It was the last day of term, and all anyone could think about was the upcoming Christmas holidays. Harry and Ron sat at the back of the Transfigurations class and half-watched lazily as Professor McGonagall transfigured a beetle into a button and back again while Hermione, the only student paying attention, muttered the incantations along with Professor McGonnagall, and practiced the wand movements under the table.

"This is isn't a particularly hard spell," Finished McGonagall, "but it is good practice for the more advanced Transfiguring we will be starting next term. I want you to practice this with your beetles until you can get it easily."

Seamus was chosen to hand out the stag beetles to the class, earning some squeals from the more squeamish girls. Hermione, of course, got the spell first time and produced a pretty little blue button, before swiftly turning it back into a beetle, whereas Harry's still had a couple of legs the first few times he did it, but he managed it in the end and produced a tortoiseshell button. Ron's button crawled around the table, avoiding the wand for all it was worth, though with each try the button lost a leg until, eventually, Ron had created a little red button. Once all three had mastered the spell they set about discussing their plans for the holiday. At least, Ron and Harry listened to Hermione talking about her plans. They would both be staying at Hogwarts, but Hermione was going skiing with her parents - apparently a yearly tradition in their family. Ron couldn't quite get his head around the concept of skiing, saying it was clearly just a pointless muggle sport, and Hermione was saying that it was very fun and a great form of exercise and "Not at all boring, Ronald!"

Harry wasn't sure what to expect from Christmas at Hogwarts, especially as he barely knew how Christmas worked in the first place. It had always been a miserable time of year for him at the Dursleys. Usually, he received things like tissues, or socks, or even nothing at all, and then had to watch Dudley opening his hundreds of presents, sharing in the love that should have been abundant at Christmas, but never quite seemed to reach Harry. He had no idea what Christmas was like in the magical world, but surely anything would be better than the Dursleys. Anyway, Ron was excited, so surely he should be too? Maybe he would even get presents this year...

After Transfigurations, there came Defense Against The Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. Harry happened to be paired with Draco to practice Protego, the shield charm, and between spells, they talked about Draco's holiday plans (apparently, holidays were all people talked about in the run up to one). Draco complained that he was going to get 'incredibly bored' at home, where there was nothing to do except read, and draw, and talk to his father about things like business and politics – boring stuff. The only good part of Christmas, in Draco's opinion, was getting presents, and that only occupied one day.

"You know," Harry was thinking aloud "You could always write if you're bored. I never receive letters, it might be fun."

Draco shrugged. "I guess if I get very bored I'll consider it an option."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked indignantly.

"Well no offense mate, but writing letters isn't the exactly the most engaging pastime."

"Probably more engaging than politics with your father."

"Touché."

"So you'll write?"

"Yeah, alright. I'll send you a letter with a return address so you can write back."

0o0oHarry0o0o

Draco alighted from the train to see his parents waiting side by side at the side of the platform. Lucius was wearing a billowing tailored cloak, his hand on the cane he carried everywhere, with the silver snake's head in place of a handle. Narcissa Malfoy stood next to him but slightly apart. She was a tall, well-groomed woman with sleek silver hair reaching halfway down her back in perfect, straight strands, and was currently talking to Rose Zabbini (Blaise's mother), a very stylish dark-skinned woman who nearly matched Lucius in height, and gave the impression of being taller through her large, well-kept afro. She was wearing a gold coloured silk shirt and big gold hoop earings. Draco loved Blaise's mother, and had done since he was a child, because she was the sort of person who was a pleasure to be around. She had the same laid-back attitude and sense of humour as her son, and liked to sneak Draco homemade treats whenever she visited, especially if his father wasn't feeding him (a form of punishments that could sometimes see Draco's hips and ribs growing scarily prominent, and hurt even though Draco knew he deserved it).

Draco often wondered why Rose Zabbini had been sorted into Slytherin, but he supposed the Sorting Hat knew better than he did. She had been married seven times but her current husband was a short man with short hair, stouter and darker than his wife, who was rarely seen in anything but a suit. His name was Sorrel. Blaise's father, Eric, had died in the same was as the other five husbands: suddenly, mysteriously, and with all their money left to Rose in their wills. Sorrel wasn't with Rose at the moment, so Draco guessed he was still at the Ministry, where he worked as the head of the International Magical Trading Standards Body.

"Draco, darling!" His mother embraced him quickly, and began fussing over him as usual. His father simply shook his hand. Next to them, Blaise embraced his mother tightly, before the two said their goodbyes and made their way out of the station, shortly followed by the Malfoys.

The ride home was only vaguely awkward. The conversation went something like this:

"I do think you've grown Draco, you look like quite the gentleman!"

"Thank you, Mother,"

"And is school ok?"

"Yes, school's fine."

"Are you keeping up with your work?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

"Yes, it is."

It wasn't exactly engaging. His father said little. In fact, Draco's father only really spoke to him to correct him, instruct him, or to chastise him. He never said anything positive, instead choosing to only ever make comments as to what could be improved. It had been more difficult when he had been very young. Growing up, he had constantly strived to make Lucius proud of him, and his continued failure to do so had left him feeling that there was something wrong with him: that he would never be good enough. It was a bitter feeling which he would carry with him forever.

0o0o

"You called, father?"

Draco stood in his father's study, waiting to hear why he had been called there. He had been at the Manor a whole week, but this was the first time his father had requested to see him.

The office was made of expensive polished wood, and was full but not cluttered, with three walls covered in bookshelves; and the fourth hung with a large painting of Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa. In the centre of the room there was a large mahogany writing desk, at which his father sat now, finishing a letter he was writing. Draco stood in front of the desk and waited until his father had finished what he was doing, knowing that it was Lucius's custom make people wait for him, and at length, Lucius stood and walked over to where the family eagle owl stood on a perch. He attached the letter to the owl's leg, then made the bird hop onto his arm to be carried outside. All this time Draco stood and waited.

"Walk with me, Draco," Commanded his father, and together they exited the room.

"Tell me," Lucius asked presently, "How goes Hogwarts? In detail."

"It goes well, father. I understand all the classwork; in a lot of subjects I am actually ahead of the curriculum thanks to you and mother's teaching."

"And the other Slytherins? They respect you?"

"Yes, father, especially since I caused a Gryffindor some problems involving a Remembrall, if you recall I told you about it in my letter?"

"Ah yes. You got into trouble for it, but that can't be helped now. Be more careful next time. Now, you said in your letter that Harry Potter is in your school year."

"He is,"

"And?"

"I met him on the train, along with the son of Arthur Weasley. The two are close friends. We talked for some time before I realised who he was, and in truth, we got on well. However, when I realised that he was Harry Potter I told him we couldn't be friends-"

"Why on earth did you do that?!" Lucius Malfoy turned and stood in front of Draco, suddenly looking thunderous.

"W- well," Stuttered Draco, surprised by his father's anger, "I thought you wouldn't approve, seeing as he, well, all the stuff with the Dark Lord," Draco looked at the floor as he spoke, not making eye contact, "I thought he went against your beliefs, and besides, the other Slytherins would see me as a traitor if I were friends with a Gryffindor,"

"Draco," Said his father, in a voice of suppressed rage, "Do you realise what good publicity it would be if you were friends with the savior of the Wizarding World? Do you even comprehend the benefits of having strong allies in high places? Have I taught you nothing?"

"I- I just thought-"

"You thought wrong!" Lucius had a way of towering over Draco when he was angry, making Draco feel tiny and vulnerable. He was doing it now. "Draco, look at me." Draco winced at the revulsion in Lucius's voice as he said his name, and raised his eyes to meet his father's cold gaze. Lucius removed the glove he was wearing, and Draco and felt a crack across his cheek as his father hit him. The pain was sharp and he screwed up his eyes to stop them watering. Crying always made it worse, and shows of weakness always made Lucius angrier.

"Draco, I want you to become friends with Potter. Tell your housemates that it is an investment and that I advised you to do so. They will leave you alone. Now get out of my sight. I have a letter to send."

"Father-"

"Now, Draco. Leave."