened? He became quiet, mean, and twisted, his only means of 'fun' being to verbally torture the house elves!"

"Well, now he has a friend, and he's acting more like a human being and less like a Dark Lord in training, and I like it," she continued. "He's only eleven, Lucius! Let him have what's left of his childhood. There will be plenty of time for him to learn his duties and his place in the world as a Malfoy. He needn't live it all day, every day."

Lucius Malfoy looked into his wife's angry, pleading eyes, and took the path of marital harmony; he nodded in assent to her wishes, then turned and escaped to his study. He would likely have been difficult just on principle, but the truth was that the Potter boy had impressed him, and he rather thought the lad might be a good influence on his son. Draco had shown an annoying tendency to be rather spineless. Lucius hoped Potter might strengthen it.

Harry soon learned that when within the Manor he was to comport himself with dignity. Narcissa, for a wonder, was quite the help there, to Harry's chagrin. He'd been hoping for some freedom to simply play with Draco, but alas, it was not to be. Mrs Malfoy caught Harry running in the halls, trying to find Draco, and sat him down for a talk.

Although Draco had written her about Harry's formative years, she hadn't quite grasped how neglected the boy had been. As soon as she understood that, and Harry's deplorable lack of grounding in pureblooded wizarding traditions and ways (although Draco had done very well for a boy of his age in teaching Harry), she took it upon herself to start tutoring him. Even at this early stage she could see that the boys were very close. If the relationship developed as she thought it might, Harry would need to be able to fit in with the Malfoy's social circle. They were really too young to tell for sure, but her intuition....

She filled in some of the gaps Draco had left in Harry's social education, but to his gratification she was also able to answer almost all of Harry's questions about why certain things were done as they were, and not in any other. Mostly it came down to 'tradition', but there were a surprising number of things that actually had reasons. In a wizarding society it was wise not to insult or offend anyone; even the magically weak could find a champion or hire an assassin if they were influential or wealthy enough.

When Harry tentatively hinted at the way that Lucius, Draco, and a few other wizards acted, he was told that the Malfoys were both politically and magically powerful enough that anyone who was offended thought not twice, but many times before quietly forgetting that anything had ever happened. Most others who tried to emulate the Malfoys were only fools, and didn't last long unless they were extremely lucky, under the protection of the Malfoys, or someone equally as powerful.

But when Harry wasn't being tutored by Mrs Malfoy (Draco usually made himself scarce from these sessions), he and the blond ran pell-mell all over the estate, if the weather allowed. Otherwise they were in the stables (which housed more than ordinary horses), the owlery, greenhouses, or other covered sanctuary from the weather.

They did sleep together, and they did more 'exploring' of each other's bodies, as well. Although still tentative, they were starting to become more comfortable with each other and the activity, and the pleasure they derived from it by the time they had to return to Hogwarts. They'd even started giving each other little pecks on the cheek, although both were rather self-conscious about it.

It was rather touching, how that got started. They were lying in bed, having just finished an 'experimenting' session. They'd readjusted their pyjamas and had just settled down to sleep, cuddling, when Draco shyly gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. Not having expected that, Harry gave a little, sleepy frown. The kiss rather took their 'experimenting' into unfamiliar territory – something more than just friends fooling around with each other. Harry sensed that, but he didn't have a clue what it really meant. He decided that he rather liked it though, so Harry smiled gently at the blond, who was now watching him nervously for his reaction, then leant over and pressed his lips to Draco's cheek.

Draco would have to show him – several times – before Harry figured out how to kiss someone on the cheek properly.

But Harry's response had been just the right one to ease Draco's misgivings. Draco smiled, snuggled closer, and closed his eyes.

Harry almost gave it completely away on Yule eve when they exchanged gifts. Draco gave Harry several small things. They weren't special in themselves, but Harry wasn't used to getting anything at all from the Dursleys, unless it was a cruel joke of a gift. Harry was so overwhelmed that he nearly tackled Draco to the floor in a hug. As it was, he did give Draco a very brief hug that was, perhaps, slightly overzealous. Draco's explanation of Harry's past calmed his parents' incipient suspicions for the moment, however, whilst Harry stood by, cheeks blazing.

Harry had given Mrs Malfoy a diamond-dusted platinum rose that was enchanted to go from bud to full bloom and back again in just over twenty minutes. During the course of a party it would be ever-changing. It could also be made to emulate the colours of different sorts of roses, for different occasions. He had been very lucky to see it when they'd gone to Diagon Alley, and was surprised by it's relatively small cost. She loved it.

Finding something for Mister Malfoy had been far more difficult, since there had been little to no chance for Harry to get to know the man. Even though he wasn't quite as taciturn as before, Mister Malfoy was still more inclined to silence than speech. When he did speak it was with a paucity of words, being short and to the point. In the end Harry had opted for a magical grooming kit that was focused on taking care of a person's attire, from a man's hat down to cleaning and shining the boots he wore. The man seemed to appreciate it, although Harry couldn't quite be sure.

But the most difficult was finding something for Draco: not because Harry didn't know him, although he learned something new about the blond almost every day, it seemed. No, the difficulty lay in the fact that Harry wanted the gift to be special, and personal, and appreciated. In the end he hadn't been able to find anything, or think of anything that lay within his ability to create, to give his friend. Finally he'd panicked as the day drew near and made a purchase, hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

When Draco opened the box to look at his gift he found his gift looking back at him. Suddenly it started purring, and Draco found the box abruptly empty as a weight appeared on his shoulder.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked Draco nervously, despite his startlement. He hadn't expected the animal to . . . do whatever it had just done. How had it gone from the box to Draco's shoulder without covering the intervening space?

"A dirl-cat?" Draco said reverently, with a nervous look at his father. The man's face was inscrutable.

"A dirl-cat?" Harry echoed, confused. "I thought it was just a kitten."

"A common cat would be dead by now," Lucius said coldly.

Harry didn't miss the animosity in the man's tone, and hoped it wasn't directed towards him.

"Dirl-cats, however, make good protectors. I suppose you may be allowed to keep it," Mister Malfoy said to his son with a sneer, "until you've learned to protect yourself." His tone made it clear that he thought little of his heir. He then swept out of the room, leaving his gifts behind for the house elves to deal with, not caring about the emotional damage he'd just caused.

Lucius wasn't a deliberately cruel man, but he was stern and rather cold – and a man of habit. It was the last that prevented him from seeing Draco in a better light. He had tried to train his son to be a good Death Eater during the years when he was fairly sure that Voldemort would be coming back, but his experiences with the boy – although Draco had tried to pretend in order to please him – had shown that the lad didn't have it in him. His resulting disappointment and fear for his son's safety at the hands of his master when this became evident had caused him to distance himself from the boy in order to minimise the pain he'd feel at Draco's death. Still, he and Narcissa had not been able to engender a replacement heir in expectation of that eventuality. And now that the danger seemed to be past, he was rather too entrenched in the habit of keeping his son at a remove.

Draco's face had lit up when he was given permission to keep the animal, and then dejection took the place of the momentary joy.

Harry was suddenly furious with his host. How dare he ruin this day for his son? But it wasn't Harry's place to say anything, so he choked back the words of recrimination that were fighting to get out. A glance at his blond friend had Harry's heart melting in sympathy. He knew all too well the feelings Draco was having now. Harry went over to the blond and hugged him.

Draco appreciated the hug, but he was all too aware that his father could come back at any moment. He gave a Harry a quick hug as a thank-you, then gently pushed the dark-haired lad away, glancing in the direction his father had gone, in explanation.

Harry was a little hurt by the rejection, but he understood.

Both boys had forgotten that Draco's mother was still in the room – a defensive skill the woman had long ago perfected – until she delicately cleared her throat. "It was a very thoughtful gift, Harry," she said kindly.

Harry shook his head in denial. "I should have thought to make sure it was all right, first," he said.

"It would have been wise," she agreed, "but dirl-cats are not common, and they do make good protectors."

"What are dirl-cats, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Rather fierce bond-creatures," Draco answered dully, now stroking his new pet's fur.

Narcissa took up the explanation when it appeared that Draco wasn't going to expand on his answer. "Draco's right; they're a magical cat species that choose their own masters, and bond with them. Draco is very fortunate that this one chose him, despite it being bought for him. Many are quite disappointed when their chosen pet chooses to bond with another."

"But what about that . . . disappearing/reappearing thing it did?" Harry inquired.

"That is part of what makes them so valuable. They have razor-sharp claws and teeth, and can teleport for short distances to, and around, any target, making it almost impossible to defend against. You never know from which direction it will be coming next. They are quite small, even when fully grown – smaller than your average house cat – and developed these abilities both for hunting and defence."

"Wow," Harry opined. "So if someone were to attack Draco...."

"They'd find they suddenly had a furious bundle of furry razor blades to contend with," Mrs Malfoy said, looking fondly at her son.

"What are you going to name it?" Harry asked his friend.

"Her name's Sasha," Draco replied.

"Isn't that a Russian name?"

Draco shrugged disinterestedly. "She chose it, not I."

"Huh?" was Harry's intelligent rejoinder.

"They're also slightly telepathic with their bonded, and a bit more intelligent than most animals," Narcissa put in, rescuing Harry.

'Stupid human,' Harry heard faintly.

"What?" he exclaimed, confused.

"I said they're slightly—" Narcissa started to repeat, but Harry cut her off.

"No, I understood that," he said apologetically for his rudeness, "but who said 'Stupid human'?"

The dirl-cat, which had been indolently washing a foreleg, again perched on Draco's shoulder, now had it's gaze fixed firmly on Harry, as did Draco.

'It heard?' Harry heard, although the voice was still very faint.

"You heard?" Draco asked aloud.

"You heard it too?" Harry inquired.

"It was Sasha," Draco replied, confusion evident on his face.

"But . . . I thought it was only telepathic with its bonded?" Harry queried.

Draco looked the question at his mother.

"I've never heard...." the woman started to say hesitantly, before something occurred to her. But instead of following it up, she continued what she had begun to say. ". . . of it happening any other way."

Actually, there was one way, but . . . surely not? Narcissa had thought the two boys' friendship had become close rather quickly, but she had seen such quick, close friendships happen between other children, so had shrugged it off. But with this development.... She was going to have to keep a close eye on the situation between her son and this boy. If it were true – if Harry's telepathic sharing with Draco's dirl-cat wasn't just a fluke of nature.... But such an occurance was so rare, and surely they were too young? She shook it off. There would be time to ponder it later.

Draco thought he had the answer, but he wasn't going to say anything. Harry was still too new to the wizarding world. He might not be able to accept it yet. Best to keep his suspicions to himself and let things develop as they would. Besides which, Draco wasn't all that sure himself, and if he was wrong he might ruin their friendship by bringing it up, especially since he was certain that Harry wasn't ready to hear it yet. He'd have to sound out Harry's attitudes towards such things by bringing up hypothetical situations in their discussions.

That night as they fondled each other, Draco was acutely aware of the 'tingle'. Now that he had an idea of what it might mean, it seemed to be even stronger.

Harry noticed Draco's distraction, but with the somewhat selfish single-mindedness of the young, he soon had Draco paying attention to business – that is to say, giving Harry pleasure while Harry did the same for Draco.

Neither noticed the dirl-cat perched on the footboard watching, with evident interest, the pre-teens fumble with each other.

By the time summer came around, the boys had advanced from shy pecks on the cheek to closed-mouth kisses, and their 'fumbling' with each other was now practiced mutual wanking. They'd even managed, a few times, to get each other to dry orgasm. After the first couple of times it was a goal they each tried for, both by themselves, and with each other.

Mister Malfoy had come through for Harry – for his own reasons, of course. Lucius was not a philanthropist, although he was known as one. Everything he did for others was for a reason, if only to bolster his image as a man of good standing. This strengthened both his social and political positions.

He had researched and found that, indeed, nobody had been legally assigned to be Harry Potter's guardian. The one person who would have had a legal claim, one of his wife's cousins, was locked up in Azkaban. Lucius knew the man was innocent, but Voldemort hadn't wanted his virtual slave to be unavailable, so a suitable patsy had to be found. It was fortunate for Peter Pettigrew that Sirius Black had unwittingly presented himself for the role. But Lucius wasn't about to do anything about it, even if he had wanted to. Coming forth with the claim that Sirius Black was innocent would engender too many questions: questions that he couldn't afford to answer. Voldemort may or may not be permanently departed, but the Ministry would like nothing better than to confiscate the Malfoy vaults and properties, and an ex-Death Eater with a questionable past and vast resources was just the sort of target they liked.

After finding that none had a legal claim on the boy, Lucius had then made a call on the Dursleys, the only people who might claim a right to the Potter boy through blood relationship, armed with a quill, inkpot, and a document stating that Vernon and Petunia Dursley did now, and forever after, renounce any claim on Harry Potter by reason of blood relationship or any other.

At first Vernon had tried to extort money from the blond man, and had even gone so far as to leeringly insinuate that Lucius wanted the boy for 'unnatural' purposes. A few stinging hexes later, the fat man had signed the forms without another insolent word being spoken. The Ministry wouldn't care that the signature was a bit shaky: only that it was genuine, should there be question of Harry's custody later.

Petunia signed proudly, giving a little sneer at her husband when he wasn't looking. While she loved the man and would defend him to anyone else who said anything bad about him, she was well aware that he could, at times, be quite stupid. You did not insult someone from whom you are trying to extract money! It was only after 'that unnatural . . . freak!' had gone, that Petunia relaxed and allowed her fear – and relief to have escaped harm – to show.

After obtaining the quitclaim, and with his connexions in the Ministry, it was rather easy to quietly file the proper forms to have the boy become his ward. Usually someone as young as Harry wouldn't even be asked their opinion, but in order to be certain that he crossed every 't' and dotted every 'i', Lucius had made sure to have Harry sign the forms in those places where someone of a more reasonable age would have been required to sign. Although it made little legal difference, it put him in a better light socially that 'The Boy Who Lived' had obviously been willing to have the Malfoys be his guardians. Slurs against his honour now hadn't a leg to stand on, should they be made in this regard.

Dumbledore was incensed, of course. Even faced with a faít accompli, he tried every angle and pulled every string his considerable influence was capable of, but Lucius Malfoy had covered every angle and closed every loophole. The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had even tried to manipulate, and then vaguely threaten Harry with insubstantial consequences, should he pursue his intention of living with the Malfoys. But Harry had been warned that something of the sort might occur and held firm. In the end, the old man had no recourse but to accept the deed as done, and hand over all control of anything having to do with Harry.

If Harry thought that his first summer away from the Dursleys was going to be a carefree pursuit of pleasures yet unknown, he was mistaken. He, along with Draco, was given lessons in swordplay, unarmed combat, magic (including Dark magic), flying, and equestrianism (including riding thestrals and other magical animals), by instructors hired by Mister Malfoy.

In one other regard, at least, Lucius felt vindicated in his decision to become Harry's guardian; Draco was putting more effort into learning, having Harry to compete with. That, along with decreasing the Death Eater accusations and putting him in a better light with the rest of the wizarding world, which had been his main intent, made it worthwhile.

In addition, Narcissa Malfoy gave Harry advanced lessons in decorum and social interaction (how to tell the social class of a person and how to treat them accordingly), and hired an instructor to teach him dance. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Harry already had a passing acquaintance with the piano and art, and arranged to have him further tutored in those arts. Summer holidays were only just eight weeks, though, so the music and art tutoring would be held during the school year, at Hogwarts. It was a common practise, since Hogwarts only taught the essentials one needed in order to take ones' place in society and the world in general, and a practise so taken for granted that none thought to talk about it.

Harry was thankful that 'Mum' (as she insisted he call her when not in public or in Lucius' presence) had not insisted that the arts tutoring be added to his already full summer curriculum. It gave him time to be with Draco to do things with him that they wanted to do. They wandered all over the estate, explored the manor (including parts that Draco himself had never investigated – save the dungeons, which were off limits), and swum in the recently installed pool (eighty years prior) – Greek style.^#

This was, of course, an activity of which Sasha greatly disapproved. The first time she'd seen the boys voluntarily enter the pool she'd followed them in, then quickly scrambled out when the water invaded her fur. She'd sat at the side of the pool licking herself dry, giving the boys nasty looks as though it was their fault she was wet, and raised a great fuss. It didn't help that both boys were in stitches, laughing at her. In all other activities she would always be close by, but after that incident, if they were in the pool, she'd stalk off and sulk.

They celebrated their twelfth birthdays – first Draco, then a month later, Harry. Draco lorded it over Harry for the whole month, too, that he was 'a year older'. This often resulted in Harry tackling the blond and tickling him until Draco recanted his taunts of 'such a young one, you are' – which usually only lasted until Draco had caught his breath, before he started in again.

But to give the Malfoys credit, they treated Harry no differently than their own son. Draco only had more free time because he was no longer in need of most of the lessons his mother was giving Harry, other than dance. Harry was given more in the way of birthday presents, but only because there were so many things missing from his wardrobe and other belongings that were considered essential. The largest, though by far not the most expensive, was a new trunk.

"It would reflect badly on us for you to use something as shabby as that old trunk of yours," he had been told.

The new trunk had a permanent weightless charm on it (which actually only reduced its weight to about twenty pounds, no matter what was in it), and five compartments which would change size according to need; one for books, and others for toiletries and miscellaneous things, clothing, school supplies, and even a small preservation chamber for food.

But the gift Harry loved most was the new broom.

"Your instructor tells me that you're a natural flyer, Mister Potter," Lucius told him.

Harry blushed slightly, for a couple of reasons. One was that he wasn't used to praise, and coming from Lucius, what he'd said was indeed praise. The other was from being called 'Mister Potter'. He had tried to get the man to be less formal with him, but Mister Malfoy insisted on being called 'Mister Malfoy' by anyone other than family (and although Harry was now his ward, he wasn't family), and also insisted that Harry learn to not only accept, but demand respect from others. Mrs Malfoy, fortunately, was much warmer and more accepting, and had readily taken to calling Harry by his given name.

"I haven't had a lot of trouble with it," Harry admitted of his flying, "but I don't think I'm all that good."

Lucius just looked down his nose at the dark-haired boy, and snorted – genteelly, of course. Although modesty was to be expected from those lesser than oneself, it was ridiculous in those with the potential to be one's equal. Although he'd never say so aloud, he thought his son might almost be acceptable if he had this boy's qualities. He rather suspected that Draco was a pouf: not that he had anything against homosexuals per se, but if his son had to be a homosexual, he could at least be a strong, dominant one. However, that didn't seem to be the case.

With those thoughts, he looked at Harry in a new light. If Draco were indeed a pouf.... The Potter boy was very close to his son. Could it be possible?

If Harry had been aware of Lucius' thoughts, he would have been both incensed and alarmed. He would have been angry on his friend's behalf, because he thought Draco was quite strong indeed, and alarmed that anyone might suspect that he and Draco were more than just very good friends. It wasn't something he had put in concrete terms, even in his own mind, but he rather vaguely suspected that maybe he and Draco were becoming something just a tad bit more than even the very best of friends.