Lord of Shadows Arc, Book One: Prince of Darkness

Right, so apparently, the last half of this chapter hasn't been showing up, even though it's right down there. trying to figure out what's wrong. Sorry for the trouble, you've been missing some really good stuff.

* * * * *


Being a rock star was an afterthought for me. A way of indulging Draco, of seeing him smile. I never imagined it would go where it did. . .

Many children have dreams of stardom, but I never had. When I was very young, I simply didn't dream-- what hope was there for me, aside from one day leaving that house I'd been locked up in for so many years? That dream was partially fulfilled on my elevebirtbirthday, only to be replaced by another, more desperate dream. I wanted only to survive long enough to learn what I needed to do, what I had been born for. I never expected to live through the final battle with Voldemort, despite all that I'd learned in the years leading up to it. And I knew that if I died, so too would Draco. Granting his wish was my way of seeing that he had a chance at his dream before we both were killed, as I assumed would happen.

But despite all that, I did learn to like the stage, after a fashion, if only because Draco was there with me, as we displayed our love for all to see. I never liked the fame, though I learned to wield it. I never liked the hounds who would follow us with their cameras, stirring up rumours and lies, though I made them my weapon as well. But I always enjoyed singing with Draco, and eventually, I became addicted to it, craving the way it soothed my heart, and healed pieces of my soul.

Besides, who can resist anything Draco wants for long? I'd like to see someone, anyone try. . .

From: Lion at New Moon


The rest of November passed and turned into December, howling winds bringing snow to blanket the school grounds. Most students left to go home for the holidays, but a few stayed, among them Harry and Draco, along with Hermione, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Everyone had wanted to go to London to shop, but Dumbledore could only make a limited number of Portkeys at once, and they didn’t know who might be monitoring the Floo system, so the students were London-bound on the Hogwarts Express, having been thoroughly briefed by Harry and Hermione on what not to do while walking through the Muggle sections of London. All were wearing ‘Muggle’ clothes, and all wore emergency Portkeys around their necks, should something happen. In addition, not only were Professors Lupin and McGonagall accompanying, but they planned to meet the Weasleys at the Leaky Cauldron.

There was only one problem.


"What's got you so moody, Draco?" Hermione looked at the young man over her elf- knitting, barely noticing the sway of the train cabin on the tracks.

"It's Harry, he's being. . .difficult."

The other young man in question was in another compartment, trying desperately hard to think of nothing.

Hermione smiled. "What's he being difficult about this time?"

Draco shifted irritably in his seat. "I want to get a group together for the contest, but he wants nothing to do with it. Susan Bones is a percussionist you know, and she has been bugging me, and Lisa Turpin, who plays bass and cello. . . I play a number of things, and I sing, but Harry's got such talent. . ." he sighed.

Hermione nodded. She could very well understand Harry's instinctive aversion to anything that would put him in the spotlight.

"Why is this contest so important to you?"

Draco blushed, and mumbled something Hermione didn’t quite hear.

"Excuse me? I didn't quite hear that."

"I said, I always wanted to be a rock star. . ." Draco fidgeted at the admission. "Father always said it was a disgraceful ambition, I was bred to do much more civilised things than 'prance around half-dressed on a stage whoring myself to the thousands. . . '" he took a deep breath. "But Father has no say in anything anymore, and this is the closest I'll get. . ."

Hermione nodded, changing the pattern of her stitching. "So, why don't you ask someone else, if Harry won't do it?"

Draco looked at her as if she were crazy.

"Without Harry? No, it wouldn't be the same. . .it wouldn’t be any fun at all . . . I don’t know why he refuses either, he won't tell me, he just says 'Draco, love, this is not something I'm interested in.' Bloody idiot Potter!"

Hermione put her knitting down, spearing Draco with a sharp gaze. "Why do you think he wants nothing to do with it?"

"Because he's stubborn and difficult and a pain in the arse?"

Hermione frowned, rolling her eyes. "Think about it! We all know how much he enjoys singing with you during his lessons, so there has to be a reason he doesn't want to sing in front of anyone else. Why do you suppose that is?"

This made Draco actually think. "You can't convince me he's shy, Granger . . ."

"Not of people, no . . ."

Draco's face was still blank in thought, so Hermione decided to help him.

"Does this sound familiar?" She cleared her throat, and scowled, imitating Professor Snape. "Our…resident celebrity hasn't been getting enough attention, has he? What were you thinking, Potter, that The-Boy-Who-Lived could win just by saying his name?"

Draco's eyes widened. "He's afraid of what Snape would say?!"

"No, you dunderhead! He's trying to avoid anything that will draw attention to him, as he's always tried to do! Being a rock star is the last thing he wants, even if it is only in front of a Hogwarts audience!" Hermione took a deep breath, punctuating her thoughts with "Men!".

Draco snickered. "Now you sound like Pansy . . ."

"And no wonder, if she's had to deal with this for six years. What happened to all that Slytherin cleverness?"

"A clever lie, I suppose," Draco smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As I’m sure you haven’t told Harry of this burning musical ambition of yours, I would recommend you let him know. Even if he doesn’t agree, he’ll have a better understanding of you. But if you don’t tell him, I know he won’t come around.”

Draco nodded, thinking Hermione might know better than anyone else how to get through to Harry.

* * *

In another compartment, Harry sat alone. He was supposed to be thinking of nothing, but the current tension with Draco wouldn’t leave him alone. For two weeks, Harry had danced around the subject every time Draco had brought it up, until this morning, when the Slytherin had refused to be sidetracked and pressed the point. Harry, judging honesty to be the best route at that point, had said he didn’t want to do it, so why didn’t Draco just ask someone else? The resulting explosion had, for Harry, been quite unexpected, and parts of it still puzzled and upset him. Like when Draco had yelled, “First, you’re all possessive, so it’s like I’m your pet or something, and then, the first time I ever find something I really want to do, you just say ‘no, won’t happen’. Well, fuck you! I’m not your slave, Potter!”

Draco had stormed out of their bedroom at that point, slamming the door behind him. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since, and Harry had chosen a separate compartment with the excuse that he needed to practice clearing his mind, since he had resumed his Occlumency lessons. But now he sat thinking, trying to understand what had happened between himself and the man he loved. What he didn’t understand was why Draco had reacted so strongly. It was just a silly contest, it didn’t mean that much.

Not to you, it doesn’t, said a treacherous voice in his head. But maybe it means something more to him? Harry frowned, irritated that his conscience seemed to be getting involved. Why in the world would a contest mean that much to Draco? Everyone already knew he was a fantastic musician, and it certainly wasn’t about the prize, considering the rather. . .prejudiced view of America he had inherited from his parents. He couldn’t believe such a thing would be so important to any Malfoy, much less Draco.

But you did see his face, didn’t you, when you said no? Harry irritably wondered when his conscience had become such a pain in the arse. And no, he hadn’t seen the look.

Oh yes you did. . . the one that looked like you’d Avada Kedavra-ed the Easter Bunny . . .hmmm?

Harry caved. Yes, he had seen that look, and he’d hated it at once. It had made him feel like a monster, like. . . like he’d killed the Easter Bunny. It made his insides squirm around like they were trying to escape, and it made his heart hurt quite sharply. He hoped he never saw that look again.

Mmm, and you’re the one who put it there. . .

Bloody hell. Harry groaned aloud.

That still didn’t explain why it was so important to Draco, but it obviously was. Harry decided that as they did their shopping, he’d have to ask. At the very least, he could try to mend fences.

* * *

The streets of London were bare of snow, but bitter winds still swept through the streets between the train station and the Leaky Cauldron. Harry walked in the back of the bunch, lost in thought. Silently, he reached forward and tugged on Draco's hand, deciding to ask now rather than later. Aware that they were still in the Muggle section, Harry dropped Draco's hand regretfully as the other slowed down to walk next to him. He took a breath.

"Look, Draco, I'm sorry I was such an arse earlier. . . I should have asked you then, why is this so important to you?"

Draco looked startled, amazed at such an easy opening.

"I . . . " he hesitated, not wanting to sound foolish. "I always wanted to be a rock star, but father wouldn't have it. . . said it was too undignified for a Malfoy . . . this may be the only chance I get to even partway be one . . ." Draco blushed.

"I had forgotten that." The memories gained from each other the night of the bonding had quickly faded, leaving only faint, floating remnants, sometimes revived when the other said something. Harry mulled on this for several moments before continuing. "I'll think about it. I'm not promising anything, but I will consider it."

Draco finally smiled, and Harry sighed inwardly in relief.

"Well, that's a move in the right direction, at the very least," the former said. Harry smiled back, briefly reaching out to caress his mind.

So, is the fight over? Are we patched up? Harry asked, nervous.

Draco smirked. Well, I suppose I'll let you sleep in bed with me tonight. . .

Just then, as Draco smirked at him, they passed a Muggle music shop. In the window over Draco's shoulder, Harry saw a beautiful electric guitar, all white, silver, and mother-of-pearl. He was careful to keep from showing a reaction, but immediately thought of how well it would suit Draco. In a moment they were past, and had finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. The Weasleys had not yet arrived, so everyone sat down, ordering warm drinks to keep them until the rest of their party turned up.

Harry was deep in thought as he held the warm cider in his hands. Now that he knew why the contest was important for Draco, Harry found himself not as against the idea as he had been. His greatest ambition in life was simply to survive childhood. But Draco, who thrived on attention, and had incredible musical talent, would naturally want to be a rock star. Moreover, he wanted to be a rock star with Harry, which was, now that he thought about it, quite sweet and thought-provoking.

Harry's thoughts coalesced into a single decision. Thinking it over once more, he nodded his head.

"Hermione, I saw something on the way here I wanted to get for Ron. Do you think you could come with me as I run back down to the store?"

Hermione nodded as Harry leaned over to Draco. "I imagine you've had enough of playing 'Muggle' for now, love. I'll be back in just a few minutes. . ."

Draco smiled, squeezing his hand under the table. "Be careful," he said.

Lupin rose with Hermione and Harry. "I'll come with you two also, if you don't mind."

Draco watched them leave, idly wondering what sort of Muggle-y thing would be a good Christmas present for Ron. Just then, as though summoned by his thoughts, the Weasley family arrived through the fireplace, a herd of red hair shining like polished copper in the lamplight.

"Where's Harry and Hermione?" Ron asked as he reached the table, sitting in the seat Harry had been using.

Draco filled him in and everyone settled in to wait. It wasn’t long before, Crabbe, Goyle, Ron, and Draco were having a lively discussion of Quidditch tactics and strategy, while Molly, Arthur, and Professor McGonagall watched in amazement.

Presently, the missing three returned, a package tucked under Harry's arm, and Hermione smiling as Lupin snickered at something Harry had said. All gathered, they left out the back to enter Diagon Alley, Harry saying he needed to stop by the Twins' shop to order some work done on whatever was in that package. . As they all walked toward 69 Diagon Alley, Draco pulled Crabbe and Goyle aside.

"So," he asked, "how have you been able to handle your Gryffindor submersion?"

The other two glanced at each other as they continued walking.

"Not as bad as I imagined," confessed Crabbe. "It is strange, not having to worry about people plotting behind your back even as you study with them. I had expected, I don't know, at little more. . . rubbing it in, that we were in trouble, that they didn’t like us, that sort of thing. . . they're a lot more intelligent and, erm, compassionate than I'd imagined."

"They're certainly a lot better looking than a lot of the Slytherins. . ." Goyle agreed, his gaze flitting to the back of Ginny's head.

Draco caught the glance. "Forget it, Greg, she's got her eye on someone else, who happens to have an eye for her as well, though they haven't figured it out yet."

"Too bad. . . probably wouldn't want a Slytherin anyway. . ."

"I wouldn't say that," smirked Draco. "I think I've proved that a Slytherin can catch even the most unlikely Gryffindor if he's clever enough."

Crabbe snorted.

"You mean, desperate enough. . . what did you have to do, get on your knees and beg? Kiss his feet and do slave labour for a couple of weeks?"

Draco shook his head, smiling softly.

"No, not at all. . .I made him aware of the situation, gave him a token of my sincerity, and asked. All he required, once Black's name was cleared, was that I no longer insult any of his friends or get people in trouble. And once we got past all that, I found that they weren't as horrible as I'd always thought."

As he said this, they stepped into the warmth of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. "Of course," he added with a saucy wink, "they had some compromises to make as well."

Harry had already been taken into a back room by one of the twins-- Draco thought it might have been George, but he wasn't sure. The other twin-- he assumed it was Fred-- came over, smiling.

"Draco Malfoy, our staunchest investor! Excellent to see you again!" Draco shook the other boy's hand with a game smile. "I had not thought to see you with these two again, considering certain events." He gave a meaningful glance to Crabbe and Goyle.

"It's their punishment," Draco supplied primly. "Forced to spend all their waking hours with either Harry or myself or, if we're not available, other trustworthy Gryffindors."

"Ohh, that's tough!"

"Excuse me," Goyle said softly, "but, which one are you?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Fred!" He shook both their hands, grinning. "It must be absolutely horrible for a couple of Slytherins like yourself to be leashed to Gryffindors all day!"

"It's not so bad," Goyle said. He would have said more, but at that moment, a flash of bright green wings fluttered by, landing on Fred's shoulder.

"Ca-awk! Welcome to sixty-nine Diagon Alley, the luckiest place in London! Ca-awk!"

Draco sniggered. "Fellatio, it's wonderful to see you again!"

The bird turned to where he'd heard the voice. "Ca-awk! Hey there, sexy, wanna dump those two clods and come nest with me? Ca-awk!"

Right then Draco felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was chagrined to find the disapproving scowl of Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy, exactly what did you call that animal?"

Draco blushed. "It's not my fault the twins named him…er, that. . . one of them wanted to name him Fellow, and the other wanted Horatio, and so. . ." He shrugged, and the Professor sighed in annoyance.

"For once, Mr. Malfoy, I believe you . . ." She walked away, her back a little too stiff.

"Sorry 'bout that," Draco said to Fred. "I can never keep you two sorted out right in my head."

Fred smirked, snickering. "That's alright, we can hardly keep ourselves straight sometimes."

"You couldn't be straight if your life depended on it," Draco deadpanned.

"Hmmm," Fred glanced over to where George and Harry were walking out of the back room. "You're probably right at that."


When the huge party of shoppers had left, Fred re-joined his brother in the back room.

"What did Harry want?" he asked as he stepped through the door.

George looked up from where he was hunkered down over something.

"He wants a custom charm job on his gift for his love-muffin." He motioned to what Fred could now see was a lovely electric guitar with the word "Fender" written on it in chrome.

"Niiice," Fred murmured, sitting next to George. "How much needs to be done?"

"He's letting us be creative, within certain limits, of course. One of them being that he wants this delivered by the twentieth, so it can be a Solstice gift." George snickered. "Other than that, we can't mess with the musical part of it, though he wants it to use magic instead of electricity, we can't alter it's shape or basic colour scheme, and it has to be both safe and practical for the love-muffin to use. I've made a list of some ideas over there, feel free to add anything. . ."

Fred looked at the list, possibilities blooming in his mind. "I've got a few decorative ideas," he said, then turned to kiss his smiling twin. "Harry must have spent a pretty penny on this, don't you think?"

"I don't think Harry was paying any attention to the price . . ." George returned the kiss. "I think he just saw a pretty for his lovely. . ."


* * *

Early on, everyone had decided to have their purchases shipped, so they wouldn't have to carry them around all day, in the sight of prying eyes. All had had an enjoyable time, even Crabbe and Goyle, who kept wondering how in the hell they were having so much fun being surrounded by "Gryffindorks".

There had been some odd stares throughout the day, as their mis-matched crowd had made its way through the throngs of holiday shoppers, but there had been none of the trouble they had half-expected. After a long, but fruitful day, they left the Weasleys at the Leaky Cauldron and began their walk back to the station.

They hadn't got far when Harry heard a dreadfully familiar voice.

"Now, that’s a good lad! My, my, Dudley, you've certainly inherited my brother's sharp looks. . ."

"Aunt Marge?" Harry snarled under his breath, coming to a dead stop as he spotted the overly-rotund woman and his big cousin, accompanied by Piers Polkiss. All three of them were standing on the pavement, and Dudley was wearing what was obviously a new suit. Draco quietly took his hand as everyone stopped with Harry, unsure of what to do.

It didn't take very long at all for Dudley to spot them.

"Harry? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to stay at that place over the holidays?" He sneered at the rest of the group. "Don't tell me you've actually made friends, cousin."

Harry rolled his eyes, squeezing Draco's hand reassuringly. "Of course I spend the holidays at school. But I had some shopping to do, so we all went out together."

Aunt Marge sneered. "How'd you get the money? If you’d had any decency you’d pay my poor brother for all he’s suffered."

To Crabbe and Goyle's surprise, Harry smirked in a way very reminiscent of Professor Snape at his worst.

"I took it from some dead people. Do you want the details?"

Aunt Marge looked horrified at his answer, but Dudley came back in. "Who'd you buy anything for?"

Harry wondered why any of this mattered, and why they simply couldn't pass to go on to the station. "My husband, first off, and his family, and then my. . ." he thought for a moment, remembering the school Aunt Petunia had said he was going to. ". . .the rest of my cell mates, and several others I owe some favours to."

Piers was stupid enough to snigger.

"So, the little punching-bag freak was a pillow-biter the whole time? I suppose he likes that type of school better than anyone would've expected. . ."

Draco blanched at the insinuation, but Harry hardly reacted.

"At least I'm getting laid," he said calmly. "Which is more than your pizza-face can say."

The rat-faced boy scowled at this, made a fist and started to run toward Harry, but before he got very far, he was stopped by Crabbe and Goyle, who had decided that, whether they liked Harry or not, it wasn't right for some pimply-faced Muggle to speak that way to any wizard.

Piers staggered back from where he'd run head-long into two fists, groaning and rubbing his soon-to-be black eyes.

"Don't try to hurt Potter," Crabbe spat.

"That honour is reserved for another." Goyle growled, rubbing his fist with his other hand. Aunt Marge and Dudley stared at the two large Slytherins in horror, amazed they'd done something without wands.

Piers' stumbling had cleared a small passage on the pavement, through which the two Slytherins passed, followed by the rest of Harry's group. Piers snarled as Harry walked by.

"Why, you little fucking--"

At that moment, Lupin stretched his arms, yawning, for it had been quite a long day of shopping. Piers once again received a fist in the face, this time nearly dislocating his jaw.

"I say," Lupin exclaimed with false dismay. "You really do need to stop running into people like that, my boy. You might get yourself hurt."

"You know, my cousin once had a problem with clumsiness, but she found that taking some ballet helped." Hermione supplied helpfully.

But Piers was stupid, so instead of learning his lesson and letting them go, he opened his mouth again.

"Shut it, you mangy bitch!"

At this Draco turned around to face him again.

"Don't ever speak to a lady like that again, you rat-faced fink!"

Piers spat from where Lupin had "accidentally" split his lip.

"You should talk, arse-rat!"

"I am not rat-faced!" Draco protested vociferously. "I am weasel-faced! Get it right, you ignorant dunderhead!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Come on, love, we're wasting time with these worthless sods. We have a train to catch."

Draco growled, sneering regally at Piers one last time.

"Learn some manners, urchin, before you meet something truly terrible."

The rest of the walk to the train station was uneventful. As the Hogwarts Express left the station, Goyle timidly approached Professor McGonagall.

"I suppose we lost some points for Slytherin back there. . . " he began hesitantly.

"I didn't see anything happen. . ." McGonagall replied vaguely, seemingly absorbed in the magazine she was reading. "Did you do something I should know about?"

Goyle was confused--she had been right there when the fight had happened. He looked over to where Lupin sat, but the werewolf only smiled innocently.

"Oh," Goyle murmured, cottoning on. "Alright then, thank you, Professor."

* * *

(Yule-tide Solstice, Sunset, Malfoy Manor)

Lucius Malfoy strode calmly out onto the grounds around his manor, his breath making soft white puffs in the air. Later, his Lord would come, and all the other Death Eaters, for their annual Yule Meeting. But now was the time for other, more important things.

He made his way steadily across the lawn, stepping with confidence into the dark forest, following a trail only a Malfoy could see. After a few minutes, he stepped into the Man-Grove, a small clearing wreathed in pine, ivy, holly, and oak. A small bench rested on one side, opposite a pedestal topped with two statues. One was carved from white marble, a man of indeterminate age with a smiling face, wearing armour with a sword on his back. The other statue, held within the tender embrace of the other, had been carved out of a large block of obsidian. It showed another ageless satyr-like creature, also male, head crowned with deer antlers, cloven hooves stepping lightly upon the earth.

It was to this latter entity that Lucius came, known as the Winter King, Herne, or even Old Hob, among other names. The other figure was the Sun King, his brother. Many legends spoke of the tragic rivalry between the two brothers who loved each other, how they would fight every six months, the winner slaying the other, to rule the next half of the year until the other was reborn and they fought all over again. But older versions—the ones his family had passed down for generations, for example—older versions likened their rotation more to a dance than a fight, a dance where first one would lead, then the other. It was this dance the statues portrayed, and while Lucius had never seen them move, they were never in the same position whenever he saw them.

His work for that night had no set words, nor motions. It was tradition that, at the sunset of Winter Solstice, Malfoy men and boys went to the Man-grove, as the women and girls went to the Lady-Cave. At sunrise, he would pay his respects to the Lady, and Narcissa would come here. And at the next solstice, a similar dance would occur. Other than that, little was required. Only to speak to the King, of whatever troubled one's mind, heart, or soul. If one wanted, it was a perfect night for magic as well, but this was never required. Only the coming, and the speaking.

Lucius sat upon the stone bench, contemplating the way the Winter King melded into the shadows, trying to calm his mind. But it was hard, this year. . . something was missing, something important, and it caught at his attention like brambles in his mind. Sighing in vexation, he turned to ask Draco what he might have forgotten-- and suddenly he remembered. Draco wasn't there. For the first time in. . . sixteen years had it been? For the first time in sixteen years, he was alone before the King, and the sudden realisation hit him hard as he slumped on the bench. He remembered when he'd first brought Draco to the Grove, all those years ago. Draco had been twenty-two days old, and the entire family had come to witness the child's Dedication. Lucius had been entranced at the strange, small creature he held in his arms, and had been, even in his own memory, insufferably proud as he showed the boy off to all his relatives. The child had no name at that moment, until the Dedication occurred, and a few drops of rain fell from the cloudless sky, onto the chest of the Dark King. Studying their formation, he had recognized the constellation Draco. When he had said the name in surprise, the boy had giggled and clapped his pudgy little hands, and so had been named.

From then on, every Solstice, the growing child would accompany his father into the woods, and Lucius would always let the child go first, giving him time to settle his thoughts and clear his mind as Draco prattled on to whichever god about which racing broom he was currently obsessed with, or his desire to make potions like his "Uncle Sef'wis".

But now, as Lucius sat alone on the bench, there was no one to precede him, no youthful chatter to help calm his mind. And it rankled.

"I don't understand," he said finally. "I don't see where we went wrong. How is it, after all we've done. . . " his voice drifted off again, lost in strange, twisted thoughts he himself could barely comprehend. Once in a while, a thought would detach itself, precipitating from the nebulous ether to form words on his tongue.

"I miss my son."

"I want . . . I don't know . . ."

"Sometimes . . ."

"My mind skitters from thought to thought, uncontrolled, or perhaps. . ."

"Sometimes I feel . . ."

"And then, I don't. I remember, once, I did feel. . . my magic was stronger then . . ."

"Sometimes I feel like an arrow . . ."

"I used to be able to see in the dark, but I cannot see the stars anymore. . ."

"Sometimes I feel like an arrow, shot too soon from a moving position at a stationary target. . ."

"Does that make any sense? Does it matter?"

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, his thoughts calmed, laying themselves down along the pathways of his mind in patterns he could almost perceive. After several minutes of stillness, he spoke again.

"I wish for a breeze, a wind, a gale even. . . I would that I were blown back on course."

As Lucius left the Grove, troubled and yet relieved at the turn his thoughts had taken, the statues moved very slightly. Now, the Winter King smiled as his brother embraced him tightly.

* * *

Draco made his way back into the shelter of Hogwarts, cheeks red from the bracing cold of the night, looking forward to joining Harry in front of the fireplace in their rooms. Draco had considered inviting his husband to join him, but while he knew Harry would have gladly come, he had realised that it would have been weird enough to have Solstice without his father, let alone have to explain everything to someone new as well. So he'd gone alone to the small Grove his Father had taken him to in his second year. He had not wanted to spend the holiday so far from his family, and then his father had shown up that afternoon, and Uncle Severus had told them of the Grove at the end of the Herb Paths in the Forbidden Forest.

He hadn't been very long at the Grove that night-- it was even colder this far north than at home, and Harry had promised him his present when he returned. Harry had been very secretive the past few days, ever since several hawks had arrived, carrying quite a large package from the Twins. No matter how Draco had pried, Harry had kept the secret locked in a place in his mind even the well-practiced Slytherin could find.

Draco sighed as he reached their door, placing his palm against the dark wood so the protection charms could recognize him. Without a sound, thirteen locks unlatched, and the door opened beneath his had.

Inside, Harry was exactly where Draco had left him, curled up by the fire, book in his hand. Smiling, Draco hung his cloak on the rack between the Gryffindor Door and the main door through which he'd just entered, and then placed his scarf and mittens on the table between the Slytherin Door and the main.

"So, how'd it go?" Harry marked his place and stood to greet Draco with a small kiss.

"Much as usual, though I missed Father. . ." Draco hadn't meant to say that last bit, but it had slipped out anyway.

Harry pulled him into his arms. "I'm sorry. . . "

"Don't be, Harry . . . I may miss him, but it's his fault I couldn't be with him this year. Besides, you promised me something when I returned, and I've been dying with curiosity. Hand it over!"

Harry snickered, leaning in to kiss him again.

"As you wish." He turned at lead Draco to the table in the centre of the room, atop of which was a large, flat case with silver catches, wrapped in purple ribbon with a fancy bow on top. Draco carefully pulled the bow apart, and removed the ribbon. Beside him, Harry was quivering in undisguised anticipation, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Calm yourself, Potter, this is your gift to me, remem . . .ber. . . " Draco's voice faded as he opened the case, seeing what lay nestled in the padding inside.

"Shades of Sarasvati, Harry, is this. . . is this a magical Fender?" Draco lifted the guitar with reverence, eagerly slipping the strap over his shoulder.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked nervously. "I had the twins do a custom charm job on it. . ."

Draco frowned. "I love it Harry, but isn't that illegal? I mean, isn't that what Ron's father does all day-- prevent just this sort of thing?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I asked him once what the laws were. Turns out, one can enchant some Muggle things, so long as they're not obvious--like motorcycles, toilets, or automobiles. But there's a loophole that allows for the enchantment of certain recreational devices, such as musical instruments, radios, and tellys."

Draco looked back at the guitar in his hands, softly caressing its curves, left hand already becoming familiar with the fret-board, absently tuning a string.

"Wait a moment. . ." He looked back to Harry. "Does this mean. . . ?'

Harry nodded, tight lipped. "I, uh, well, I thought that since my only real dream for the future, if you can call it that, was survival . . . well, why not give yours a chance?"

Draco was stunned, gripping the guitar as though afraid it would disappear.

"Really? You. . .you really want to?"

Harry quirked a small grin. "Well, it would be a fun revenge on the Dursleys if I grew up to be a rock star. . . and even if we didn't get far, well, at least one of us will have had a chance to do something we really wanted-- "

Harry was cut off as Draco launched into him, the guitar making a harsh sound of protest as it was squeezed between two hard bodies.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. . ." Draco's words were whispered fervently into Harry's hair as Harry returned the crushing embrace.

But, do you like it? Is the colour alright? Harry persisted, wanting to know if his first gift to Draco was a success.

Draco shifted to start planting small kisses on Harry's face. It's perfect, love, perfect like you. . .

Drake, Angel, I'm not--

Shut up, Harry. Draco covered Harry's lips with his own. Don't argue with a Malfoy when it comes to matters of perfection.

Takes one to know one?

Yes. I thought I told you to hush. You need distraction . . . Draco reached down, plucking the lowest string, which set the entire instrument to vibrating in a very distracting way.

Ohh. . . Harry's tongue reached for Draco's. Never thought of guitars as tools of seduction. . .

Let me show you what a little imagination can do. .

* * * * * *

That first Solstice after I left home, I made a request to mask of the Green Man. Contrary to common myth, it was not for Harry to come to his senses and join a band with me, nor was it for my parents to come to theirs and abandon Voldemort. It was instead for understanding between myself and those I loved. I love Harry dearly, but he can be infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, and all I wanted was to understand why.

People think that our bond would make problems like that easier to solve, but often, it only makes it harder. One gets the thoughts and emotions of the other, but not all of them, so it's like listening to one half of a fire call. And you can't pry farther, out of concern that you’ll steal what little privacy they have left. And so a person is left staring at a jumble of confused emotions, trying their hardest to not misinterpret them, but failing most of the time.

Happily, though, I think my wish has slowly been granted over the course of these many years. Not completely, for such a thing is impossible for the living, but a little more every year. The more I love Harry, the better I understand him. And the more I understand Harry, the more I love him.

From: The Prodigal Dragon