mahoganyhandle (mahoganyhandle) wrote in santas_lap, @ 2007-12-20 22:59:00 |
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In the weeks following the Primary Council dinner, Draco grew closer to Albus. Unfortunately, this attachment drew a lot of attention from different people—some who were curious or enthusiastic, some who seemed to be confused, and some who were downright furious. Draco didn't understand why his friendship with Albus was such a popular and heated topic of discussion; he didn't think anyone should care, besides his parents, who were the only ones to ever care who he made friends with, and that was for his own good. It was almost like the time when he'd befriended the cook's son and was caught by his father while playing with Martin in the lake. His father had taken him aside and said that he'd made friends with the wrong sort of boy, but it was okay this time because he didn't know any better, but he'd have to be more careful next time. Then he let Draco go back to play with his boats, but Draco never saw Martin again after that day. There seemed to be a lot of people who thought he'd made the wrong sort of friend again—even though his father had said it was all right… better than all right, really—and that he didn't know any better. It made Draco worry that he'd never see Albus again. More than anything, he didn't want Albus to disappear like Martin had. That would be the worst thing to ever happen to him. Albus was his best friend in the whole world.
His fear got to be so bad that he couldn't get to sleep one night. Every time he'd start to drift off, he'd think a bad thought and startle awake. His hands always searched out Albus lying next to him in the dark, and he wouldn't calm down again until his fingers tangled in the long strands of Albus's beard. The last time he did it, Albus snorted a bit and curled around him, enfolding him in a full-body embrace. Despite his exhaustion and frustration and worry, Draco sighed, contented, and dozed off.
The next morning as he was in the bath playing with a toy submarine and Nessie, Albus sent his governess away and knelt beside the tub, the long sleeves of his robes rolled up. He started in to wash Draco's hair, and said, "Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?"
Draco looked up from the little wizard figurines who were abandoning their sinking subs and preparing to go attack the Loch Ness monster. He blinked shampoo and water from his eyes and scrutinized Albus a moment, and Albus just smiled his kind smile. His eyes twinkled behind their half-moon glasses. Draco sighed.
"Are you going to disappear?" he said.
"I hadn't planned on it."
"But are they going to make you go away from me? Because you're the wrong sort of friend, too?"
Albus pursed his lips and glanced away from Draco, as if that could prevent Draco from seeing the mixture of disappointment and anger in his expression. When he looked back, though, his expression was bland.
"What do you mean," he said carefully, "the wrong sort of friend?"
"I don't know. That's what my father said about Cook's son. He didn't have any magic. But you have magic, so that can't be why you're the wrong sort of friend like all those people are saying. Even my dad likes you!"
"Do you think that it's wrong to tell somebody whom they can be friends with? Do you think that it's fair for someone to say who you can befriend and who you can't?"
"If I don't know any better, how am I supposed to pick the right sort of friends? So… maybe it's okay?"
"I suppose."
"Oh." Draco had thought Albus was going to tell him differently, but now that he didn't say anything to that effect, Draco felt like he might cry. He scrunched up his face so he wouldn't. It sometimes worked when something bothered him, but not this time. His tears fell steadily and heavily and his nose started to run, making him sniffle. Brushing angrily at his tears, Draco said, "It doesn't feel so okay, though."
"No, it doesn't." Albus took his chin and tilted his head up to give him a kiss. It was soft and hot and tasted like lemon drops already. Then he dried Draco's tears with that pale, coarse beard Draco like so much. "The reason it doesn't feel right is because it isn't. You knew best from the start, Draco, when you befriended me, when you befriended your cook's son."
"I did?" said Draco dubiously. Yet even so, he felt jubilant at the thought, and his whole body felt tense with a sense of wonderment. Because, he thought, if he knew best, then he could be friends with anyone he wanted, and that meant Albus wouldn't have to go away like Martin had.
"Yes, you did. You befriend people because you like them and trust them and enjoy their company." Albus hesitated when Draco beamed at that, and a shadow seemed to come over him. Quietly, he added, "And even in those instances when you grow apart, or feel betrayed, or your friend changes into someone you wouldn't want to be friends with anymore—or even if you would continue to be their friend, but you find that circumstances prevent it…Even in those times, it does not mean you didn't know any better or made a mistake and chose the 'wrong sort' for once. It simply means that all friendships do not last forever. Some friendships are temporary, so you can cherish them while you have them…
"Draco, you shan't know the difference at the start, that's why you have to work hard to save your friendships. There will be times when you think you have forever, but you will be surprised when it turns out that you don't. And then you'll have good memories to comfort you—as well as your other friends."
"But our friendship really is forever, isn't it, Albus?" Draco could hear the desperation in his own voice, and it shook him. He stood up from the water and climbed over the tub into Albus's lap. Albus held him tight, never minding the wet cling of his robes, which he'd only just put on.
"Yes, it is."
"I thought so," Draco whispered. "It feels like forever now, no matter what anybody else says. Even… even Dad!" It was the most daring declaration Draco had ever made in his young life, and it sent a thrill of exhilaration down his spine. Then, when Albus looked at him, at first wide-eyed and startled, but then bright-eyed with pride, Draco felt a courage and a fire flare to life within his chest and burn so strongly that he grew hot with it, and happier than he'd ever felt before. "I'll fight really hard for you, Albus," he said. "I'll never let you go. So we can be together and be best friends forever. I promise, for always, okay?"
It was a moment before Albus could respond, and then he laughed and raised Draco up. "Why, that sounded almost like a prophecy!"
"It is! My prophecy for you," Draco said. "I don't have to be a Seer to know that."
"I'm glad you're feeling more confident now." His voice and eyes were serious and solemn again. "You've already noticed that there are some people who disapprove of our friendship. But we can face them together."
"Maybe we should put them in the Black Lake and let the giant squid suck their faces off with its great sucking suckers! That way they can't complain or make mean faces at you anymore!"
"Hmm," said Albus, scrunching his forehead in consideration. "We will have to save that tactic for last. It can be our secret weapon." Draco giggled when he winked conspiratorially.
Then Albus set him down and grabbed for the towel to dry him off. There was a giant wet spot on the front of Albus's robes from where he had been, and the soggy swirls started spinning, spraying great arcs of water. Soon, Albus's robes were dry again, but the floor was all wet and slippery.
"We have to get going soon," Albus said, "if we would like some breakfast. You've a play date today, and it won't do to be late for an appointment. Punctuality—"
"What's punctuality?"
"Timeliness; and it's one third of greatness."
"What's greatness?"
"Well, now you're just teasing," Albus said, peering at Draco curiously. "You've no idea what a complex question you've asked."
Draco repeated the question in his head, furrowing his brow. It sounded fairly simple and straightforward to him, but no matter. He put on a big, charming smile, the same one that made his mum and dad give him whatever he wanted, and said, "Maybe you should tell me."
"No time at all. We'll be late!"
"I wouldn't mind."
"Well, then." Draco thought Albus was giving in, like his parents, so he was annoyed when Albus ushered him into the bedroom and started to dress him in the robes that were laid out on the bed. Despite that, he remained pliant as always, and even managed not to pout. He preferred when he and Albus could be alone together, but he knew that they couldn't always be. Albus never said that Draco couldn't follow him around all day or interrupt his business to ask questions or even play a game to alleviate boredom. Sometimes when the tutors came or the governess tried to draw him away, Albus even said that he could stay and have lessons right there in Albus's office, though it had to be distracting for him. So whenever Albus had an important matter of business to attend to, he had to make other arrangements to keep Draco occupied. That was why all of Draco's play dates and special visits with his parents coincided with one of his big meetings.
This set-up was quite all right with Draco. Most of the time. However, today he didn't want to leave Albus's side. He'd only now gotten over his fear that the people who disapproved of their friendship would take Albus away from him. To make matters worse, Albus had been extremely busy lately. He always had to see someone to discuss the mentorship Draco's father had arranged for them. On top of that, there was the upcoming opening of the school, so he always had dozens of last minute revisions or arrangements to make, and there was a new staff meeting every few days.
Sometimes Draco would ask to help him do some of those, so that they might go faster and there would be more time for Albus to tell him extra bedtime stories, or even hold and kiss and caress him until he was dizzy with pleasure and contentment and the enlivening magical bond between them that grew stronger every day. It got so that Draco could feel Albus's heart beating, could feel the soft, plump wrinkles of old, strong hands in caresses, could smell pomade with every breath whenever Albus crossed his mind, though there might be the whole of Hogwarts castle between them. Those slips of magic and sensation made Draco ache to be with him.
As they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, Draco became quieter. Every step seemed to take him farther away from Albus, and it bothered him that this was one of those days when there was nothing to be done about it. That he knew he'd see Albus later in the evening was no consolation. Dinnertime was so many hours away that it might as well have been forever. He thought he could scream and scream, and kick in the shins whoever would monopolize Albus's attention all day long. It would serve them right for getting to be with Albus when he couldn't, despite wanting it so desperately. He hadn't lied when he said he wanted to be with Albus forever.
Sensing his reluctance to part ways, and, perhaps, also his mounting jealousy and distress, Albus swept Draco up in his arms and brushed the long, pale fringe from Draco's face.
"Don't you want to see your friends? It's been weeks already since you last got a chance to play with them."
"I know," Draco said. "Still, I'd rather stay with you today."
"I'm going to miss you as well, my darling."
Albus gave him a sweet, lingering kiss that left his mouth tingling and heart fluttering. Draco whimpered when he withdrew and pressed closer insistently. Albus's eyes twinkled mischievously and he turned about and walked into the antechamber to the Great Hall. He waved his wand at the door, and a yellow ward of magic shimmered over the jamb.
They sat together on a large, squishy armchair with an ugly paisley pattern, and Albus pulled Draco over his lap and kissed him. As all the times before, the touch of magic in the kiss made Draco feel dizzy with delight. It curled through him, twirled along down his spine and came to a head as heat between his legs. Albus's fingers were deft and swift, undoing all the buttons on his robes which were only put on moments ago. Once Albus got Draco's trousers and pants off, he turned his attentions toward his own; his cock sprung out, hard and red.
Draco had seen it often before, but he was still curious. They were similar in some ways, and yet so different, too. Tentatively, he touched it, and glanced up at Albus to see if that was okay. Albus's eyes were dark, and distant too, but he nodded once, looked like he might change his mind, then nodded again, more firmly. Draco smiled. Albus had never let him do anything like this before; he'd always held it, stroked it himself while he touched and suckled Draco. Then, in the end it would spurt a thick, pale goop, and Albus would groan and kiss him. Albus always seemed to like when that happened, so Draco wanted to try to make him leak all over.
Tracing the line of it—cock, Albus had said once when Draco asked why it felt nice to touch wieners—his hand came away wet when he reached the top. He pulled his hand back and stared at the glisten of his palm.
"What's this?" he asked, turning his hand about to show Albus.
"Pre-come," Albus whispered. "It aids lubrication, just a bit." Draco stared at him blankly, and Albus chuckled. "It makes it a little slippery."
"Why?"
"Why?" Albus repeated. He hesitated, then said, "It feels nicer."
"Oh."
Draco closed his hand on Albus's cock and rubbed at it, trying to make it slippery. It didn't feel very moist and slippery, but his touch was soft and tentative, and Albus didn't seem to mind. In fact, Albus rather liked it. He gasped and moaned, and rocked closer. So Draco continued to pet him, but when Albus's hand twitched closer and grasped Draco's own smaller cock, Draco could only clutch at it.
Drawing him closer, Albus captured his lips in another kiss, drinking down all of his sighs and whimpers. It felt so nice, like being caught in a cottony web of pleasure and tickled by hands that somehow managed to caress him everywhere; it was a spidery rapture in that way, and left him sated, yet curious and yearning for more.
A swelling tide of desire made him hot and achy and desperate, and he twisted about under Albus's gentle ministrations, trying to get closer to the source of the pleasant feelings. Albus watched him, with wide, gleaming, hungry eyes, and enfolded him in a tight, possessive embrace. Draco hid his face in the curve of Albus's neck, and breathed in deeply of the pomade Albus used, and pressed a kiss to his fluttering pulse point. In his hands, Albus's cock throbbed with want, and Draco remembered to pet it.
Albus's left hand slipped from the small of Draco's back to the little space between them and settled over Draco's hands, guiding them. Draco drew back a little to see. Albus's eyelids were heavy and drifted down, and he chewed on his lower lip. Suddenly, he pushed up, to get closer, it seemed, and Draco lost his balance and fell atop him. Their cocks brushed together, and it was a sensation like no other Draco had ever felt, and he cried out in surprised delight. Albus released his hold on Draco's cock and pressed into the small of his back again, keeping him in place as he thrust up again and again, and their cocks shifted together. Draco felt a familiar tightening in his chest and legs and groin, and he squeezed his eyes shut and whined.
Then, it was almost as if something inside him snapped, and he keened, wracked with convulsions and crashing waves of pleasure. He scrabbled against Albus, who rubbed his back and murmured soothing words in his ear until he settled again, sighing.
Kissing him again, Albus stretched leisurely under him, and curled a hand between them. Draco mimicked his actions, stroking and squeezing and fondling, until Albus trembled, moaning softly. His cock pulsed, and viscous streams of come spurted from the head.
For a few minutes after, neither moved, except for cuddling closer and deepening their kisses. Gradually, however, Albus began to stir, and they got up. Draco followed each wide, precise movement of his wand as he cast cleaning and refreshing charms on their surroundings and them. He couldn't wait until he got his own wand and could cast spells at a whim like Albus did. He didn't think he'd ever want to stop.
After Albus was presentable again, he pulled Draco closer and started to fix his clothes as well. Draco remained pliant; he was too sated to do otherwise, anyway. His mind drifted away, and before he knew it, Albus had him all straightened up and had taken his hand. They slipped into the Great Hall at the end of breakfast, with only enough time for a quick bite to eat before Draco had to meet his friends—and Albus had to slip away to his meeting, as well.
While Albus's attention was fixated on making sausage and egg sandwiches for them both, Draco sat in his chair, swinging his feet and humming under his breath. He looked up at the Enchanted Ceiling first, and the bright sunny sky traversed by flitting birds and wisps of fluffy clouds. Then, as he turned to glance out the window, he caught the disgusted frown on one of the teacher's faces. She looked like she'd taken a handful of Bertie Bott's beans she'd carefully picked out as buttered popcorn-flavored and unpleasantly found out she'd collected urine-flavored ones instead. Only, it was Albus she was looking at with such unadulterated loathing. This took Draco by surprise, and he glanced up and down the table, trying to see what everybody else's expressions looked like, and if they also were so displeased with Albus.
Draco wasn't a dullard; he knew why that lady looked like that—mostly it was Muggleborns who thought Draco shouldn't be friends with Albus, and their acrimony was especially blatant whenever it became evident that Albus kissed or touched him in any way. That was the thing they found particularly distasteful about the situation. Even some of Albus's friends, like Mr. Weasley, the red-haired man with all the freckly children that they'd met on Diagon Alley, couldn't abide the pederasty.
Professor Snape had a very guarded and sour look on his face, but Draco could tell that had nothing to do with Albus or him, because Professor Snape was poking at his kippers like he wanted to kill them all over again. Besides which, Professor Snape had always stood by Albus—and, Draco supposed, by extension him as well—from the time Albus had picked him up at Malfoy Manor to spend the summer here. Draco also knew that Professor Snape didn't really like him to know what an interesting person he was inside his harsh shell of distaste for everything and everyone, but despite all that, Draco knew how to weasel a fun story, or yummy or silly potion out of him.
Professor McGonagall was usually very terse and strict, and Draco sometimes noticed her eyes following him about whenever they were in the same room together. Her eyes were always unreadable, but she was never unkind to him, in her own way, and never made a spectacle of disagreeing with Albus. Her public face always followed his, and now was no different than all other times. She even managed to turn her pursed lips into a smile when she realized he was looking at her.
Then there was Professors Flitwick and Sprout, whose heads were bent together at the end of the table. They were whispering back and forth, and their eyes were twinkling, and they'd never seemed to mind at all the relationship Draco had with Albus. They were the last of the teachers that Draco knew well enough to remember their names.
He also knew the groundskeeper, Hagrid, but he was a half-giant and a bit reckless. Draco was terrified of him, thinking that the enormous oaf might come weaving and stumbling through the castle one night—he only ever seemed uncoordinated at nighttime after he'd been to Hogsmeade, and that was when he smelled the worst and sang the loudest, too—and squash him underfoot.
But Hagrid practically worshipped Albus, and he never thought a single thing amiss with what Albus said or did. That even extended to Draco, somewhat, in that Hagrid always tried to be nice to him, in that oafish, frightening way, and loudly swore up and down that anybody who didn't realize what a good influence Albus would be for a little boy had taken one too many bangs at Snap.
Some of the other teachers beside the Muggleborn one were also making faces at Albus. Then, when one of them caught Draco staring, she scowled at him, too. The Muggleborn teacher seemed put off by that reaction, and must have said so, because the one who'd scowled at him then sneered at her, too. None of that stopped her from glaring at Albus, though.
"Draco."
Spinning about at the sound of his name, Draco looked up at Albus. Once again, he felt glad that they'd talked about their friendship this morning and had decided that it was for forever, no matter what, else he might have been worried that there were so many people close to Albus who scorned Albus for befriending him.
"You must eat something, or you won't have enough energy to play with your friends when they come. You should hurry, too, because we're running late as it is."
"Oh," Draco said, picking up one half of his sandwich and taking a large bite. His mother might have scolded him for taking such large bites that one of his cheeks puffed out, and also for gulping his food down, but Albus merely smiled and started in on his own sandwich.
Next to Albus, Professor Snape snorted and stopped glowering so noxiously at his kippers long enough to quirk an eyebrow dubiously at Albus. He drawled, "You needn't worry about him not having enough energy for that in any case. He's such a perky little pest. Unless you think you might've worn him out just then." He jerked his head toward the antechamber and somebody down the table choked. Pointedly, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, but that had absolutely no effect on Professor Snape.
"Now, Severus, do watch your tongue," Albus chided gently.
"And you yours," Snape returned glibly, which made Albus's bushy white eyebrows ride up high on his forehead and McGonagall actually blush. Draco glanced between them, Albus and Snape and McGonagall and frowned.
"Why should I be sleepy?" he said.
"Why," said Snape, his voice cool and controlled, "don't you do as you're told and eat your breakfast instead of paying attention to grown-up conversations that do not concern you?"
"I just thought grown-up conversations about me did concern me," Draco replied.
He'd been a bit uncertain about that point, until Albus smirked and McGonagall laughed and said he had Snape there. Professor Snape wasn't nearly as impressed, and he glowered down his nose, so large and hooked it might have been a sallow beak, until Draco picked up his sandwich again and took another, smaller bite.
He kept eating, and returned to staring up at the Enchanted Ceiling. Grown-ups usually took that to mean he was distracted, and sometimes, like now, Draco pressed that to his advantage. Just because he wasn't looking didn't mean he wasn't listening anyway, but nobody ever thought to curb their speech when he was reading or playing or staring off.
They continued talking about him, in hushed tones this time so whoever down the table had choked wouldn't have cause to do so again. Draco watched a strong wind move a cloud eastward, drifting through the beams. One of the birds in the sky swooped in a wide circle, zooming in on something, and Draco let his eyes follow it around and around. It was rhythmical, and just a hair out of sync with his chewing. He concentrated on these things to keep himself from giving his input on the conversation he was to have no part of, even when Professor Snape pestered Albus with comments that made him uncomfortable.
The magic between them was strong enough now that Draco could feel Albus's moods as vividly as if they were his own. Albus really wished that Snape wouldn't remark on their friendship, or, rather, specifically the touches that came with it. Sometimes Albus felt a little guilty about enjoying being able to touch, hold and kiss Draco whenever he wanted—Draco could feel even that in the bond that held them together. Draco could really understand that. Sometimes, when he lived at home, he felt guilty after he'd had an especially yummy cookie, piece of cake, or other sweet when he knew his father didn't want him to overindulge. It was kind of like that for Albus, too. Draco thought it was probably because part of their relationship was meant to be professional, as Mentor and Eromenos, but Albus really, really liked being with him, so it didn't seem professional at all. And Draco never complained, either.
Once he'd finished his sandwich, and Albus had managed to successfully fend off acerb commentary about his intemperance in skiving off to the teacher's lounge "to play," as Professor Snape had put it, they got up to go. Snape came with them, as he always was Draco's chaperone on the days when Albus had to leave the castle for business and couldn't—or wouldn't, as Draco suspected this was more often the case—take Draco with him so arranged for visitors instead.
The day was as warm and bright and beautiful as the Enchanted Ceiling had led to believe, and Draco ran along the lawn ahead of Albus and Professor Snape, scattering birds and laughing and doubling back again. They headed toward the gates off the path to Hogsmeade, where Albus sometimes took him for sweets or Butterbeers. When the birds had wised up about what Draco was doing, Albus conjured butterflies for him to chase instead, and Draco tried to snatch them out of the air.
Professor Snape said, "Really, Albus, you shouldn't indulge his childish inanities. You're meant to mold him into a proper mage."
"Not just a proper one, but a great one," Albus replied. "Didn't you know that childish inanities are one third of greatness, Severus?"
Draco caught a butterfly and raced back, giggling because the flutter of its wings tickled him. He pressed it to the lapel of Snape's Spartan black robes, and it stuck on, too, like magic. He giggled again when Snape sneered at him, and said, "It's so you'll be colorful and look a little nicer. You've got to be nice if a butterfly likes you!"
"He's right about that, you know," Albus mused, and winked at Draco; Draco beamed back.
"What's the other third of greatness, then, Albus?" he asked.
"The other third?" Albus said, as if it had never occurred to him that there would be three thirds in a whole. Then, his eyes brightened, like the thought had only now come to him, and he said, "Why, compassion, of course. If you are timely and compassionate and just a little silly, my boy… You will be one of the greatest wizards—and men—this world has ever seen!"
"Well, you both have the silly part down pat," said Snape, rolling his eyes. Even so, his voice hadn't sounded so harsh this time, and so Draco simply smiled at him before racing after the butterflies again.
He rounded a curve of the lake and came closer to the gate, and then there was a booming shout and flash of light, which blinded him, and he tripped and fell hard, hurting his wrist; it made a cracking sound like his parents did when they Apparated. His first thought was that Hagrid had finally done it, and he shrieked and scrambled away, still unable to make anything out beyond the colorful blinking spots in his vision. Not a full ten seconds passed before he was raised up into a strong embrace and heard the soothing murmurs of Albus's familiar voice. Shuddering, he clung to Albus, and tried to swallow the urge to cry. It would be all right, he thought, now Albus was there and had him again. Already Albus was prodding gently at his wrist, and the terrible flare of pain cooled and soothed into a light tickle. Tentatively, Draco flexed his wrist and found that it didn't hurt in the slightest anymore.
He heard Snape's voice calling out over the clamor that had suddenly risen up, and he turned his head and peeked over Albus's shoulder. Snape was standing at that gate, snarling viciously at a gathering of witches and wizards with cameras, recorders and notepads.
"They're journalists, Draco," Albus said softly as he rubbed a circular pattern onto Draco's back. Draco withdrew a little to look him in the eye and frowned. "I didn't want you to find out about them like this. They're very interested in the fact that we're such close friends, my darling. I've kept them from seeing you too long, it seems."
"Why do they want to see me?" Draco asked. Flashes of light were still going off, and people were trying to shout over the din their own shouts created. Draco frowned at them, his lower lip poked out in a pout.
"It's that you're my Eromenos. They want to see you because that makes you special. Right now, there aren't any other wizards in the whole wizarding world with Eromenoses."
"I'm the only one?"
"The only one in a long, long time," Albus said. "Maybe, now you're not caught off guard, you'll be willing to go get your picture taken properly now, and say hello?"
"Oh." Draco glanced over Albus's shoulder again to the ruckus. The reporters in the front were even getting smashed into the gate as the ones behind them tried to push forward. Draco didn't think he wanted anything to do with that rabble. But then he looked at Albus again, who seemed tired, like he'd dealt with all of that and more for weeks on end now, and Draco didn't want Albus to have to face them alone. Sighing, he nodded. "Okay. You'll make them be quiet?"
"I promise to quiet them down," Albus said.
He set Draco down and waved his wand over him. A shimmering bubble of magic appeared with a little pop, encapsulating Draco. Draco gasped and pressed his hand into the filmy shield. It jiggled and glittered. It was iridescent and variegated… and rather pretty, he thought.
"Stay right here, Draco, and don't move. I'll be back in a minute, after I have them settled down." Draco nodded to signal he understood and would obey. Then Albus returned to the crowd at the gate and swiftly pulled them into order. He even agreed to open the gate as long as they would line up on the lawn where he drew a bright red line, behave, and act cordially. Nobody put up a fuss about that, so Albus returned to collect him. He blew on the bubble to pop it.
Wary that the reporters would change their minds now he wasn't behind his shield, Draco took Albus's hand and held on tight. Professor Snape stood a little off to the side, his posture stiff, his face twisted in a look of supreme distaste and impatience, and his wand at the ready. Draco felt much more secure, knowing how quick off the draw Snape was, and also having Albus there beside him. He felt very loved and protected and at ease, and even managed to smile when he got up close to the journalists.
Like Albus had said, they wanted to take his picture and ask him some questions. Mostly the questions were about Albus—how did Draco like him, and what was it like living with him, and if he was happy to be friends with Albus. Some had more confusing questions, though. They wanted to know if he knew what Eromenos meant—Belovéd, of course, he said, which made them laugh—and whether his magic ever touched Albus's—Yes. It's nice. Albus is really magical, he answered tentatively, looking to Albus for guidance; he felt reassured when Albus smiled kindly and nodded—and, so far, what sorts of things had Albus taught him about being a proper wizard—and he answered, I should always be punctual. But I'm not today, because my friends are waiting for me now. Everybody laughed at that, but Draco had been telling the truth. His friends had arrived up the road from Hogsmeade as they were having their interview, and were now standing over near Snape. Albus probably was missing his important meeting, too. Draco glanced at Albus uncertainly, and Albus smiled proudly at him and said there would be only one more question and a picture.
A reporter, whose name was Rita Skeeter, for the Daily Prophet called out over everybody else, "What is pederasty and what does it entail, Draco?" Nobody else tried to get a question in after that like all other times before, and they all looked so eager for his answer that he glanced to Albus to see if it was all right to reply. Albus simply nodded, but gave no directives like his father might have. Draco felt nervous, thinking up an answer on his own. He fidgeted with his sleeve.
"What's entail mean?" he said quietly.
Everyone was so hushed, though some people exchanged knowing or calculating glances when he said that. For a moment, Draco didn't think he would get an answer and would have to make a guess, but then Albus said that they wanted to know what sorts of things people did when they were involved in pederasty.
Draco said, "Oh. Well… pederasty is boy love. And it entails…"
He trailed off to think very hard of all that it entailed. His brow furrowed and he stared down at the lawn. The only thing he could think of was that it entailed being with Albus and learning all the neat things he had to teach and just being happier than he'd ever felt before because… Albus was Albus. Then somebody prompted him, and he looked up again.
"Pederasty is boy love," he said again, "and it entails… love!"
So many people looked astonished by his answer that he thought he'd said something wrong. He looked at Albus to see if maybe he'd made a mistake and should apologize, but Albus looked surprised and happy; he was smiling and his eyes were twinkling and that look made Draco's heart give a leap for joy in his chest.
Then Albus came over and said they had to wrap up. They posed for one last picture for the camera, and Draco was still trembling as Albus held him and shooed them all away. When Albus kissed him after they had gone, Draco positively melted at the swollen feeling of their magic as it mingled together and the heat of emotion blazing through their link from Albus to Draco, and Draco to Albus.
Albus set him down again and ruffled his hair, saying, "You handled yourself very well today, my darling. I'm very proud of you."
Draco didn't want to go their separate ways after that. He wanted to go back up to Albus's rooms and sit by the window and play some of the board games that were in the storage space under the table. But he didn't complain when Albus left, and he even greeted his visitors joyfully. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and a pudgy, timid boy he didn't know, whose name was Neville Longbottom, had come to play with him.
When Draco prompted, Neville said that his Gran had arranged for them to meet up today, which seemed to embarrass him. Draco felt bad for making Neville feel so abashed, and he said that it was all right because his father often arranged for him to play with the children of his friends and colleagues. That's how he'd met Blaise and Pansy, after all, and they got on well enough. And even his closest friends his own age, Vince and Greg, were his father's friends' sons. That put Neville in better spirits. Unfortunately, Neville was chronically shy. So much so, in fact, that he could barely function, and Blaise didn't like that one bit.
As soon as Professor Snape left them off in the Slytherin common room to play for awhile while he collected some things from his office down the hall, Blaise pushed Neville toward a corner and told him to stay out of their way if he knew what was good for himself. Neville would have done it, too, if Draco hadn't pushed Blaise back and told him to shut up because he was being mean and stupid.
Blaise landed hard on his rump and scraped the meaty pad of his thumb on the hearthstones. He looked like he might cry, but then Pansy giggled, and he decided to tackle Draco instead. They landed on one of the squishy green couches, and rolled around in their tussle until Professor Snape returned and wrenched them apart.
"Do not," he gritted out, "make the mistake of thinking I will indulge your annoying little shenanigans. There will be no horsing around, no tomfoolery, and most certainly no fighting. Have I made myself clear?"
They each said yes, seeming contrite enough, but he gave them both an extra shake of the collar before letting them go. He stood as tall and imposing as he could, glowering down his nose at them with severe dark eyes. Pansy giggled again, and his gaze snapped to her furiously, for how dare she undermine his authority? Then he seemed to realize that she wasn't looking him in the face, but lower, and followed her gaze to the pretty, fluttering butterfly that Draco had pinned to his lapel almost an hour earlier. He snatched it away and tossed it into the fire. The fire crackled around it, and it dropped, blackened, dead, on the hearthstones. Pansy gasped in dismay, which suited Professor Snape well enough, and he spun on his heel and took a seat at a table. They all stared at him for several moments as he marked up a book with green ink, and he pretended that he didn't notice their attention.
Finally, Draco broke the tension in the room by smoothing his clothes out and prancing over to sit on the two-seater sofa with Neville. Blaise and Pansy sat in two armchairs on either side of them, and swung their legs out, each looking all about themselves in wide-eyed wonder of the Slytherin dorms.
"How'd you get to come here so soon?" said Blaise irritably. "You're not even eleven."
"It's because I'm special," Draco said haughtily, mimicking the tone his father used with inferiors who'd annoyed him and hadn't yet managed to get back into his favor. It let them know precisely where they stood, he'd once said, so that they could brown-nose a bit more before he deigned to acknowledge them again. Always, he'd said, make them work to your benefit, son. When they want to be your friend, they'll give you exactly what you want from them. And even after you've got it, make them work a bit harder, to show them what-for; you're the one with the power, and you always will be.
"I'm special, too!" said Blaise indignantly.
"Not as special as me," Draco replied, giving him an impatient glower. "Obviously."
Blaise puffed up his chest and curled his lip back, "I am too! My mum said I'm the most special boy in the whole world, so there!"
"Oh, your mum said, did she? That makes it true, then."
Pansy tittered at that, and Neville looked like he wanted to disappear into the cushions on the sofa before anyone could turn on him. Draco nudged him so he'd sit up straight, and not let Blaise and Pansy get to him so much, but that only made him slouch even more. Maybe he didn't understand, Draco thought, the power game they were playing? They'd always done it, mimicking their parents at important dinners and parties, and the winner got to decide what other games they'd play for the rest of the day. When Draco had told his mum and dad about the game, they'd been so proud that they went out and bought him a lovely new cremello Abraxan the same day, and told him to keep playing—and winning —the game because it was good practice for when he was all grown up. It hadn't ever occurred to him that all other children didn't play the power game; at least, he'd never before met anybody who didn't know what it was about.
"What makes you so special then?" said Blaise, pursing his lips.
"My mum says it's because you're a boy," Pansy volunteered. "It's not properly fair you got to come to Hogwarts early just because you're a boy."
"Who cares about fair?" Blaise blurted, sneering at her.
She flushed a bit, and it only grew darker when Draco said, "Anyway, it's not that I'm a boy. Blaise is a boy, too, and he's nothing special, is he?" Blaise looked about to protest, and Neville looked happy that Draco hadn't included him in that statement, too. Draco felt confused. Neville should have said something by now if he wanted to pick the games they were going to play. Even Pansy, who was laid-back and rather liked to follow Draco all around, had put in a bid for it, albeit a weak one. He might have puzzled over it a bit more if he hadn't needed to head Blaise off. Quickly, he added, "The point is that I'm Albus Dumbledore's boy. That's why I'm more special than you." He added that last bit pointedly at Blaise, who huffed, but wasn't ready to give in yet.
"You're not more special than me, even for that. Being a boy—even his boy—just means you're in need of a little extra guidance. Especially now you've had to be Opened so early on. Maybe your parents were afraid you'd turn out weak at the wand. They probably thought you were a Squib!"
Neville squeaked at that, and Draco turned to him and missed his chance to counter, he was so taken aback. "What's wrong with you, then?" he said, a little irritably now he realized what he'd let Blaise say unchecked.
Blaise laughed mean-spiritedly, and said, "We're in the same music class. That one really is a Squib! His Gran arranged for him to come play with you so he'd get his only chance to see the inside of Hogwarts, since there's no way he's getting a letter."
"T-that's not true," Neville muttered. He sounded pitiful, like he might cry. It made Draco think of Cook's son, who had been twelve already when they first met, and resigned to a life of mopping the floors at Malfoy Manor. He hadn't exactly been a Squib, but his magic was so weak that it hadn't warranted any schooling because he knew all the spells he could manage to cast—a dim Lumos and wavering Accio. And Draco thought about how much he'd missed playing with Martin, who'd seemed so sharp to him, despite not being able to cast any spells, and how Albus said he could be friends with anybody, even Squibs if he wanted. He felt bad for Neville, and turned a cold stare on Blaise.
"You're a fine one to talk about first magic, Blaise," he said, deadpan. "Your mum had to scare yours out of you with a weighted drop in the lake, remember? Disapparate or drown, dear — isn't that what she said?"
Blaise looked like he'd have preferred if Draco had slapped him, and he leapt up from his seat. "Draco, you said you wouldn't!" he exclaimed furiously. Then Draco felt bad all around, for Neville, and for Blaise. But he wouldn't show it because that meant losing to Blaise, who'd been so wretched today for no reason at all and would only get worse after winning, so he sat back instead, huffing.
"Now you know how it feels to have mean things said about you, whether or not they're true," he said.
Reluctantly, Blaise looked at Neville, who also looked like he could cry any moment, and curled his lip. He glanced back to Draco and made an impatient gesture, but Draco stared evenly back, and finally Blaise sighed and mumbled that he was sorry. Neville accepted his apology, more out of fear than true forgiveness, it seemed, but Draco wasn't in the mood to split hairs. He beamed, and Pansy stood up.
"So, I guess the game's over," she said. "Finally!"
"What game?" said Neville miserably.
Blaise looked at him like he was particularly daft, and said, "The power game you were too much a diricawl to play."
"I like diricawls," Draco said gently, nudging Neville. Neville cringed.
"You would," said Blaise coolly. "They're as cowardly as you. You're all just… birds of a feather." He threw his hands up to heaven and squeezed his eyes shut. "Okay, so what are we doing today?"
"I want to go to the Quidditch pitch first," Draco said merrily, hopping up. Blaise groaned and looked unimpressed with Draco's decision. Draco added, "I've got my own broom. A real broom!"
"No way!" Blaise exclaimed. "I don't believe it!"
"Too bad," Draco said, smirking at him, "because we're going to the pitch, and because you were so mean to Neville, that means you're going to be the last to get a ride on my new broom now."
"Like I care, it's just a training broom!" Blaise folded his arms over his chest, determined to call Draco's bluff. But Draco had the distinct pleasure of knowing just how wrong he was—and how upset he was going to be when Draco gave Neville and even Pansy a ride on the broom before he had a chance. So he merely smiled.
"Go ahead to the pitch while I get the broom from my room. I'll be right out."
Blaise and Pansy turned about to go, and all four of them startled when they saw Snape was standing nearby, watching them intently. They hadn't heard his chair scrape on the floor, or him moving in any way, and didn't realize he'd been paying attention to their game until now. Draco worried that they were about to get into trouble again, but Snape didn't say anything. His gaze was curious and calculating, until he turned away to grab his book and follow them to the pitch. Once his back was turned, Blaise and Pansy fled the room. Neville hung back and tugged at Draco's sleeve.
"I didn't know we were playing a game," he said.
"That's okay," Draco said. "I won, so Blaise can't be mean to you for the rest of the day, or he'll be last for everything."
"Oh," Neville said. He seemed startled by what Draco had said, although Draco couldn't fathom why. "That's really nice of you. Thanks."
Draco shrugged. "Go ahead. I've got to get my broom."
Neville obediently raced ahead, and then Draco left, too, running for the Headmaster's quarters. After this morning, he'd had the feeling it would be a bad idea to let his friends know that he slept in the same room with Albus, because if they told their parents, and their parents told anybody, it could get back to the papers fairly easy. And the papers didn't seem to like Albus right now—or, many of them didn't—so he didn't want them to know anything at all, lest it caused more trouble for Albus. He'd said he would fight for their friendship, and he would; but he'd also want to be smart about it.