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Chapter Text

“I still have no idea why we are entertaining these...muggles.” Clytemnestra sniffed, as if the very word itself was too dirty to speak in her pureblood mouth.

Marius Black clenched his teeth and forced himself not to snap back at her. “I’ve told you multiple times now, Nestra, that Gunnings said Dursley is very good at what he does, and that we should give the account to the company he’s working for. He said we would be in very good hands.”

Nestra only grimaced. “And so why isn’t Gunnings here if he likes this Dursley fellow so much? What does he think, that you’re to wait on his beck and call? Please.” Clytemnestra lifted her chin haughtily. “I think it’s atrocious that Gunnings thinks the illustrious House of Black will wait on anybody, especially muggle scum.”

“Clytemnestra Aledrina Black!” Marius snapped sharply. Nestra flinched back at his tone, but Marius could bear her whinging no longer. “Part of the illustrious House of Black you say? Why, do please tell that to your brother Lucius, yes, I’m sure he’d love to hear all about that. How convenient of you to forget our dual squib status, making us both a part of the Illustrious House of Failure.”

Nestra was pale, and her lips stretched into a thin hard line. “Marius I was simply talking in aside to myself about how horrible this situation is, I had not meant to offend-”

“Can it, Nestra.” Marius cut in brusquely, fixing his tie in the car visor’s mirror. “We both know very well you were not talking in aside to anyone except for me. You will be polite to the 'muggle scum' as you so call them because they are the only thing keeping those pearl necklaces you so adore around your neck.”

Nestra simply stuck her nose in the air and looked the other way, making a simpering sound in the back of her throat to signify her acquiesce. Meanwhile, Marius sighed, slightly annoyed and slightly proud of his wife.

Squibs though they may be, they were certainly still leagues above muggles.

---

“Harry!” Uncle Vernon roared, face red as a fire truck. “Why are you still in the kitchen? Need I remind you we have guests coming over today and the last thing they want to see is your rotten orphan face!”

Harry hissed under his breath when Uncle Vernon’s hand came down on the side of his face with a loud thwap!, almost knocking him over.

“Well go on then you runt, get in the closet already! Are you deaf as well as stupid now?”

“Aunt Petunia wanted me to finish washing the dishes.” He mumbled.

It looked like it was the wrong thing to say when Uncle Vernon’s face became even redder. “Well it’s too late now you twat! Guess you won’t be having supper today!”

Harry’s stomach growled in response and he clenched his jaw in order not to say anything he would regret later. It’s not like they ever feed me anyway, he thought to himself bitterly.

Just when Harry thought it couldn't get any worse Dudley came over in his Smelting Uniform, knobby stick included, and whacked Harry right in the back of his legs. Harry fell right to his knees, mind blank with shock from the pain.

Dudley keened with laughter. “I caught a pig, I caught a pig!” He bragged. “Come on piggy, get up.” Dudley kicked his shoe into Harry’s side, annoyed Harry wasn't doing as he asked. “Piggy, get up unless you wanna get cooked into bacon!”

Harry bit into the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to calm down. Dudley, calling him a pig? When he was ten times the size of any winning pig at a county fair?

Luckily for Harry, Vernon stepped in, if only to get Harry moving into the closet. “Dudley enough with your childish games we have company coming soon!” He scolded. “You can practice playing with your stick after our guests have left.”

Dudley whined. “But Daddy I want to play now!”

Vernon did not seem to be in the mood for one of Dudley’s temper tantrums. “Dudley enough!” He snapped before rounding on Harry. “And you,” he snarled, looking straight at Harry, “you filthy orphan ragamuffin! Get in the closet before I force you into the closet.”

“Yes Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied through clenched teeth, feeling a knot of something intense and powerful in the pit of his belly. He clenched his fists tightly, trying to keep away the urge to hurt, to break, to fracture something into smithereens, because he knew it would only land him in more trouble. And Harry would have eventually calmed down on his own in the closet, except that right when he was about to get in Dudley hit him again, this time right on the back.

Harry fell over from the force of the blow and hit his head on the corner of one of the tables when he was going down. The wind had been knocked out of him and he struggled to breathe, while his head felt like a bowling ball had just smashed into it. The last thing he heard right before everything went dark was Dudley’s huffing guffaws and Uncle Vernon’s gasp of shock.

---

              The Dursley’s, even for muggles, were very disgusting people. They were all obscenely round, except for the wife who was frightfully thin. Petunia seemed like she would hold up against most things like a sapling in a harsh storm; that is to say, that she looked extremely meek and delicate-like, and that she did not look like she would hold up against anything at all. But Petunia Dursley, for such a little women, was loud and incessantly chatty, and more than a little pompous, for which reasons Marius could not understand, as she was a muggle and had nothing to be pompous about.

              Mr. Dursley and his son however acted exactly how they might look. Mr. Dursley was a large man and had a loud booming voice. He was just as arrogant and pompous as his wife, and his table manners were disgustingly horrid. There was just something about large people and their excessive gluttony that made Marius’ stomach turn. Currently, Mr. Dursley was busy attacking a turkey leg, of which most of was stuck in his mustache, and the rest had flown into Marius’ face in the form of spittle when Mr. Dursley had been speaking.

              No Dursley, however, was quite as horrendous as Dudley Dursley. Dudley Dursley, who was supposedly ten, though you would think he was older due to his size, was the most terrible little twat Marius ever had the unfortunate chance of knowing. He had no respect for his elders, and constantly interrupted the business dealings with tales of his adventures at Smelting Academy, of which his father was apparently an alumna of. Vernon Dursley, instead of punish his child for speaking out of turn, as would be done in any pureblood family, simply sighed and let the little Dursley walk all over him.

              Petunia Dursley was no better. In fact, she was worse in entertaining the little Dursley’s whims. While dinner had been pot roast with mashed potatoes on the side, apparently the littlest Dursley couldn’t stand the meal, and Petunia had excused herself to go buy McDonald’s for the little terror, of which he was eating now.

              All in all, the Dursley family, even for muggles, were quite horrible creatures.

              Still, even though personally he wished for them to die in a terrible, fiery explosion in one of those horrendous muggle contraptions of theirs, professionally, he realized that Gunnings was right, and Vernon Dursley was very good at his job.

              Mr. Dursley held out his hand just as Marius and Clytemnestra were standing up to leave.

              “It was a very nice meeting you, Mr. Black. I hope this dinner has persuaded you into seeing the benefits of giving Hyde Holdings the account, and how we might increase your profits as well.”

              Marius replied with a polite smile, even though in reality he would rather set Vernon Dursley’s hand on fire rather than shake it. But even though he was a squib, he had grown up pureblood, and purebloods were nothing if not courteous, as well as great actors.

              “Well, yes, it was a pleasure and-“

              Thump

              Marius paused, tilting his head to the side. He could have sworn he heard-

              Thump

              Marius looked to Vernon, about to open his mouth to ask him what the noise was, when a strange, panicked look crossed the Dursley’s face and all of a sudden he was pushing Marius and his wife to the door.

              “Yes, yes-“ he said frantically, “quite a pleasure indeed! Off you two go now-“

              Marius Encliycles Black could stand Mr. Dursley’s horrible table manners, and his horrible reedy voiced wife, and his horrible spawn of a demon himself, but he could not-would not!-stand for Mr. Vernon Dursley, hippogriff dung at the bottom of his shoe, to push him and his wife out the door like they were vermin to shoo off with a sweep of their broom.

              “Now you listen here Vernon Dursley-!”

              Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump

              “Now what in the name of Merlin and Morgana is that!” Cried Clytemnestra, apparently just as fed up as Marius was.

              “It sounds like someone is banging on a door is what it sounds like!” Replied Marius, glaring at Mr. Dursley as his eyes flew frantically between him and his wife.

              “It’s coming from that cupboard under the stairs!”

              Marius moved to open the cupboard when all of a sudden Vernon moved to block the door.

              “It’s just our damn dog Chelsea! Had to put her in because she gets rowdy with company.” Vernon laughed nervously as he explained, looking anywhere except at Marius.

              Marius, though still suspicious, was about to let the subject drop when all of a sudden Dudley spoke up.

              “Chelsea? We don’t have a dog named Chelsea, Dad! It’s cousin Harry who-“

              Vernon clamped a hand around Dudley’s mouth.

              “Harry? Harry!” Marius’ eyes widened comically. They were keeping a muggle boy trapped in their broom closet?! Wasn’t this against some sort of muggle law?

              Dudley bit down on his father’s hand and Vernon Dursley immediately let go, letting out a shrill cry.

              “Yes, my cousin Harry Potter.” Replied Dudley, seeming to confuse Marius’ shock with a question of who Harry was. “Though I guess he really isn’t any different from a dog,” said the littlest Dursley, chuckling so hard his chin fat bounced up and down like a yo-yo.

              “HARRY POTTER!???” Roared Marius. “YOU FILTHY, DIRTY, CRETIN MUGGLES HOW DARE YOU-“

              “MUGGLES?” This time it was Vernon’s turn to roar in fury.  “YOU’RE ONE OF THEM AREN’T YOU?? THOSE SICK FAIRY POOFS WHO WAVE AROUND STICKS AND CALL THEMSELVES WIZARDS!!”

              “SICK FAIRY POOFS!???” Screeched Clytemnestra. “I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW YOU ARE SPEAKING TO THE GREAT ILLUSTRIOUS HOUSE OF BLA-“

              Just then the door to the cupboard exploded, pieces of wood fracturing into pieces, and Harry Potter walked out looking like death reincarnated. His hair was sticking every which way, tiny chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow. His face was set in a sneer, and his eyes were blown so wide that only a ring of green was visible.

              There was a moment of silence, where it felt like time had stopped, until Dudley broke that as well.

              “Well, well, well, looks like the mutt-“

              There was barely another word out before Harry’s eyes flashed and the littlest Dursley went sailing across the room, smashing through the French sliding doors and into the bushes outside.

Chapter Text

Harry sat in the dining room of Marius’ estate while Nestra cooed over him, tending to his wounds and wiping the blood from his face while Harry hissed and tried to claw out of her grasp.

Marius still could not believe that he’d been the one to find Harry Potter, let alone have him in his dining room. After the fiasco with the Dursleys, they had slipped obliviating potion into any and all sources of refreshments the Dursleys had, ensuring they would forget the evening’s events, and Harry Potter especially. In Harry’s best interests, Marius and Clytemnestra decided to bring him along, as unfit did not even begin to describe the Dursleys.

The fact that they didn’t even realize the gift they had been bestowed, of being the guardians of Harry Potter--sole survivor and slayer of He Who Must Not Be Named--spoke of the great buffoonery of the Dursleys.

The fact that they were obviously very ungrateful at having this privilege, and furthermore kept Harry as an animal, in a cupboard underneath the stairs, half starved and beaten on the whims of the littlest Dursley, spoke very clearly to their wretchedness.

And to think muggles could be so foul, Marius thought to himself. We clearly are the superior beings.

Getting Harry to come with them had been another challenge in itself.

Back at the Dursley’s, Marius had to come to some quick thinking about what to tell Harry so that he would leave with them before the Dursleys woke up.

“We’re Child Protective Services, Harry.” He had lied smoothly, having recollected a muggle colleague who had worked in CPS at a time.

Nestra gave him a strange look and he gave a sure but subtle shake of his head, before turning back to Potter. “We came to investigate after being given reports that a child was being abused. We thought the child in question was Dudley, but quite obviously it was you.”

But now they were at the estate, and it was fairly evident that the Devonshire Manor looked nothing like a CPS office building, or at least it was to Harry.

“This doesn’t look like a CPS building,” said Harry at last, giving them both suspicious looks, eyes wary and hands clenched into fists.

Both Nestra and Marius shared a look, remembering what had happened with the boy Dursley, who had seemed to fly across the room with a single look from Harry. Such power, such potential, and all of it wasted, even abused, with the Dursleys. Marius and Nestra had consulted with each other when they had been walking to the car, Harry ahead of them.

“He’s family, Nestra. We have to take care of him. Don’t you see? He has the same eyes as my sister Dorea.” Marius whispered under his breath.

Nestra gave him an incredulous look. “What? Did you just presume I would leave the savior of the wizarding world with those vile muggles? As if, Marius. Of course we have to assume the duty of raising him as no one suitable has currently taken the role,” she sniffed.

Marius had never felt prouder of his wife, squib or no squib.

Now, Marius walked over to where Harry was sitting and bent down.

He explained to Harry how he was a wizard, and the story about Voldemort and his parents, and how his parents were heroes in wizarding society, making him a hero as well. Harry had seemed to like that part, but was still suspicious.

“If I’m a wizard, how come I can’t do magic?”

“But you did.” Marius replied, struggling not to look too smug. “You made that fat muggle boy sail across the room and through the glass doors.”

“I wasn’t sure it was me but I guess it’s true, huh?” Harry replied, looking thoughtful. He looked at both Marius and Clytemnestra, and seemed to decide upon something. “Sometimes I feel like…there’s something dangerous and powerful inside me, like a powder keg about to explode. After Dudley said that to me, I just…” He trailed off, seemingly confused, before turning back to look at both Marius and Nestra. “Does that happen with all wizards?”

Marius fought the urge to look at Nestra. Whatever Harry had done at the Dursley’s, that wandless, wordless magic, was not normal. In fact, it only attested to how powerful this boy was, and though Marius knew he should not be surprised considering this was a boy who had defeated Voldemort when he was just a baby, Marius could not help but be in awe of Harry. Still, he would rather not worry the boy too much right now with his abilities.

“Some yes.” Marius fibbed, before changing the subject. “Anyway, Harry, you’re going to be staying with us now.”

Harry’s eyes widened for a second before turning glum again. “But what about the Dursley’s? They’re bound to come looking for me.” His voice turned bitter. “Won’t want to lose their free little slave.”

“Don’t worry about those dreadful muggles.” Marius snapped, in anger towards the Dursley’s themselves, and not Harry. “They won’t find you. We might be squibs, but we were still able to slip them some forgetting potion. The more complicated thing is…” Marius hesitated.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What? What is it?

“Other people-wizards-will definitely come looking for you. So I’m sorry to say this Harry but if you want to stay with us you’re going to have to change.”

Harry’s eyes were still narrowed. “Change how?”

“Everything.” Marius admitted. “Your name, your whole identity, even a bit of your face. But if you do that, then you can stay with us, and I promise you Harry, that no where else will you be happier.” Marius continued, slightly vulnerable. “Nestra and I never wanted to have a child, because no fate is worse than a squibs, but we could raise you right. We know all the wizarding ways, and you could be the son we never had. And we…we could be the parents you never had.”

Harry looked thoughtful, and if you looked hard enough, a little touched. Harry knew of course that this was the best deal he was going to get, and it was a very good one indeed. Frankly, anything was better than the Dursleys, and he would’ve accepted the Blacks even if they weren’t looking to teach him the ways of the wizarding world.

Harry Potter grinned, just shy of a smirk. If Harry had to change his whole identity just to live in obscene wealth, so be it. If he had to change his face or his walk or the way he talked to be able to eat meals every day and to be served by elves and just be treated like a normal human being, so be it. If Harry Potter had to die for something bigger and better to live, then so bloody be it. Harry was sick of being the dog, the mutt who scrounged for scraps and begged for food, the dog that got kicked around and treated like a slave. He wanted to be a Black. He wanted to be the one in power, the type of person that just like Marius was so important he was able to push people like Vernon Dursley around.

Harry smiled with all his teeth. “Why of course I agree.”

Chapter Text

Draco Abraxas Malfoy had his head down, both hands out in front of him on the table.

Lucius Malfoy stood above him, pacing back and forth, a switch in his hand.

“What was your mistake, Draco?” He asked rather pleasantly, but Draco was not fooled, and knew very well that his father was quite angry with him.

“My m-mistake-“

Whap! The switch went down on the back of his hands, and Draco bit down on his tongue to stop from crying out. Had he cried out, Lucius would have hit him again.

“A Malfoy does not stutter, Draco.” He said calmly. “Surely, you know this?”

Draco took a deep breath, struggling to maintain his voice. The only reason he had stuttered was because of the pain on his knuckles, which had hardly let him breathe, let alone speak.

“Yes, father.” He replied, successfully not stuttering this time.

“Good. Now, what was your mistake?”

“My mistake was bringing the bird into the manor-“

Whap!

“Incorrect, Draco.” This time Draco could tell it quite cost Lucius to keep the calm on his face; he was very angry. “Your mistake, Draco, was to have tried to save the bird in the first place, do you understand? That bird had a broken wing and was about to die. By stopping to try and save that weak thing, you yourself show weakness.”

“Yes, father,” Draco managed to croak out.

“What would you do if you were in the same situation, but in a political arena? An ally of yours is socially maimed: do you stop and try to save him, putting your own reputation at risk, or do you carry on with your life still intact?”

Draco of course knew the correct answer, but couldn’t help but be annoyed with how dramatic his father was being.

“But father it was a bird-“

This time Lucius didn’t bother with the switch. One flick of his wand and more cuts appeared on the back of Draco’s hands, sharper and more painful.

“Do not take that tone with me, Draco.” His father said darkly. “You have failed enough today, to yet still have enough cheek to treat me as some sort of imbecile. I just don’t understand how sensitive and…feminine you can be sometimes.” He said in disgust. “You are the sole heir to the Malfoy and possibly Black line, yet you act like a little girl.”

Draco felt his ears heat in shame, humiliated. It didn’t help to remember that time he had arm wrestled Millicent Bulstrode and lost, everyone making fun of Draco for losing to a girl of all people, before Draco had whined that Millicent didn’t even count as a girl, which had led to Milly knocking his lights out. He hoped his father wasn’t thinking of that time.

Draco couldn’t help it if he was slim and delicate and pretty any more than Milly couldn’t help having the face of a bull toad. Sometimes he wondered how the world was so unfair that Draco ended up with arms as thin as willow branches while Milly had the bulk of a Redwood tree stump.

“When people look at you Draco, they are seeing a representative of the me. All of your actions reflect on the name of the Malfoy line, so how do you think it looks like when you come crying to Narcissa about how Millicent Bulstrode punched you in the face and you want me to do something about it, hmmmm?”

Draco internally cringed. So he did remember.

“Very bad, father.”

“Yes, Draco,” replied Lucius slowly, as if Draco was some sort of squib, “it looks very bad. I hope that when you attend Hogwarts you do not act as frivolous as you do here, do you understand?”

“Yes, father.” Replied Draco again, face still red with embarrassment.

Just then the door to Lucius’ study banged open and in swooped Narcissa Malfoy with a letter in hand.

“I have some very important news-“ She stopped when she saw Draco with his hands on the table, Lucius with his wand.

“Lucius!” She said in horror. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing to Draco?”

Narcissa crossed the room and knelt down besides Draco, taking his hands in hers, and Draco nearly wept with relief.

“I’m so sorry my little dragon,” she whispered under her breath, and Draco wanted to launch himself into her arms, but knew Lucius would have his head if he did so.

“This is the exact reason he is so weak, Narcissa.” Lucius said, lip curling in distaste at the sight in front of him. “You coddle him endlessly.” Lucius made a thoughtful face and then sighed. “That and the fact that you used to dress him up in girls clothes when he was little. No wonder he has such a-“ Lucius paused, closing his eyes slightly, as if the very words pained him to speak, “-such a feminine mentality.

“Father!” Draco cried, embarrassed. It was a subject the Malfoys had agreed to never speak about again.

Narcissa however did not seemed cowed. “Draco can’t help it if he’s pretty.” She sniffed. “A boy like Draco does not deserve to be confined to simply boys clothes.” She said the latter with a tone of slight disgust.

“Mother!” Draco whined. Draco did not like to be reminded of the time his mother used him as a china doll. It was all part of a very traumatizing past that Draco had no wish to reexamine.

Narcissa suddenly turned serious. “That reminds me, Lucius,” Narcissa turned to face his father, “Clytemnestra Black owled.”

Lucius sneered. “And you didn’t just burn it to ashes?”

Narcissa ignored Lucius’ comment. “The Blacks have an heir. My cousin Sirius had a son with your sister Regina.” Narcissa glanced at Draco then whispered to Lucius so she wouldn’t be overheard. “The one who killed herself a few months ago in France?”

Draco’s father became serious all at once. His eyes were narrow. “Yes I remember my squib of a sister.” He replied, frowning. “Shame my family seems to hold a series of disappointments.”

Narcissa nodded, face still grim. “Yes, well, the boy’s name is Aries Leviathan Black, and he’s now the sole heir to the House of Black.”

Draco watched his parent’s back and forth, understanding most of it enough to know that this was not a good thing for him. As Regulus Black had been murdered under most mysterious circumstances, and Sirius Black was in Azkaban, it was generally assumed that Draco Abraxas Malfoy Black would inherit both houses, considering his mother was a Black, and he was the sole male family member alive, and not in prison.

But this Aries, if his lineage was proven correct, could change everything.

“Considering the fact that you sound so grim, I take it somehow the squibs of all people have obtained guardianship of the future heir?”

Narcissa’s mouth was thin. “I did not keep in touch with Regina, as you well know, but it seems my sister in law Clytemnestra did.”

Lucius’ expression turned even more distasteful than seemed possible.

“And Regina clearly laid out guardianship rights to Clytemnestra and Marius if anything was to ever happened to her. Squibs stick together I suppose.” Narcissa scoffed in disgust.

Lucius Malfoy’s back, from where Draco saw it, was tenser than his Elm wand.

“If the squibs get their hands into that Black, it will be very, very dangerous.” Lucius said, his voice low and full of warning.

“You don’t have to tell me, Lucius.” Narcissa snapped. “Who do you take me for? A fool? They’ll be getting their greedy little hands into my son’s rightful fortune.”

“And the boy isn’t a squib?” Narcissa shook her head no, and Lucius cursed under his breath. “If only there was something we could do-“ Lucius turned in a dramatic fashion and rounded on Draco. His eyes narrowed when he saw Draco was watching. “You.”

Draco held his breath in dread, willing his hands not to shake in fear. His father would turn this on him somehow, he always did. It would be Draco’s fault he was no longer the rightful heir, Draco’s fault they had lost a fortune, Draco’s fault-

“You.” His father continued. “You are the answer.”

Draco blinked, and began to breathe again. What?

“We’ll send you to live with the squibs in the summer. In any other circumstance it would be improper, but considering they are now the legal guardians of the rightful heir to the Illustrious House of Black, propriety will have to be overlooked.” Lucius sighed dramatically. “Surely, after that awfully self-important and conceited letter declaring himself as the rightful heir of the House of Black, everyone of your aunts and uncles will be looking to be in the Aries Black’s good graces, and especially the good graces of those squibs.”

“I’m going to spend the summer with-with squibs?” Draco cried in disgust. “But I was supposed to go with Mu-mother this summer to the country house in France!”

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy.” Lucius’ voice snapped like a whip across the chamber, his eyes as dark as a summer storm. His lips were thin and it was obvious he was grasping at the last of his patience. “This is exactly the type of behavior that needs to stop. Your fortune is in danger of being stolen and you are worried about missing a summer with your mother? You are eight years old and no longer being pushed around in a pram, and I expect you to conduct yourself in such a way. What’s next, hm? We’ll be back to changing your nappies?”

Draco flushed an ugly red. “Father-“ He started, realizing his mistake and trying to replicate Lucius’ cool and unaffected tone, “I was simply worried about the presence of the squibs. Like you said, it is highly improper and I was only worried I’d catch something from them-sir.” He added hastily.

His father simply stared at him coolly for a few seconds, obviously not believing a word of what Draco just said, but pretending otherwise.

“Good, Draco. I understand your concerns, but you have no need to worry. Only the weak would succumb to something such as the squib disease, and you are not weak, are you?” Lucius raised an eyebrow.

Draco swallowed hard. “Of course not, father.”

Lucius seemed satisfied with his response, if only barely. “It pleases me that you understand your duties, Draco. Over the summer I hope you find time to ally yourself with this Aries Black, and possibly find out the circumstance of his upbringing. All this of course would greatly benefit you, as well as your mother and I. It will also serve as a good introduction to the politics your mother and I participate in on the daily. Failure to perform your duties will of course reflect poorly on us…and yourself.”

Lucius’ voice seemed as casual and disinterested as always, but it did not fool Draco, who clearly received the warning.

Failure was not an option.

Chapter Text

They had all agreed upon the new name. That had been the easy apart. The change in appearance? That had been slightly harder. Marius, being pureblood, knew some Dark Magic that could turn Harry’s appearance into one similar to Sirius’ appearance, but it was not painless. Harry had had to write his new name with a blood quill fifty times, later taking the potion at the stroke of midnight, which changed his facial structure. It also changed his eyes and the texture of his hair. Instead of bright green they turned a midnight blue, and instead of messy and dark hair, the texture turned straight. He looked very much like a young Sirius Black. Which made sense, since the man was supposed to be his father. Other than his face however, physically nothing changed. He was still far smaller than a boy his age should be, and he looked half starved.

The name Aries had been very aptly chosen.

Harry was wild. He seemed to be chaos embodied, and he lived as he looked: as a half starved animal. Though now living in a proper home with a proper room and meals, Harry was still incredibly distrustful. He ate as if he’d never have another meal, and never lost that hungry gleam to his eyes that screamed of a destitute life. He was quick to anger, and just as quick to bore, which would result in him annoying the bollocks out the house elves and generally making a mess of things. He was not afraid of getting hurt, and often came back from the back garden covered in scratches from falling from a tree or tumbling into a rose bush.

In summary, he was not in proper form for company.

After having sent letters to deemed most important Head of Houses (Arcturus Black, Pollux Black, Abraxas Malfoy, and Lucius Malfoy), Marius and Clytemnestra had waited anxiously for their replies. Harry, of course, had already been very difficult in writing the letters in the first place, and his penmanship so horrid, that Marius had ended up writing most of the letters himself.

As a result, Marius had to explain the importance of the letters to Harry.

“I know I have not explained this to you fully, but you are the sole heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. This means you are the future of their House, and that you are in line to receive a huge sum of inheritance. If we do this right, we can play them off one another, you won’t leave here at all, and you’ll suddenly find yourself with all sorts of family members who will be constantly showering you with affection.”

Harry, though he understandably knew very little his heritage or the wizarding world, was still smart enough to understand the significance of his being heir. His eyes had narrowed in such a way Marius had never known eight year olds to do, and he smiled.

“Of course, Uncle Marius.” Harry had replied, his smile somewhat sharp and off-putting. “I understand the language of money.”

Marius had been somewhat uncomfortable with the cold reply, but barely had time to worry about it before Harry was back to his wild ways.

Marius knew he had to fix this and soon.

With the announcement of a hidden son and future heir, there was already many inquiries to when the family would be able to meet Aries. Of course, such an assembly was expected. The House of Black wanted to see if he was truly the son of Sirius, and get rid of all question permanently. Marius also knew of course, that for many years it was assumed that the Malfoy boy become heir of both House Malfoy and Black (Simply blasphemous in Marius’ book, a dirty French Malfoy inheriting the Illustrious House of Black? Bloody bollocks if you’d ask him), though not yet legally agreed upon. This assembly would also serve to finally end that silly notion.

But before all that, Harry had to be fixed. He was too wild, too improper and impolite to be a Black. If the family saw him the way he was now, no amount of Dark magic would be able to hide the fact that he was simply not Black. No Black, muggle lover or not, would ever raise their child in such a way, and no Black would ever look so small and underfed. Harry was a smart boy, Marius could tell, and he was quite powerful, but that alone would not make up for the rest of his flaws.

The boy would have to be tamed. Or at least, seem to be tamed. He would also need lessons in his heritage, as well as the wizarding world. He would have to learn proper penmanship and etiquette, and how to hide displeasure and anger. As of now, Harry was nothing but a storm tearing through their house, powerful yes, but without focus or direction. And with the obvious lack of knowledge of their world, Harry would be ousted in a second at any family assembly.

So of course, it was just Marius’ luck that he received a letter from Lucius Malfoy asking if he and Clytemnestra could watch over Draco for the summer.

Marius was not stupid. He understood that Malfoy senior wanted information over the new mysterious Heir, considering the situation with Malfoy junior, but propriety demanded that Marius comply. Anything less, from a squib especially, would be seen as disrespectful at best and suspicious at worst.

Marius could not risk Harry’s inadequacies being exposed. But he could also not risk raising suspicion amongst the Blacks, and a refusal of Malfoy’s request would ring alarm bells.

Either way, it’s Malfoy, Marius reasoned. Nothing he thinks matters. It’s my own family I must worry about.

So, it was with grim determination that Marius answered yes, Malfoy Junior may spend the summer at Devonshire Manor, along with future Heir Aries Leviathan Black.

Chapter Text

Growing up with the Dursleys, Harry Potter had grown to become suspicious of many things, and one of those things, above all, was generosity. Then there was also kindness of course, and compassion, and all those selfless acts of love that have very little to do with self-gain and much more to do with self-sacrifice.

The Dursleys had very little compassion.

They also had very little self-sacrifice, or selflessness, or really any bit of love to give to Harry at all. Through the Dursleys, Harry learned that people rarely ever gave, unless there was something to gain from the giving. Giving for the sake of giving was not a productive, or even logical, act.

Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley gave to Dudley because he was their blood. He was their heir, their future, and their future caretaker for when they’d eventually become too old to care for themselves. So yes, it made sense that they would give him things, and spoil him, even though he wasn’t the brightest, or even the best child they could have hoped for.

Harry, because of the Dursleys, understood the power of blood, the act of giving and taking. So it was with ease that he took the sudden actions of the Blacks to declare guardianship over him, to take care of him, and even spoil him as well, as he was to become Heir.

He should not be overtly suspicious, he knew, because it made sense. But unfortunately, or maybe quite fortunately for Harry, the Dursleys had also sprouted in him a perpetual mistrust of people.

In the Devonshire Manor, laying in his Egyptian cotton sheets, in his own room, and a house elf to service him, Harry could look back and admit that life with the Dursleys could have been worse, considering. He’d known another boy at his school that had had a drunk father, that constantly beat him. Suffice to say, the boy rarely came to school, and when he did it was it was with a limp.

The Dursleys, on the other hand, mostly just worked him hard. They said things that were cruel as well, but usually they were standard barbs, about how useless he was, or how useless his parents had been, or calling Harry an orphan. Food was often withheld if he had not done something specifically to Petunia’s wishes, and there was the thing about the cupboard, but hands were never really raised, besides a slight slap or a pinch.

Harry attributed this to the fact that while the Dursleys were quite vile, they were not spectacularly evil, and did not like the sight of blood (with the exception of Dudley).

Still, Harry’s life with the Dursleys had inspired some particularly annoying habits, such as the inability to eat food slowly, to hoard dinner, to rarely take showers, to narrow his eyes suspiciously when Marius or Clytemnestra stood too closely, and to never let them touch him if he could help it.

The only reminder Harry now had to his time with the Dursleys was a scar on his back, from the only time Vernon had seriously physically hurt him. Whenever Harry looked at it in the mirror, he knew it was a testament to how much they hated him, that they would willingly scar him this way, when the sight of blood physically sickened them.

Harry doesn’t remember what happened, doesn’t quite remember what led to the painful punishment that was its outcome, just that it had something to with an aunt, and some reckless magic on Harry’s end that he didn’t know was magic at the time.

Vernon had just begun to yell at Harry when Petunia stopped him, particularly angry and embarrassed that night, and gave him a leather belt. Vernon had seemed a little shocked at the request, but Petunia had been determined, and quite uneasily Vernon had taken the belt from her hands.

Of course Petunia, being a spineless cow, didn’t even have the guts to see the punishment herself, or even see that it was properly carried out. It had ended up being Harry and Vernon alone in the guest room, with Harry on his knees on the floor, back straight, waiting for the first strike.

Harry had stared at Vernon behind him through the mirror, had seen the obvious conflict on his face at what he was about to do, to a child no less, and Harry had thought for a moment that maybe Vernon didn’t really hate him. Dislike him, sure. Want him out of his house, definitely. But hate him?

Wasn’t that too strong?

But then they locked eyes in the mirror, and Vernon had only frozen a second before he was sneering, his face a mask of pure loathing, and Harry knew without a doubt that this was hate. This was really, really hate. That Uncle Vernon could get over hitting a child if the child was Harry, could get over an undeniable wrong if the undeniable wrong was being done to Harry, told him all he needed to know. Vernon hated Harry to the extent he was willing to do things he didn’t want to do. And it was then that Harry learned the power of hate, and not love. Hate overcame all things. Even the spineless cowardliness of Vernon Dursley, who got violently ill at the sight of blood.

Harry would like to say he was able to take it like a man, but that’d be utter bollocks. Harry was only six at the time, quite far from being a man. Uncle Vernon only gave him ten lashes, but Harry was small, and Uncle Vernon’s hand was heavy, and he was very slow about it (mostly because it seemed he had to keep himself from getting sick each time) and as a consequence Harry would be left in utter agony. He was crying after the very first lash, begging Vernon not to give another, his fingers clawing into the carpet. He sobbed like a baby the whole time.

Harry felt something like fire ants crawling under his skin at the memory. It made him so angry, not only at the Dursleys for what they had done, for permanently claiming him, but also angry at himself for being so pathetic, so submissive, so-so weak-

“Aries!”

The sound of Marius’ voice jolted Harry out of his memory and into the present.

Marius face was one of disbelief. “What exactly were you thinking about that you blasted my pre-Hellenistic vase into smithereens from twenty feet away?”

Harry looked down at his plate, quite uncomfortable. “Sorry Uncle Marius. It won’t happen again, I just got caught up in the past.”

Marius’ face darkened. “It’s not your fault, Harry. It’s those filthy muggles that made you this way, and if it were up to me they’d pay.” Marius’ expression shifted into one of concern. “Still,” he began, “our guest should be arriving today, Aries, and I’ve already told you how you must behave, correct?”

Harry could barely keep from rolling his eyes. They’d been preparing weeks for the arrival of some spoiled poncy brat whose name Harry had already forgotten (was it Drake?), Heir to the House of Malloy, and Harry had almost gone crazy with the repeated warnings and lessons he had been pumped full of so that he wasn’t caught unawares. Marius and Nestra had gone down hard on the habits he had picked up from the Dursleys and were adamant that the Senior Malloy had sent his son to investigate Aries and his credibility.

“You don’t understand,” Marius had tried to tell him calmly one time, “this was the boy everyone believed would inherit the Black fortune as well as the Malfoy one. His father is likely quite upset with the recent change of events, and suspicious at the convenient arrival of a  true heir. You will have to be on your best behavior as not to arise suspicion.”

The warning was enough to keep Harry in line, but only just barely. It was hard to break old habits, but he’d be damned before he let anyone else take his rightful inheritance (no matter how un-rightful it actually was).

Harry would try his best to act as a future heir, but if it somehow failed and this Drake Malloy figured out the truth?

Well, some actions occur for the greater good, and Harry was the greater good.

“Mother,” Draco Malfoy whined, “is there no way you could convince him to change his mind? This summer was supposed to be me and you! And Aamir even managed to get permission from his parents to come as well, and now he is very-very-“ Draco struggled to find a word to encompass the emotion he was thinking of, “-utterly sad!” He finished lamely.

In truth however, Aamir Shafiq, Draco’s play mate since he was in five, was not so sad. Draco had sent him an owl with the unfortunate news but Aamir had responded in the vague way he usually responded to such things, claiming he was unhappy with the change in events but not very much acting like it.

Unsatisfied with Aamir’s response Draco had sent another owl, whining about how Aamir didn’t seem to care at all, and in response Aamir had sent another owl as well, saying that it was simply not true, and that he was-

“Devasted!” Draco gasped out, finally finding a word dramatic enough for his purposes. “He said he was simply devasted with the change in plans!”

This, however, was not true either. Draco knew that Aamir most likely only responded in such a fashion to stop Draco’s increasingly incessant and whiny owls.

“Oh darling.” Narcissa cooed, laying a hand on his cheek, which he immediately leaned into. After all, Draco was only eight, still young enough to indulge in such things, no matter what his father said otherwise.

“You are so charming! Look at you making these wonderful allies so early in life, having them so devoted to you!”

Draco hummed in agreement, though he knew Aamir was no such thing.

“Sometimes I see him looking at you like you need only ask for the moon and stars and he’d give them to you! Such a great indicator of how powerful you’ll be later in life my little dragon!”

Draco tried not to cringe too hard. How blind his mother could be sometimes. Though he was sure he inspired such loyalty in others, though usually quite reluctantly, Aamir could often be a dark horse. The list of things Draco could make Aamir do was so little it was practically non-existent.

Still Draco puffed up, encouraged by his mother’s gushing compliments.

“Why of course…”He drawled. “Power is definitely in my future. Besides Aamir, I have Crabbe and Goyle as well. Who knows? In the future it might be the whole ministry wrapped around my finger.”

“I hardly thinking having Crabbe and Goyle wrapped around your finger is the same as having the entire Ministry there as well.” A cold voice interrupted smoothly, and Draco jerked back from his mother’s hand as if burned.

“Those simpletons?” Lucius scoffed. “They’re like chickens without heads. They’ll follow anything with a brain, considering they don’t have one. They’re bodyguards at most, and that’s such a muggle concept that you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Yes, father.” Draco replied stiffly, not looking at his mother.

“I can assure you that this heir, whoever he is, will not be another Crabbe and Goyle. He will not simply fall into anybody’s hands like putty. I hope this experience will help you differentiate between winning allies like those two idiots who are always following you around and real allies who will not so easily fall into your grasp.”

Draco’s mood, once so high up because of his mother’s praise, now deflated at his father’s put down of his talents.

“Yes, father.” He replied glumly.

“You take care, okay, my little dragon? And remember what your father told you.” Narcissa cooed as she smoothed down Draco’s hair then grabbed both if his cheeks and kissed his forehead. Draco told himself not to cry, because he wasn’t a baby, and it wasn’t like he was going to be there for the rest of his life, only for the summer.

“Mother don’t worry,” Draco replied mainly because his mother’s eyes were misty and if she cried then Draco would definitely cry. “I don’t know who this so called ‘heir’ is,” he sniffed pompously, “but trust me when I say he will definitely be a pawn for the Malfoy Manor when I’m through with him.”

Narcissa smiled in that patronizing when she often did when she found something Draco said to be amusing, and Draco’s arrogant smirk instantly soured.

“Fine.” He snapped. “Don’t believe me.” Draco made to turn away and his mother instantly called out.

“My little dragon it’s not that I don’t believe you-“

That was the final straw. “And don’t call me little dragon! I am eight years old! I am no one’s little anything!”

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply but Draco ignored it completely by stepping into the Squib’s wards, which readily accepted him.

How the squibs even managed to gain wards was a question Draco was pondering as the door to the front of the house opened and out came a house elf.

Hm. Interesting. Squibs have house elves as well?

“Master Marius been expecting you. Sir is the Malfoy heir, yes? Sobsy at your service.”

“Draco Malfoy!” Came a loud booming voice from the hall, attached to a rather round man, who was currently beaming at him.

Draco tried not to frown. Such ugly manners, how could he speak in such a loud and informal way to Draco of all people?

Still, Draco had not forgotten his manners. He smiled politely and reached out a hand. “Uncle Marius, a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you too, my boy. Why, Aries has been excited all day for this meeting. You should have seen him pacing around the manor, worrying himself this way and that way. He’s been very much looking forward to meeting you!”

Draco struggled against the urge to roll his eyes. “Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Draco Malfoy, heir to House Malfoy” interrupted a sweet voice from the staircase, “meet Aries Leviathan Black, heir to the House Black.”

Draco had to grind his teeth at that one, annoyed they were already assuming things that had no right to be assumed. As if it was already official that this Aries was a Black, as if it was already official that the fortune was his.

Turning to the staircase he saw a fair lady, his aunt Clytemnestra he assumed, along with another person besides her.

At first Draco couldn’t comprehend the sight before his eyes. It didn’t quite register. Another house elf? was his first thought. And certainly, the sight before him shared some characteristics of a house elf. It had bulging eyes out of a tiny head, sharp features, prominent bones peeking out from some places, and a height that was almost half of his.

A house elf in a suit? was his second thought.

But then the thing that Draco’s mind thought was a house elf reached out his hand and said in perfect English:

“Aries Black, heir to the Illustrious House of Black.”

And that was all it took for Draco to snap back into reality.

The smile Draco painted on his lips was so fake and stiff it felt like plastic.

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy. Heir to the House of Malfoy as you already know by now, I’m sure.”

The moment they touched hands it felt like he had been hit with a very potent stinging hex. It took all of Draco’s power not to flinch away in surprise. Aries’ hands had been cold and bony, as well as quite rough. Not a purebloods hands in any way.

The only indication that Aries had felt anything when they shook hands was a curious look on his face, before settling back into disinterest. Whatever Marius’s claims, Draco was sure this boy had not been pacing around anxiously for his arrival. He had a look on his face that said he was very much unimpressed. Draco was slightly disappointed, knowing this would only make his task harder.

But I’m a part of the Sacred 28, how can he not be impressed?

Draco frowned, looking back at Aries again, and remembering the feeling of his hands. This boy was nothing like any heir Draco knew. He almost sneered in disgust. This supposed ‘heir’ who looked more like a house elf was unimpressed with him? This skeleton of a boy, who looked like he could be snapped in half, whose small suit that would never fit on Draco’s body but was slipping on his, dared look at him like he was-

Draco froze as Aries gaze meet his, having caught him staring. And his eyes…so prominent on such a thin face…were blazing. There was something hungry and mean the likes of which Draco had never seen on another boy his age. Never seen on another persons face, period. There was something ravenous and desperate and animal like and Draco felt like he was drowning in the blue. He bowed his head immediately, scared at what he saw in those eyes, feeling a flush start high on his cheeks as he did so.

I am an idiot. Draco scolded himself. I am an idiot I am an idiot I am an idiot. I just showed weakness. By looking away first I showed weakness. I showed submission. I showed that I was afraid and that I felt I was below him. I might as well have showed him my neck and told him to bite it like wolves do in the wild.

Draco felt sick with himself. Already failing, he thought to himself bitterly, just like father predicted.

Draco would have to up his game. And soon. 

At first, Harry thought he’d been duped. He’d glared at Aunt Nestra when Drake wasn’t looking.

“You didn’t tell me Drake was a girl.”

Aunt Nestra had frowned at him, then forced a smile back on her face while she spoke to him under her breath.

“First of all, his name is Draco, and he is a boy.”

Harry had stared at her blankly, then turned back to the supposed Draco. The boy.

Everything about him looked soft. Not at all like a boy. He was pale and fine boned and had lashes longer than any boy he’d ever seen before. In all honesty, he’d seen shorter lashes on girls. His lips were the palest pink, like cotton candy, and full too, fuller than he’d ever seen on a girl, even, and seemingly stuck in a permanent pout.

Sweet. That was the first word that crossed Harry’s mind.

Later, Harry thought that the Malfoy boy was a bit like Dudley Dursley. If Dudley had been much skinnier and smarter with enough wit to pretend to like him, or at least even the will to like him. Harry had watched Draco arrive from the window of his room on the second floor. From his observations, Draco was very much a spoilt Mummy’s boy. But that was pretty much all he shared in common with Dudley Dursley. Besides being annoying, to a much lesser extent that Dudley had been.

Harry’s observations continued throughout the day, as he had been forced to spend it with Draco, per Pureblood politeness or structure or some other bollocks. Uncle Marius and Aunt Clytemnestra had hovered awkwardly nearby, trying to make sure Harry didn’t spontaneously explode screaming that he wasn’t the heir and that the world was a lie. As if that would happen.

When Uncle Marius and Aunt Nestra weren’t looking however, was when he’d tried to get his fun in. Pretending to be posh and boring was a hard job, and Draco Abraxas Malfoy didn’t make it any easier. For such a pretty face, the boy was a right prat. Harry could tell right off the bat he was only pretending to be nice, and that he found himself quite superior. He knew this because sometimes Draco would ask him a question, like “have you ever been to the Quidditch World Cup? Because I’ve gone twice already” or “have you ever played wizard’s chess? Because I’m quite good at it” and Harry would either shrug or make a non-committal sound expressing he had never heard of such things, and Draco would make this pinched face for just a second, just a second, before going back to being all sunny smiles, but not before Harry could see what a complete and utter blockhead Draco thought he was.

So Harry thought it would be fun to annoy Draco even further. The boy was a prat and Harry didn’t think that the snobby look went well with his face. Yes he was tall, but Draco was still quite lean, and even if Harry hadn’t been a wizard, he still could’ve taken a kid like Draco Malfoy down. Harry might’ve been small for a boy his age, and almost half of Draco’s height, but a boy like Draco knew nothing of fighting. He imagined the boy would cry for his mother.

The first thing Harry recommended was a walk in Aunt Clytemnestra’s rose garden. Draco hadn’t been very impressed from the start and as soon as he began blabbering about his mother’s rose garden, which had flesh eating hydrangeas (as if that was something anyone would ever want, or be proud of), Harry had loudly interrupted that they should play tag.

Draco had looked horribly confused.

“Tag? And what kind of game is that?”

Harry had shrugged. “I’m not sure if wizards play it as well, but it’s very popular from where I’m from. One person has the chase the other person and tag them, so that the other person is it.”

Draco had done that wrinkling thing with his nose again, for just half a second, before barely settling into a more neutral expression. “A muggle game? Really? It sounds a little…infantile.”

Infantile? What kind of kid uses words like that?

Stupid seemed more like the word Draco wanted to use. Harry tried not to laugh at the forced politeness on the other boy’s face. He was trying really hard to be in Harry’s good graces.

“Oh it’s not infantile at all.” Harry drawled back. “It’s rather quite fun. Here let’s play a practice run. You be it and try to tag me.”

Draco still seemed wary. “And what happens if I tag you? A punishment game perhaps? You’ll grow toad warts all over your body? Lose a finger? Grow a tail for two weeks? Oh, I know!” Draco’s eyes brightened, and he sounded excited. “It’s a reward game, isn’t it? Winner gets a vial of Felix Felicis? A Romanian Horntail Dragon’s breath?”

Draco knew these games of course. Why, he played such games with Aamir Shafiq all the time.

Harry stared at Draco as if he was mentally incapacitated. “No,” he said very slowly, “if you tag me, you win. Then I have to tag you back, and the cycle continues.”

Draco stared at Harry blankly. “So I tag you, get nothing in return, and have to run while you chase me back?”

Harry smiled blithely. And this Malfoy looked at him like he was the blockhead? “Yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

The smile Draco sent his way was quite brittle.

“Oh. It sounds quite…fun.”

Stupid.

Harry struggles not to roll his eyes, knowing very well what Malfoy thinks of his game, and wanting to tell him he isn’t as good of an actor as he thinks he is, but isn’t quite done messing with the boy yet, so he just smiles blandly in reply.

The game turns out to be as fun as Harry thought it would be. Draco gets lost in the rose garden (which is really a maze just that Harry didn’t feel like mentioning it), screams a couple of times for help, crawls through some bushes, sniffles a lot, gets lost a lot more times, sits down and sniffles some more, until Harry decides to take pity on him and reveal himself.

Draco whines that the game isn’t fair and that Harry didn’t tell him it was a maze and that he wants to stop playing so much that Harry gets sick of it and pushes him into a rosebush. He then leaves because by that time he’s very hungry and slightly tired of his new toy. Draco is better than the house elves, but not by much.

It’s dark out by the time Draco finally manages to get himself out of the rose garden, his clothes covered in thorns and his face with little scratches. His neatly styled hair is all over the place and his face seems like it’s caught between trying to feign cool disinterest or breaking into a million tiny pieces.

Harry snatches a piece of bread from one of the plates the house elves are carrying around and bites into it. “Took you long enough. We’re just about to eat supper.”

Draco’s face twitches at that and Harry can see his eyes flash. Oops, he thinks distantly. Too far?

“What are you doing, Black?” Draco’s voice, for the first time since he’s heard it, is genuinely angry. No false politeness, or cool disinterest. Anger. “Having a laugh playing me stupid? Having a laugh leaving me for dead in the rose bushes?” (so dramatic) “Having a laugh over me-!”

“Draco!” Uncle Marius cuts in, gasping. “My boy, what happened? You look a mess!”

An annoyed expression crosses Malfoy’s face for a sliver of a second before coolly settling into forced passivity. “The Black heir and I were simply playing in your rose garden. I may have gotten a lost for a minute. No matter, I still enjoyed myself,” he replied, smiling politely.

Harry burst out laughing at that, shaking with uncontained amusement. Malfoy’s face went from polite to bewildered, and Uncle Marius looked at him in a terrible confusion as well, wondering what in the bollocks had happened this time.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.” Harry said in between laughs, grabbing a turkey leg with his bare hands. “Anything for Sir Malloy the Prat.” He said dramatically, waving the turkey leg for emphasis, before sinking his teeth in and ripping out chunks of meat from the bone.

Uncle Marius and Aunt Nestra stared at him, horrified, Harry belatedly realizing he had shown horrible table manners in not using the silverware besides his plate. Meanwhile Draco looked at him in a sort of awful disgust, two high spots of color on his cheeks, whether from the display or Harry’s taunts, Harry had no idea, but he couldn’t help but stare.

With his long eyelashes and delicate bone structure, the blush on Draco’s cheeks reminded Harry of how much Draco looked like a girl. Of how (and Harry wanted to choke on a turkey bone when he thought this, for the second time that day)…pretty the boy was.

Harry, annoyed at the thought, couldn’t help but lash out at Draco.

“You shouldn’t blush so much.” He sneered, feeling especially mean. “It makes you look like a girl. And with how weak you are, falling into the rosebush when I poked you, someone might question if you’re the Heir to the House of Malfoy or the Lady.” He continued, feeling superior.

And though Harry would not regret saying this, even with what was to come, the future him would wish he had been a bit more delicate in his choice of wording, because apparently calling Draco Abraxas Malfoy a girl was the straw that broke the dragon’s back.

Chapter Text

To say Draco had underestimated Aries Leviathan Black was a severe understatement. Draco had—well--he had very, very, very much so underestimated Black (for lack of a better word, as Draco was only eight and better words avoided him).

Aries Black had the appearance of a mangey dog, or a very poor and very stupid house elf. Draco knew this, because he had stupid house elves, and he had seen a mangey dog before in the Malfoy French villa, which was in France. The dog had been terribly skinny, his rib bones fully on display like a cage, as if they were struggling to force themselves out, and he a had a bitten off ear, along with big protruding eyes. He also foamed at the mouth. Draco’s mother said this was some sort of muggle disease the dog had, something that had turned him quite mad, and quite dangerous. Draco had thought of that dog when he first saw Aries.

He thought, this is a boy who’s hungry, maybe a bit mean, maybe a lot mad. But he hadn’t looked particularly smart, or particularly clever. Dogs weren’t very clever after all, especially dogs like the one he had saw in France who had been about to die. No, those dogs are simply desperate and delirious, and desperation and delirium are cause for stupidity, as Father always said.

But this Black was clever. And this Black was smart. And sure he may have looked like some homeless squib off the street but he was very far from stupid, and especially far from powerless.

Draco had thought--for a little bit at least--that he was getting somewhere. That he was charming the Black Heir and quite possibly making a new friend ally in the process. Of course, this was not true, and Draco quickly learned that the boy, though certainly not as clever as he, leaned toward clever, and very far from stupidity. This was not a Greg and Goyle type. He was a Blaise Zambini type, beholden to no one, and not feeling the need to pretended to be beholden to anyone, as most purebloods did.

It started with simple conversation. Aries had seem interested in what Draco had to say, and he replied in all the right parts, with all the right responses, which Draco had assumed meant he was--maybe not EAGER--but certainly looking to please. It was in this way that the Black had trapped him, into this false sense of security, at which point Draco recommended wizard’s chess, because—well--Draco was amazing at wizarding chess and wanted to show off.

Draco had been (as expected) trouncing the Black Heir, taking his knights and his rook and eventually his queen. Draco thinks it was the queen that did it. That and the smirk that had been unable to hide itself successfully.

Whatever it was, the board flew off all of sudden, all the way to the other side of the room, pieces clattering everywhere like the most sarcastic and biting rainfall. Draco had all but flew backwards distanced himself gracefully, in order not to get hurt. Not, of course, out of surprise, or especially fear. No, Draco had not been afraid at all. Just surprised. Especially at the mean look Black had been sporting, which he hadn’t bothered to hide at all. His teeth were bared, almost like he wanted to growl, and his eyes were black with fury.

Draco’s heartbeat fluctuated wildly like a trapped animal, banging against his chest to get out. The chessboard had surprised him, but Black’s feral look of wild hate made his throat choke up with fear. He hadn’t understood what happened, why the chessboard had flown across to the other side of the room for no reason, and if it had been magic well Draco would have a heard the words, unless it was unspoken, but an eight year old like Aries wasn’t capable of those things. In fact, the majority of people weren’t capable of unspoken magic, no matter what the age. He didn’t even have a wand for Merlin’s sake! How could he possibly be capable of wandless magic?

Unless…

Draco pushed the thought out of his head. No, no, no. A stupid little orphan brat like Black wouldn’t ever be capable of unspoken magic, especially if Draco wasn’t capable of it. He pushed the thought out of his head and instead tried to laugh the tension out of the room.

“That was strange.” He managed to say without stuttering, unable to meet eyes with Black. Stupid chicken coward little baby- “Maybe we should try something else?”

Black had stared at Draco violently for a few seconds, as if he was picturing all the different ways he could kill him, before the anger began to recede slowly and was replaced by something more sneaky…and troubling. Still, when Black talked about some game they could play in Nestra’s rose garden, Draco looked up in relief to see that the wild hatred in his eyes had gone, replaced with just a feral look in general.

The game ended hours later, with Draco being thoroughly humiliated, a mess, and late to dinner. Aries had been especially brutal in the rose garden, for being such a tiny thing, and Draco had gotten lost. He’d also ended up covered in thorns, with leaves caught in his hair and branches sticking to his polyester vest. He also might have cried out for help, which he would never admit to aloud. Ever.

And then he saw Aries.

“Took you long enough. You’re late to dinner.”

Aries didn’t care. His expression was almost bored. He’d left Draco with no way out of the rose garden, almost left him there the entire night, and now thought he could reprimand Draco for getting stuck there when it was HIS fault? Draco felt something like acid crawl up his throat, felt like a hornet’s nest was stuck in his head, driving him mad.

“What are you doing, Black? Having a laugh playing me stupid? Having a laugh leaving me for dead in the rose bushes? Having a laugh over me-!”

“Draco!” Uncle Marius cuts in, gasping. “My boy, what happened? You look a mess!”

‘You will not embarrass me, Draco.’

Lucius’ words pop up, unexpected, and Draco feels himself deflate. Etiquette, propriety, and grace. All that is expected from a future heir and none of which Draco is displaying right now. He takes a deep breath, and struggles to keep his voice level.

“The Black Heir and I were simply playing in your rose garden. I may have gotten a lost for a minute. No matter, I still enjoyed myself,” he replied, smiling politely.

On the inside however Draco gnashes his teeth together. I’m gonna kill that nasty liverwort pathetic excuse of a wizard parentless orphan scum-

Black bursts into laughter.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.” He says, in between laughter, and Draco is so confused it stops his train of thought. Black really is mad. “Anything for Sir Malloy the Prat.” He says dramatically, waving a turkey leg for emphasis, before sinking his teeth in and ripping out chunks of meat from the bone.

And Draco goes from confused to angry to disgusted, confused because there was nothing funny about what Draco just said, angry because Black purposefully mistakes his family’s name, and disgusted because Black really is an animal. There’s no other explanation for it. There’s no other explanation for all his wild outbursts and feral look about him because just looking at him eat you can see it. The way he sinks his teeth into the bone like he won’t ever eat after this, like he’s never eaten before this. The way he’s hunched over his plate protectively, like someone will try to take it from him. And he just tears and tears and tears, with his teeth and with his hands, like there isn’t a fork or knife next to him. And still the hunger doesn’t leave his eyes.

Draco feels like he’s gonna be sick.

Black notices.

“You shouldn’t blush so much.” He sneers, face mocking. “It makes you look like a girl. And with how weak you are, falling into the rosebush when I poked you, someone might question if you’re the Heir to the House of Malfoy or the Lady.”

‘You are the sole heir to the Malfoy and possibly Black line, yet you act like a little girl.’

And Draco burns. Burns burns burns. Feels the shame crawl up his face and leave a red hot trail even brighter than before. A flashing sign exclaiming ‘IM WEAK! You can push me around because you’re stronger than me and I’m nothing!’

A girl. Draco hates being called a girl. How many times has Millicent Bulstrode called him a girl, pushing him around like a rag doll when no one was looking? How many times has Blaise Zambini, to mock him for his sensitivity and tendency to cry easily? How many times has his father, whenever Draco has disappointed him?

The answer is too many times to count. But at least they were purebloods. At least they were people of equal or higher status to him. But now this thing-this house elf-this dog-wants to call Draco Abraxas Malfoy a girl? A boy who can’t eat properly, dress properly, or even talk properly?

Oh, no. Oh no no no no NO-

“Shut up.” He says quietly to his plate, before looking up at Black, feeling his anger rise quickly and quietly like hot air. “Shut UP.” He repeats, louder this time, voice shaking.

“What gives you the right to speak to me? What gives you the right to even look at me? Is it because you’re an heir? An heir to the house of Black?” Draco laughs. “I doubt it. You’re more a dog than you even are a person.” He sneers. “You eat like a dog and act like a dog—you can only be a dog.” Draco pauses, pretends to look thoughtful. “Well,” he drawls, or tries to, but his anger is choking and his words come out much more heated than casual, “your father is half mad and your mother killed herself instead of raising you so I can see why you act like it. I mean you’re so dirty, just looking at the way you eat is enough to make me wanna vomit-“

Black stands up so quickly he knocks his chair back and then yanks the tablecloth so hard food starts to spill over the table and plates start to shatter. A bowl of steaming soup falls into Draco’s lap and he screams bloody murder, the heat seeming to melt his skin. He falls off his chair in his haste to avoid more of the steaming liquid.

Meanwhile Black seems to be shaking with anger as he steps onto the table with ease. His eyes are blazing, hotter than the soup that just fell on his lap Draco suspects, and he looks ready to kill, as he kicks off one by one the plates and cutlery that didn’t fly off the first time, all on his way to Draco.

“You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead you are SOOO dead you poncy spoiled brat.” He growls out, jaw clenched. “You think I’m a dog? You think I’m an animal? You think I’m the reason my mother killed herself?” Black’s voice goes an octave higher on the last part, incredulous, before throwing his head back and laughing, not a nice laugh, but a hyena’s laugh right before the kill. “Maybe I should show you why she killed herself.” Black’s eyes glint in the light, and his lips are twisted in a ugly smile. “Maybe I should show you how much of an animal I really am-“

“Aries Leviathan Black!” Uncle Marius’ voice booms but Black is too far gone, his pupils blown wide, while Draco can only cower behind his chair cradling the hand that got burnt.

He stops right as he gets to Draco, towering above him on the table, back straight and twisted grin still in place, and Draco realizes that it wasn’t Black who was shaking, but the whole room that is shaking; shaking so hard that the picture frames crash to the ground and the chandelier makes an ugly sort of music.

“You’re dead.” Is the last the thing he says before leaping right at Draco.

The fight is nothing like Draco is used to.

Draco has gotten into fights before. He’s fought with Zambini once, over something Aamir said, but that was with ugly words. Same with Bulstrode, though it was over her calling him a girl. The nastiest fight he’s ever been with was with Aamir, who could be really mean when he wanted to. But he’s never gotten in a real physical fight. Sure Bulstrode knocked him out once, but that was just one punch.

When Black leaps on him, Draco knows going defensive will likely kill him. He claws and bites and does everything to hurt Aries back. They’re tangled together and Draco doesn’t know where Black begins and Draco ends. And thank Merlin for that because otherwise Black would be slaughtering him right now. They’re so close together Draco can feel Black’s breath on his face as he snarls and scratches at him. And then somehow Black manages to get his hand out far enough to knock it into Draco’s jaw so hard his head snaps back against the floor.

And Draco is seeing stars, there’s nothing but black and pinpricks of light and his breathing is shallow he can hear it echoing softly in his head until he can’t hear himself breathe at all, he can’t breathe at all, it’s so hard to breath and his head hurts so bad and-

And Black is raising his fist again (and is that Draco’s blood on his knuckles?) and that if anything forces Draco to become lucid again (there’s screaming in the background, he thinks it’s the squibs but something is holding them back, they’re pounding on the empty air in front of them as if there some sort of wall). Draco knees Black in the face, rolling out from under him, and immediately starts to run. He knows winning in a real fight with Black is impossible, so the only response left is to run.

Too soon Black is back on his feet again, gaining on Draco, despite being so bloody short. Draco runs into a random room nearby, hands shaking so bad he can barely lock it, just as Black crashes into it.

Black is banging on the door as loud as he can, trying to break it impossibly with his tiny bulk, and Draco can’t even stand anymore, his knees shaking so hard he can’t hold himself up, instead sliding down to the floor, hands on his ears to cover the horrible banshee sound of Black banging, screaming-

“LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN-!”

The screaming stops all of a sudden and Draco lets go of the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. His heart is racing and there’s something like ice in his belly, the deep cold he only ever feels when his father is about to punish him.

Draco always thought nothing would ever compare.

When Harry comes to he’s in his own room, and Uncle Marius is talking furiously to Aunt Nestra. That is, until he sees Harry.

“You!” He says, with more anger than he’s ever spoken to with Harry. “Are you a fool? Do you wish to waste away everything me and your Aunt Nestra have given you!”

“Marius-“ Nestra begins softly.

“We gave you a second chance at life!” He roars. “We took you away from those horrid muggles you called your family! We did all that, risking ourselves and our futures in the process, and this is how you repay us?”

Harry touches the back of his head and when he pulls his hand back he sees blood.

“Did you knock me out?” He asks distantly.

Marius strikes him across the face and Harry’s face snaps back. Aunt Nestra gasps.

“Get out.” The anger has left his eyes replaced by determination. His mouth is in a thin line. “I don’t want to see your face ever again. You play your little games and think nothing of the consequences. That is not what a Black Heir does. Perhaps the Malfoy boy will be better suited.”

Harry stares at his uncle in shock. Feels the cut on his lip before it even starts to bleed. “You can’t be serious. He’s a poncy brat who couldn’t even lead a dog on a leash!”

“I said ENOUGH.” Marius snaps. “Why are you even still here? I told you to leave already.”

“Uncle you can’t-“

“I am NOT your uncle. You lost that privilege when you attacked Draco Malfoy and ignored my command to stop. You’re nothing to me. You’re not suitable to be a person, let alone an heir. It was like you were half mad!”

Harry feels something like battery acid crawling up his throat. He can’t speak, for fear his words will come out broken. Uncle Marius can’t mean that, he can’t mean that Harry is nothing. They’re his new family, they care about him, he cares about them-

“Uncle Marius-“ he manages to call out, voice cracked, on the verge of crying. He has never felt this afraid, not even before Uncle Vernon would punish him; no nothing can compare to this fear of Uncle Marius and Aunt Nestra abandoning him, leaving him all alone- “Uncle Marius-“

“Do NOT call me that!” He booms, and Harry can’t help it anymore, he starts to cry, a full body wracking cry, his body heaving with every sob. His legs feel weak and he’s never felt so weak, so vulnerable—has never felt his smallness so acutely. He crawls towards Uncle Marius on his knees and clings to his leg, sobbing.

“Uncle M-Marius you can’t l-leave me! I’m so s-sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll never do it again, I s-swear! You have to believe me, you have to-!”

Uncle Marius tries to shake him off and Harry only clings tighter, begins to wail like a baby, and Nestra is crying as well, and Harry’s babbling, begging for forgiveness his words mashing together until he is unintelligible.

Marius raises a hand and Harry jumps back screaming, feels fear wrack down his spine like lightning, his hands raised in defense, an automatic reaction after year with the Dudley’s. “im sorry im sorry imsoryimsorryimsoryryimsorrysoryysoryy-“

But Marius hands only come down to gently cradle his face. His face is softer, twisted in pity. “My boy, my dear boy, it’s okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to get this angry I-“ He pauses, face twisted in agitation “I just wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation. I didn’t mean for you to--to become like this.”

But Harry only cries and jumps into Uncle Marius’ arms, clinging to him like a life raft.

“Shhh, shh. I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry. But you can’t ever do something like this again, alright? Or else I really will be forced to give you up.” He sighs deeply. “Who knows how far you’ve set us back. The Malfoy heir is likely already writing to his Daddy about you. You’ll have to fix this, Harry. If you can fix it all.”

Harry doesn’t care. Feels a calm settle deep in his bones as Marius holds him, feels his tears dry and weakness leave him, replaced instead by determination. He’ll do anything to stay with Uncle Marius and Aunt Nestra. Even if he has to put the fear of God into Draco about never talking about what he saw today.

Chapter Text

Draco doesn’t see Aries for days.

The squibs say that Aries is feeling unwell, that what occurred in the dining hall the other night was just an episode, that Aries is a little sick, that Aries has been sick for a while, that he’s prone to…outbursts.

And then, in quieter, more serious tones, they say it’s because Aries was raised by a cruel muggle caretaker, as his squib of a mother was often in a depressive state.

To be honest, the squibs say a lot of things.

But that doesn’t mean that Draco believes them.

Above all, the squibs tell him not to say anything to his father.

As if he would write to his father. What would he write?

‘Dear Father, the other night I sat down with the squibs for supper, and along with the mashed potatoes, turkey legs and beef stew, I had an scintillating conversation with the Black Heir in which he called me a ninny and then proceeded to try and kill me. I fear he loathes me and that I’ve severed all possibility of ever securing an alliance with my supposed cousin.’

No, Draco would have to be suicidal to write to his father about his stupendous failure.

So he writes to Aamir instead.

Aamir,

Many things have gone wrong this week. Frankly, I blame you. Had you made just a millimeter of more resistance to my not spending the summer with you, I’m quite sure I would not have to spend it with bloody squibs of all people, and their supposed lunatic of an Heir. He, at least, is not a squib. But I’m not quite sure if he’s human either. More likely, he’s a rabid dog in human suit, and a shabby suit at that. The boy looks like a house elf! His father’s in Azkaban and his mother is squib who decided death was more preferable than living with a son like Aries Leviathan Black. Pathetic, I say. I thought I’d show some pity to the little berk, but turns out he’s bloody mad! I swear that living in this house for just the week I’ve had more close calls with death than I’ve ever had anywhere else in the rest of my eight years. Worst of all, my Father wanted me to become friends with the git, but we hate each other so much that’s not likely to happen anytime soon. Like always, my father is right: I’m a giant baby that doesn’t deserve to be the Heir to the Malfoy name.

Sincerely,

Big Fat Failure Draco Abraxas Malfoy

To be honest, Draco might’ve laid it on a little too thick at the end, with his fishing for assurances that he’s NOT a big fat failure, but he thinks he’s written it well enough that Aamir won’t notice. Narcissa has always said he was a great with words.

After writing the letter, he gets his family’s owl to send the letter to the Shafiq residence, gives a big yawn, and decides it’s time to go to breakfast.

Aries has been gone so long that Draco has forgotten to watch out for him at the dining table, so Draco doesn’t notice him until it’s too late.

“Morning, Draco.” He says, trying to smile in a friendly way, but it comes off as a sneer instead.

Draco feels like he’s been hit with his Father’s switch, he’s so surprised.

I can’t believe I forgot he was alive.

The squibs smile awkwardly at him. “Aries will be joining us again. He’s recovered from his—er-- illness and is very much to the task of being your companion again!”

Draco wants to smile, he really does, but he’s only eight for Merlin’s sake, and Aries tried to kill him.

“Well, that’s very…lovely.”

Uncle Marius’ face becomes more pained at this, and Aries seems to-he seems to actually smile the bloody prat! As if he’s enjoying how much Draco seems to be suffering!

Breakfast is an awkward affair, filled with tense silence and stilted conversation. The only one who doesn’t seem to be affected is Aries, who is eating ravenously. When the squibs aren’t looking, he leers at Draco and manages to swallow down four biscuits at the same time.

Draco tries not to throw up.

Afterwards, when Draco’s finished with his pancakes, he stands up to dismiss himself.

“Than-“

“Thank you, Uncle Marius and Aunt Clytemnestra.” Aries interrupts, standing up as well, before doing something Draco most definitely does NOT expect: turning to the house elves and bowing (BOWING!). “And thank you, Sobsy, Toffer, and Tricky.”

Uncle Marius groans, head in his hands. Draco just gapes in shock. Worse, one of the house elves seem to blush.

“You don’t thank house elves!” Draco sputters.

Aries looks at him like he’s stupid. “They’re the ones who made the food.”

“Well of course, they’re supposed to cook the food! Just because they do something they’re supposed to do, doesn’t mean they should be thanked! It’s improper.

But Aries only sneers at him. “What about lying to my face and pretending to like me? I’d say that’s pretty improper.”

Draco feels his face heat up. He knew the whole time? “T-that’s different.” He stutters.

“Aries.” Uncle Marius says, a warning in his tone, and that seems to calm Aries down.

Aries drops the sneer, and takes up a more (falsely) apologetic face.

“You know what, you’re right. You’re right. That was improper of me. Let me take you for a walk around the Hamilton pools to make it up to you.” He says, expression and tone innocent.

But Draco knows better.

“I think I’d better n-“

“Splendid idea, Aries!” Marius booms. “Go out and catch the sun while you can!”

“Yes, Uncle.” Aries replies, grabbing Draco by the wrist and forcing him out the door.

“I’m sure we’ll have a marvelous time.”

Draco yanks his wrist from Aries tight grip the instant they’re out of the squibs sight.

“That hurts you idiot!” He hisses.

Aries rolls his eyes. “Not pretending now, huh?”

“Well obviously you don’t appreciate gestures of kindness.” Draco sniffs pompously.

“You call that kindness?” Aries asks incredulously. “All you did was brag about yourself and make me feel like I was some kind of toilet bowl.”

“I-I did not!”

“You’re a poncy prat and you don’t even know you’re a poncy prat!” Aries laughs. “Even at breakfast, with your little handkerchief on your lap, daintily cleaning your mouth, like a little princess-“

“Oh and what about you?” Draco sneers, interrupting him, not about to let Aries walk all over him. “Filthy halfblood, with your horrible table manners, eating like a dog who’s fighting for scraps-“

Aries hand is wrapped around Draco’s throat before he can finish his sentence.

“Don’t ever, EVER, call me a dog again.” He snarls, incisors as sharp as canines in the light, glinting like newly sharpened knives. “I’m not a dog, I don’t bark, I don’t heel, and I don’t follow ANYBODIES orders. I don’t roll over and if you ask me to jump, I’ll tear you to pieces and EAT whatever’s left. Do you understand?”

And Draco feels that fear again, bleeding into his heart, at the fury in Aries eyes; fury he can feel in the tiny grip around his neck, which squeezes more painfully than Draco ever imagined such a small boy of being capable of.

He shakes his head yes and Aries loosens his grips before pushing Draco to the ground.

“Good. Now we have to discuss other things. Like what you saw the other night.”

Draco is still coughing hard when he tries to stand up. “What?” He asks, before Aries pushes him down again.

“What in Merlin’s name-“

“Stay down.” Aries commands, voice saying it’s not open to discussion. He looms over Draco, sun beating down on his back, face covered in shadow. “Stay down and listen to me.”

And because Aries is bloody mad, Draco decides it’s safer to sit and listen to him.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone what you saw the other night, or how I act, or how I strange I am—you’re not gonna tell bloody anyone, especially not your father.”

And all Draco wants to do is laugh, or give a little hysterical little giggle (he thinks Aries madness is infecting him), because this is all anyone seems to care about in this bloody household, that Draco Abraxas Malfoy keep his mouth shut, because Draco Abraxas Malfoy, the epitome of failure, is actually right about something for once.

This boy is not an heir.

This boy might not even be a Black.

And Draco wants to ask his father ‘am I little girl now?’ He wants to ask Aries (if that’s even his real name) ‘am I useless ninny, now? Am I completely and utterly useless like the way you seem to look at me, like I’m some kind of baby, some kind of invalid?’

But Draco says none of this. Instead, he blurts, like some kind of stupid useless INVALID:

“You’re not the Heir?”

And worse he says it like a question, even though Draco’s almost 99.999% sure he’s right, even though he’s not asking anything really, even though it’s not a question but a statement of a fact-

“What was that?” Aries asks, face completely still, and when Draco looks back he’ll think he must have been bloody marmy, must have hit his head on a rock when Aries pushed him, because he actually thinks Aries is asking a question, that he wants Draco’s honest response—

So, like a broken record player (which is quite apt because after Draco responds Aries looks like he wants to break Draco’s face in), Draco repeats himself:

“You’re not the Heir!” Which comes out much more confident, no question of what he’s saying but a FACT, until he sees the storm clouds of Aries eyes, and that confidence falls away like rain going down a drainage pipe.

Aries grabs Draco by the collar of his shirt and drags him back onto ground, yanking his face down to his level.

His smile is vicious, and his blue eyes are still electric with lightning.

“I am the heir, Malfoy, and I can prove it to you.”

And Draco, realizing their positions, him being twice the size of Black, feels anger burn bright through his blood like fire. So he places his best sneer, and moves his face even closer to Black’s, not about to be cowed. “Oh really? And how’s that, half-blood? By slitting your wrists and showing me that we bleed the same blood?” He taunts.

But Black only flashes that eerie grin again, storm clouds still in his eyes. “No. By rearranging your face every day until you realize that I’m the ONLY Black Heir.”

And that makes Draco’s stomach drop, because he realizes Black is being serious, can tell by the mad glint in his eyes, the way he takes pleasure out of the words, like he would actually enjoy hurting Malfoy every day, which is COMPLETELY loony because who would enjoy torturing someone every. Single. Day?

Draco swallows hard, feels something like dread run down his spine when he realizes Black has noticed, his grin stretching even wider if possible.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” Draco snarls, but his voice is wobbly. “You can’t threaten me! You’re not my father! You’re a nobody! You can’t tell me to do anything.”

But Black only laughs at this, that ugly laugh of his that unsettles Draco, makes him feel unsteady. “Awww, ywour Daddy thweatens ywou?” He says in a mock sympathetic baby voice. “How very fatherly of him.” Black laughs again, eyes shining with a vicious glee. “You know, my father may be Sirius Black, barking mad and a killer to boot, but at least he’s never threatened me!”

Draco feels himself blush to the tips of his ears, blood hotter than a boiling tea kettle, and can only splutter in response. “I-I didn’t mean-He does-s-s-n’t-Y-you’re wrong-!“

And Draco wants to curse him, is burning in anger and humiliation and stupidity, wishes he wasn’t eight years old but eleven already, with a wand in his hand and spells on the tip of his tongue to blast Black into pieces. Wishes that he at least had more words, wishes he didn’t stutter around like a baby, thought he was over the stuttering, thought he was over the stuttering a long time ago, thought he was better than this-

And still Black is bloody laughing!

Draco’s blood burns, burns so hot that his hand is up and backhanding Black across the face before he even realizes it (the way he saw Lucius do it once to his mother, through a crack in the doorway), drawing blood, and Black is stunned to silence.

Draco hears a roaring in his ears, thinks whatever this boy is it doesn’t matter, because Lucius Malfoy is worse, so much worse. Images are burning through his brain of his father, displeased, angry, disappointed, a n g r y. He can almost feel the sting of a switch on the back of his knuckles. And there are other things, other darker things still that Draco doesn’t want to think about.

So, no, Draco’s not going to roll over for Aries. Draco has other people he already rolls over for.

“I don’t care WHO you are.” He snarls. “No one orders around a Malfoy.”

Except another Malfoy.

Draco lives in tyranny.

The tyrant? Aries Leviathan Black.

After back handing Aries, Black had promptly pushed him into the Hamilton Pools (not really pools per se, but rather a fancy name for their fountain), of which Draco nearly drowned in. He walked back to the manor sopping wet and very angry.

And then the fear set in.

It was one thing to act brave in front of Black’s words. It was another thing completely to act brave when he went completely barking and tried to kill him.

As such, Draco decided it was wisest to stay in his room for the rest of his stay at the squibs manor. He was paralyzed with fear, paranoia, and an endless need to pace back and forth picturing all the ways Black could torture him.

But that only worked for so long before he had to eat, or the squibs called him down because they were ‘worried’ about his health.

Because his health would do so much better around Aries.

Of course.

Being around Aries is the worst. He likes to play these games, these little mind games that leave Draco in grudging awe. They’re the types of games his father likes to play, giving you whiplash until you can’t tell the difference between praise or a criticism. Whether he’s angry at you or pleased.

These are the types of games Aries likes to play. He likes to act like he’s about to hurt Draco, that he’s really very angry with Draco, before laughing and pretending it’s a joke, and then getting angry again.

It’s all very bad for Draco’s heart and almost makes Black actually hurting him a relief.

Almost.

The first time, they’re playing this muggle game called cricket. It’s stupid and makes no sense, a serious waste of energy, but worst of all Aries has to be the one to hit the stick, whatever it’s called. Black says the point of the game is to hit the person in the middle of the field. He says that gets you a ‘home run.’ Draco thinks its bloody mad. Who would willingly play such an awful game?

Suffice to say, Black gets two home runs before Draco is running from him, Black chasing after him full speed with the stick that looks like a bloody paddle for Merlin’s sake (it’s bloody bollocks, no way is a paddle being used in a children’s game). Stupidly, Draco runs into the squibs rose garden again, getting lost for a second time. He manages to find his way out around late in the afternoon, two bruises blooming on his arm.

Black also has a thing for insects. Draco doesn’t know how he does this, but he somehow manages to get into Draco’s room with slugworts (a hideous combination of slugs and liverworts) and leave them in Draco’s bed. Suffice to say, Draco woke up when a slugwort starting crawling up his nose, and another into his ear. Draco vomited twice that morning: once out of disgust and the second just to make sure no slugworts were in his stomach.

The other time with insects was at a picnic Aries had packed. Black had said he was very sorry about the way he had treated Draco and that he wasn’t as weak as he had thought, so he had hoped to call a truce. Draco hadn’t believed a word of it of course, because he doesn’t have feathers for brains, but it was one of those games like his father’s that Draco so recognized. Say no, and Black would go barking mad. So Draco had gone, wondered what Aries game was, couldn’t figure it out, and then Aries offered him a sandwich, and Draco couldn’t find a reason to refuse it, and so he bit into it, and then spat out a bunch of earthworms. Draco threw up twice that day as well.

Both times out of disgust.

Black also had a habit of throwing Draco into things. Mainly pools of water. Black had already thrown him into the Hamilton fountain, but he’d also pushed him into the Guinevere Duck Pond, the squibs decorative lake, and a ditch that the squibs had dug up for some muggle reason (‘bad pipes’ they had claimed, whatever that meant).

Draco could feel the last of his resistance cracking. Black wasn’t even close to stopping. The more Draco resisted, the harder Black seemed to push, the more he seemed to enjoy himself. Draco felt the last of his resistance cracking and he couldn’t help it:

He penned a letter to his mother.

Dear mother,

All is well in the squibs household. In fact, I think things are going far better than originally planned. I have the heir (if he is a heir as you so claim) wrapped around my finger and we are the best of friends (well, he enjoys my company, much more than I enjoy his if I’m to be honest). I’m like a big brother to the poor boy, you must understand, me being much more mature and experienced in the wizarding world. I swear he natters on endlessly with questions to me as if I’m Merlin or something (which, who knows?, maybe isn’t far off). Either way, I find the boy’s clinginess utterly tiring and wish to come home, as it is obvious that I no longer require the full stay to align myself with the heir. Please let father know immediately, as I might suffocate with having to share the air with such a devoted admirer.

Sincerely,

Your Dragon

(NOT your little dragon)

Draco waits anxiously the following days for his mother’s response, hoping to Merlin and Morgana that Narcissa fell for his lies.

My little dragon, she starts, and Draco nearly screams with anger.

I never doubted you for a second! I knew you would do fabulously with such big stakes on the line! That being said, I’m sure I heard somewhere about the Black heir being quite…unagreeable? I know this is not likely the case, but are you sure he’s not just pretending to like you? I think it would be safer to use up the rest of your stay there, just in case, though this does not mean I don’t believe you in any way!

Please write again soon,

Your Loving Mother

Draco tears up the letter in his fury and decides he will not write again to his mother, not throughout the rest of his stay with the squibs. It infuriates him at how stupid she thinks him to be, to think he would actually trust that his mother actually believes in his abilities, when it’s so obvious that she doesn’t.

Draco spends a couple of days depressed after the owl, before getting one from Aamir. He’s very quick to open it as well, considering he’s had no contact with the pureblood world for weeks now.

Dear Draco,

Please do not call yourself a failure. You are most certainly not one. In fact, you are one of the brightest wizards I know. I’m sure when we go to Hogwarts that you’ll be the King of Slytherin, and everyone, even that Black heir you so speak of, will have to bow down to you. Also, I know for a fact that you are not fat, as I've carried you before, and still do, on a couple occasions.

Draco blushes hard at this, already knowing what comes next, and wishing to Merlin Aamir won’t bring it up, but he does.

Remember when we used to play bride and groom, and your mother would take pictures of us, me in my little suit and you in the dress your mother made, and you would beg me to carry you everywhere? Or the last time you were at my house, and you pretended to fall asleep on my bed, so I would carry you back to the guest room? In fact, the latter is a frequent event, and I can tell you for a fact that you weigh less than Alex’s monstrosity of a dog Cujo.

I’m sorry about not fighting more for our trip to France, and I’m sorry that you feel that the situation you’re in now is my fault. I really was looking forward to it. But once we get our wands I promise you that the both of us will hex this so called dog of yours together. Or if you want, I can hit him with one of the dark curses my father taught me.

Sincerely,

Your Best Friend Aamir

Draco wants to be angry at the letter, one for being so late, two for being so obviously suck up, and three for even daring to mention Draco’s crossdressing days, but he really can’t find the will to do such a thing. Instead, Draco feels viciously pleased and smug, and rather like a cat that’s just been filled with cream. He ends up re reading the letter, one, two, seven times in total. Each time he reads it it’s like a confidence booster. He obsesses over the compliments and feels his ego start to inflate.

Aamir is right. Draco is far above this false pureblood in every way possible. In a couple of years he’ll be the King of Slytherin and the berk will probably be in Hufflepuff.

(Various images burn through Draco’s brain of Black this summer and he cringes. Well, maybe not Hufflepuff but he definitely won’t be any King of Slytherin.)

Draco feels something warm surge through him and he realizes it’s his pride coming back to him. Pride he never even knew he lost. He feels his lips stretching, and he realizes he’s smiling, for the first time in weeks. He thinks of the false truce Black tried to trick him with earlier in the summer. Why not a real one? Black will never like Draco, let alone trust him, but he would trust that Draco stay true to a truce, if only out of fear (fear that is definitely NON-existent).

Maybe the rest of the summer won’t be so bad after all.

Harry should know it right?

Harry should know how to break a person. He’s been broken every day of his life, with words, with small pinches here and there, smacks on the head, a wire whipping against his back. Harry has seen it happen, has felt it happen, slowly.

Harry should know how to break a person, because he used to be the person being broken. He should know now because broken is all he knows. Now Harry is Aries, Potter is Black, and he is the one doing the breaking. He breaks plates and words and house elves with his restless energy.

Draco Abraxas Malfoy is porcelain. His skin is porcelain, with fine china doll eyes, eyes the color of the softest (prettiest) metal. So why hasn’t he broken yet? Why isn’t he in shards around Harry’s feet?

Time is slipping through his fingers like the sand in Dudley’s sandbox. Every day that passes and Draco Abraxas Malfoy isn’t in pieces is another day in which Harry is close to losing it all, in which Harry is just one step closer to going back to the Dursleys. Because if Draco goes back unbroken, pretty mouth still intact, he’ll spill everything. He’ll spill everything to his father like the poncy little Daddy’s boy he is and Aries will become Harry again. No inheritance. No Heir to the Illustrious House of Black.

Just an Heir to Ruin.

And Harry would rather die than become that.

Draco wakes up early. He doesn’t want to get cornered by Aries as he usually does or forced into doing something he doesn’t want to do. He figures it’s best to catch Black off guard, get his thoughts out first before Black can twist them into something that suits him.

So he decides to wait in the broom closest by the staircase. When he hears Black coming down for breakfast (right on time), he sticks his hand out and grabs Aries, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him.

There’s only a weak light above them, but Black still blinks a couple times as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He yanks his wrist from Draco’s grasp and sneers.

“What’s your sodding problem, Malfoy?”

Draco, as usual, feels his eyes nervously look away from Black’s. His fingers twitch and he wonders why he’s so afraid, as this is something that will please Aries, not make him angry.

“I’m here to offer a truce.” He replies, perfectly, which is a given considering how many times he practiced saying it in the mirror, smoothing out the stutters into graceful Malfoy speech.

Black raises an eyebrow at his words, mouth going crooked at the corners. Still, there’s something off in his eyes, something jittery, that struggles to keep eye contact with Draco, which is strange because Black never struggles to keep eye contact with Draco that’s more Draco’s forte.

“Really? You’re here to offer me a sandwich full of earthworms?”

And though Draco bristles at the very obvious allusion to their past truce, he can’t help but notice the strained quality to Black’s voice.

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “I’m here to—uh---here to—” Draco can’t help it, his sentences turn fractured just as his mind currently is. He came ready for an arrogant Black, eyes intense and full of anger, superiority in his very movements, looking at Draco as a bug to squash, but Black is off. His eyes slide every which way, frantic like, and he seems to shift every so often, like he’s ready to leave at any moment. His anxiousness infects Draco, makes him anxious as well, makes him sound like a complete ninny-

“If you forgot how to speak in long sentences, I’m leaving now.” Black snaps. “I don’t have time to stand here and wait for your brain to start working.”

Draco feels like he’s been dunked in cold water. No. Not yet—you can’t leave y- “Wait-!”

But Black is stuck. He’s yanking on the door handle but it won’t open. And he’s still in the closet with Draco. Draco gives a sigh of relief.

But it doesn’t last long.

Draco watches Aries, his back to him. He’s still for a moment, light casting dark shadows around him, and he’s breathing hard. Draco clears his throat, makes to say something-

“What’s wrong with the door?”

Black’s voice is quiet, but pulled thin, tight, like the strings in the Malfoy piano, and voice no where near as beautiful. Draco’s next words slip through his fingers again, as easily as water. He loses his train of thought at the question, forgets what his next move was going to be.

“Uh-I d-don’t-“ Draco pauses, closes his eyes in anger at his broken speech, and takes a deep breath, trying to breathe the right words back into himself.

Malfoy. You’re a Malfoy. You’re part of the Sacred 28.

“It’s locked. The house elves must have locked it. It’s no big deal though we can-“

And Draco jumps back at the noise that is Aries Leviathan Black trying to rip open the door handle, hands working more furiously than before, so furiously that everything in the closet starts to rattle like a snake’s tail in warning of danger. Aries starts banging on the door and immediately Draco’s mind flashes back to his first day here, Black rattling his door, irises blown wide as if possessed, screaming-

‘LET ME IN LET ME IN LET ME IN’

Draco feels his hands start to tremble. Looks at a back that is small but burns with violence, and wonders what’s gonna happen when it finally turns to him, and not the door.

Merlin and Morgan get it TOGETHER, Draco.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut. Holds his trembling hands still. Takes a deep breath.

He’s just a boy, Draco. He’s just a boy like you.

Draco opens his eyes. He takes another deep breathe, to fix the words on his tongue that are broken.

“Hey.” Draco says, words strained, but at least he’s not stuttering. “Hey calm down the door-“

“You don’t understand.” Black cuts in. He’s not looking at Draco. He’s still looking at the door, lost, eyes full of wild panic, the way an animal’s eyes might look when a forest is burning. ”You don’t understand I can’t- I can’t be in here I can’t-“

Draco doesn’t understand what’s going on. This is a closet, he thinks, not a forest fire. There’s no need to run. But for some reason, Black is still trying to.

Warily he takes small steps towards Black. He tries to place a hand on Black’s shoulder. “Hey-“

Black rears back into one of the shelves and old polished crystal crashes to the floor like falling stars, light fracturing every which way in their destruction.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me. I’ll break every single one of your fingers if you try that again.” Black snarls, teeth bared, but his heart’s not in it. His eyes stray every which way, frantic and anxious like. “You don’t understand—I have to get out. I have to—I can’t breathe in here. Can’t—”

Black is babbling, his head in his hands, and Draco can feel something else pouring into the closet with them. Something that makes Draco’s skin crawl. But Draco gets it now, gets that the mighty Black heir who called Draco a spoilt poncy, a little girl, a wet nappie, is afraid of small spaces. And yet he dared call Draco a weakling? Called Draco a Nancy?

Draco feels something like cream fatten in him (it’s smugness, he knows), feels something like the beginnings of a smirk, until Black suddenly goes bloody mad. More fragile objects are leaping off the shelves and crashing into the floor, and Harry is shaking as hard as every one of them.

And then he starts to scream.

It’s the rawest sort of sound, like Black’s vocal cords have been torn out, like his skin has been peeled away to show his bloody heart. It makes Draco clamp up in fear, ice in his veins, at the absolute terror in Black’s voice. He wants to say something but he can’t, couldn’t work his mouth open if he tried, couldn’t do anything if he tried-

Draco’s thoughts are interrupted by a cracking sound. A cracking sound that Draco recognizes because he used to have a dog named Ulysses and Ulysses would always chew on bones and—and—the sound is Aries. The sound of bones cracking is his face breaking, shifting, bones moving under his skin like the different gears in a clock and now Draco really doesn’t know what’s going on, feels sick, thinks he’s gonna faint if he has to keep staring at the way Black’s face is shifting around like clay in a person’s hands, until it finally stops, and now Black is tanner, and his hair is messier, and his eyes are—

Green. Not Blue. Not like Sirius Black. Not a Black at all-

But Draco can’t really focus on the game changing revelation in front of him because Black is still screaming that awful scream, and now the tar like substance above him is moving, crashing into more shelves, shattering more glass, glass that explodes much too near to his face, much too near to him, period, and Draco needs to do something, do something now-

He tackles Black to the ground.

He sees his chance when he realizes that it isn’t necessarily Black that is breaking things, but the inky cloud above him, which he controls (??), and without thinking Draco’s forcing Black to the ground, trying to pin his arms back, stop whatever kind of control he has, or at least try to calm him down.

“Black stop it!” He screams above the fray. “Stop it! There’s nothing here! You need to calm down—you need to—” Draco hiccups “—stop s-scaring me!”

But Aries—whoever he is—isn’t stopping, is still struggling, screaming, is completely possessed with fear and Draco’s mind is going a faster than Marko Vulković, a Croatian seeker for the Wimbleton Wasps, fastest in his time, and still still Draco can not think of anything, cannot think of anything to stop Aries, to calm him down, to soothe-

And then Draco gets it, feels the thought zing through him like lightning hitting his brain. A lullaby, like mother used to sing to me when I was scared, when I was scared because Lucius-

Draco knows. Draco knows the lullaby like he knows the names of the Sacred 28. It’s engrained in him, has saved him from countless nightmares, and if this lullaby doesn’t work, if it doesn’t do anything, Draco fears he’s out of ideas. He’s stuck here until this—this thing kills him or kills the non-heir.

So he begins to sing.

Entendez-vous dans la plaine (Do you hear in the plain)

Ce bruit venant jusqu’à nous? (A noise reaching us?)

On dirait un bruit de chaîne (It seems the noise of a chain)

Se traînant sur les cailloux (Dragging itself over pebbles)

Quelle est cette voix démente (What is this demented voice)

Qui traverse nos volets ? (Piercing through our shutters?)

Non ce n’est pas la tourmente (No, t’is not a storm)

Qui joue avec les galets (Playing with the pebbles)

C’est le grand Lustukru qui gronde (T’is tall Lustukru growling)

Qui gronde et bientôt rira (Growling and soon will laugh)

En ramassant à la ronde (Rounding up and picking up)

Tous les petits gars (All the little boys)

Qui ne dorment pas (Who do not hush up)

Qui donc gémit de la sorte (Who is moaning this way)

Dans l’enclos, tout près d’ici ? (In the enclosure nearby)

Faudra-t-il donc que je sorte (Will I have to go out)

Pour voir qui soupire ainsi ? (To see who is sighing thus?)

C’est le grand Lustukru qui pleure (T’is tall Lustukru who weeps)

Il a faim et mangera (He is hungry and will eat)

Crus, tout vifs, sans pain ni beurre (Raw, alive, without bread or butter)

Tous les petits gars (All the little boys)

Qui ne dorment pas (Who are not asleep)

Allez-vous en méchant homme (Go away bad man)

Quérir ailleurs vos repas! (Get your meals elsewhere!)

Puisqu‘ils font leur petit somme (Since he naps)

Non vous n’aurez pas (No you will not kidnap)

Mes deux petits gars… (My precious little boy)

Draco at first is hesitant, his voice weak against the destruction of the closet, but as he keeps singing he feels himself relax, unconsciously lets his voice body take over, and his mouth only moves because it’s been conditioned to. He feels himself settle, feel calmer, his voice sweeter. Without thinking he begins to run his fingers through Black’s hair, just as his mother would do to him, and make small shushing sounds. The black ink above their heads seems to settle as well, not noticeably at first, but after a while the closet stops shaking and the tar like substance seems only to float above their heads.

“Ca va, ça va.” He whispers, then remembers he’s still speaking in French. Black’s head is buried in his dress shirt, and Draco can feel him trembling still. Somehow during the exchange Aries wrapped his arms around Draco, and clings to him like a log in the middle of the ocean.

Draco remembers how his mother’s heartbeat would calm him, and decides to try it with Aries as well. “It’s okay,” he repeats, this time in English. “Do you hear it, my heart?” Draco moves his hand and puts it right above the Black’s heart. “Because I can feel yours. It’s jumping underneath my hand like a silly horse.” He teases.

Aries doesn’t say anything, but his trembling lessens, and Draco thinks he hears a small laugh.

“Yes, you hear it right?” Draco continues, somewhat eagerly. “It means I’m still alive and you are too. There’s no fire in the closet. No danger. You hear my heart, yeah? Going so fast? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Not as long as our hearts beat together like this, you understand?”

And the tar like smoke is falling now, slipping into crevices and disappearing, and Draco feels like a winner, like success stuffed into an eight year old’s body, because the danger is gone, because Black is lifting his head, because Black is giving him this half embarrassed smile—

And Draco freezes. Because it’s not Black. Because it’s not Aries. Because in between all the destruction and the singing he forget he held a complete stranger in his arms, a fake, an imposter, a green eyed liar—

Bla—the stranger—raises his hand towards Draco, a strange expression on his face, and Draco jumps back so hard he crashes into the shelf behind him.

The faux heir freezes, hand in mid-air, and his open expression melts away like acid eating away at plastic until it turns cold again.

Bloody hell, Malfoy, he thinks to himself. Why did you flinch?

And Draco wants to make it better, say he’s not scared of the faux heir (not by much anyway), that the flinch was just an automatic reaction, that Draco is just a bloody chicken, really, when he sees the lightning shared scar above his forehead and stupidly blurts out:

“You’re Harry Potter!”

The second Harry stepped into the closet he felt like a Potter again. He felt weak. He felt small. He felt scared.

And when he found out the door was locked, he couldn’t breathe. He felt his lungs collapsing on themselves, could barely open his mouth to speak. Anger, shame, fear. He felt it like poison surrounding his heart. And he felt that poison leave his heart, leave his body, and float like oil above his head. The feeling of it, as it ripped out of him, was like a thousand knives sliding through his throat all at once. He felt himself, still whole, and wondered how he hadn’t shattered into a million pieces. He couldn’t see anything or hear anything. He was drowning in the sensation of his body trying to rip itself apart.

Then all of a sudden he was being knocked down. He felt that. Felt the pain in his elbow as he hit the shelf behind him, the cold of the tile floor. And then a voice, sweet and foreign, singing. The feeling of another body wrapped around him, warm and soft. The sensation of fingers running through his hair, gentle.

He thought at first, mother?

But then Harry remembered he didn’t have a mother. That she was dead. That no one had ever been so gentle with him. That the hands he knew only touched him with violence. He thought to himself ‘this is what a mothers touch would feel like-if I had a mother. This is what love would feel like-if anybody had ever loved me.’

Harry felt something melt inside him like butter. Or maybe it was the black ice around his heart. His throat stopped hurting. His body settled back into its wholeness. He could finally breathe again without screaming. And still the song drifted like clearest stream. And still the arms held him, ran fingers through his hair.

Draco. It’s Draco. The thought came to him slowly, like when you just wake up. He felt something pleasantly warm bloom in the pit of his stomach. And then Draco speaks.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Do you hear it, my heart?” Draco moves his hand and puts it right above Harry’s heart. “Because I can feel yours. It’s jumping underneath my hand like a silly horse.”

Draco’s voice is lilting, teasing. Sweet in a way it’s never been before. Harry can’t help but laugh a little, feel the shaking in his hands begin to settle. Draco’s heart is beating fast, almost as fast as his, but it settles him, the sound of another person besides him. Still, he keeps his head buried in Draco’s shirt, and subtly breathes him in.

He smells like something citrus-y. Crisp and refreshing, like lemons, but also the smell of fall, of yellow and orange leaves, pine needles and cool air.

He smells like heaven.

Harry takes another large sniff, burrowing deeper into Draco’s arms, but it’s not enough. He wants to go higher, wants to burrow his face in Draco’s neck, wants to rub his face against Draco’s cheek, wants to taste-

“Yes, you hear it right?” Draco continues, somewhat eagerly. “It means I’m still alive and you are too. There’s no fire in the closet. No danger. You hear my heart, yeah? Going so fast? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Not as long as our hearts beat together like this, you understand?”

How gentle, Harry can’t help but think in awed surprise, his voice can be. How honest and open his words are, when he means them. He’s not the spoilt brat, or the Daddy’s boy. He’s not the show off. Right now, he just is, without smoke and mirrors, and without others words spilling from his mouth. And how sweet he is, talking to Harry like that, somewhat shy and unsure, and yet still eager to please, saying ‘our hearts beat together, together, together-‘

Harry lifts his head from Draco’s shirt and makes an attempt to smile, but it feels odd, slightly embarrassed or shy. Somehow, Draco’s gentleness has affected him, because he suddenly feels as if he could be gentle as well, feels bared in a way he’s never been before. He raises his hand, almost unconsciously, feels a burning need to know if Draco is as soft as his words, a burning need to touch, when Draco’s facial expression suddenly changes from tender to fearful and he jumps back so hard he crashes into the shelf behind him.

Harry freezes, feels his hand dangle uselessly in mid-air, as he watches a myriad of emotions flash across Draco’s face, an ugly mix of surprise, fear, anger, disgust.

And Harry feels so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Draco’s is afraid of him, hates him, only said all those things so that he wouldn’t have his final moments in a closet all alone with Harry, because in reality Harry makes him sick, and it shows so plainly on his face, how Malfoy feels about him. Because Harry is unlovable. And how could he forget that? Forget that he inspires fear, and hatred and violence, but never love, never tenderness, never anything that isn’t ugly and mean and cold and thick and tragic like an oil spill. He is a carcinogen, cancerous, toxic and deadly.

Because how can you love something more powerful than you? How can you love something that is all edges, that can hurt you at the drop of a hat? How can you love something as pathetic as Harry, whose parents are dead, and whose only family hated him?

How exactly does that work?

And the answer to that is it doesn’t. It doesn’t work, clearly.

Where there was something warm blossoming in his heart, Harry feels like he’s been dumped in cold water. Feels that warmth extinguished like a candle against the smallest wind. And he thinks good riddance, good riddance to that stupid warmth. What does he need it for, if he’ll only get hurt because of it? If it’ll make him weak to the likes of sodding Draco Malfoy, it’s obviously a bad thing.

And while Harry feels himself closing up again, feels himself wrap an even tighter chain across his heart, feels his face stiffen, become mean again, Draco Malfoy says the most stupidest fucking thing.

He says Harry’s name.

“You’re Harry Potter!” He blurts out, almost like he didn’t meant to, and this time Harry freezes for a completely different reason. He looks at his hand and it is darker, more like himself, less like Aries. And sure enough, his hair is curlier, his vision slightly worse, and how didn’t he notice before? What exactly happened for him to turn back into his old self? Was it being stuck in the closet? Was it the choking fear? Maybe the fear was the trigger, made him go back?

A million questions race across Harry’s mind but he ignores them all for the situation at hand. This is more important. Harry Potter is supposed to be gone. Is supposed to have vanished. I have to make sure, now or never, that Draco will be silent.

Harry cocks his head to the side, smiles crookedly, but it is a dangerous smile.

“Who am I?” He asks quietly.

“You’re-“ and this time Draco is slower to answer, has uncertainty written all over his face, seems to be catching on the type of game they’re playing. “You’re no one.”

“Who?” He asks again, as if he didn’t quite hear Draco’s response, when really he just wants a firmer answer.

“You’re n-no one.” He replies again, voice shaky, head lowered in embarrassment as his words break, but Harry can only stare at the tops of his ears, which are a bright pink.

And Harry realizes he needs something more than his fists, more than his violence, to keep Draco quiet. It hasn’t worked in anything that Harry has tried this summer, and it won’t work now. He needs to scare Draco, yes, but not flashily so. He needs the promise of violence, the shadow of a bigger threat. Draco only yields to authority, to people of power, so Harry needs to show his.

Harry feels something cruel begin to stir from the bottom of his stomach. He feels something burn pleasantly when Harry catches Draco’s eye, and he looks away again, cheeks burning.

“Do you wanna know why my eyes are green, Draco?” He says, still smiling, but in an ugly way.

“W-why are your eyes green, Ha-Aries?”

A lock of painfully blonde hair falls across Draco’s face, and without thinking, Harry reaches out to tuck it behind Draco’s ear. Draco flinches, and Harry has to count to five in his head before he is able to speak again, without sounding angry, or breaking something. Still, he leaves his hand on Draco’s cheek, feels the skin there like the softest silk, traces his jaw with his thumb.

Soft, he thinks somewhat in a daze, just like I thought.

“My eyes are green,” he answers, more focused on exploring Draco’s face, than on his actual words, “because when Voldemort-“ Draco flinches again, and Harry looks away from his bow shaped lips, which say nothing, to his eyes, that scream ‘you shouldn’t say his name,’ and continues “-because when Voldemort tried to kill me, I stopped him.”

“Liar.” Draco whispers, like he doesn’t mean to, and Harry’s hand which had been running through Draco’s hair, fingers combing through the strands as straight as hay, stills, and this time there is no way to stop the anger from bubbling to the surface, no way to stop Harry from grabbing Draco by the hair and pulling.

“I don’t lie.” He whispers fiercely in reply, feeling something hot and mean crawl through his blood like an army of fire ants. He runs his hand from the bottom of Draco’s chin all the way up to his eyes, and forcefully shuts them closed. “He tried to kill me with Avada Kedavra and I absorbed it. With my eyes.” He lies boldly, recalling the what Marius told him, about the spell and its color.

Harry releases his thumbs from Draco’s eyelid, and stokes the space underneath instead, Draco’s eyelashes brushing against his thumb. This time Draco doesn’t look away from Harry, doesn’t try to hide the fear in his eyes that shine as bright as neon lights.

“That’s impossible. No survives Avada Kedavra. It’s the Killing Curse.”

“But I did.” Harry croons, placing his forehead against Draco’s, closing his eyes. He slides his cheek across Draco’s, whispers in his ear. “I did I did I did.”

Harry drops his hand from Draco’s face, and slides it down to his neck. He stares at the milky white expanse, and has the inexplicably strong urge to bite. Absently, he strokes the skin there, and then lowers his mouth to scrape his teeth gently across Draco’s neck. Testing. Testing he doesn’t know what, only wanting to soothe the ache in his teeth that suddenly throbs.

Draco whimpers, and Harry stills at the sound, feels a vicious kind of pleasure crawl up his spine. He laughs.

“Awww, Draco it’s okay. It’s okay.” He croons, in a ugly mockery of Draco’s pretty words. “Do you hear my heart? Because I can feel yours.” Harry moves his hand to place it on top of Draco’s heart, feels it banging hard against his chest. “It’s jumping underneath my hand like a stupid horse!” He laughs, then moves his mouth to whisper in Draco’s ear. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. Not as long as our hearts beat together.” He taunts, smile still cruelly in place, but on the inside burning, feeling like he’s being torn apart, wondering how he could have fallen for such stupid words, wonders how hard Draco must have been laughing in his head having Harry on.

“It’s unfortunate, then,” he sighs dramatically, “that if you stare into my eyes your heart will stop beating.” And Harry feels Draco stiffen underneath his hand, thinks gotcha, thinks ding ding ding we got a winner, chicken dinner, Draco Malfoy fell for the stupidest lie of all lies.

“Yeah, you heard right. My eyes can kill. My poor Mum, she was stupid enough to look at me right after Voldemort zapped me. Fell right dead on the spot. Then I got taken in by my other family, killed them too on the doorstep of their house. Killed my cousin Dudley, fat little piggy that he was.” Harry gave a full on grin. “Though I don’t regret that one.”

Draco, in all of this, still hasn’t said anything, is still like death, quiet as church mouse.

“Do you not believe me?” Harry whispers against his ear, wants to bite that too, feels his attention wandering again, but holds himself back. “Uncle Marius finally found me, gave me a home, new eyes. He taught me how to control the green ones. Now, I can control who I want to kill. Now I can choose with a single look.”

Harry moves his head away abruptly, only to find that Draco’s eyes are shut closed. He can’t help it, he laughs. “Hey, maybe I can practice with you! Let’s have a staring contest and see how long it takes for the killing curse to strike! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Harry places both hands on Draco’s face and tries to force his eyes open with his thumbs but Draco grabs Harry by the wrists and starts pushing his arms away.

“Stop it, Aries!”

Draco is struggling underneath him, trying to slip away like a worm but Harry won’t let him.

“Stop being a baby, Draco!”

Harry manages to get his thumbs back on Draco’s eyes but Draco is clawing at him and trying to buck him off so it’s hard to keep steady.

“Aries, please please please don’t.” And this time Draco’s tone is desperate. “Don’t hurt me,” he whispers, voice high and vulnerable, like someone before a roller coaster drop. “I’ll do anything.”

And those words. Those words. ‘I’ll do anything.’ They should be a sin coming from Draco’s mouth, because they feel like sin. Or like the Dursleys always said: temptation. They feel like the devil’s temptation. Those words are like a drug in Harry’s veins, make him dizzy with power. Such a brat he was. Such a snooty little brat, calling him names, making ugly faces at him, even daring to lay a hand on him. And now look at Draco, weak, and scared, and begging-

Line hook and sinker. “You want me to stop?” All teasing is gone from Harry’s voice, he goes serious, voice hard and mean. “If you want me to stop, you have to promise me never to say anything, to anyone. I’m the Black Heir, and I’m the only Black Heir, do you hear me? That means you don’t run your mouth to your mates, or your best mate, or your girlfriend, or your mum or your precious little daddy. You don’t talk to anyone, ever, about me. Or I’ll do the same thing to you that I did to my mum, and trust me when I say it’s gonna be much easier. Do you understand?”

Draco is still struggling beneath him, not paying attention, and Harry shakes him.

“Do you understand?”

Draco shakes his head yes, and as soon as Harry lets go of him, Draco is jumping away from him, back against the door, trying to create as much distance as possible between them. Draco is trembling, and at first Harry thinks it’s in anger, is preparing himself for some kind of revenge, but then Draco looks up at him and Harry realizes, slightly surprised, that Draco is crying.

Tears are spilling down his cheeks and Draco Malfoy is sobbing, lean body shaking like a willow tree in the wind. Harry stares in mute shock, feels a little sick with himself, at how much he’s crying, at the lashes wet with tears, thinks to himself, how can he be so beautiful, still, even crying?

And then Draco speaks.

“I hate you.” He says, plain as day, words so poisonous Harry can't help but flinch. “I hate how you twisted my words. I hate how you made them ugly. I hate how you’ve treated me this summer. I hate that I thought we could be f-friends.” Draco’s face is like an open wound. Harry can see everything, see every hurt. “I hate that I wanted to be your friend. I hate that-“ and here Draco seems to choke on his words, like it’s hurting him to speak, and more tears fall, before he roughly brushes them away with his fists. “I hate that I was trying to help you in here, that I s-s-s-“ Draco struggles to speak out the word, his face pinched in frustration, before he abruptly bites down on his tongue. When he speaks again, there’s blood in his mouth. “I hate that I sang to you, because it was nothing to you. Because you’re disgusting. You’re a horrible person and you think it’s funny to hurt me and you think everything is a joke but it hurts. All of it. And I’ll never forgive you.” Draco’s words are a fierce promise, eyes glinting in the light, still glassy with unshed tears. Even broken, like this, even in pieces as he is, he acts like he hasn't lost. Like Harry is below him. “I’ll never forgive the absolute shite you pulled with me. You’re a piece of trash, whoever you are. You aren’t fit to live.”

Draco turns around, and miraculously, the door opens.

Harry can only stare dumbly as he walks away, a heavy ache in his chest, something like lead settling heavy down in his belly, something like regret.

Chapter Text

To: Lucius Malfoy and Kin

You are cordially invited to the 11^th birthday of Aries Leviathan Black, Heir to the Illustrious House of Black. We wish to take this time to formally introduce Mr. Black into proper society and celebrate his acceptance into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hosted by Marius and Clytemnestra Black

Wednesday July 26^th

Devonshire Manor

“Mother I’m not gonna go! You can’t make me. I’ll kill myself first!” Draco whines dramatically, collapsing on his four poster bed.

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy! You are going and it is final. Aren’t you excited to finally see your cousin again? Weren’t you two on very good terms when you left?” Narcissa asks, eyebrows cinched in confusion.

Draco buries his face into his silk pillow so that his mother doesn’t have to see him cringe. The summer Draco spent with the squibs is one he has been trying his best to forget even happened. And mostly, he has succeeded. It’s been three years since then and Draco rarely thinks of Harry, if ever. After the incident in the closet, Harry had stopped bothering him, and even seemed to try to make amends, but Draco was done. Draco was done playing Harry’s stupid games, done second guessing his every gesture or action, done with Harry completely. When his mother had come to pick him up, Draco had almost sobbed in relief. He had missed her so much, had missed not being alone.

The moment Draco returned to Malfoy Manor, he fibbed his heart out. He bragged on and on about what a wonderful Heir Black was, how so very pureblood and respectful, how he and Black were the best of mates, and that his entire summer had been simply wonderful. Above all, he made no mention of how mad Black was, how powerful Black was, and how Black was not Black at all but rather a Potter: The Boy Who Lived.

His parents had been upset of course. His father, very much so. But they seem satisfied that he had done his part, and had at the very least acquired an alliance.

Which was total and utter crockpot. Draco hadn’t acquired anything that summer, let alone an alliance. The most he’d acquired was a hatred for green eyes and a de-evolution into a complete and utter ninny.

“Of course we’re on good terms, mother.” Draco lied into his pillow. “Perhaps, too good terms.” He sighed dramatically. “Aries was horribly clingy, and I’d rather not go through that again.”

Narcissa rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Draco, why must you always be so dramatic? As much as I dislike the fact,” Narcissa said, lips thinned, “Aries is family. As proven by the blood test conducted by the ministry.” She added bitterly.

Draco, for his part, could still not wrap his head around that. How Potter had managed to fool a ministry blood test into thinking he was the son of Sirius Black was far beyond him. Perhaps those two squibs of his weren’t completely useless after all.

“But mother-“ Draco felt his throat start to close up, felt the begins of fear begin to stir deep in the pit of his stomach. She didn’t understand. And how could she, when he had been forced to lie to her? He hated Black for that summer, still dreamed of that closet, of a space that was pitch black save for the hundreds of green eyes watching him, killing him all at once, with words that didn’t even have to be spoken.

Avada Kedavra. How had Draco been stupid enough to fall for that? Simply how? Of course, he had been eight at the time, but he also knew that someone like Aamir or Zambini would have never fallen for it, not in a hundred years, no matter what the age. Eyes that held a killing curse? Draco would’ve been dead that first night at dinner, if that had truly been the case. And still Draco had fell for it, like the utter ninny he was.

“Enough is enough, Draco.” Narcissa’s voice was sharp, but above all, final. “You are eleven years old, already a young man. It is time you acted like it. You will go to this ball, whether you like it or not, and you will greet your cousin to wish him a happy birthday, whether you like it or not. Understood?”

Draco swallowed, felt ashamed at his tantrum, and nodded. “Yes, mother.” He replied quietly.

By the time the Malfoys arrived to the squibs house the party had already started and seemed to be at the peak of its festivities. Draco couldn’t help but gape at the priceless decorations, birds flying above them spun out of glass, certain tiles that changed color when you stepped on them, edible birthday candles in every flavor, flame included. The guest list was also impressive, and Draco couldn’t help but gawk at Blacks in attendance, many of them his direct family. There was Arcturus Sirius Black the third, his great grandfather, as well as an Order of Merlin recipient, first class. There was Pollux Black, his brother, who had run once for Minister of Magic, only to lose by a thread. And there was-

“Abraxas Malfoy. What is your father doing here, dear?”

Lucius Malfoy only scowled. “Trying to get his greedy gnarled hands into the boy, I suppose, even if Regina was a disappointment to him.” Lucius sniffed pompously. “How shameless my father is, really, pretending to hear about this boy for the first time, when I’m sure Regina informed him of his existence a long time ago. I guess things are different when one turns out to be a Black Heir.”

Draco could only barely hold back from rolling his eyes at his father’s hypocrisy. As if they came here to actually celebrate a birthday party, and not to tear every other person into pieces. He was just beginning to tune out his parents conversation when his grandfather stopped by.

“Why,” he drawled, in that trademarked Malfoy way, “fancy seeing you here, Lucius.”

Lucius gave a thin smile in reply. “Hello to you too, father.”

There was a tense moment of silence as the two stared at each other, and the atmosphere seemed more fitting for a meeting of adversaries than a greeting between a father and a son. If Abraxas hadn’t visited one tragic Christmas, Draco definitely wouldn’t have known from the way the two looked at each other that they were family.

Abraxas eyes shifted to look at Draco himself, but as usual, he looked away just as quick, as if whatever he had seen was not worth his time. Draco would’ve been offended if he hadn’t been used to it already. Instead he just felt the sharp sting of shame like always, in knowing that Abraxas Malfoy held a certain standard to people he acknowledged, and that Draco had fallen quite short of that standard.

“Hello, Drake. Always a pleasure.” Abraxas spoke out carelessly, the words loose in his mouth, not sharp and ready as they always were for his son.

Draco ground his teeth together, knowing his grandfather hadn’t misspoken his name on purpose, that he truly couldn’t be bothered to remember it, and that just made the whole thing worse. At least if he had done it on purpose, that would indicate some sort of interest on Abraxas part, evidence that Abraxas felt some sort of way about him that he even cared enough to bother Draco, even if the feeling in question was negative. This was just proof that when it came to Draco, Abraxas Malfoy held no sort of feeling at all. He could absolutely care less. Draco in his eyes was not a threat nor a blessing. Draco Malfoy was nothing at all.

Draco could tell his father was thoroughly incensed, and before he could begin to natter endlessly to grandfather Abraxas for the millionth time about ‘remembering his own bloody grandson’s name,’ Draco intervened.

He smiled pleasantly at his grandfather, not letting on at how irritated he was. “Yes, Abraxas. Pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he continued politely, “I’m going to wish the Black Heir a happy birthday.”

Narcissa Malfoy made a sound like there was a dead bird in her mouth. Lucius’ face went from irritated to severely displeased.

“He is not the Heir yet, Draco.” He said sharply. “I swear for you to hand over your inheritance so submissively, it makes me sick. It’s like you don’t have a single bone in your body.”

Draco’s face felt frozen stiff, his polite smile now turning awkward. It was one thing for his father to berate him at home, when they were alone; it was another completely for him to embarrass Draco in front of his grandfather, who was practically a stranger to them. He felt his cheeks turning pink, felt his throat closing up. He opened his mouth to say something and-

Don’t stutter don’t stutter don’t you DARE stutter-

“Father,” he replied with a calm he didn’t feel, “I was only joking. And after all,” he drawled, “it’s only polite.”

Instead of reassuring his father, Draco’s reply only seemed to anger him further. But before he could lash out, Draco’s mother intervened.

“Yes, Draco, that is a very fine idea.”  She replied quickly, with an emphasis on fine, before glaring at Lucius. “You go on now, Draco. And remember this is your cousin. Whom you love very much.”

Draco struggled not to roll his eyes. Cousin? Love? First of all, Harry Potter was in no way related to Draco, and if he was, it was certainly not first cousins. Second of all, Love? Was she serious? Was Draco supposed to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ all over Black? Like he didn’t almost kill him? Like he didn’t make eight year old Draco’s summer a living hell?

As if.

It wasn’t like Draco was even going to see Harry in the first place. That was just an excuse to find Aamir.

Draco made his way through the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. There were the Notts, with their long and severe faces. Theodore Nott, who had stuffed a bullfrog down his trousers last time he visited the Manor. There was the Zambini’s, in which case there were only two, Blaise and his mother, and all his mother’s adoring sycophants. There were the Greengrasses, Daphne, who Draco had been chasing this whole summer, and Astoria (who had been chasing him this whole summer, the little brat). There was Crabbe and Goyle, for all respects brothers with their matching hulking physiques and grim faces. There was Pansy Parkinson, snooty little bint, but still his friend after all. There was-

Shafiq!

Draco caught sight of tan skin and the smell of incense, and knew he was close. There was Nasir Shafiq, Aamir’s father, looking as grim as always, beard as long as always. There was Jamila Shafiq, Aamir’s mother, smoky eyes and caramel skin, looking like she was about to devour something or someone, like always. Then there was-

Alex Shafiq?

Draco felt confused, scanned the crowd by the Shafiq’s again, but found no sign of Aamir, only his older half-blood brother Alex.

Alex? What’s he doing here?

Draco hesitated for a moment, before stepping determinedly towards Alex. He greeted Nasir and Jamila, giving the usual courtesies. Nasir looked away in disinterest after he was done but Jamila only smiled knowingly.

“Aamir would be so pleased, to see you looking for him like a lost puppy.”

Draco felt something unpleasant tingle at the back of his neck at her words, didn’t know really what she was trying to imply, so he didn’t bother to respond, instead turning to face Alex.

“Hello, Alex.” He started stiffly, not on very good terms with Aamir’s brother to even feign friendliness.

Alex replied with a crooked, sarcastic smile. “Hello, poncy git.”

Draco’s jaw twitched, and he remembered why he never bothered to be polite with Aamir’s brother. Besides the fact that he was a half-blood, he was also a bloody prick.

“Listen.” He said, dropping all pretense of politeness. “Have you seen Aamir?”

“You mean my fuckwit of a brother?” Alex said, in plain hearing distance of Jamila and Nasir. He smiled sarcastically again. “No, I can’t say I’ve seen the tosser, thank god.”

Jamila’s eyes were full on fire as she glared at Alex, starting to walk over only to be stopped by Nasir, who laid a hand on her arm. They seemed to bicker as Draco stood there and wondered how Alex hadn’t melted into a puddle at his feet with the heat of Jamila’s stare.

Draco curled his lip. “You’re disgusting, you know that?” Alex’s face shadowed and he opened his mouth, no doubt about to make some cutting remark, but Draco stopped him. “And no, it’s not just cause you’re a half-blood. You’re bloody sixteen, Alex, and Aamir’s only eleven but you give him so much shit. Does it make you feel good? Cutting down someone that’s almost half your age?”

Alex’s face lost its mocking cruelty and instead was replaced with a cold look, lips locked in a bitter line.

Draco scoffed and turned away, but before he could take even one step Alex grabbed him by the arm. Draco was about to yell at him to let go but his anger drained away at the serious expression on Alex’s face.

“Hey, about Aamir…” Alex looked hesitant, his eyes flicking to sides before looking back at Draco. His mouth settled into a determined line. “You know he’s not a good person right? If I were you…I’d stop being friends with him.”

Draco stared at Alex, gob smacked, thinking at all the things Alex had been about to say, the last thing he expected was for him to say that. Draco yanked his arm from Alex’s grasp.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thank you very much.” He replied sharply, turning away on the heel of his foot. Draco felt himself fume. Who does Alex take me for, huh? A bloody crup, wagging its tail for anything that even comes its way? Daft as a bush?

“Bloody twat.” He muttered under breath, still searching the crowd for signs of Aamir. He catches him by legless de le crue, talking to Mrs. Zambini of all people. He walks up to them, feeling himself settle back into full polite mode again.

“Hello, Mrs. Zambini,” he greets her pleasantly.

Mrs. Zambini turns her attention from Aamir to Draco, smiling teasingly. “How many times have I told you, Draco dear, just call me Lena. Mrs. Zambini is so stuffy.” She sighs dramatically. “It makes me feel all wrinkled and old.” Draco barely keeps from rolling his eyes (the last thing Magdalena has to worry about is looking wrinkly and old) and Lena’s eyes sharpen. Draco feels the atmosphere change into something more…charged. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you by the manor. You know you’re always welcomed, right?”

And now Draco’s smile goes stiff, because he knew Mrs. Zambini would bring this up, knew she would notice that Draco didn’t visit the Zambini household as much as he used to, didn’t visit Blaise as much as he used to, knew she would want some sort of explanation that Draco was unable to give.

“Of course, Lena. I know that. It’s just that…certain circumstances have come up and I’ve found myself busy of late.”

Lena raises a glass of wine to her lips and makes an interesting hmm sound before taking a sip. “Certain circumstances you say?” She asks, dark eyes glittering, but she’s not looking at Draco, instead staring coolly at Aamir instead, who only gives her an innocent smile in reply. Draco on the other hand feels anxiety begin to gnaw at him at her knowing stare, wondering if she already knows what happened between the three of them last summer.

But instead of inferring as such, Lena simply gives a winning smile before turning her attention back to Draco. “Well, whatever the circumstances, Draco dear, you’re always welcome at the Zambini Household. I know it doesn’t look like it, but Blaise is simply heartbroken that you don’t come over anymore.”

Draco looks over the crowd to see Blaise laughing with Theodore Nott, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Draco gives a tight smile.

“You’re right about one thing, Mrs. Zambini. He certainly doesn’t look the part.”

Mrs. Zambini only sighs sadly in reply. “It’s Lena, Draco. Call me Lena.”

“Well that was bloody awkward.” Aamir says as they turn back into the crowd.

Draco only sighs. “It wouldn’t have to be if you had only apologized.” He mutters under his breath.

That stops Aamir dead in his tracks. “Apologized?” he echoes in disbelief. “After all this time you still think I did it?”

Draco hesitates as he recognizes the dangerous line he’s treading. Aamir is usually very laidback, and very quick with a smile, but when he’s angry you can recognize it straight away. It’s a subtle type of anger, like most things with Aamir are subtle, and you hear it before you see it. It comes in the tone of his voice, that takes on a charged tension like lightning before a hard storm. Draco hears it now, a warning to watch his words. Still, it’s annoying, and above all patronizing.

“Don’t be stupid, Aamir.” He snaps. “If I thought you had done it I wouldn’t be speaking to you right now. Whatever happened to Blaise’s…” Draco trails off, feeling sick at the memory, before taking a deep breath and soldiering on. “Well, whatever happened it was sick and definitely not human. I know it couldn’t have been you. But still, all Blaise wanted was an apology. If you had only sucked up your pride and given it-“

There something ugly in Aamir’s coal dark eyes, but it’s gone so quick Draco’s certain he’s imagined it. Instead, the expression on Aamir’s face is grudging acceptance. “You’re right. It was stupid. I should’ve just said sorry so we could all be friends again. I know how important-“ Aamir makes a weird face at this “-how important Blaise is to you. I could’ve fixed it and I didn’t.” Aamir sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Draco feels his heart warm, can’t possibly stay irritated at Aamir when he makes that stupid kicked puppy dog face, so he decides to go easy on him.

Draco pokes Aamir’s side. “Idiot,” he says fondly. “You don’t have to say sorry to me.” He wavers a second before adding: “Either way, I don’t understand how Blaise could’ve blamed you. You weren’t even on the list of things that I thought could’ve done it. But for Blaise you were the first blame. I thought he had gone barking.” Draco laughs, before grabbing Aamir’s hand, placing them palm to palm. He stares at the contrast, his colorless complexion against the burnt bronze of Aamir’s, before remembering what he was going to say.

“I mean you’re hands are so soft,” Draco mocks in an gruff old man voice, “you’re more a lady than a lord. These hands could hardly lift a brick, let alone kill an animal.”

Aamir laughs, not one of his polite laughs but a real one, and Draco feels himself preen. Aamir’s eyes when he opens them are soft, their slight russet color more obvious in the light. Feeling like he’s on a roll, Draco keeps up the gag, grabbing Aamir’s hand and placing it on his neck.

“Such small hands, my lady, can’t even wrap around my tiny neck.” He taunts. “How could they possible wrap around the neck of a beast?”

And though Aamir is still smiling, he doesn’t laugh. He’s just staring at Draco, the slight russet in his eyes going dark again, and Draco feels uncomfortable, feels something prickle at the back of his neck, feels Aamir’s hand, once still, now sliding up his neck to his cheek, slowly, and Draco’s remembering something else, someone else, someone else’s hand who traced his face so intimately, and Draco feels his heart start to pick up, feels it begin to batter against his chest, feels like he can’t breathe-

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Shafiq and his girlfriend.”

Draco jerks back from Aamir’s touch like he’s been burned, and Aamir’s hand is gone as quickly as it came.

Aamir smiles politely at Millicent, completely unfazed. “Bulstrode.”

Draco, on the other hand, is out of sorts. Luckily he can feel his heart start to settle, and is well enough to hit Bulstrode back with a sneer.

“Hello, Bullfrog. It looks like you’ve somehow managed to become uglier since the last time I saw you. How does one manage that, I wonder? Did your father hit you with a stinging hex to the face this time?”

Millicent colors dreadfully—and therefore delightfully. Draco can’t help but feel a vicious sort of glee as she splutters back a response.

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You stun me with your wit.”

Bulstrode’s eyes get a brutal sort of gleam. “I can stun you with my fists if that’s what you like.”

Draco laughs nervously, and shares a look with Aamir.

Bloody barking.

“I doubt a squat little thing like you could even reach me, Bulstrode, let alone hit me.”

Millicent just smiles maliciously. “It didn’t stop me from knocking your lights out last time, though, did it Draco? In fact, as I recall you cried like a bloody girl to your Ma.”

Draco feels his face color. How long are people gonna keep bringing that up for?

“Frog-face, darling,” he says pleasantly, with a calm he doesn’t feel, as Millicent’s jaw tightens,  “just because I’m prettier than you that doesn’t mean I’m a girl, ok? Just like you being uglier than a rat’s arse doesn’t make you a b-“

Millicent’s swinging her first before Draco can finish his sentence and he jumps back so fast he crashes straight into Aamir, who steadies him, before catching Bullfrog’s fist with his hand.

“That’s enough, Milly. You know Draco’s all bark and no bite.”

Millicent has her lips set in a snarl, eyes burning, but the effect is slightly ruined by the wobble in her voice as she speaks.

“Yeah? Well next time keep your girlfriend on a better leash, Shafiq, if you don’t anyone to mess up that poncy little face of hers.”

Draco is fuming, wants to launch himself at her and yell that he’s fought the Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and that he’s not afraid of a some stupid little girl, but Aamir is holding him back. As soon as she’s lost in the crowd, Aamir lets go of him, and Draco turns sharply on his heel to hit Aamir with both hands to the chest.

“The bloody hell was that, ‘Draco’s all bark and no bite.’” Draco mimics dramatically. He glares at Aamir. “What? You think I’m a bloody girl too?”

Aamir only gives a tired sigh. “Draco, I was just trying to get her to stop.”

“Well, maybe you should punched her stupid lights out if you wanted to help!”

“Draco, come on, she’s a girl.”

“Only barely!”

Aamir rolls his eyes. “Well maybe next time you should punch her.”

Draco feels annoyance crawl up his spine at Aamir’s obliviousness. “You know I can’t. I’m not fat like her. I don’t have chubby fists to throw around.” Draco sighs dramatically. “No matter how much I eat, the weight never stays on.” Draco sneaks a sideway glance at Aamir and scowls. Though Draco is slightly taller, Aamir has more bulk on him. “You wouldn’t understand.” He mutters bitterly.

Aamir looks slightly bemused. “Wouldn’t understand what?”

“Nothing!” Draco snaps. “Anyway,” Draco bulldozes, changing the subject, “why are we wandering around like a couple of idiots?”

Aamir raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one wandering, I’m only following you.”

“Well, that makes you the bigger idiot then.” Draco sniffs pompously. “For following me around blindly.”

“Maybe we should go greet the birthday boy, then? I still haven’t seen him.”

Draco stiffens at Aamir’s words, pictures green eyes in a cramped closet, a thousand unspoken curses.

“I don’t want to see him.” Draco replies coldly. Ever.

Aamir’s eyes go blank and Draco knows Aamir is thinking, is thinking and feeling and isn’t going to show Draco any of it, because he is trying to plan his next words carefully, gently.

“That summer you spent with him…we never really talked about it afterwards.”

Aamir’s voice is toneless, almost as if he doesn’t care one way or the other, but Draco knows he only does this to keep from setting him off. Any implication in his words or voice could cause Draco to completely lose it, or never speak a word about the matter.

Sneaky, tricky, Aamir. Too bad Draco doesn’t fall for it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Draco snaps. “And I wouldn’t have to talk about it if you hadn’t completely bailed on me that summer you tosser.”

Draco can tell he’s irritating Aamir again, but before he can open his mouth to give a cutting reply, Theodore Nott interrupts them. Along with Blaise.

“Aamir!” He says brightly, smirk on his face. “Been looking for you, mate.” Aamir smiles politely in response, but it’s stiff with the residual anger from fighting with Draco. Theo’s eyes slide to Draco’s and he loses the smile, lips curving downward. “Malfoy.” He acknowledges with a curt nod.

“Nott.” Draco replies sarcastically, and then because Draco’s weak and stupid his eyes slide over to Blaise, who is hanging behind Theo with a sullen look on his face.

Aamir finally seems to really smile, loses that irritated clench in his jaw, when he catches sight of him. “ ‘lo, Blaise. Long time no see.”

Draco stares at Aamir, puzzled. Even when the three of them we’re on good terms with each other, Blaise and Aamir never seemed to mix well. Draco was probably the only thing to connect them. And after what happened, well, considering they weren’t chums to begin with, you can only imagine how they were after. But Aamir has a real smile on his face—sort of—its genuine that’s for sure, but Draco can see something else in it, something not quite nice, the kind of smile Aamir gives Draco when they play a game, and he wins. Something like that—and yet meaner.

For a second, there’s a flash of red hot anger in Blaise’s eyes, before it slips back into sullenness. Blaise curls his lip in a sneer. “Not long enough.” He ignores Draco completely. Draco tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but given the annoyed look Aamir sends his way (Really?), he doesn’t do a good job of it.

Theo, oblivious to the tension, cuts in. His eyes are gleaming and when he speaks his voice is excited.

“Have you see him? The Black Heir?”

Draco stiffens. Aamir must be particularly cross because he says-

“No but Draco here spent an entire summer with him,” and his voice is perfectly neutral, almost, but there is a bitterness at the edges, peeling and ugly.

Nott turns his attention to Draco almost reluctantly. He looks unimpressed. “Fancy that must have been interesting,” he drawls, voice snotty and arrogant, “the ex-Heir and the real one. Daddy Malfoy must’ve been reallllly upset, his son losing yet again. This time a fortune.” Theo smiles wide, all teeth. Draco wants to rip it off his face.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nott.” Draco sneers. “I’m still the Heir to my own house. I’m still Heir to a fortune larger than yours will ever be.”

“Ah, yes,” and this time Nott’s smile is taunting, smug like the cat who got the cream, like he knows something Draco doesn’t, “future Lord Malfoy. Or is it lady? Blaise told me something very interesting today, maybe you’d like to hear?”

And Blaise, who has been up to this point ignoring the conversation, suddenly snaps to attention. His voice, when he speaks, holds a warning.

“Theo. Don’t.”

But Nott isn’t listening, has his eyes fixed on Draco’s, leer still in place. And it feels like something slimy is crawling down Draco’s shirt, that superior look plastered on Nott’s face, letting Draco know that whatever it is Theo knows, Draco’s not going to like it.

But Draco is good at hiding his weakness with false confidence, so he only smirks. “Finally asked you to be his boyfriend, did he now? And you accepted?”

Nott’s smile wavers for a second in anger before being fixed back in place. “No.” He replies tightly. “Blaise told me-“

“Theo stop-“

“Will you shut up?” Nott snaps, turning his head to meet Blaise’s. They are stare at each other for a few beats, before Nott speaks again. “I thought you weren’t friends with him anymore. Earlier, you called him a arsehole. Don’t tell me you still care?”

Draco feels like he’s been dumped in cold water. Arsehole? Really? Is that what Blaise thought of him? Without meaning to, Draco’s eyes slide over to Blaise’s, full of hurt.

They stare at each other for a moment before Blaise pointedly looks away, and Draco feels like an utter pillock, looking for all the world like a puppy that’s been kicked by its master, while Blaise obviously doesn’t feel anything at all.

Theo smiles brighter than before. “Did you know that Mrs. Zambini was going to offer your father a marriage proposal?”

Draco’s eyes flicker away from Blaise’s to Theo’s in surprise. Theo is obviously waiting for some sort of reaction, but Draco doesn’t really know what he’s feeling right now. Confusion, yes. Anger, not so much.

“Blaise’s mother wanted to marry my father?” He asks, slightly bewildered. “But my father isn’t a widow. My mother’s still alive you prat.” He scowls.

Nott’s smile breaks in irritation. “Not for your father you stupid berk, for you and Blaise!”

Draco’s face burns. “Do you think I’m stupid, Nott?” he snarls. “Do you think I’m bloody blind? Or are you just trying to take the piss? As much as you wish I was a girl, you bloody ponce, I’m still a boy.”

Nott’s face colors as well, an ugly pink staining his cheeks. “I don’t wish anything about you, Malfoy!” He snaps. “Zambini’s mum’s got a bit of divination in her, you know that, and what do you think she divined?” Theo doesn’t let Draco guess, just lets the words fly out like the nastiest hex. “An omega Malfoy, the first of its kind, in a family renowned for only giving birth to alpha sons.” This time when Theo smiles, it’s as large as the sun itself. “I wonder, how will Daddy Malfoy ever forgive you this time, for being an omega whore-“

Draco doesn’t use words this time. He flings himself at Theo, tackling him into the champagne table behind them, which collapses under their weight. He wraps his hands around Nott’s throat and thinks of the killing curse, of green eyes.

“Don’t you ever, EVER, call me an omega whore again.” Draco snarls, teeth inches away from Nott’s face. “Do I look like an omega? Does my hand, around your neck, feel like an omega’s? Does the way I’m killing you, slowly, taking the air straight from your lungs, painfully, is that something an omega can do?” He lowers his head to whisper in Theo’s ear. “Don’t say ugly lies you wish were true, stupid boy.”

That last part sets Nott off, and before Draco can get a firm grip on his balance, Theo has flipped them over and Draco has lost his hold on Theo’s neck. They’re a mess now, rolling all over the fallen table, Blaise and Aamir trying to get them off each other, yelling, telling them to stop, when one voice stands out above the rest.

“That’s enough.” The voice is sharp, commanding, and somehow louder than all the commotion in the room. “How disrespectful, to fight like babies at a social affair, especially when the affair is mine.”

And there is ice in Draco’s veins, pure ice, his blood frozen solid, is the only explanation for why he stops, feels like he can’t move, or breathe, how his heart feels like it could stop at any moment. Because he knows that voice. Recognizes it from a summer years ago. Remembers it in the worst of his dreams. He turns slowly, and sees his false face in all its glory, his blue eyes like storm clouds—still, the wrong eyes.

Aries Leviathan Black is slightly surprised when he sees him, Draco can tell by the way some of the anger on his face falls away, leaving a slight question mark, until realization leaves a pleased smile on his lips.

“Drake. You came.”

Chapter Text

The three years leading up to his formal introduction into society are spent in solitude. Marius and Nestra know he is too rough, too rude, too wild, to possibly make another introduction with anybody else.

The summer with Draco Malfoy is proof of that.

They need to make a more ‘people-friendly’ version of him. He spends most his days learning about pureblood culture, finer arts such as cursive and calligraphy, has dialect lessons to fix his rough speech, is told to practice smiling in the mirror. The rest of his days are real education, lessons in arithmetic and reading.

They tell him everything about his fake father, Sirius Black.

“He was a beater on the Gryffindor team.” They tell him. “A very mean position, but suited him perfectly. He loved playing pranks. Horrible child really. Hung half naked muggle girls on motorcycles in his room, almost gave Walburga a heart attack. Really liked the rub in the fact he was a disappointment to everyone. And he had so little to prove.” Marius sneers. “He wasn’t a squib, so he was already leagues ahead of me. Still, he couldn’t be bothered to do the bare minimum to say on the Black tapestry.”

Harry doesn’t care about any of this. “Why’s he in Azkaban?” He asks instead.

Marius pales, can’t seem to hold Harry’s stare for long. “For murder.” Is all he says. Doesn’t bother to say anything else.

They rarely talk about Harry’s real parents, only give him the vaguest details to work with. These are the ones he asks about constantly, only to be given the same ambiguous and repetitive facts.

Lily and James Potter. Both Gryffindor’s. Both members of the Order of Phoenix. Both died by Voldemort’s hand, Harry being the only survivor.

“You’re quite famous, you know.” Marius tells him one day out of the blue. “They call you the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry can’t help but scoff at this. “If I’m so famous, how come I never knew about it? How come I was stuck with the Dursleys all those years, treating me like I was their own personal house elf?” He sneers.

Marius grows angry at this as well. “It’s all that old bumbling fools fault.” He growls. “I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking, ceding guardianship to a bunch of muggles. Of course they would never understand your power. They are so narrow minded they refuse anything they can’t begin to comprehend. He should have sent you to us; we are still distantly related after all. Or at least someone in the Order of Phoenix. I know Remus Lupin, a close friend of theirs, fought for custody of you. Half blood though he may be, it’s still leagues better than a muggle.” Marius shakes his head in frustration. “Still, Dumbledore refused.”

There are so many people to hate. Marius and Nestra tell him not to, give him fancy lessons to behave properly, and politely, and with grace, but still Harry knows he will never lose that monster that howls inside him. He will never lose his hate.

So instead, he learns to hide it better. He hides it behind winning smiles, pretending it’s gone, all the while he nurtures it. Feeds it. At night he lies in his silk sheets and silk underclothes in a silk bed filled with golden goose feathers, but it does not change that fact that he is rough. Doesn’t change his hands that have the same texture as bark and his back that is imprinted with a belt and his feet that are as callused at canyons. He lies in his bed at night and thinks of all them, the people that feed his hate. Says their names like a prayer in his mind, he doesn’t dare forget them. The Dursleys, who made his life hell. Dumbledore, who allowed them to. Voldemort, who was the cause of it all.

Almost every night he dreams of them. Mostly the Dursleys, because he has no face to Voldemort or Dumbledore. He dreams of Vernon, and the night with his belt. The dreams are always the same. Vernon has no eyes. There are black holes where his eyes should be, and there’s an ugly smile on his lips; a twisted version of Vernon, as Vernon never smiled in such a way. Horrible person that he was, he didn’t enjoy hurting Harry, simply hated him. The Vernon in his dreams enjoys hurting him. Sometimes it will be him lashing Harry. Other times, the belt slides out of his hands like a snake, hisses and then strikes. He dreams of getting revenge on them all.

But mostly, he dreams about Draco Malfoy.

Do you know? Harry, after that terrible moment in the closet, rarely spent a day thinking about the Malfoy Heir. He didn’t dare. It would be weak. That moment of hurt regret, as Draco walked away, that was weakness. That feeling of having done wrong, of begging for forgiveness, of telling Draco he didn’t mean it; that was being soft. Being pathetic. There had been only one goal, and that had been getting Malfoy to shut up, not getting Malfoy to be his friend. And he had accomplished it. His face, his original face, disappeared as he calmed down, and there was no trace of the boy who had threatened Draco into submission. So yes, while he squashed down any thoughts of Draco during the day, and with time rarely thought of him, at night, when he dreamed, and had no control over what he dreamed, he dreamed of Draco.

Usually, Harry is in a closet. It’s the Dursley’s cupboard under the stairs. Vernon rattles the door, yells at him to get out, but Harry is too afraid. Can’t move, can hardly breathe. Feels his hands start to tremble, his body start to shake. And then the walls start to close in. And if Harry wasn’t breathing before, now his throat feels like it’s filled with cement, his lungs non-existent, and Harry is going to die, going to die die die die die-

Draco Malfoy does not know this but he saves Harry every night.

Because right when Harry is most sure he’s going to die, most sure that it’s the end for him, Draco always shows up. He appears, almost as if he was right along side Harry the whole time, and smiles gently.

“It’s okay.” He always whispers. Harry is in tears by then, rocking himself like a baby, almost in a state of shock, but Draco always breaks him out of it. “It’s okay,” he whispers again, gently cupping Harry’s face with his hands, his eyes as soft as the most tender rain when he looks at Harry. The kind of rain that lulls you into sleep. And then Draco starts to sing, his voice high and fragile, the rawest part of him, but so very beautiful. And Harry will stop shaking, and the walls will stop closing in, and he can breath again. With Draco’s arms wrapped around him, Harry buries his nose into the crook of his neck, and breathes, breathes that citrus smell that is sharp and clear and his fear falls away like the rain in Draco’s eyes.

He sometimes hates Draco the most for this weakness.

XXX

When Marius tells Harry it’s finally time for his introduction to Society, Harry’s the most excited he’s been in years. Finally he’ll be out of this self-imposed exile, finally he’ll be able to speak to people his own age, finally he’ll be able to speak to people, period, without Marius or Nestra saying he’s too blunt, or his jokes too dark, or his words too mean.

Finally.

“This is an important event, Aries.” Marius tells him seriously. “Everyone will be looking at you. Everyone will be hoping that you embarrass the House of Black, that you crash and burn and fall far below expectations. Already, with the lineage they think you have, you will be judged. To them, you are not pureblood, you are an outsider. You have not been in their circles since you were a baby. You are new. And your mother is a squib and your father is in Azkaban, and though both are pureblood, they are social outcasts.” Marius smiles grimly. “And you’re their son.”

“Remember all we taught you, Aries.” Nestra adds on, fussing over his tie. “And for Merlin’s sake, please don’t attack anyone with your fists or your…power. Use words if you must. It’s what separates us from the-“

“-animals. Yes, I know, Aunt Nestra.” Harry sighs dramatically. He gives them a pointed stare. “It’s been three years. I’m not the same boy who first came here. I’ve changed.”

Marius gives him an unflinching stares, looking deep into his eyes, and Harry wonders if he knows. About the hate he feeds like a fire. He can’t help but look away, hoping he doesn’t see.

Marius gives him a knowing look. “Maybe you’ve changed in some ways. But one can never change who they truly are, Harry.”

Harry stares at his shoes as the house elf shines them. He tries to change the subject.

“So who’s coming?”

Nestra replies, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Oh, you know the usual. All the Black clan of course, Arturus, Pollux. Loads of people from the Ministry. Everyone who’s somebody. The Notts, the Shafiqs, the Bulstrodes, the Malfoys-“

Harry’s heart skips a beat. “The Malfoys?” He cuts in. “Only senior? Or junior as well?”

Marius and Nestra share a look. When Nestra looks back at Harry, her eyebrows are furrowed. “Well, both, but if you don’t want Draco to come, considering your history-“

“No.” Harry replies, a little too quickly judging by the odd look Marius sends his way, and he mentally curses himself. Why is he making a fool of himself for somebody he loathes? Harry clears his throat and feels his thoughts settle, feels much more calm when he speaks. “No, it’s fine. I don’t particularly care about him either way. I was just curious.” He lies.

When Harry’s introduced later, to all the supposedly important people that have been invited, Harry can’t help but think he’s never been the center of so much envy before. All those faces, old and young, that stare at him like flowers toward the sun, and yet simultaneously like they want to tear him to pieces. It’s disconcerting on one hand.

It’s absolutely brilliant on the other.

Still, Harry gets bored of all the polite conversations and fake congratulations. He also gets very tired of the back handed comments.

“Such a wonderful young boy,” says one, a name Harry couldn’t be bothered to remember, “for such extenuating circumstances.”

Harry would be able to bear it, if it wasn’t the 100^th time he’d heard it, so he’s very blunt in replying.

“Yes, I did turn out wonderful considering my suicidal squib mother and murderous father, didn’t I?”

The person in turn begins to open and close their mouth like a fish, pale faced and obviously not expecting Harry to talk back so bluntly and rudely. Eventually however, their face pinches and they turn and walk away with a huff.

Inwardly, Harry reprimands himself.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Aries?” He mutters under his breath. Marius interrupts his inner sulking.

“Aries, there you are!” He booms as he always does, a large man with a larger voice. He lays a hand on Harry’s shoulder and starts to whisper in his ear. “It’s time for you to socialize with your friends. The sons and daughters of the Sacred 28. These are the children that will be going to school with you. It’d be best for you to start connections early.”

Harry nods, smiles vaguely, pretends as if Marius is saying nothing important. “And how do you suppose I gather them all at one place? And then keep their attention?”

“We’re about to sing happy birthday to you. Then you and the other children can go into a separate room so that you can open their gifts.”

This time Harry’s smile is genuine, if not a bit scary. “Why, I think that’s a wonderful idea, Uncle.” He says loudly.

“Go gather them to the table.” Marius adds under his breath, before disappearing.

And so that’s what Harry does. He’s flitting through the crowd with a pleasant smile letting others know they’re about to cut the cake when he hears it: the sound of a hundred champagne glasses shattering at once. There seems to be a fight going on between two boys his age.

Well, at least someone’s having fun, he thinks to himself forlornly. Maybe I can join…

He shakes the thought out of his head. The last thing he needs at his coming out party is a fight, least of all a fight including him.

“That’s enough.” Harry commands, as he enters their space. “How disrespectful, to fight like babies at a social affair, especially when the affair is mine.”

He doesn’t expect to recognize either of the boys, as he’s not recognized anyone all night, so imagine his surprise when one of the boys that looks up at him, with glass in his white blonde hair, and mercury colored eyes, is Draco Malfoy.

For a second all he can do is blink. And then Harry feels a smile crawl onto his lips.

“Drake.” He drawls, mispronouncing his name on purpose, feeling a dark stab of pleasure when Draco’s face turns even angrier. “You came.”

XXX

Draco’s fear turns to anger as Harry stands there, pompous and smug, and mispronounces Draco’s name on purpose. And then that anger turns into confusion, because Ha-Aries, looks incredibly different.

His dark hair is styled in a very lordly manner, and his clothes reflect his status as an Heir, but the biggest difference in him is physical. Aries Leviathan no longer looked like a starving animal. His eyes, once so big on his gaunt face, now fit in perfectly with rosy cheeks and a aristocratic nose. His suit seemed to fit him perfectly, and though he was still slightly shorter than Draco, he was most definitely not half his size, and he seemed wider set, while Draco was still very much lean.

Grudgingly, Draco had to admit to himself that Harry cast a very lordly appearance.

No longer looking like a starved dog, he wanted to sneer instead, but was smart enough not to say it out loud. It would be impolite as Harry’s guest, not to mention suicidal.

Harry’s eyes flicker over to Nott. His face, when he looks at him, seems apologetic. Draco almost chokes on air when he sees it because Harry is never apologetic. He’ s angry and mean and cruel and biting and scared but never sorry, for any of it. Even when he almost kills a person. Who is this person and what has he done with Harry Potter? Harry Potter, filthy mad and a rabid dog to boot?

“I’m sorry,” he says, as he reaches a hand to Theo, “has Drake bothered you in anyway?”

Draco startles at the words, then begins to seethe. “Have I bothered him? Have I bothered him?” And Draco, above all odds, is itching for another fight, no matter how improper, no matter how rude. Harry has not even once apologized for what he did to Draco in the broom closet, and now he thinks to mock him in such a manner? How dare he-

Aamir rests a hand on Draco’s clenched fist, murmurs in his ear.

“It’s not worth it. Remember yourself.”

And Draco, unclenching his jaw, does just that, missing the glance Harry throws at Aamir’s hand on his.

XXX

Harry was only teasing. He didn’t expect Draco to get as angry as he did, though he’d be lying if he said that a angry puffed up Draco isn’t a funny thing to see. Regardless, Harry helps the other boy up, and when he asks what happened, none of the boys give him an answer. Draco, with a fierce glare, seems to cow them into submission (can you believe that, princess Draco of all people?), and no one speaks. Harry’s curious about what happened, but not that curious, so he tells them they’re going to sing Happy Birthday soon and leads them to the cake.

The weirdest thing, however, besides the non-reply to Harry’s question, is the boy that seems to be Draco’s friend. Amy something, it sounded like, though he knows it’s definitely not Amy. Maybe Ambrose? Draco doesn’t seem like the type to have friends, with his nasty attitude, he seems more likely to have resigned acquaintances. Still, Harry can’t miss the way Amy or whatever seems to calm Draco down, or how Draco seems to drop the prissy attitude around him.

While Amy has a nonchalant air about him, a polite smile on his face as he talks to Draco, Draco seems to eat up his every word like an eager puppy.

Harry snorts, looking away from the pathetic scene. And he called me stupid looking? Just look at the face he’s making right now.

The other two, a Zabini and a Nott, seem to be alright. That is, until Nott begins to ask him a bunch of questions, one of which is “is it true your mother was a useless squib?,” and Harry asks in reply if he’s always been a bloody gossip. That shuts him up real quick and he doesn’t talk for the rest of their little walk together. Draco, meanwhile, can’t even bothered to wish Harry a happy birthday, or even walk with them for that matter, too busy giggling with his boyfriend to care.

“Are they always like that?” Harry asks Zabini, annoyed.

Zabini rolls his eyes. “Always. Draco likes to pretend he orders Aamir around, but Aamir has him wrapped around his little finger.”

Hearing Draco’s name, Nott jumps back into the conversation. “Aamir and Draco? Gross. Everyone knows there’s something off about them.” He drawls lazily, eyes sharp but words sharper. “Draco’s always sucking up to him, which wouldn’t be weird if he was actually important, ‘cause Draco sucks up to anyone whose important, but Aamir isn’t even an heir like the rest of us.”

Harry blinks, surprised. “He’s not?”

Nott laughs. “No way. It’s his older brother Alex. Caused quite the scandal when it came out, considering Alex is a half blood born out of wedlock. No pureblood worth his salt would ever name a child born of his lover, let alone muggle lover, his heir, but Nasir has always been…soft. Or so my father says.” Nott shrugs casually, but there is a wicked gleam in his eye that does not reflect it.

“That, or there’s something really wrong with Aamir. Something so wrong he decided to name a bastard his heir instead Aamir.” Zabini says darkly.

Nott rolls his eyes. “Merlin’s tits, Blaise. Are you still upset that Aamir stole your little boyfriend from you? I mean, just look at him.” They all turn to stare at Aamir, who is smiling politely, a disinterested look in his eyes as Draco prattles on. “Shafiq may be a prat, but he’s just your regular run of the mill prat. Like us. In fact, he’s not even as bad as us. You know he let me borrow one of his father’s dark artifacts this summer? He’s a pretty cool bloke, actually. It’s just too bad you have to suffer Draco’s company if you want Aamir’s.”

“First of all,” Zabini replies calmly, as if explaining things to an imbecile, “Draco is not my boyfriend, as my mother would so have you believe. And second of all, you don’t know Aamir. At all.”

“Really?” Nott asks, eyebrows wrinkled. “I always thought you two were kind of the same. You know, super chill, disinterested, don’t really have a care in the world-”

Blaise turns around sharply, getting into Nott’s face, his cold eyes now blazing. “I’m nothing like him.” He snarls, voice heavy with anger, the most emotion the he’s shown all night. “Aamir is a fucking pyscho.”

Nott backs up with his hands raised, a surrender. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about the matter.”

Blaise just scoffs in disgust and turns back around, ahead of them now, and Nott turns to Harry, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Aamir. He’s a cool bloke. Between you and me,” he says, lowering his voice, looking around to make sure no one is listening, “Blaise is just angry Draco choose Aamir over him in their little squabble. I think he might have had an itty bitty crush on Draco, which—and I don’t think this has to be said but I’m gonna say it anyway,” Nott twists up his face like he’s gonna be sick, “gross.”

Harry, frankly, doesn’t know what to believe, and therefore chooses not to believe any of it.

When they get to the cake it’s a three tiered monster, made out of white fondant and edible cream flavored pearls, each tier guarded by a row of gold covered soldiers who march in circles with their bayonets. It’s the most beautiful cake Harry has ever seen. And it’s all his.

Uncle Marius pushes him to the front of the cake and all eleven candles are lit, begging to be blown away. Once again Harry is the center of attention, ageless faces staring at him with envy, longing, hatred, and Harry basks in it.  They begin to sing him a happy birthday and one voice stands out amongst the rest, delicate and raw, and recognizable to Harry anywhere.

Uncle Marius bends down to tell Harry to make a wish, but Harry’s mind is buzzing, distracted by Draco across the room, by his voice, and he isn’t thinking of a wish at all when he blows out the candles.

All he’s thinking about is Draco.

Chapter Text

Singing happy birthday was horrible. Mostly because Harry was burning a hole through Draco’s head while he sang. You thought the rows of candles were bright? Well, they didn’t have anything on Harry’s intense stare.

“Merlin, it’s like he hates you or something,” mutters Aamir under his breath as they pass out cake.

“Thanks, Aamir.” Draco replies dryly. As if Draco wants it confirmed to his face that his cousin hates him.

Aamir lays a hand on Draco’s arm, turns him around gently. “Hey, the offer still stands, you know.” He says honestly, eyes bright. “First day of school I say we-“

“Coco, darling!”

Draco rolls his eyes at the stupid nickname. He turns away from Aamir. “How many times have I told you NOT to call me that, Pansy?”

“Not enough, obviously.” She sniffs in response, green eyes glittering, short bob cut bouncing with every step. She jumps into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck.

“I missed you this summer, with how you trailed behind Daphne Greengrass for most of it.” She whispers in his ear.

“Trailing?” Draco scoffs. “I strategically followed her in order to gain her friendship.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Right, just her friendship.”

“Hello, Pansy.” Aamir says in greeting.

Pansy turns as if just realizing his presence. She looks at him as if he were a dead bug beneath her shoe.

“Aamir,” she replies blankly, before turning back to Draco and ignoring his presence completely. “Anyway as I was saying-“

“Pansy,” Draco growls underneath his breath, pinching her arm. “Don’t be rude.”

Pansy huffs as if this is some great task. “But Draco,” she whines.

“But nothing.” He whispers hotly. “Why are you always like this with him? It’s embarrassing.”

“Because I don’t like him.” She replies childishly, sticking out her bottom lip.

“Pansy,” Draco begins calmly, “just because you’re jealous I have a friend other than you-“

“I am not jealous!” She snaps. “Aamir is just…ugh.”

“Well you’re gonna have to think of something other than ‘ugh’ to say to him, because like it or not, Aamir is one of my best friends.”

Pansy pouts. “But not your best friend.”

“Pansy.” Draco warns. They’re locked in a stare down before Pansy finally gives in with a sigh. She turns to face Aamir.

“Hello, Aamir. Simply wonderful to see you. Fine weather we’re having, no?” She says in complete deadpan.

Draco wants to throw a hand over his eyes, dead with embarrassment at her ugly behavior. Aamir meanwhile, being the good natured bloke he is, simply seems amused.

“Yes, quite fine.” He replies. “Almost as fine as you.” He adds breezily.

Pansy looks scandalized, completely breaking her blank expression. “You’re disgusting.” She snaps.

“So you’ve told me. Many times.” Aamir replies casually.

“Enough of this squabbling.” Draco groans. “We have to give our gifts now to Black in the squibs personal library.”

“Yes, you’re quite right, Draco.” Pansy answers seriously. “Enough with the squabbling. Though, Aamir, darling,” she adds sweetly, and Draco knows by her tone it’s not gonna be anything good, “you do know only heirs are allowed to pay tribute to Black, right? Being as he is an heir as well?”

Draco’s stomach drops. Oh, no. She did not just say that. Why in the world would she ever think it was a good idea to say that-

Luckily, Aamir doesn’t see to be too upset; that or else he hides it good. “Last time I checked you weren’t an heir either, Parkinson. Or did you grow a prick from the last time I saw you?” He replies, polite and pleasant as always.

Pansy colors an awful red, and Draco can’t help but burst into laughter at Aamir’s reply. She snaps her face to look at him, betrayal written all over it.

“Oh come on, Pansy.” He says between laughter. “You asked for it.”

Pansy turns with a growl to face Aamir. “Of course not, you crass boy.” She snarls. She straightens her back, sticking her nose in the air. “I’m a significant other. To Draco, of course.”

“That’s weird.” Aamir replies, still not backing down. “Draco said I was his plus one.”

Draco, sensing the building tension in the air, quickly tries to diffuse the situation. “Don’t be daft you two.” He snaps. “There are no restrictions to who can be there for the Black’s gift unwrapping.” He adds cautiously, making sure to make no use of the word heir. Aamir may not look bothered, but Draco knows better. He knows that lordship of the Shafiq household is a sensitive topic with Aamir.

Pansy and Aamir, however are still locked in a stare down. Pansy almost snarling, Aamir looking indifferent to the whole thing. Draco grabs both their hands and forces them away from each other.

“Enough with that.” Draco huffs, walking towards the squibs library. “We’re going to be late.”

“I just don’t know why he bothers.” Pansy mutter under her breath, unwilling to let sleeping dogs lie. “I mean, Alex is already gonna be there so what’s the point of him-“

At the mention of his brother’s name, Aamir stiffens, and Draco is filled with an indescribable rage.

“SHUT UP, PANSY!” He explodes, snapping in her face. “For once in your life, just Shut. Up.”

Pansy flinches back from the power of his voice, recoiling from his anger. Her face colors once again but this time she doesn’t say anything.

Besides him, Aamir doesn’t say anything, only squeezes his hand in response, but Draco understands perfectly.

Thank you.

XXX

Draco scans the room as soon as they enter. Nott, ew. Zabini, ugh. Then-

“Vincent! Greg! I’ve been looking for you two idiots everywhere!”

Pansy huffs. “Must we, Draco?”

Aamir behind her sighs as well. “As much as I hate to agree with her; must we, Draco?”

“Oh, come on.” Draco replies defensively. “Without me they’re a couple of headless chickens. I can’t let a couple of headless chickens roam around, can I? Wouldn’t be right now, would it?”

Crabbe and Goyle shuffle over to them, obviously relieved to see a familiar face.

“We were looking for you, Malfoy.” Says Goyle.

Draco glares. “Well obviously not hard enough.”

“We thought you would be Greengrass-“

Draco snaps to attention at that. “Daphne is here? Where?” He begins to rifle through the crowd, searching for a familiar brunette head. When he catches sight of her, he begins to smile, about to call her over, when he realizes she hasn’t noticed him at all. Instead, she’s making googly heart eyes at Aries Black. He quickly drops his hand, glaring at the floor.

Pansy munches on Seers eyes, one of Draco’s favorite candies, oblivious to Draco’s suddenly foul mood.

“Oh look,” she says in between chewing a particularly tough blue eye, “it’s Blaise Zabini.” She sighs, staring dreamily. “He’s so handsome, why don’t we go sit with him?”

Draco, already annoyed by the sight of Daphne Greengrass mooning over Harry, can’t help the ugly tone that paints his voice when Pansy brings up Blaise. “We,” Draco says pointedly, “are never mentioning his name ever again.”

“And why are we doing this?” Pansy asks, obviously annoyed, both at his vague words and rude tone.

Draco suddenly becomes very aware of Aamir who is sitting on the other side of him.

“Um.” He blanks. “For good reason, I assure you.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, not at all satisfied with his answer, but thankfully able to drop it. “I wonder what Zabini’s family gave him to win over the Black Heir.” She muses, stuffing another eye into her mouth.

Draco shrugs, pretending he’s following Pansy’s conversation when in reality he’s seething at everything Harry has taken from him. “I have no idea.”

Traditionally, coming out parties like the one Aries is having happen very young, when the eldest son of a pureblood family turns one. That is when lordship can be formally announced, and there is a party where all the great families gather and give tribute. The better the gift, the more respect is reflected. No one wants to give a bad gift at the risk of offending a powerful family.

Draco would’ve had another party at eighteen if no other suitable claim was placed upon the inheritance of House Black. If Harry, with no Black blood at all, hadn’t stolen it.

Draco grinds his teeth together at the injustice of it all. This would’ve been my party, my gifts, my inheritance. Daphne would’ve been looking at me that way. Instead, an impostor will take it all.

XXX

Harry is surrounded by snakes.

Before the party, before his training even, Uncle Marius told him he couldn’t trust anybody. Especially not his peers.

“To trust them would be a mistake. Every one of those children are bred with the mindset that blood is above all. To do anything to achieve their ends. They will use you when they have use of you and throw you away when they do not. These children are not looking for friends. They are looking for tools. They are snakes, literally and metaphorically. This is the way of purebloods; most of all of Slytherins, which there is no doubt you and them will be. My advice to you is to use them before they use you. To choose your ‘friends’ wisely.”

And surrounded by the crowd, seeing the way they eye him, the strange tension in the air, Harry knows every word of Marius’ was true. Such a strange thing, the way they act. They’re only eleven, but they act like we’re going to war. Like they want to tear me to pieces. Normal eleven year old’s don’t act like this.

The door to the library opens and a couple of more kids stroll in. They’re older, maybe sixteen. They scan the room, imperious, knowing they outrank his peers. One of them walks up to him, obviously the leader. He has a hard face, almost blunted, and a square jaw. He hands Harry a package.

“On behalf of the Flint family.” He grunts.

Harry gives his thanks and the others follow his lead, obviously the Heirs to their family, old enough that they don’t feel the need to stay and watch Harry unwrap them. They outrank him as well, after all.

One of the older kids however, instead of following the procession, hangs back by a shelf. He has burnt bronze skin and golden eyes. The Flint kid pushes past him as he leads the way out.

“Filthy half-blood.” He mutters. One corner of his mouth turns up in a mean smile. “Stay with the iddle ones where you belong.”

Flint’s followers jeer and laugh but the boy with golden eyes hardly seems to care. When the door shuts Harry picks up the first gift in sight and reads out the name.

“Parkinson.”

A girl with a snub nose walks forward. The girl who had been sitting next to Draco. Her eyes are glittering and she curtsies. “I come on behalf of my brother Anthos Parkinson, first of his name, Heir to the Illustrious House of Parkinson, as he was unable to attend due to his work at the Ministry.”

Harry unwraps his gift and then stares at it. It seems like a Chess set.

Parkinson, seeing how unimpressed he is, elaborates. “If I may?” She asks, and Harry nods. She comes closer and holds up one of the pieces. “They’re Lewiss Chessman, made out of walrus ivory and dragon’s teeth. A very ancient relic, and very strong for wizard’s chess. Four of the rooks are berserkers. See them biting their shields, anxious for battle?” Harry nods, and she smirks. “They’re fantastically mad. Makes for a very interesting game of wizard’s chess.”

Harry reaches to grab one of the berserkers and it makes to bite him. He draws his hand back just as quick and lets out a surprised laugh.

“This is quite clever indeed.” He says pleased, and Parkinson seems to preen. “House Black thanks you.”

Parkinson sashays back to her seat, obviously quite smug, and Harry quite help but like the girl a little. In fact, there’s something about her that reminds him strongly of somebody else.

The next one is Zabini. When Harry unwraps the gift and two gold coins blink back at him. One shows a somber, kingly face and the other the same face but this time it seems to be cackling.

“It’s a coin from back when Caligula was the emperor of Rome.” The quiet boy says. “It’s been in my family for generations. The first coin shows Caligula before he fell sick, when he was a great and noble emperor. He announced political reforms and recalled all exiles. The second coin is after he recovered, and went mad. He lavished attention upon his horse Incitatus, giving the animal his own house with a marble stall and ivory manger, a collar with the most precious stones, and his own troop of slaves. Eventually he planned to appoint the horse to the high office of consul.” Zabini smiles thinly. “He was assassinated before he could do so.”

Zabini walks over to where Harry is sitting and picks up one of the coins, the somber king. Harry feels the mad one warm up in his hand. Then he hears Zabini’s voice in his head.

If you ever need to reach someone, no matter how far, these coins will connect you both.

Harry is awed, stares in wonder at the coin in his hand before remembering himself.

“House Black thanks you, Blaise Zabini.”

The next gift is from the Nott family. When Harry opens it, all he sees is a red silk ribbon. He looks to Nott for an explanation.

Nott smiles smugly, obviously pleased about the fact he gets to blabber on again with everyone’s attention on him. “That is Gleipnir. The great wizard Odin commissioned dwarves to forge a chain that was impossible to break, in order to bind the mighty wolf Fenrir, who would bring forth Ragnarök, the end of times. To create a chain to achieve the impossible, the dwarves fashioned the chain out of six supposedly impossible things: the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird.” Nott walks forward and pulls the ribbon from its box. “Though it might seem as thin as the silken ribbon it appears to be-“ Nott pulls the ribbon tight at both ends, and smirks when it doesn’t tear, “-it is stronger than any iron chain.” Nott drops the ribbon back into the box carelessly. “Perfect for trapping werewolves.”

Harry tests the ribbon itself, pulling it taught and surprised at the hard strength there. Though he likes the gift, he doesn’t like Nott’s sharp eyes, or his arrogance. Harry smiles thinly. Prick. “House Black thanks you, Theodore Nott.”

The next gift says Shafiq, and the older boy with golden eyes pushes off the shelf with an easy smile. He bows, but it’s mocking.

“Alex Shafiq, first of his name, Heir to the Illustrious House of Shafiq, dirty half-blood and muggle lover, at your service.”

Some of the kids in the crowd snigger at the outrageous display, but the sort of snigger that says they’re laughing at the older boy, not laughing with him. Harry’s eyes shift over to the other Shafiq sitting next to Draco, with russet colored eyes. So this is the brother of that boy. The name suddenly hits him. Aamir.

Aamir isn’t one of the people who gasps, but he’s deathly still and obviously not pleased with his brother’s introduction. Draco whispers something in his hear and then grabs his hand, obviously trying to comfort the boy, and Harry scoffs in disgust.

Bloody ponce.

Harry turns back to his gift and unwraps it, only to find a penta shaped box. When he opens it a frog jumps out and Harry flinches in surprise. Alex laughs, and Harry manages to recapture the frog. He holds it by one of its legs. He thinks he hears Nott snigger behind him.

“I suppose this isn’t a regular frog, is it?”

“It’s a chocolate frog, Lord Black.” Alex says pleasantly. “You’re meant to eat it.”

“Oh.” The frog ribbits and its hind leg twitches. “Well maybe later-“

From across the room, the younger Shafiq stands, interrupting him. “Alex.” His voice holds a warning. “That’s enough.”

Alex only smiles impishly. “What do you mean?”

“Give him the real gift.”

“That is the real gift.”

“No, that is a common lowborn game-“

Harry interrupts their tense little showdown. “Excuse me, but who are you?” He looks at the younger Shafiq.

Aamir startles, surprised to be addressed. “I am Aamir Shafiq, son of Nasir-“

“Are you the Shafiq Heir?” He interrupts again. This is a question, but it’s not really a question. Harry already knows the answer. It’s just for some reason he wants to tear Aamir into pieces. And he wants do it in front of Draco.

Aamir blinks slowly, and Harry doesn’t miss the way his jaw clenches. “No but-“

“Then you have no idea what my real gift is, do you? If the Heir to your house says this is my gift, then it’s my gift. Who are you to say that it isn’t? You wouldn’t know. You’re a second son. You’re as useful as that stupid painting on the wall there. Why are you even here?”

The entire room is dead silent. No one says a word. Aamir’s eyes are blank, expression closed off.

And then Draco stands up in a fury.

“You stupid fool.” He snarls, and Harry is surprised at the vitriol in his voice, surprised that Draco is capable of defending anyone other than himself. He doesn’t like it. “Alex Shafiq mocks you with a common toy, while Aamir tries to defend your honor. I could buy that thing in your hand with any knut I found off the bloody sidewalk-“

Harry turns to Alex. “Is it true?” he asks, cutting into Draco’s dramatic little speech. “Are you mocking me?”

Alex Shafiq is pale, obviously not expecting his little joke to have caused so much damage.

“I-“

“You know I’m half-blood right? Just like you?” Harry cuts in. People are outright staring now, and Harry can feel Nott’s eyes burning a hole through the back of his head. He can feel the way their ears strain, dying to catch his words, gossip mongers that they are. He bets they’re eating it up. A half-blood, an heir? It’s not right. “Yes my mother might be pureblood in ancestry, but she was no wizard. A squib. I might be pureblood, but only technically. Only barely.” Harry raises the frog up by his leg and opens his mouth wide, then drops it, eating it in one gulp. Daphne Greengrass gasps in horror. One of the boys faint. Harry feels something like a burp working itself up his throat, but it turns out just to be a ribbit. He ahhs.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’re alike, you and I, and I kind of like you. But next time leave off the stupid jokes and arsehole pranks, yeah?”

Alex stares at him, as if searching for something. “I thought you’d be a pillock like the rest of them, but you’re alright, actually.”

“Yeah?” Harry grins.

Alex grins back at him. “Yeah.”

“Excuse me.” Draco Malfoy snaps, calling Harry’s attention. “I think you owe Aamir an apology.”

Harry stares at their joined hands. Feels something ugly crawl up his spine. “Why?”

“’Why?’” Draco echoes in disbelief. “Maybe because you slandered him when he was trying to protect you? Because he was telling the truth about how Alex was trying to make a fool out of you-“

“I don’t owe him an apology.” Harry responds blankly. “He’s not an heir. He’s not important. He’s nothing.” Draco gapes at him, turning a dangerous shade of red. “Tell me, Draco, how do you apologize to nothing?”

And if Harry thought Draco was angry before, the viciousness in his eyes now is startling. Draco surges forward, a wave of fury, Harry waiting like the shore for the impending crash but Aamir stops him. He gives Harry a polite smile.

“I’m sorry, Black. You’re right and I apologize. It was out of turn for me to speak.”

Harry stares at Aamir, who seems utterly unaffected by all that has happened, and feels something ugly peel away at him. Feels anger grow in him like a disease, anger he thought he knew how to control by now; he pushes it down. Harry will not lose everything now. Not when his beginning is so near.

“What did you get me then?” Harry asks coolly.

Aamir blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said your brother’s gift to me was not the real one. Where is the real one then?”

Aamir gives a nod of understanding, and reaches a hand out to his brother, who stares at him stoically. Aamir clears his throat.

“If I may, Lord Black?” He asks.

Harry nods and Alex rolls his eyes and hands a pouch to Aamir.

“There are six holy relics of Muhammad: the Holy Mantle, the Sacred Seal, Muhammad’s beard, his Bowl, his Sandals, and-“ Aamir opens the pouch, drops two teeth into his hand, “-Muhammad’s teeth. Muhammad lost four teeth at the Battle of Uhud, after being struck with a battle axe. One is preserved at Topkapi, another held by Mehmed the Second, and the last two are ours.” Nott pauses, then smiles apologetically. “Rather, should I say, they’re yours now.”

Aamir places the teeth in Harry’s hand and Harry stares at them. He feels that viciousness stir in him once again.

“And what use do I have for an old man’s teeth?”

Many of the kids snicker. Aamir, for all his cool and impassive looks, cannot hide the rising flush on his face.

“Muhammad was a prophet. When inscribed with the proper runes, and placed under a place of comfort, his teeth can help you see things you wouldn’t have otherwise seen.”

Harry holds Aamir’s gaze. He wants to throw the teeth on the ground in front of him. Step on them with his shoe. He wants to get into Aamir’s face and tell him he’s seen things Aamir couldn’t even begin to possibly begin to imagine, acts of cruelty so casual he couldn’t even begin to understand, that he doesn’t need some dead man’s teeth to see them again. He wants to snarl in his face that he’s a nobody, and if he think’s Draco’s his friend for any other reason besides that, he’s a fool. Draco’s only his friend because he wants to emphasize his superiority in the face of what Aamir lacks. He wants to yell ‘See? Even your own father chose a bastard over you, his true heir! What does that say, that he would bear such shame and humiliation in giving a bastard half-blood his name, rather than naming you its successor? Huh?’

Instead, Harry smiles coldly, bites down that anger he’s spent three years taming, hiding, controlling, and thanks Aamir Shafiq on behalf of House Black. Harry knows better now. He knows that sometimes a smile can be more powerful than a scowl, than an awful rage. That anger is better grown and nurtured, like the smallest sapling, that eventually turns into the tallest tree. And that will be his anger one day, the tallest tree, the highest mountain, something incredibly awful and dangerous to behold.

But for today he will settle for the sapling.

XXX

The last gift is from House Malfoy. Harry saves it purposefully for last.

“Malfoy.” Harry intones, reading off the label on the box. Draco, however, doesn’t hear his name being called, too busy whispering with Aamir. “Malfoy!” Harry snaps, and finally Draco jerks to attention, staring sulkily at him. “I know you’re busy making kissy faces at your girlfriend right now, but do I have to remind you that it’s my birthday, cousin?”

There’s a lot of laughter at that one, and a girl with a square face and weak chin sneers at Draco.

“Aamir and Draco sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-“

Draco’s eyes are flinty, his ears pink. “Finish that sentence frog face and you’re gonna wish you’d never been born!” He snarls.

Frog face, the girl in question, colors at her terrible (but well suited) nickname, and is about to snap back when Harry interrupts.

“Enough.” He commands, tone booking no argument. “Explain your gift to me, cousin.”

“You haven’t even opened it.” He snaps. “It’s pretty self-explanatory when you see it.”

Harry doesn’t like Draco’s blatant disrespect, or his attitude,  but holds off in correcting him. For now. When he opens the box he finds a necklace with a silver snake hanging off the chain. He places the necklace in his hand and nearly jerks in surprise when the snake begins to move.

“It’s a family heirloom.” Draco adds, clearly over being interrupted in his conversation with Aamir. “If you flip the snake on its stomach you’ll see-“

“Sirius Black.” Harry reads, slightly in awe. A couple people gasp, not in awe, but Harry doesn’t care. “It belonged to my father?”

“It was supposed to. According to my mother, he never wore it though.” Draco smiles awkwardly. “Slytherin hater that he was.”

“Not in the end, though.” Says Blaise Zabini thoughtfully, and Draco glares at him.

Harry frowns. “What?”

“Nothing.” Draco snaps, but his wrath is directed at Zabini. His eyes slide back to Harry. “When you put it on your name will be added to the snake, as next of kin.”

Harry looks back down at the snake with its emerald eyes. Almost like it was made for him, even though Harry knows that’s not possible. Harry feels his heart beat quicken. It will have my name. It will be my heirloom. Because I’m a part of the Great and Illustrious House of Black. And then a sudden thought pops into Harry’s head. His face snaps to Draco’s.

“Whose idea was it?”

Draco blinks, confused. “What?”

“The gift. Whose idea was it to give it to me?”

Draco’s gaze drops from Harry’s, almost embarrassed. He opens his mouth to say something and-

“Don’t lie.” Harry warns.

Draco closes his mouth, seems to play with the hem of his shirt. “Well,” he says grudgingly, “I thought you might like to have something of your fathers, and the heirloom was just laying around collecting dust so-“

And just like that all the annoyance and irritation towards Draco dissipates, crumbles like dust, falls away like ash. He feels genuinely pleased and for once the smile that crawls onto his face isn’t a forced one.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” He asks, slightly perplexed. “I’ve never had anything of my father’s, so I’m really grateful for this Draco.” He answers honestly. He holds up the necklace. “In fact, since it was your idea, why don’t you do the honors?”

The chain dangles off Harry’s calloused fingers, emerald eyes blinking in the light. Draco looks confused.

“Do what honors?”

Harry laughs. He forgets how stupid Draco can be sometimes. “The honor of helping me put my necklace on.”

Harry doesn’t know what it was exactly that he said, but for some reason Draco’s face goes from confused to horrified in less than a second.

“Are you crazy?” He asks scathingly, recoiling. “Why in the world would I do that?!”

Harry blinks, slightly shocked by Draco’s sudden change in character.  But one glance around the room tells him he’s the only one, because everyone else have shared uncomfortable looks on their faces, as if Harry’s the one whose messed up somehow.

“Because you’re the one who gave the gift.” He replies slowly, as if maybe speaking slowly will make it clear to Draco how much he’s overreacting.

“Yeah I gave you the gift! That doesn’t mean I’m your bloody wife!” He spits out, a flush high on his cheeks, teeth bared almost ferally.

“What?” Harry asks incredulously. “What in the hell are you talking about? When did I say you were my wife?” He feels that irritation building up in him again. Why does Draco always have to be such a bloody pain?

Behind him, Nott begins to a laugh, a wheezing gasping for breath kind of laugh that seems to take up all the air in the room.

“Merlin’s beard-“ he manages to gasp out, “-even Aries is treating you like an omega bitch-!”

Draco surges forward but is caught by Aamir before he can launch himself at Nott again. He struggles in Aamir’s grasp, bucking wildly trying to throw him off, and eventually settles for snarling back at Nott-

“Really, Theo? I’m the omega bitch? It didn’t seem that way earlier!”

Nott’s laughter dies in his throat and cold fury settles over his features. He starts to stand as well, his fist clenched in rage, but Harry is quicker and pushes him back into his seat roughly, rattling the settee behind him.

“Watch yourself.” He snaps, mouth pulled in a thin, angry line, not recognizing the rage that suddenly surges in him like a storm, overshadows his previous irritation with Draco. Harry might not know what kind of slur omega is, but he certainly recognizes bitch. And he’ll cut off Nott’s tongue before he lets him say another word.
             

Alex moves forward and separates Nott and Harry who seem a second from jumping at each other.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, Aries.” He laughs nervously before pulling Harry aside. “Draco’s right in this case. It’s a stupid pureblood tradition. Unless you’re a person’s guardian or…intended, it’s highly improper to place jewelry on their body.”

Harry stares at him like he’s daft. “But Draco gave me the jewelry. How can giving me the jewelry be proper but placing it on me is improper? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did I say it made sense? You think most pureblood shite makes any sense? You think the idea of a pureblood makes any sense? No. It’s fucking crazy. It’s high key Nazi shit. But that’s how it is. Draco isn’t your guardian or your intended, so if he puts that necklace on you it’s basically telling everyone that he’s your-“ Alex pauses awkwardly, eyes unsure, then continues anyway, “-bitch.”

Harry feels that roar of anger in his stomach again, feels something like acid burn away at his skin. He shoves Alex this time, hard, and he almost trips over the bench behind him. Harry snarls in his face, now at his level. “Don’t call him that.” He bites out, teeth bared.

“I’m not calling him anything.” Alex snaps back. “You know the only other people to place heirlooms and precious pieces on a pureblood besides their guardians or intended? Huh? Do you?” Alex snaps. “The only other people who do that are pureblood mistresses. Whores. Omega bitches.”

Omega bitches. The phrase rattles around in Harry’s mind again, and he still doesn’t know what it means. Why it’s so bad. “It’s just a necklace.” He repeats woodenly, not understanding how a simple gesture can be so misinterpreted. He turns from Alex to face Draco again. “Draco,” he repeats again, frustrated, “it’s just a necklace.” Harry holds it out again, expectant, waiting for Draco to come to him.

Instead Aamir snaps back at him. “He’s not a dog.” He snarls, russet eyes gone dark with anger. “You cant just wave a collar at him and expect him to come.”

Harry turns in a rage to face him. “Was I talking to you, second son?” He sneers, voice as sharp as the knives that seem to be crawling under his skin.

“No, Aamir’s right.” Draco says, looking at Harry head on, straightening his posture. “I don’t have to do what you say, Aries. You’re not my anything.”

And those words, more than the knives crawling under his skin, more than the growling thing stuck in his ribcage, hurt. Feels like something tearing up his heart from the inside, like an army marching over and over the meat of his heart. And below that deep hurt is the strange need to claim. I saw you when you were at your worst. I saw you cry. I saw you beg. Me. Not anybody else, but me. Harry wants Draco to place the necklace on him no matter what it means. He wants to snap at Draco to ‘stop being a baby’ but that makes him sound childish. He wants to beg ‘please’ but that makes him sound weak. He wants to say ‘but it’s my birthday’ but that makes him sound petulant. Instead he says-

“You’re my cousin. We’re family. It doesn’t mean anything else.”

Parkinson snorts. “We’re practically all family. You being cousins doesn’t mean a thing.” Her eyes narrow, and she turns thoughtful. “Why do you want it so bad anyway?”

Harry blinks slowly, wonders if all pretty girls are so empty headed. “Because it was my father’s. Obviously,” he adds in a mocking tone.

Parkinson’s eyes narrow further. “Precisely a reason I’d think you wouldn’t want it,” she replies, mimicking his sarcastic tone. “Because it was your father’s.”

Besides her, Draco none too discretely pinches Pansy roughly on the arm and Harry’s eyes follow the movement. He feels his eyes narrow as well.

“And how precisely did you come to that conclusion?” He asks sharply.

Draco turns to face him, a slippery smile on his face. “Ignore Pansy. She prattles on too much about things she doesn’t understand,” he tries to reassure, but Harry is having none of it, knows Draco is hiding something behind that fake smile of his.

Luckily, someone pipes up, the girl with the weak chin who laughed at Draco. She seems confused. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about your own father?”

Harry turns sharply to face her. “What?” He snaps. “That he’s in Azkaban for murder? Of course I know. It was brought up almost 100 times today with each person I spoke to. How could I forget?”

Draco seems on the verge of saying something but another girl interrupts. A Greengrass.

“Your father’s not in Azkaban for murder.” She says slowly, looking at him like he’s daft.

Harry feels a nasty feeling crawl over him, like a thousand slippery eels swarming his body. He’s the odd one out in the room, stands out like rotting fish on a pristine beach shore. Everyone knows something he doesn’t, and Harry doesn’t like the feeling. He feels like prey. All those eyes are on him, some pitying, some amused, others mocking. And still, they all manage to seem like they’re about to tear him apart.

“Why’s he in Azkaban then?” Harry asks calmly, much more calmly then he feels.

It’s Nott who speaks up this time, his smile perfectly cruel, knowing. “Your father’s in Azkaban because he was a follower of the Dark Lord. Because he gave up the Potters and they all died. Because he tried and failed to get the Boy Who Lived killed.”

XXX

For a second it’s like the whole world has gone still. The room is holding its breath, waiting to see how Harry reacts. Harry doesn’t see anything, doesn’t see the multiple eyes watching him, feels like he’s been dropped in oblivion. Then the words sink in, and Harry’s world explodes.

“You’re a dirty liar.” He snarls at Nott. “You’re a dirty fucking liar-“ He leaps at Nott and Nott’s expression goes from smug to deadly pale in less than a nanosecond. But it’s too late because Harry is already on top of him, already landing blows to his sides, to his face, to his chin. He and Nott are rolling all over the floor, knocking over books from their shelves and precious tea sets on tiny tables. There’s screaming and people calling for help and people yelling for him to stop but it’s all lost in the roar that has overtaken his senses, like he’s been caught in a riptide and the water is pulling him apart.

I’m wearing the name of the man who tried to kill me? Of the man who gave up my family and got them killed? He’s the reason I have no parents? The reason I suffered at the hands of the Dursley’s for all those years? The reason my back looks like a monster’s face and my hands feel like stone, almost as hard as my rock of a heart? And I have to pretend to be his son? Pretend to have that murderers blood in my veins? I’d rather slit my fucking wrists before I claim that son of a-

“Aries!” Suddenly there’s a person right besides him, and it’s Alex, Alex with his golden eyes, trying to tear him apart from Theodore Nott. And it feels like his world is tilting, shaking, tearing apart from the seams, and still Alex tries to pull him away, and still Harry struggles against it, but Harry can only last so much against someone older, someone stronger, and he is pulled away at last, bucking wildly like some diseased dog. Alex grabs his face in his hands. His eyes are serious. “You need to calm down. You need to stop freaking the fuck-“

Harry shoves his hands away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He snarls, feels more centered, more calm, that insane rage concentrating into something more deadly, more poisonous and unsuspecting. He turns, scans the room for Draco, not even bothering to see what’s left of Nott, and finally catches that bright white hair across the room, mercury eyes staring back at him in shock.

“You.” He spits out, absolute disgust in his tone. “You knew, all this time, and you didn’t say anything?” Draco just stares at him, eyes wide and confused, but it doesn’t work on Harry. “You gave me that gift on purpose because you knew I would be stupid enough to take it!” He can’t help but laugh this time, something like nails on a chalkboard, as everyone else stares at them in confusion. Of course they wouldn’t understand. Only Draco knows his true identity. Only Draco knows his true parents. And Draco also knew that Harry had no idea Sirius Black was the one to give them up, knew that making him wear a necklace of his would be the ultimate revenge for the summer years ago. Because just how stupid would that look, how much Draco would enjoy it, Harry wearing the necklace that belonged to a man who tried to kill him and yet caring for it with the utmost delicacy?

“You know I really felt bad for that summer with you?” Harry says openly, laughing at himself again. “So I guess I should thank you, for reminding me of the type of person you are, Malfoy, because I’m never going to feel bad for you again.” Harry sobers up, feels the dark lash of humiliation hit his blood stream, remembers how boldly Draco lied to his face, and feels anger stir in him again. “You’re dead to me, Malfoy. You lack respect.” Harry clutches the snake in his hand, winds back his arm, then throws it as hard as he can across the room, where it hits a wall and shatters into pieces. He feels himself breathing hard, chest expanding and collapsing in rapid succession, and tries to go back to being calm, tries to bring back his poise. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and faces Draco again. His words when his speaks are professional, neutral. “House Malfoy has grievously erred against House Black today. Their gift was slander, and therefore not accepted. You reflect poorly on your house, Draco Malfoy, and I’ll make sure your father hears of this.”

Draco looks back at him, his eyes a myriad of emotions: anger, fear, shock, humiliation; yet he can’t seem to work his mouth to voice any of it.

Harry looks beyond him, then makes to look as if he’s simply going to pass by Draco, Draco about to go his own way as well, but Harry grabs him by the arm before he can. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks.

“That stunt you pulled-“ Harry says coldly, “-you’re going to pay for that. Just a heads up, cousin.”

Harry walks away after that, not bothering to stick around for a response, feels that monster called anger roar in his chest once again.

Soon. Soon I’ll be in Hogwarts and no one will be ever be able to humiliate me like that again.

No one.

Chapter Text

Draco knew this would happen. He knew if Harry had ever found out what Sirius Black had done he would go off the handle. He would use that strange magic again, the kind that made Draco tremble; with fear, with envy, with awe. So that’s why he knew he couldn’t tell Harry. Let Harry find out another way, that the person he now called his “father” killed his true father. But let him find out when Draco wasn’t present, or when he was with his squib guardians. Because if he found out while Draco was present, and even worse that Draco knew the whole time, Draco would be in serious danger.

That’s why he glared at Zabini’s cryptic comments. Pinched Pansy when she tried to tell Harry the truth. He didn’t want to feel the brute force of Harry’s anger again. And why had he chose such a stupid gift in the first place? It was like he didn’t even think, didn’t have the forbearance of thinking about the possible consequences.

It wasn’t meant to be malicious. At first. Draco had seen it when he was looking for something else in the Manor’s attic. Had seen the silver snake with the name of the brother Narcissa said she was always so fond of, secretly. He had known immediately that it should be Harry’s coming of age gift. He knew that Harry being parentless would love having something that could claim him. Something that was his only.

Draco hadn’t even been thinking of the consequences that should occur if Harry found out what Sirius Black did, not until he came with the gift to his parents for their approval. His father had smirked, looking pleased for the first time in Draco’s life.

“How sly of you, Draco.” Lucius had said, but he hadn’t seemed upset at all. “A double edged sword, one would say. Aries has no choice but to accept the gift, as per tradition goes with family heirlooms, but unfortunately for him his father has done terrible things. To wear it is to become a social pariah, to not wear it is an afront to pureblood tradition, as you well know, Draco.”

Draco does know. He wears one of his father’s childhood rings on a chain around his neck. It has all the names of his forefathers before him.

“Maybe you are not so stupid as you seem, Draco.” His father had concluded, with a smile as large as the one the cat had been wearing when he caught the canary.

And Draco could only manage a weak smile in response, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that in the first place, a way to humiliate Harry in front of his peers, instead of earnestly searching for a gift.

He should’ve known it would be Nott who would spill the beans. The boy was an extreme gossip. He loved knowing things other people didn’t, then rubbing it in their faces. And though at first, the sight of Harry releasing his rage onto Nott had been pleasing, Draco soon went cold with dread realizing the extreme difference between the two. The pure rage in Harry’s eyes. The way everything in the room began to shake like that summer so long ago in the dining room, and Harry wasn’t even aware of it. That he caused it without even thinking about it, that he had that much power, gave Draco a strange little shiver.

And when the snake splintered into pieces against the paneled wood? Draco knew that was Harry’s power. No heirlooms were so easily breakable. No wood could splinter blood metal into so many tiny pieces. And Draco definitely wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“What the hell was that?” Pansy had asked, shock pouring out of her very expression. “That throw wasn’t nearly enough to break blood metal, let alone shatter it into a million pieces. Merlin’s beard, it wasn’t enough to break metal metal.”

“And why was he so upset?” Asks Crabbe. “What does he care if his father killed the Potters?”

Goyle looks to him, a question in his eyes as well. They all expect him to have some sort of answer, as if he were bloody Merlin or something. “Draco?”

Draco snaps. He has too many thoughts going around his head, the threat Harry had left with him most prominent. That he would pay.

“How the bloody hell should I know? It’s not like were best mates or something so just lay off already!” Draco huffs angrily. “You’re like a bunch of gnats buzzing around uselessly around my head, I swear. Answer your own damn questions if you’re so curious!”

That seems to stop their questions, but Draco can feel Aamir still staring at him. Even if he can fool the rest of his friends, he can never fool Aamir. He’s smarter, cleverer than he lets on. He’s also smart enough not to ask anything.

Ugh. How in the bloody hell am I going to avoid Harry at Hogwarts?

XXX

One month later

Harry walks up to platform 9 and 3 quarters with his aunt and uncle behind him. It is a tense affair and they walk with all the fanfare of any pureblood family: that is to say, none at all. Everything has changed since the night Harry found out the truth about his “father” Sirius Black.

He remembers it quite clearly.

Bursting into Uncle Marius’ cigar room, his head still buzzing with the words of that bloody prat Theodore Nott. ‘Your father’s in Azkaban because he was a follower of the Dark Lord. Because he gave up the Potters and they all died. Because he tried and failed to get the Boy Who Lived killed. Because he gave up the Potters and they all died. Because he gave up the Potters and they all died. Because he gave up the Potters  and    they all died. Because he gave up   Potters     all died. All died. Because he gave up the Potters and they all died Because he gave up the Potters and they all died Because he gave up the Potters and they all diedbecuasehegaveupthepottersandthey all died all died all  died all died all died all died alldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldiedalldied

A L L   D I E D

Uncle Marius stares at him in surprise, interrupts his thoughts. “Aries, my boy, you should still be celebrating-“

“Why did you lie to me?” He cuts in, breathing hard from the run over, hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline, from the anger that threatens to rip him open from the inside.

Uncle Marius blinks, eyes muddled in confusion. “I-?”

“About Sirius.” Harry clarifies. “About my-“ he stops himself just in time, snarls, “-Aries-father. About what he did to my parents. About what he tried to do to me.”

Marius’ eyes go from muddled to terribly clear, a horrible regret in them mixed with desperation. “You don’t understand-I was trying to-trying to protect you-I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the news considering the way you-“

“The way I am?” Harry growls, eyes narrowing to knife slits. “The way. I? Am?” A vase on Marius’ desk explodes suddenly and Marius startles, looking from the vase to Harry.

Harry chuckles humorlessly. “Oh I’m sorry. I guess that’s just the way I am.” He shrugs his shoulders casually, hiding the rage in his heart that beats against his chest like a machine gun stocked full of ammo. He makes his way to Marius’ desk, trailing a finger along it’s length, while Marius watches cautiously. “Just fucking barking. A bloody fucking animal!” This time Harry can’t hide the rage in his voice, shatters another vase on Marius’ desk but this time by knocking it to the ground with his hand. The pieces feel like his heart and Harry can feel the injustice of it all crash into him like a wave. “An animal you don’t trust, don’t trust to tell anything to, not even a scrap of the truth, of his family or his past or anything remotely of value. Don’t trust because I’m too wild or stupid to keep anything to myself. Don’t trust because you think I might kill you one of these days in my sleep. That my magic will crush your lungs to dust without me even thinking of it.” He turns to face his uncle accusingly. “You think that, don’t you?” Harry’s voice is trembling, and Marius makes to speak but Harry doesn’t let him. He turns away, doesn’t want Marius to see his face. Pathetic. Weak.

“Do you know how it felt?” Harry’s voice cracks. “All of them knowing something I didn’t? Laughing at me? The looks on their faces.” Harry scoffs. “So fucking smug. And I stood there looking like the biggest fool on the planet. Especially when Draco-“ Harry swallows, “-when Malfoy gave me his necklace. And I stood there and I smiled at him. Thanked him.” Harry laughs humorlessly. “Malfoy humiliated me in front of everyone, and I thanked him.” Harry feels himself start to choke up so he stops talking. Takes a deep breath. And when he feels steady again he turns to face his uncle, expression cool.

“So I took his gift and I shattered it to pieces.”

Out of all the reactions Harry expected from his uncle, this is not one of them. The blood drains from his face and he stomps over to Harry, shaking him roughly by the shoulders. “You stupid, stupid boy! What did you DO?”

Harry snarls and rips himself out of his uncle’s grasp, hurt by his words. “You think I should’ve worn the necklace of my parents murderer? Of the man who tried to kill me? Of your dearly beloved brother?”

Marius eyes are full of exasperation. “You think I loved him? You think he was beloved to me? I hated him, Harry! I hated what he did to our family. He was a privileged, arrogant bastard, and he took for granted everything that I would’ve died for. But do you think feelings matter when you’re a pureblood? Do you think, every time someone offends you, you can simply lash out in physical ways? Because you can’t do that in their world, Harry! That isn’t how their game works! And by breaking that necklace, you have broken faith with House Malfoy in the grossest matter possible.”

Harry recoils in shock. “Me? I have broken faith? They’re the ones who tried to humiliate me! Humiliate our house. Or have you forgotten what I just said, uncle?”

Marius grabs Harry by the ear harshly, Harry yelping in surprise.

“Listen to me closely, because I will only say this once. That gift was a play by house Malfoy. Pureblood tradition strictly states that rejection of family heirlooms is sacrilegious. No matter what the family of such an heirloom did. The Malfoy’s know what your father did. They gave you the gift in the hopes that you would reject it, and you played right into their hands. Bloody hell, you went past expectations and broke the thing.”

Harry feels himself burn at his uncle’s words. “Well maybe if you had already told me what my ‘father’ had done, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have played straight into their hands. In fact, I would’ve expected it. Ever think of that, uncle?” He’d sneered.

Harry’s relationship had been tense with his uncle ever since. They weren’t on the best of terms, and as far as Harry was concerned, it was up to his uncle to fix it. To make matters worse, a few days after his birthday an article was released in the Daily prophet by a reporter named Rita Skeeter, detailing his coming out into society. It was titled:

“Potter Family Betrayer’s Son Formally Announced Black Heir; Accepted Into Hogwarts.”

In the article, a picture of him from his party was compared to a picture of Sirius Black before he went to Azkaban. The similarity between them was striking. Rita Skeeter went on in the article to ask the public whether they had a baby death eater on their hands.

Harry couldn’t even manage a laugh at the irony of the situation. He hadn’t been allowed to go to Diagon Alley because of it, his uncle deeming it too dangerous.

“The Potters are a symbol.” His uncle had said. “A very much loved symbol. They’re the ones who took down the Dark Lord. Just imagine the chaos that would erupt if you were caught in Diagon Alley.”

Yes, Harry had thought. Imagine. They would tear the Potter they very much loved into pieces, without even knowing it.

But either way, Harry didn’t really care much. Harry was used to hate. So what if a couple more people hated him?

Hate is easier to understand than love anyway.

Uncle Marius stands next to him stiffly. “This is where we leave you, Aries.”

Beside him, aunt Nestra is sniffling, but Nestra lied to him as well so he ignores her. He gives a jerky nod in Marius’ direction, the only indication he heard his uncle’s words. Just as Harry is turning to leave, however, Marius grabs him by the arm.

His voice is urgent when he speaks. “Whatever has happened between us, just remember what I told you. Don’t tell anyone your true identity. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t catch anyone’s attention. Just keep your head down and you should be fine, Harry.”

Harry looks at his uncle’s hand on his wrist, desperate and rough, then looks back up at him to slowly nod in acquiesce. “Of course, uncle.” He lies, more for Marius’ benefit than his own. “I understand.”

Harry doesn’t keep his head down anymore. He did that once, long ago with the Dursleys, and at a great cost.

Harry will never bow his head again.