Fic: Gift for lightwithstars
Title: Five Gestures of Pureblooded Goodwill.
Summary: The mistletoe grows in Grimmauld Place every year and stays until the inhabitants or visitors have spread some Christmas cheer.
Characters/Pairings: Though references to other characters occur, the main focuses are Sirius/James, Sirius/Regulus, Ginny/Draco, Luna/Neville and Andromeda/Ted. Those are a mix of the platonic and the romantic.
Rating/Warnings: Nothing untoward. It's a bit of a mixed bag. Written for a Christmas gift for lightwithstars // Sam of Ravenclaw. Sorry it's a little late! D:
Word Count: 5796. Meep.
Rating: PG-13, some swear words, and touching on some of the heavier subjects (but not too much so, I hope!).
The mistletoe sprouts magically every year in the House of Black. It was a simple, powerful way to produce festive happiness: two people would meet beneath it and it would issue a small shower of white sparks. The fruit would either grow or shrink depending on the nature of the encounter beneath it.
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01. James Potter.
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The first time Sirius really noticed it was the Christmas he invited James over to meet his parents. James had insisted this happen at some point, and as Sirius had met the Potters several times over already, he couldn't come up with many plausible excuses to keep them apart. Similarly, he thought his Christmas would be made a little easier if he had someone over he actually liked, though with some trepidation, as he knew James was coming in to see if "they're really as bad as all that", and his mother and father were only going to be accommodating because "the Potters are pure-bloods, after all."
The meeting was quite stuffy, and James had been uncharacteristically polite to Sirius' parents. Sirius had squirmed there, barely fourteen, while his mother fawned over the handsome young lad that Sirius had found comfort in. There was a point where Regulus had slinked into the room in a sulk, and argued that James had sabotaged the Slytherin-Gryffindor game, which made Sirius' parents remember that the guest in their midst was not of the family's usual Slytherin ilk, and flinched a little.
Before dinner, Sirius took James upstairs to look at his room. The bedroom was not completely covered with posters just yet: the green and silver tapestries that usually lined the bedroom walls were severely lacking here, or covered with Quidditch posters.
"Oh, my God," James groaned with his head covered in embarrassment. "Y'know, I totally take it all back about your parents."
"What did I tell you?" Sirius said with a grimace. "It's all they talk about."
"Did you hear what your dad said about your cousin joining You-Know-Who's new order?" James gasped. "I know you told me about her, but to bring that up over drinks?"
"You should hear our elf," Sirius said. "He's spent so much time tailing my dad since he was born I think it's all his filthy little head contains."
James looked at his friend, then burst into spontaneous laughter. "Your ickle brother looks really dismayed to see me here, you know. Can't think why."
"It's only because you hexed him as we were walking out to the Quidditch pitch," Sirius chuckled, "hilarious, the way he couldn't sit on that broom properly!"
"That was nearly two months ago," James said. "He's still upset about it?"
"It was his first game as Seeker," Sirius said. "And he had blisters all over his arse for days because he couldn't go to the Hospital Wing for nearly four hours. Slughorn wrote to mum and dad about it, and they wrote back to me ordering me to uphold the family honour."
"Oh, you're going to uphold the family honour are you?" James' face was serious. "What did you do with the letter?"
"Threw it in the fire," Sirius said with a shrug. "I'm not getting involved with his little whining, bratty loser complex."
"Too right, mate; too right." James said, sitting down on the poster bed. His eyes focused on something in the corner of the room. "Hey, why do you have mistletoe over your desk?"
"Huh?"
"Mistletoe. Right there."
Sirius looked up. A sprig had indeed grown from nowhere while they had been talking, and was growing in bloom as they watched. "That stuff's insidious to the house. It starts growing this time of year. Apparently one of my ancient ancestors had a sense of humour."
"Oh, so that's where you got it from."
"Shut it," Sirius said, smiling. "It doesn't do much, y'know. No obligations to snog me or anything."
James laughed. "Fat chance of that. I'm way out of your league."
"Oi!" Sirius laughed. The mistletoe jingled with a slight illusion of distant bells. They fell silent and listened to it as it shook.
Something was happening downstairs. Voices. Sirius broke the silence.
"You know, mate," Sirius said. "I'm really glad you've agreed to stay a couple of days. I'm also really happy you came over."
"Is that mistletoe making your brain go soggy?"
"Probably," Sirius shrugged. "But it's true. Just promise me one thing."
"Sure?"
"Don't force yourself to come here again. It's not healthy."
James chuckled and stood up. "Done deal."
The two young lads approached each other to make a sort of handshake, but James and Sirius pulled each other in to a cozy hug at the same time. They laughed gruffly, awkwardly, as the mistletoe sprinkled snow down on them. Sirius' lips touched James' ear playfully, who then punched him on the arm with a laugh. It would be the last time a member of the House of Black would make any sort of kiss with a fellow pureblood within the household for nearly three decades. Neither of them would ever know it.
"C'mon," Sirius mumbled after a while. "Let's head down before dinner. I'm sure mum would love you to tell her all about our dorm-mates."
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02. Regulus Black.
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He had just turned sixteen, and had had his final argument with his parents. His school cases were open on the bed, and he was throwing clothes and possessions into piles, swearing as he did so. Though Sirius would have loved to say that he couldn't believe the nerve of his parents, the reality was he completely believed it, because that was how they were.
His parents treated the word Mudblood like it were joke. In many ways, they were jokes, and they may as well have been trolls with purple tongues that permenantly prolapsed from a slime-ridden mouth, the way they were made monstrous in perception. The anti-Muggle movements were rising in clamour and fervour, and his mother and father were all the more keen to get involved somehow, because word had gotten round that the Gryffindor Black boy was bringing shame to the household, and they were being cast aside from pureblooded society all the more with each scandal.
They had probably hoped their boy would fall back in line the more they cut off his securities. The truth of the matter was he wasn't their boy any longer. And tonight had just proven it.
A knock at the door. Sirius told the knocker to fuck off, and he didn't care if it was his father about to use a curse on him, it would be worth it just to know he hadn't fallen silent to their imbecilic ways, and....
"Sirius, open the door."
Regulus. That little slimeball.
"I said fuck off."
"Hey, do you want me to get mum or dad to blast the door off its hinges? Let me in!"
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM ANY MORE."
A pause. Regulus grumbled under his breath, his voice fluking spontaneously up and down as it hadn't quite broken properly yet. "Fine. Kreacher?"
A small crack outside the door, and Sirius scowled. "Don't you even fucking think about..."
The door had unlocked on its hinges, and Sirius ignored Kreacher's reedy simpering. Regulus stepped inside. "Oh, I thought you were packing bags. Sounded like it."
"So are you here to join in on the little party?" Sirius said, seething. "Or are you just coming here to gloat."
"Neither of those," Regulus said, and, surprisingly, helped sort Sirius' books. "Mum's really upset."
"I don't care."
"I know you don't, but I do," Regulus said. "I don't think that spectacle downstairs helped anyone solve anything."
Sirius hated it when Regulus went all high and mighty, whenever he said things that elevated him above the asinine teenage drama that Sirius was bringing home, he always tended to make it into some sort of slight. Sirius had had enough of him, too, but here, for some reason, Regulus didn't seem to be antagonising him. If anything, he sounded like he was wilfully diffusing the situation.
"So I take it you agree with them, then?" Sirius asked defensively. "It's what you usually do, after all."
"How do you know?" Regulus asked. "When you're here you spend every waking hour in the bedroom. I see Kreacher more than I see you."
"Yeah, well, you're planning on joining the Death Eaters too, aren't you?" Sirius snapped.
"I'm not totally against it," Regulus squirmed. "But I didn't come here to lecture you or try to convince you otherwise. You're as bad as mum once your mind's set on something.... which it is."
Sirius stopped packing and glared at his little brother, wanting nothing more than to punch him. Outside, a Christmas carol started playing from one of the nearby Muggle house windows. "You really don't know me at all, you know. Stop acting like you do."
"I'm not acting like I know you," Regulus said plainly. "I don't think I've had a proper conversation with you since I was nine. I'm not expecting this to change tonight."
Sirius looked at Regulus suspiciously. "Tell me what you came in here for, again? If you're not trying to persuade me to stay, then..."
"I just want you to be safe," Regulus said with a shrug. "You may not care about us, but I care about you. I care about mum and dad, too, so I'm in a bit of a bad position right now."
"Are you trying to make excuses for-" Sirius began, but Regulus put his hand up to stop the older brother:
"No, I just want you to know that... I still have respect for you. You've got a lot of self-belief, and even if I don't agree with it, I don't think it's a good reason to banish you from the family house."
"If you don't care about me leaving, help me pack," Sirius said, pointing to a few of the clothes. "Sooner I'm out of here, the better."
Packing took a deceptively short amount of time, considering neither brother had much to say to the other, and Sirius hadn't exactly unpacked from the Christmas holidays to begin with. The faint soundtrack of Muggle songs playing through a window didn't ease the tension, but it did dissipate some of the rage coursing through Sirius' body.
"Well, this is it," Sirius said, eventually. "I'll be off."
Above the threshhold of the door, the mistletoe had sprouted afresh. The leaves had spread out some distance, as though the plant was desperately trying to track down some Christmas spirit in the gloomy household.
"Where are you stopping?" Regulus asked. "At that Potter's place?"
"Probably, yeah," Sirius shrugged. "If I outstay my welcome then, you know. I'll move on somewhere."
Regulus' face twitched a little, as though he was looking to say something to his brother. A word issued faintly from his lips: Christmas.
"Christmas?" Sirius repeated with a snap. "What about it? I won't be back here for Christmas. Stuff that for a laugh."
Regulus muttered something (more to himself than to Sirius) in a way that reminded the elder Black sibling of the elf.
"I shouldn't be alone at Christmas?" Sirius scoffed. "Don't worry: I won't be. I'll have a good time, and be happy and fed and, maybe I'll actually have a dinner that doesn't involve talk of murdering friends of mine."
"Well," Regulus said, defeated. "I'll see you at school."
He offered his hand to Sirius. Sirius looked at it like it had come off the sole of his shoe, as though he wanted nothing more than to spit on it. But then the twisting white flowers above their head caught his eye, and for the most fleeting moment, he felt a wave of doubt.
"Yeah, see you there," Sirius said with a grunt, meeting his brother's hand reluctantly.
The mistletoe vibrated over their heads and issued sparks of white that crystallised into snowflakes. Before they had reached the carpet, Sirius Black was already out of the building.
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03. Andromeda Tonks.
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"This bloody plant keeps on growing."
Sirius had returned to Grimmauld Place several years later, well after his family had all moved on. He wanted not to think about the last time he was here with them but the web of overgrown mistletoe berries were a constant reminder of his last parting exchange with Regulus, and how in that fleeting moment he had dared believe the little scumbag wasn't as bad as he'd made him out to be. What a joke; he got his just desserts after all.
Dumbledore had paid him a visit that afternoon, though it was not without some trepidation that he allowed the sworn enemy of the House of Black into their last remaining home. He had simply looked at the berries hanging over the doors and chuckled to himself; Sirius had tried to Vanish them but they seemed resistant to magic.
"I take it this plant responds to an emotional reaction from the people above whom it grows?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, in the way he did when he already knew the answer.
"Yeah, it's there to spread festive cheer," Sirius said sullenly. "But seeing that the only living thing in this house for the last twelve years or something has been Kreacher, no wonder it's completely overgrown. The miserable rat hasn't got a cheerful bone in his body."
"You should show a little more kindness to Kreacher, you know," Dumbledore said. "He is a reminder of a time you would like confined to the past, but he is merely a product of it, not the cause."
Sirius didn't say anything; he just rolled his eyes. "What time are the guests arriving?"
"Very soon, they were due to Floo here, and- oh my, that sounds like them now!"
A tumbling roar came from the sitting room fire and a few soft crunches, indistinct voices. A woman's voice. "I haven't been here in years. Goodness, they could open the curtains every now and again, you know."
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, striding into the room to greet the woman. "Mrs Tonks, and your dear husband. I'm so glad you could come. And, might I say, the years have been exceptionally kind to you both."
"Thank you, Albus," Andromeda Tonks said, before her attention was drawn to the unshaven figure skulking in the corner. "And good heavens, Sirius. Didn't they feed you in Azkaban?"
"Barely scraps," Sirius said with a shrug. "Nice to see you Andi."
The two cousins met and embraced for the first time in decades. Her husband, Ted, stood awkwardly by the fire while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as bright as the mistletoe above their heads, which subsided as the gesture of goodwill came to pass.
"You haven't met my husband yet, have you?" she said keenly. "This is Ted."
"I remember you from the Quidditch matches," Sirius said with a thought. "Didn't you commentate?"
"Blimey, I forgot I did that," he began sheepishly. "Can you even imagine how the-"
"Look at those disgraces!"" a deep voice growled from behind the door. "The runaway son and his harlot cousin, disgraces the pair of them. Fraternising now in my Mistress' old house, oh, it breaks my heart."
"I didn't think you had a heart," Andromeda said coldly to the elf. "I thought it was just a swinging brick."
"Oh, she's ill-mannered as ever, so she is," Kreacher muttered. "Bringing her kind into this house, in spite of everything that shames the....."
A silence. Kreacher was glaring at Ted, who was looking back at the elf.
"Er, hello?"
"She brought a MUDBLOOD here!" Kreacher screamed. "How dare she! The pure audacity of it! Polluting her vile blood, daming mongrel children, but to bring her shame here? Oh, the disgrace, Kreacher cannot bear it. He must leave! He must leave!"
"Kreacher, I forbid you from touching Ted or using magic against him!" Sirius bellowed. The order came in time: the elf had sprung to the fireplace in eye-watering speed, grabbing the sharpest poker from the wrought-iron set."
"Thanks, Mr Black," Ted said. "Andi did warn me what her family were like. And I had the pleasure of meeting her sisters once."
"You met Bellatrix?" Sirius asked.
"Just the once," Ted said with a small smile. "It went as could be expected."
"Bellatrix Black is a far greater human than you could wish to be, you beast!" Kreacher howled. "She holds herself with poise and dignity that befits her pure lineage, something your slothful Mudblood mind cannot comprehend! Kreacher is offended by the Mudblood's stink! He is, he IS!"
"Kreacher, don't call my husband a Mudblood," Andromeda said simply. "And make us a pot of tea. And don't use any magic."
"Or spit in it," Sirius added, before commenting on an aside: "You don't want to know what I found in my cereal the first morning back here."
"Now we've all become acquainted, shall we continue?" Dumbledore asked brightly. "I do believe we have business to attend to, and it's unnaturally cool for this time of year."
Such was the truth: even though it was, in fact, March, snow had been trickling from the pre-spring skies over Grimmauld Place. Though it didn't stick when it fell during the day, it had been coming down heavily overnight, and though sleet-like, it freezes and by morning allows a cool frost on the windows.
"You know," Dumbledore began, with a grin, "considering it's almost spring, this house is making me feel quite festive. Would anyone care for some wine while we discuss young Nymphadora's initiation into the Order?"
And so the discussions continued for quite a while. Though their daughter worked in the ministry to complete her training, the two were keen on her to take part in the fight she had always been so keen to take up. He promised them security, their home to be true sanctury, because in times ahead there would be many pressures, and because of their birth-rights, the blood-traitor, the Muggle-born and the half-blood daughter who fights for Dumbledore's Order, there would be many who seeked retribution.
"I'll let you consider the terms, Dumbledore said pleasantly. I should go downstairs and greet Severus. He will likely be coming here shortly with a report on young Harry. Considering the amount of time he's spent in detention with the man, I daresay the report will be extensive...."
Ted squeezed Andromeda's hand. "It'll be all right, you know. Dumbledore will always be there to keep her safe."
"I hope so," Andromeda whispered, rubbing his fingers idly while she gripped the wine glass with her free hand. "Have you ever wondered what might happen if Dumbledore isn't around any longer?"
"Then it's game over for us, right?" Ted said. "We know what the risks are like. They were like that last time. But we're going to face the exact same thing again and we have to- you know- be ready for it. And Dora's not exactly our little girl any more. She's a grown woman and she's got more drive and fire than anyone I know."
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Andromeda agreed, until her husband raised his hand:
"Actually no. You have as much drive and fire as she does. You just haven't had to use it in some time."
"What do you mean?"
"This place," Ted said, waving his hand around at the walls, jabbing a stubby finger at the family tapestry from which her name had been obliterated. "Your family, your... your sister. You had to stand up to them, move out by yourself and we both remember your parents' reaction to our engagement. And that whole time, I was proud of the strength you held."
"It's a Slytherin thing," Andromeda said impassively. "We all tend to behave like that."
"I don't care," Ted said, squeezing his wife's hand. "You brought up our daughter well, and there's nothing to be ashamed of. We're doing the right thing, scary as that might be."
She leaned in to kiss her husband. Above them, the mistletoe finally began to shrink away, satisfied that the kiss it had waited for for over a decade had finally arrived, though the sprinkle of holly thorns suggested the house wasn't keen on Andromeda's choice of suitor.
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04. Neville Longbottom.
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"It's ever such a nice house, don't you think?"
Neville looked at Luna with a look that betrayed disagreement, but also a lack of disbelief. "I've seen nicer."
"I imagine it must be really lovely in the summer," Luna mused, running her finger up and down the bannister. "Harry might invite us over in the summer, don't you think? His birthday's in July, isn't it?"
"Yeah, just after mine," Neville said with a small nod.
Luna smiled widely. "It's quite sad so many of our friends couldn't be here, isn't it?" she said brightly. "After all, Ron and Hermione are busy having some time to themselves this Christmas, aren't they?"
"She told me they're spending it with her parents in Australia."
"She should be careful of the lethifold," Luna said seriously. "They are invisible in Australia, don't you know?"
"A few years ago you told me Australia wasn't even a real country," Neville said simply. "You said it was a conspiracy put in place by the Ministry of Magic to keep people away from an area of the world which they dedicated to experimental breeding."
"Yes, that's right," Luna nodded. "I still want to visit there one day. Muggles live in Australia so there's a real place, but they say a lot of it is desert and outback. Nobody lives there, and it's because of the Ministry."
Neville didn't say anything, instead trying to fight back a grin. Luna had matured a lot in the past year, since her kidnap by the Death Eaters and subsequent escape and victory. She seemed to be more self-aware, more likely to tease her friends in a way that wrong-footed them, because they never could tell if she was being serious. This whole Australia thing might have been a similar thing, a private joke. He just couldn't tell.
"This house used to belong to Stubby Boardman, didn't it?" Luna asked, examining a faded still life painting on the upstairs landing. "I think Harry's Christmas decorations have really helped bring it into itself."
"Yeah, I'm pleased he asked us to come over and help him decorate the tree. I always love doing that; Gran can't reach the top parts as well as she used to, and she doesn't like using magic for it; it's bad luck."
"My dad says the same thing, you know," Luna smiles. "Personally, I think it's all superstition."
"I.... er, what?"
"Oh, yes: it's just a tree, after all. The bowtruckles will attack you no matter what you do," Luna explained, "especially if your wand is made of fir. Mr Ollivander told me that."
Neville fell silent. He knew some of the properties of fir, and the way it corresponded to certain types of magic, but he didn't think Luna would agree. This was one of the reasons he liked her company as much as he did: she would say things that would keep him guessing: she would not laugh at his latent insecurities, and always be sympathetic to his moods.
"Neville?"
"Yes, Luna?"
You might want to stick your fingers in your ears."
Neville paused as Luna did just that. "Why?"
"It's because of Nargles. They tend to live in mistletoe, and I've spotted a sprig of it on the wall above us."
He looked up and sure enough, a small sprout of white berries were growing. He considered asking Harry if he could harvest some of it; his gran was having trouble with some of her medicinal potions, and he thought it would help with some of the side-effects, had he listened to Madam Sprout properly.
"Should we just walk away?" Neville asked, putting his fingers in his ears obediently.
"Possibly," she said, her voice still audible, though muted. "You might want to close your eyes too, Neville: they tend to be attracted to people who try to look at them."
He shrugged and closed his eyes, seeing no harm in humouring his friend. After a few moments, he considered asking if he should be waiting, or if they should move away, but he found a pair of hands around his shoulders and before he knew it, a pair of soft lips met his own. He hadn't expected the warm taste of her breath upon his own, but her lips were gentle put firm, her breath having a slight fruity scent to it. He let it linger as he withdrew his fingers from his ears and draped his hands round her back.
After opening his eyes and looking at her, he returned her beaming grin, and kissed her back, quickly, softly, affectionately. "Heh, you know, we might want to move away. The mistletoe's growing. I'm sure the Nargles are preparing for an attack."
"Oh, Neville, don't be silly," Luna grinned. "There's not really any such thing as Nargles. It's just another superstition my dad's said since I was a little girl. Didn't your gran talk about them, either?"
He cast his mind back, but as he looked away, she pulled in for another kiss. His hands met hers, their fingers interlaced, and the berries issued blossom down upon their heads.
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too."
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05. Draco Malfoy.
==========
Considering everything he had been through, coming to the Potter household just days before the New Year always felt a bit non-sequitur. He knew that Potter wasn't around and too right, too; at least they wouldn't have to make small talk about things neither of them cared about, but even so he had been ordered by his father (or rather his father suggested it in a way that made it clear it wasn't anything other than an instruction), and because his parents were proven better at this than he was, Draco fell in line, because he knew it was still expected of him to do so.
They didn't want him to burn bridges. His mother had put it succinctly: Potter's testimony kept us out of Azkaban, so the Malfoy line only remains at liberty because of his mercy. He didn't have to help us, but he did; we need to move forward and embrace the new age.
Draco had tried to move forward, but there were too many years of baggage. He felt like he had spent most of his childhood being primed to take on a certain role, the role his father knew would return to the world eventually, and when it did he couldn't step up to the mark... and if anything, he personally ruined that setup unintentionally. He wondered if, had he been a better Slytherin, he might have co-existed on better terms with Potter and, ironically, caused his downfall.
Now he was at Grimmauld Place, the building he had visited many years ago as a small boy while his great-aunt Walburga had been alive. He barely remembered her, but his mother had taken to showing him around the house, and let him play with an assortment of antiquated toys. He looked at the tapestry that bore his name at the very bottom and ran a finger over the relief of the golden lines that decorated his name and year of birth.
"I think you and your mother are the only two living people on that tapesty," came a voice. "Congratulations."
It was Ginny Weasley. She was watching Draco with a curious look, like she couldn't believe he was here either. The blond smirked. "Hello, Weasley. How's your family?"
"Oh, same as usual," she said brightly. "Yours?"
"No real change," Draco said. "You know how pureblood society works: we get over the setbacks and move on."
Ginny looked like she would normally have said something to call him out but currently she didn't seem too bothered. Something played on her face; Draco detected a twitch, a small touch of sadness. "What's wrong?"
"None of your business, Malfoy."
"I'm here on Pott- on Harry's invite," he said simply. "I'm curious. I'm not digging for muck, so don't worry about it."
Ginny squirmed. "You know how Harry and I are going to separate, right?"
Draco fidgeted, trying to keep his face non-judgmental. "I did hear a rumour, I cannot lie."
"Well, he decided to get legal parchments in place last week. They arrived on Christmas Day."
A low whistle. Draco didn't mean to issue the sound, but he couldn't stop himself. "That's inconsiderate."
"I know, but on the brightside, at least we didn't get married yet. But the engagement's going to cause a bit of scandal, you know. Him being Harry Potter and all that. I think that's why he's putting in all that overtime at the Auror office: so he doesn't have to face up to another scandal that he actually caused."
"I know a thing or two about scandals," Draco said. "So you're expecting the Prophet to run the story?"
"I know that idiot Zacharias Smith's been flitting around the gossip section like a hungry vulture, waiting for the story to break. He's such a dick."
"How do you know about what's going on at the Prophet?" Draco asked, to which Ginny shrugged:
"A friend of mine works there. We were in the same year group, and both in Gryffindor."
"Oh, that Creevey shrimp," Draco nodded. "Makes sense. So what does that mean for you?"
The two talked the most civilised conversation they had done in years. They not only discussed Potter (Draco and Ginny shared many stories about him, that made Draco smile, even if he knew he could never use them), but also the way life once had been (wizarding nostalgia was always an interesting issue, especially when it came to comics and music from their shared childhood, things Ginny knew Harry couldn't ever feel the same way about, even if he tried), and the old elephants in the room (Draco even apologised for that time his dad dropped a Horcrux into her schoolbag and used the disembodied spirit of a Dark Wizard to possess her as she spoke tongues and attacked children without any knowledge of the incident).
In a way, it was very good to clear old baggage, a set of conversations Draco knew he could never hold with Potter.
"So are you going to stay with your family now, Ginny?" Draco asked, finishing his goblet of mulled wine. "Your mother and father, I mean."
"Probably, though I think mum had plans on using my room as a play room for Bill and Percy's daughters. It's a bit rubbish, really. But I'd like to find my own place, too."
"You know, I'm considering moving away from my parents, too," Draco said. "Father thinks it will be an excellent idea for me to stand on my own two feet, and good for our image-"
"You Malfoys and your image!" Draco pretended he didn't see Ginny roll her eyes and continued:
"And it'll be good for me in general. Mother would rather I stay around, but with the Floo Network and Apparition, it's not difficult."
"Yeah," Ginny nodded thoughtfully, before talking. "You know, Draco.... in many ways, you and I are quite similar."
"How so?" Draco said, surprised, more than anything, that she had used his first name.
"Well, we've both come from similar backgrounds, but from totally different parts of wizard society. Your family is controlled while mine is chaotic. Your parents take risks while mine tended to avoid them when possible. I grew up with a million brothers, and you didn't have any split attention. And even so... well, look at us both."
A pause. Draco broke the moment. "I think I know what you mean, but carry on."
"The biggest similarity I can see," Ginny said, choosing her words with care, "is we both fell in love with ideas that didn't match up with reality."
"You and Potter?"
"Yeah, a childhood crush. I'm glad I acted on it when I did, but now we're both older... well, you know what I mean," Ginny said, trying not to think about her ex-in-all-but-public-knowledge. "You had the same thing with the Death Eater thing. You fell over yourself to sign up, but when it came down to it, you realised this wasn't who you were."
"I guess we've both been stupid," Draco smiled, unable to believe he was connecting so well with a Weasley. "You really understand me, Ginny."
"Yeah, well," she shrugged. "You beat me in our Quidditch match in your seventh year. I can't hold a grudge for ever, you know."
"That's why you're bringing it up?" he scoffed. "Gryffindors."
"Yes because I'm sure Slytherins wouldn't keep grudges over Quidditch matches for ages afterward, even if I had hexed you as promised! All right," she chuckled. "You know, the Sorting Hat considered me for Slytherin for a little while. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I'd been put in there."
"All those Mud- All those Muggleborns you tried to attack would have been killed, and you probably wouldn't have mooned over Potter so much. He's probably what saved you back then."
"Is that a concession?"
"Shut up."
"Make me!" Ginny teased. Draco didn't break eye contact.
In an instant, it seemed to be the most natural and obvious thing to do. The two blended together in an instant, sharing hard passionate kisses in the house of his old enemy, of her ex-fiancee. If either felt any guilt about this they didn't express it in their lips. If anything, Harry Potter was probably the last thing on their minds.
"You know," Ginny admitted eventually, "if it weren't for the fact my brothers would probably curse me into another century, I'd totally consider getting a place with you."
"It's early days, you know," Draco smiled. "There's no point worrying about the future. Get past today first."
"What kind of Slytherin are you?"
"A more developed one that you."
"You didn't feel that developed."
"Shut up," he said in mock offence, gazing into her eyes.
With the scales of self-doubt and ignorance brushed away, Draco could finally see what he had been choosing to ignore all these years. And she, too, seemed to be enjoying the encounter as much as he was. Draco looked at the line of the House of Black; his mother and himself the only two names not scorched out or carrying a date of death. Though extinct, he considered the idea that he could continue the lineage for a future generation and see what became of it. Maybe this was why his parents had told him to stay in line. Right now, he was glad to take their advice.
It had been the first time a member of the House of Black had made any sort of kiss with a fellow pureblood within the household for nearly three decades. Neither of them would ever know it.
But the mistletoe did, and it grew and grew and grew.
5796 / 30 = 193.2
125 point MAXOUT!
Summary: The mistletoe grows in Grimmauld Place every year and stays until the inhabitants or visitors have spread some Christmas cheer.
Characters/Pairings: Though references to other characters occur, the main focuses are Sirius/James, Sirius/Regulus, Ginny/Draco, Luna/Neville and Andromeda/Ted. Those are a mix of the platonic and the romantic.
Rating/Warnings: Nothing untoward. It's a bit of a mixed bag. Written for a Christmas gift for lightwithstars // Sam of Ravenclaw. Sorry it's a little late! D:
Word Count: 5796. Meep.
Rating: PG-13, some swear words, and touching on some of the heavier subjects (but not too much so, I hope!).
The mistletoe sprouts magically every year in the House of Black. It was a simple, powerful way to produce festive happiness: two people would meet beneath it and it would issue a small shower of white sparks. The fruit would either grow or shrink depending on the nature of the encounter beneath it.
==========
01. James Potter.
==========
The first time Sirius really noticed it was the Christmas he invited James over to meet his parents. James had insisted this happen at some point, and as Sirius had met the Potters several times over already, he couldn't come up with many plausible excuses to keep them apart. Similarly, he thought his Christmas would be made a little easier if he had someone over he actually liked, though with some trepidation, as he knew James was coming in to see if "they're really as bad as all that", and his mother and father were only going to be accommodating because "the Potters are pure-bloods, after all."
The meeting was quite stuffy, and James had been uncharacteristically polite to Sirius' parents. Sirius had squirmed there, barely fourteen, while his mother fawned over the handsome young lad that Sirius had found comfort in. There was a point where Regulus had slinked into the room in a sulk, and argued that James had sabotaged the Slytherin-Gryffindor game, which made Sirius' parents remember that the guest in their midst was not of the family's usual Slytherin ilk, and flinched a little.
Before dinner, Sirius took James upstairs to look at his room. The bedroom was not completely covered with posters just yet: the green and silver tapestries that usually lined the bedroom walls were severely lacking here, or covered with Quidditch posters.
"Oh, my God," James groaned with his head covered in embarrassment. "Y'know, I totally take it all back about your parents."
"What did I tell you?" Sirius said with a grimace. "It's all they talk about."
"Did you hear what your dad said about your cousin joining You-Know-Who's new order?" James gasped. "I know you told me about her, but to bring that up over drinks?"
"You should hear our elf," Sirius said. "He's spent so much time tailing my dad since he was born I think it's all his filthy little head contains."
James looked at his friend, then burst into spontaneous laughter. "Your ickle brother looks really dismayed to see me here, you know. Can't think why."
"It's only because you hexed him as we were walking out to the Quidditch pitch," Sirius chuckled, "hilarious, the way he couldn't sit on that broom properly!"
"That was nearly two months ago," James said. "He's still upset about it?"
"It was his first game as Seeker," Sirius said. "And he had blisters all over his arse for days because he couldn't go to the Hospital Wing for nearly four hours. Slughorn wrote to mum and dad about it, and they wrote back to me ordering me to uphold the family honour."
"Oh, you're going to uphold the family honour are you?" James' face was serious. "What did you do with the letter?"
"Threw it in the fire," Sirius said with a shrug. "I'm not getting involved with his little whining, bratty loser complex."
"Too right, mate; too right." James said, sitting down on the poster bed. His eyes focused on something in the corner of the room. "Hey, why do you have mistletoe over your desk?"
"Huh?"
"Mistletoe. Right there."
Sirius looked up. A sprig had indeed grown from nowhere while they had been talking, and was growing in bloom as they watched. "That stuff's insidious to the house. It starts growing this time of year. Apparently one of my ancient ancestors had a sense of humour."
"Oh, so that's where you got it from."
"Shut it," Sirius said, smiling. "It doesn't do much, y'know. No obligations to snog me or anything."
James laughed. "Fat chance of that. I'm way out of your league."
"Oi!" Sirius laughed. The mistletoe jingled with a slight illusion of distant bells. They fell silent and listened to it as it shook.
Something was happening downstairs. Voices. Sirius broke the silence.
"You know, mate," Sirius said. "I'm really glad you've agreed to stay a couple of days. I'm also really happy you came over."
"Is that mistletoe making your brain go soggy?"
"Probably," Sirius shrugged. "But it's true. Just promise me one thing."
"Sure?"
"Don't force yourself to come here again. It's not healthy."
James chuckled and stood up. "Done deal."
The two young lads approached each other to make a sort of handshake, but James and Sirius pulled each other in to a cozy hug at the same time. They laughed gruffly, awkwardly, as the mistletoe sprinkled snow down on them. Sirius' lips touched James' ear playfully, who then punched him on the arm with a laugh. It would be the last time a member of the House of Black would make any sort of kiss with a fellow pureblood within the household for nearly three decades. Neither of them would ever know it.
"C'mon," Sirius mumbled after a while. "Let's head down before dinner. I'm sure mum would love you to tell her all about our dorm-mates."
==========
02. Regulus Black.
==========
He had just turned sixteen, and had had his final argument with his parents. His school cases were open on the bed, and he was throwing clothes and possessions into piles, swearing as he did so. Though Sirius would have loved to say that he couldn't believe the nerve of his parents, the reality was he completely believed it, because that was how they were.
His parents treated the word Mudblood like it were joke. In many ways, they were jokes, and they may as well have been trolls with purple tongues that permenantly prolapsed from a slime-ridden mouth, the way they were made monstrous in perception. The anti-Muggle movements were rising in clamour and fervour, and his mother and father were all the more keen to get involved somehow, because word had gotten round that the Gryffindor Black boy was bringing shame to the household, and they were being cast aside from pureblooded society all the more with each scandal.
They had probably hoped their boy would fall back in line the more they cut off his securities. The truth of the matter was he wasn't their boy any longer. And tonight had just proven it.
A knock at the door. Sirius told the knocker to fuck off, and he didn't care if it was his father about to use a curse on him, it would be worth it just to know he hadn't fallen silent to their imbecilic ways, and....
"Sirius, open the door."
Regulus. That little slimeball.
"I said fuck off."
"Hey, do you want me to get mum or dad to blast the door off its hinges? Let me in!"
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM ANY MORE."
A pause. Regulus grumbled under his breath, his voice fluking spontaneously up and down as it hadn't quite broken properly yet. "Fine. Kreacher?"
A small crack outside the door, and Sirius scowled. "Don't you even fucking think about..."
The door had unlocked on its hinges, and Sirius ignored Kreacher's reedy simpering. Regulus stepped inside. "Oh, I thought you were packing bags. Sounded like it."
"So are you here to join in on the little party?" Sirius said, seething. "Or are you just coming here to gloat."
"Neither of those," Regulus said, and, surprisingly, helped sort Sirius' books. "Mum's really upset."
"I don't care."
"I know you don't, but I do," Regulus said. "I don't think that spectacle downstairs helped anyone solve anything."
Sirius hated it when Regulus went all high and mighty, whenever he said things that elevated him above the asinine teenage drama that Sirius was bringing home, he always tended to make it into some sort of slight. Sirius had had enough of him, too, but here, for some reason, Regulus didn't seem to be antagonising him. If anything, he sounded like he was wilfully diffusing the situation.
"So I take it you agree with them, then?" Sirius asked defensively. "It's what you usually do, after all."
"How do you know?" Regulus asked. "When you're here you spend every waking hour in the bedroom. I see Kreacher more than I see you."
"Yeah, well, you're planning on joining the Death Eaters too, aren't you?" Sirius snapped.
"I'm not totally against it," Regulus squirmed. "But I didn't come here to lecture you or try to convince you otherwise. You're as bad as mum once your mind's set on something.... which it is."
Sirius stopped packing and glared at his little brother, wanting nothing more than to punch him. Outside, a Christmas carol started playing from one of the nearby Muggle house windows. "You really don't know me at all, you know. Stop acting like you do."
"I'm not acting like I know you," Regulus said plainly. "I don't think I've had a proper conversation with you since I was nine. I'm not expecting this to change tonight."
Sirius looked at Regulus suspiciously. "Tell me what you came in here for, again? If you're not trying to persuade me to stay, then..."
"I just want you to be safe," Regulus said with a shrug. "You may not care about us, but I care about you. I care about mum and dad, too, so I'm in a bit of a bad position right now."
"Are you trying to make excuses for-" Sirius began, but Regulus put his hand up to stop the older brother:
"No, I just want you to know that... I still have respect for you. You've got a lot of self-belief, and even if I don't agree with it, I don't think it's a good reason to banish you from the family house."
"If you don't care about me leaving, help me pack," Sirius said, pointing to a few of the clothes. "Sooner I'm out of here, the better."
Packing took a deceptively short amount of time, considering neither brother had much to say to the other, and Sirius hadn't exactly unpacked from the Christmas holidays to begin with. The faint soundtrack of Muggle songs playing through a window didn't ease the tension, but it did dissipate some of the rage coursing through Sirius' body.
"Well, this is it," Sirius said, eventually. "I'll be off."
Above the threshhold of the door, the mistletoe had sprouted afresh. The leaves had spread out some distance, as though the plant was desperately trying to track down some Christmas spirit in the gloomy household.
"Where are you stopping?" Regulus asked. "At that Potter's place?"
"Probably, yeah," Sirius shrugged. "If I outstay my welcome then, you know. I'll move on somewhere."
Regulus' face twitched a little, as though he was looking to say something to his brother. A word issued faintly from his lips: Christmas.
"Christmas?" Sirius repeated with a snap. "What about it? I won't be back here for Christmas. Stuff that for a laugh."
Regulus muttered something (more to himself than to Sirius) in a way that reminded the elder Black sibling of the elf.
"I shouldn't be alone at Christmas?" Sirius scoffed. "Don't worry: I won't be. I'll have a good time, and be happy and fed and, maybe I'll actually have a dinner that doesn't involve talk of murdering friends of mine."
"Well," Regulus said, defeated. "I'll see you at school."
He offered his hand to Sirius. Sirius looked at it like it had come off the sole of his shoe, as though he wanted nothing more than to spit on it. But then the twisting white flowers above their head caught his eye, and for the most fleeting moment, he felt a wave of doubt.
"Yeah, see you there," Sirius said with a grunt, meeting his brother's hand reluctantly.
The mistletoe vibrated over their heads and issued sparks of white that crystallised into snowflakes. Before they had reached the carpet, Sirius Black was already out of the building.
==========
03. Andromeda Tonks.
==========
"This bloody plant keeps on growing."
Sirius had returned to Grimmauld Place several years later, well after his family had all moved on. He wanted not to think about the last time he was here with them but the web of overgrown mistletoe berries were a constant reminder of his last parting exchange with Regulus, and how in that fleeting moment he had dared believe the little scumbag wasn't as bad as he'd made him out to be. What a joke; he got his just desserts after all.
Dumbledore had paid him a visit that afternoon, though it was not without some trepidation that he allowed the sworn enemy of the House of Black into their last remaining home. He had simply looked at the berries hanging over the doors and chuckled to himself; Sirius had tried to Vanish them but they seemed resistant to magic.
"I take it this plant responds to an emotional reaction from the people above whom it grows?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, in the way he did when he already knew the answer.
"Yeah, it's there to spread festive cheer," Sirius said sullenly. "But seeing that the only living thing in this house for the last twelve years or something has been Kreacher, no wonder it's completely overgrown. The miserable rat hasn't got a cheerful bone in his body."
"You should show a little more kindness to Kreacher, you know," Dumbledore said. "He is a reminder of a time you would like confined to the past, but he is merely a product of it, not the cause."
Sirius didn't say anything; he just rolled his eyes. "What time are the guests arriving?"
"Very soon, they were due to Floo here, and- oh my, that sounds like them now!"
A tumbling roar came from the sitting room fire and a few soft crunches, indistinct voices. A woman's voice. "I haven't been here in years. Goodness, they could open the curtains every now and again, you know."
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, striding into the room to greet the woman. "Mrs Tonks, and your dear husband. I'm so glad you could come. And, might I say, the years have been exceptionally kind to you both."
"Thank you, Albus," Andromeda Tonks said, before her attention was drawn to the unshaven figure skulking in the corner. "And good heavens, Sirius. Didn't they feed you in Azkaban?"
"Barely scraps," Sirius said with a shrug. "Nice to see you Andi."
The two cousins met and embraced for the first time in decades. Her husband, Ted, stood awkwardly by the fire while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as bright as the mistletoe above their heads, which subsided as the gesture of goodwill came to pass.
"You haven't met my husband yet, have you?" she said keenly. "This is Ted."
"I remember you from the Quidditch matches," Sirius said with a thought. "Didn't you commentate?"
"Blimey, I forgot I did that," he began sheepishly. "Can you even imagine how the-"
"Look at those disgraces!"" a deep voice growled from behind the door. "The runaway son and his harlot cousin, disgraces the pair of them. Fraternising now in my Mistress' old house, oh, it breaks my heart."
"I didn't think you had a heart," Andromeda said coldly to the elf. "I thought it was just a swinging brick."
"Oh, she's ill-mannered as ever, so she is," Kreacher muttered. "Bringing her kind into this house, in spite of everything that shames the....."
A silence. Kreacher was glaring at Ted, who was looking back at the elf.
"Er, hello?"
"She brought a MUDBLOOD here!" Kreacher screamed. "How dare she! The pure audacity of it! Polluting her vile blood, daming mongrel children, but to bring her shame here? Oh, the disgrace, Kreacher cannot bear it. He must leave! He must leave!"
"Kreacher, I forbid you from touching Ted or using magic against him!" Sirius bellowed. The order came in time: the elf had sprung to the fireplace in eye-watering speed, grabbing the sharpest poker from the wrought-iron set."
"Thanks, Mr Black," Ted said. "Andi did warn me what her family were like. And I had the pleasure of meeting her sisters once."
"You met Bellatrix?" Sirius asked.
"Just the once," Ted said with a small smile. "It went as could be expected."
"Bellatrix Black is a far greater human than you could wish to be, you beast!" Kreacher howled. "She holds herself with poise and dignity that befits her pure lineage, something your slothful Mudblood mind cannot comprehend! Kreacher is offended by the Mudblood's stink! He is, he IS!"
"Kreacher, don't call my husband a Mudblood," Andromeda said simply. "And make us a pot of tea. And don't use any magic."
"Or spit in it," Sirius added, before commenting on an aside: "You don't want to know what I found in my cereal the first morning back here."
"Now we've all become acquainted, shall we continue?" Dumbledore asked brightly. "I do believe we have business to attend to, and it's unnaturally cool for this time of year."
Such was the truth: even though it was, in fact, March, snow had been trickling from the pre-spring skies over Grimmauld Place. Though it didn't stick when it fell during the day, it had been coming down heavily overnight, and though sleet-like, it freezes and by morning allows a cool frost on the windows.
"You know," Dumbledore began, with a grin, "considering it's almost spring, this house is making me feel quite festive. Would anyone care for some wine while we discuss young Nymphadora's initiation into the Order?"
And so the discussions continued for quite a while. Though their daughter worked in the ministry to complete her training, the two were keen on her to take part in the fight she had always been so keen to take up. He promised them security, their home to be true sanctury, because in times ahead there would be many pressures, and because of their birth-rights, the blood-traitor, the Muggle-born and the half-blood daughter who fights for Dumbledore's Order, there would be many who seeked retribution.
"I'll let you consider the terms, Dumbledore said pleasantly. I should go downstairs and greet Severus. He will likely be coming here shortly with a report on young Harry. Considering the amount of time he's spent in detention with the man, I daresay the report will be extensive...."
Ted squeezed Andromeda's hand. "It'll be all right, you know. Dumbledore will always be there to keep her safe."
"I hope so," Andromeda whispered, rubbing his fingers idly while she gripped the wine glass with her free hand. "Have you ever wondered what might happen if Dumbledore isn't around any longer?"
"Then it's game over for us, right?" Ted said. "We know what the risks are like. They were like that last time. But we're going to face the exact same thing again and we have to- you know- be ready for it. And Dora's not exactly our little girl any more. She's a grown woman and she's got more drive and fire than anyone I know."
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Andromeda agreed, until her husband raised his hand:
"Actually no. You have as much drive and fire as she does. You just haven't had to use it in some time."
"What do you mean?"
"This place," Ted said, waving his hand around at the walls, jabbing a stubby finger at the family tapestry from which her name had been obliterated. "Your family, your... your sister. You had to stand up to them, move out by yourself and we both remember your parents' reaction to our engagement. And that whole time, I was proud of the strength you held."
"It's a Slytherin thing," Andromeda said impassively. "We all tend to behave like that."
"I don't care," Ted said, squeezing his wife's hand. "You brought up our daughter well, and there's nothing to be ashamed of. We're doing the right thing, scary as that might be."
She leaned in to kiss her husband. Above them, the mistletoe finally began to shrink away, satisfied that the kiss it had waited for for over a decade had finally arrived, though the sprinkle of holly thorns suggested the house wasn't keen on Andromeda's choice of suitor.
==========
04. Neville Longbottom.
==========
"It's ever such a nice house, don't you think?"
Neville looked at Luna with a look that betrayed disagreement, but also a lack of disbelief. "I've seen nicer."
"I imagine it must be really lovely in the summer," Luna mused, running her finger up and down the bannister. "Harry might invite us over in the summer, don't you think? His birthday's in July, isn't it?"
"Yeah, just after mine," Neville said with a small nod.
Luna smiled widely. "It's quite sad so many of our friends couldn't be here, isn't it?" she said brightly. "After all, Ron and Hermione are busy having some time to themselves this Christmas, aren't they?"
"She told me they're spending it with her parents in Australia."
"She should be careful of the lethifold," Luna said seriously. "They are invisible in Australia, don't you know?"
"A few years ago you told me Australia wasn't even a real country," Neville said simply. "You said it was a conspiracy put in place by the Ministry of Magic to keep people away from an area of the world which they dedicated to experimental breeding."
"Yes, that's right," Luna nodded. "I still want to visit there one day. Muggles live in Australia so there's a real place, but they say a lot of it is desert and outback. Nobody lives there, and it's because of the Ministry."
Neville didn't say anything, instead trying to fight back a grin. Luna had matured a lot in the past year, since her kidnap by the Death Eaters and subsequent escape and victory. She seemed to be more self-aware, more likely to tease her friends in a way that wrong-footed them, because they never could tell if she was being serious. This whole Australia thing might have been a similar thing, a private joke. He just couldn't tell.
"This house used to belong to Stubby Boardman, didn't it?" Luna asked, examining a faded still life painting on the upstairs landing. "I think Harry's Christmas decorations have really helped bring it into itself."
"Yeah, I'm pleased he asked us to come over and help him decorate the tree. I always love doing that; Gran can't reach the top parts as well as she used to, and she doesn't like using magic for it; it's bad luck."
"My dad says the same thing, you know," Luna smiles. "Personally, I think it's all superstition."
"I.... er, what?"
"Oh, yes: it's just a tree, after all. The bowtruckles will attack you no matter what you do," Luna explained, "especially if your wand is made of fir. Mr Ollivander told me that."
Neville fell silent. He knew some of the properties of fir, and the way it corresponded to certain types of magic, but he didn't think Luna would agree. This was one of the reasons he liked her company as much as he did: she would say things that would keep him guessing: she would not laugh at his latent insecurities, and always be sympathetic to his moods.
"Neville?"
"Yes, Luna?"
You might want to stick your fingers in your ears."
Neville paused as Luna did just that. "Why?"
"It's because of Nargles. They tend to live in mistletoe, and I've spotted a sprig of it on the wall above us."
He looked up and sure enough, a small sprout of white berries were growing. He considered asking Harry if he could harvest some of it; his gran was having trouble with some of her medicinal potions, and he thought it would help with some of the side-effects, had he listened to Madam Sprout properly.
"Should we just walk away?" Neville asked, putting his fingers in his ears obediently.
"Possibly," she said, her voice still audible, though muted. "You might want to close your eyes too, Neville: they tend to be attracted to people who try to look at them."
He shrugged and closed his eyes, seeing no harm in humouring his friend. After a few moments, he considered asking if he should be waiting, or if they should move away, but he found a pair of hands around his shoulders and before he knew it, a pair of soft lips met his own. He hadn't expected the warm taste of her breath upon his own, but her lips were gentle put firm, her breath having a slight fruity scent to it. He let it linger as he withdrew his fingers from his ears and draped his hands round her back.
After opening his eyes and looking at her, he returned her beaming grin, and kissed her back, quickly, softly, affectionately. "Heh, you know, we might want to move away. The mistletoe's growing. I'm sure the Nargles are preparing for an attack."
"Oh, Neville, don't be silly," Luna grinned. "There's not really any such thing as Nargles. It's just another superstition my dad's said since I was a little girl. Didn't your gran talk about them, either?"
He cast his mind back, but as he looked away, she pulled in for another kiss. His hands met hers, their fingers interlaced, and the berries issued blossom down upon their heads.
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too."
==========
05. Draco Malfoy.
==========
Considering everything he had been through, coming to the Potter household just days before the New Year always felt a bit non-sequitur. He knew that Potter wasn't around and too right, too; at least they wouldn't have to make small talk about things neither of them cared about, but even so he had been ordered by his father (or rather his father suggested it in a way that made it clear it wasn't anything other than an instruction), and because his parents were proven better at this than he was, Draco fell in line, because he knew it was still expected of him to do so.
They didn't want him to burn bridges. His mother had put it succinctly: Potter's testimony kept us out of Azkaban, so the Malfoy line only remains at liberty because of his mercy. He didn't have to help us, but he did; we need to move forward and embrace the new age.
Draco had tried to move forward, but there were too many years of baggage. He felt like he had spent most of his childhood being primed to take on a certain role, the role his father knew would return to the world eventually, and when it did he couldn't step up to the mark... and if anything, he personally ruined that setup unintentionally. He wondered if, had he been a better Slytherin, he might have co-existed on better terms with Potter and, ironically, caused his downfall.
Now he was at Grimmauld Place, the building he had visited many years ago as a small boy while his great-aunt Walburga had been alive. He barely remembered her, but his mother had taken to showing him around the house, and let him play with an assortment of antiquated toys. He looked at the tapestry that bore his name at the very bottom and ran a finger over the relief of the golden lines that decorated his name and year of birth.
"I think you and your mother are the only two living people on that tapesty," came a voice. "Congratulations."
It was Ginny Weasley. She was watching Draco with a curious look, like she couldn't believe he was here either. The blond smirked. "Hello, Weasley. How's your family?"
"Oh, same as usual," she said brightly. "Yours?"
"No real change," Draco said. "You know how pureblood society works: we get over the setbacks and move on."
Ginny looked like she would normally have said something to call him out but currently she didn't seem too bothered. Something played on her face; Draco detected a twitch, a small touch of sadness. "What's wrong?"
"None of your business, Malfoy."
"I'm here on Pott- on Harry's invite," he said simply. "I'm curious. I'm not digging for muck, so don't worry about it."
Ginny squirmed. "You know how Harry and I are going to separate, right?"
Draco fidgeted, trying to keep his face non-judgmental. "I did hear a rumour, I cannot lie."
"Well, he decided to get legal parchments in place last week. They arrived on Christmas Day."
A low whistle. Draco didn't mean to issue the sound, but he couldn't stop himself. "That's inconsiderate."
"I know, but on the brightside, at least we didn't get married yet. But the engagement's going to cause a bit of scandal, you know. Him being Harry Potter and all that. I think that's why he's putting in all that overtime at the Auror office: so he doesn't have to face up to another scandal that he actually caused."
"I know a thing or two about scandals," Draco said. "So you're expecting the Prophet to run the story?"
"I know that idiot Zacharias Smith's been flitting around the gossip section like a hungry vulture, waiting for the story to break. He's such a dick."
"How do you know about what's going on at the Prophet?" Draco asked, to which Ginny shrugged:
"A friend of mine works there. We were in the same year group, and both in Gryffindor."
"Oh, that Creevey shrimp," Draco nodded. "Makes sense. So what does that mean for you?"
The two talked the most civilised conversation they had done in years. They not only discussed Potter (Draco and Ginny shared many stories about him, that made Draco smile, even if he knew he could never use them), but also the way life once had been (wizarding nostalgia was always an interesting issue, especially when it came to comics and music from their shared childhood, things Ginny knew Harry couldn't ever feel the same way about, even if he tried), and the old elephants in the room (Draco even apologised for that time his dad dropped a Horcrux into her schoolbag and used the disembodied spirit of a Dark Wizard to possess her as she spoke tongues and attacked children without any knowledge of the incident).
In a way, it was very good to clear old baggage, a set of conversations Draco knew he could never hold with Potter.
"So are you going to stay with your family now, Ginny?" Draco asked, finishing his goblet of mulled wine. "Your mother and father, I mean."
"Probably, though I think mum had plans on using my room as a play room for Bill and Percy's daughters. It's a bit rubbish, really. But I'd like to find my own place, too."
"You know, I'm considering moving away from my parents, too," Draco said. "Father thinks it will be an excellent idea for me to stand on my own two feet, and good for our image-"
"You Malfoys and your image!" Draco pretended he didn't see Ginny roll her eyes and continued:
"And it'll be good for me in general. Mother would rather I stay around, but with the Floo Network and Apparition, it's not difficult."
"Yeah," Ginny nodded thoughtfully, before talking. "You know, Draco.... in many ways, you and I are quite similar."
"How so?" Draco said, surprised, more than anything, that she had used his first name.
"Well, we've both come from similar backgrounds, but from totally different parts of wizard society. Your family is controlled while mine is chaotic. Your parents take risks while mine tended to avoid them when possible. I grew up with a million brothers, and you didn't have any split attention. And even so... well, look at us both."
A pause. Draco broke the moment. "I think I know what you mean, but carry on."
"The biggest similarity I can see," Ginny said, choosing her words with care, "is we both fell in love with ideas that didn't match up with reality."
"You and Potter?"
"Yeah, a childhood crush. I'm glad I acted on it when I did, but now we're both older... well, you know what I mean," Ginny said, trying not to think about her ex-in-all-but-public-knowledge. "You had the same thing with the Death Eater thing. You fell over yourself to sign up, but when it came down to it, you realised this wasn't who you were."
"I guess we've both been stupid," Draco smiled, unable to believe he was connecting so well with a Weasley. "You really understand me, Ginny."
"Yeah, well," she shrugged. "You beat me in our Quidditch match in your seventh year. I can't hold a grudge for ever, you know."
"That's why you're bringing it up?" he scoffed. "Gryffindors."
"Yes because I'm sure Slytherins wouldn't keep grudges over Quidditch matches for ages afterward, even if I had hexed you as promised! All right," she chuckled. "You know, the Sorting Hat considered me for Slytherin for a little while. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I'd been put in there."
"All those Mud- All those Muggleborns you tried to attack would have been killed, and you probably wouldn't have mooned over Potter so much. He's probably what saved you back then."
"Is that a concession?"
"Shut up."
"Make me!" Ginny teased. Draco didn't break eye contact.
In an instant, it seemed to be the most natural and obvious thing to do. The two blended together in an instant, sharing hard passionate kisses in the house of his old enemy, of her ex-fiancee. If either felt any guilt about this they didn't express it in their lips. If anything, Harry Potter was probably the last thing on their minds.
"You know," Ginny admitted eventually, "if it weren't for the fact my brothers would probably curse me into another century, I'd totally consider getting a place with you."
"It's early days, you know," Draco smiled. "There's no point worrying about the future. Get past today first."
"What kind of Slytherin are you?"
"A more developed one that you."
"You didn't feel that developed."
"Shut up," he said in mock offence, gazing into her eyes.
With the scales of self-doubt and ignorance brushed away, Draco could finally see what he had been choosing to ignore all these years. And she, too, seemed to be enjoying the encounter as much as he was. Draco looked at the line of the House of Black; his mother and himself the only two names not scorched out or carrying a date of death. Though extinct, he considered the idea that he could continue the lineage for a future generation and see what became of it. Maybe this was why his parents had told him to stay in line. Right now, he was glad to take their advice.
It had been the first time a member of the House of Black had made any sort of kiss with a fellow pureblood within the household for nearly three decades. Neither of them would ever know it.
But the mistletoe did, and it grew and grew and grew.
5796 / 30 = 193.2
125 point MAXOUT!