All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 49

"Are you going to ask her or not?" Harry says for perhaps the seventh time since dinner. His rooms are now clean and warm and smelling like wood and polish, but for some reason, they have ended up back in front of Draco's fire.
Draco groans and flops against the soft corduroy of his armchair. "I will ask her later," he says. Again.
"When?" Harry demands, allowing Stanley to jump from the back of his chair into his lap. "Tomorrow she'll be writing her Christmas cards, on Tuesday she'll be running around trying to make sure everything is in place for the end of term feast, and on Wednesday morning everyone will be leaving, including Ivy."
"Well then, I'll do it next term. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, if you're a pathological procrastinator," Harry says, eyes gleaming.
"Bugger off. Anyway, how do you know when McGonagall writes her Christmas cards?"
"Because she always does them on the last Monday of term."
"Why?"
"I don't know," Harry says, shrugging. "She's a creature of habit, I suppose."
"How very odd."
"Draco, just go. I'll go back to my rooms and you can tell me all about it when you're done," Harry says, hefting Stanley into his arms and shuffling to the edge of the chair.
Draco holds up his hands and gets to his feet. "Fine, I'm going, but stay there, for goodness' sake."
"How do you know I'm not going to steal anything?" Harry asks, mouth twitching.
Draco carries on walking and pulls open the door. "You'll not get past my guard beetle!" he calls, smiling when Harry's laughter follows him down the corridor.
When McGonagall calls him into her office he is amused to see that she is sorting through a vast box of Christmas cards.
"How can I help you, Professor Malfoy?" she asks distractedly, examining a card with a shimmering picture of a Christmas tree on the front.
"I'm not here to complain, I promise," he says, taking the seat opposite hers. "I just wanted to see what you thought about an idea I had."
McGonagall drops the card back into the box and pins him with her sharp eyes. "Go on."
"It's about Ivy Baron. She wants to go into teaching when she finishes school and I think she shows a lot of promise. She's been helping me with the Duelling Club in her own time and she's very good with the younger students. I thought she might benefit from assisting me in Transfiguration during her free periods... if that's alright with you," Draco says, keeping his voice steady and his posture straight.
"Yes, fine," McGonagall says briskly and continues to stare at him as though expecting a further request.
"Well, that's it, really," Draco admits, startled. "Thank you."
"Don't look so surprised, Draco, it's an excellent idea," she says, eyebrows flickering. "If you recall, I was the one who told you that you needed to offer your students more than just a thorough grounding in Transfiguration, and that is exactly what you are doing. I'm not about to stand in your way."
"That's good," Draco says faintly. "I suppose I just imagined we'd have to have more of a discussion about it."
McGonagall shakes her head. "I trust you. Besides, I don't have time for discussions; I have Christmas cards to write," she says, picking up her quill.
"Harry said you wouldn't be starting your cards until tomorrow," Draco says before good sense can stop him.
McGonagall looks up and grants Draco a rather sardonic smile. "Harry obviously doesn't know how many cards I have to write this year," she says as he rises to leave. "Do give him my regards and reassure him that he doesn't know everything—it will do him good."
Draco's smile doesn't falter even when Dumbledore wakes up and winks at him. "Will do."
Draco receives his customary Christmas card from McGonagall on Tuesday morning. He shows the picture of a snowy mountain to Stanley and then reads the message aloud:
"Dear Draco, I hope your Christmas is merry and that the coming year brings health, change, and the contentment that you so richly deserve. Be happy while you are living, for you're a long time dead. All the best, Minerva McGonagall."
Tack-tack, Stanley says, climbing onto the coffee table.
"P.S. Festive regards to Stanley," Draco reads, looking down at the beetle. "Well, you can't ask for a more definitive welcome to the Hogwarts family than a mention in McGonagall's Christmas card."
"Did you get a weird proverb in your Christmas card?" Harry asks as they walk together to the end-of-term feast that evening.
"Of course, don't you always get one?" Draco says nonchalantly. Harry glances at him, eyebrows knitted as though he doesn't know whether to believe him or not, and Draco just lets him get on with it.
He is still flicking curious little glances at Draco as they half-listen to McGonagall's long list of announcements, but Draco ignores him, gazing instead at the enormous trees and floating fairies and hoping that the food will appear very soon.
"As we have already established, Professor Potter will be resuming his usual duties at the beginning of the new term," McGonagall says, to the sound of restrained but sincere enthusiasm from the house tables. "We will, of course, be delighted to have him back. However, I would like to now take a moment to recognise the hard work and determination of another member of staff, who has taken on all of Professor Potter's classes, clubs, and responsibilities in addition to his own, and who has done so admirably and almost without complaint—would everyone now please join me in a round of applause for Professor Malfoy."
Draco, who has been staring at McGonagall with growing horror throughout this speech, is astonished to see her smile at him with genuine pride and bring her hands together just a fraction of a second before the entire hall explodes in applause. Face burning, he looks out at the sea of students, all of whom are looking at him and all of whom are clapping.
At the Gryffindor table he sees Winston and Emilie, who are grinning and applauding as though their lives depend on it; Fergus Quinlan grins and gives him a thumbs-up, and even Jasper Bracknell looks pleased, giving Draco an odd sort of smile and a shrug when their eyes meet. Led by Roxanne Ainsley, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team shout out unintelligible words of encouragement. At the Hufflepuff table, Magnus Humphries is on his feet, and soon, so are several of his housemates and nearly all of the Ravenclaw first-years. Ivy Baron looks like she is about to burst with pride, and, a little further down the Slytherin table, Surya cheers and waves her fork in the air.
Lost for words, Draco finally turns to look at Harry, who is applauding furiously and clearly enjoying his discomfiture. It's all Draco can do to keep himself upright, but he manages it, fighting down his embarrassment as best he can and attempting to soak up the feeling of pure, perfect belonging that surrounds him for the possibly the first time in his life.
"Well, then," McGonagall says, raising her voice above the racket and waiting impatiently for it to die down. "I think it may be time for dinner."
As she speaks, the platters and dishes fill with everything from roast chicken to lamb curry and everything in between, and the Great Hall falls into a rumble of contented chewing and gentle conversation.
"That was very odd," Draco says, touching his still-hot face with his fingertips and then piling mashed potatoes onto his plate.
"Your face was brilliant," Harry says. "We should do that at the end of every term."
"I think not," McGonagall says, taking the potato spoon from Draco and helping herself.
Draco thinks not, too, but he doesn't mind the warm glow that settles around him as he eats, chats to Harry, walks back to his rooms with Harry, drinks tea with Harry, and tries not to think about the fact that Harry is leaving in the morning. There's nothing any sort of warm glow can do about that.
It's after midnight by the time Harry heaves himself up from his chair, says goodnight to Stanley and returns to his own rooms to sleep. Draco watches from the door until his shadow has completely disappeared and then strips off his clothes and stands under the shower for as long as he can bear it, caught somehow in the hope that with enough hot water and soap, he can wash this feeling away. By the time he crawls into bed, though, all he feels is damp and a bit light-headed.
Wednesday morning is cold, grey and drizzly, which has the advantage of making everyone else look just as miserable as Draco feels. There is a certain air of festivity in the Entrance Hall, but Draco stays as far back from it as he can, because he doubts that ruining his students' moods will make him feel any better. The little buggers still manage to seek him out, though, and he finds himself on the receiving end of more see you next term, sirs and Merry Christmases than he thinks he has had in his previous ten years of teaching combined.
"Sir?"
Draco looks up to see that Jasper Bracknell has broken away from his friends and is standing in front of him wearing a bright red bobble hat and a strange expression.
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking," he says. "I've seen how much you've helped Professor Potter this year and I think... if you can do that, you can't be all bad. So... er... have a good one."
Draco lifts an eyebrow. "Well, thank you, Jasper," he says faintly, watching the boy rejoin his friends and head for the front doors. As he does, Winston catches his eye and waves excitedly before returning to a serious-looking discussion with Emilie and Surya. Draco smiles, knowing Winston is dying to get home and show his dad what he can do.
"Have a lovely break, Professor Malfoy!" Ivy calls as she is dragged across the tiles by a grinning Magnus. "Looking forward to working with you!"
Draco watches the two of them pelt out into the rain and sighs, envious of their high spirits.
"There you are," Harry says, pitching up beside him with his coat buttoned up to his chin and a battered leather satchel slung across his shoulders.
"Where did you think I'd be?"
"In your rooms, I suppose. I don't usually see you out here on the last day of term."
"Perhaps I had to make sure you actually left," Draco says, pretending nonchalance and hating himself for it. Harry is alive with energy and Draco's nerves are shredded. He folds his arms across his chest for protection and offers a tight smile.
"I'm going, don't worry," Harry says easily. "The rest of my stuff is probably already on the Hogwarts Express by now, so I might as well go with it."
"Well, good," Draco says, shifting uncomfortably on the spot.
Harry takes a deep breath and something painful flickers in his eyes; a split-second later, it's gone.
"Don't have a miserable Christmas, Draco," he says, hesitating for a moment before stepping forward and folding Draco into a hug.
It's over before he knows it, and Harry is stepping back and walking away, but the clean scent and the press of warm skin and the drag of wool and leather cling to Draco and infiltrate every last screwed up connection in his mind. As soon as the last student is out of the Entrance Hall, he stumbles back to his rooms and locks himself in.
When someone starts pounding at the door an hour or so later, Draco merely looks up from his chair and glares. The person on the other side, however, has other ideas, and the pounding continues until he throws down his book and stomps over to fling the door open.
"Oh," he sighs, irritation fading quickly. "Hello, Hagrid."
"I might 'ave dented yer door a bit, I'm afraid," he says guiltily. "I'm sorry... I was just a bit worried about yeh after this mornin'. Wanted to check yeh were okay."
Puzzled, Draco looks around the door and sees that there is indeed a small damaged patch that wasn't there before. "Not to worry, I'm sure I can fix it. I don't really know what you mean about this morning, though," he lies, gesturing for Hagrid to come inside. "Have I missed something?"
"Oh, well, it's probably nothin'," Hagrid says, ambling over to the fireplace and scratching Stanley's shell before heaving himself down onto the ring of stones. "Yeh just looked sad ter see the students go. Thought you might like a bit of company, but don't be afraid to tell me to sod off if yeh'd rather be on yer own."
Draco turns away to fill the kettle and gazes at the drizzle snaking down his windows. He had been so certain that he wanted to be alone, but now there's a very large man in a very large coat sitting on his hearth and he thinks he wants to have tea with him. Any distraction is a good distraction, surely, and besides, it will give him the chance to try out his new Hagrid-sized mugs.
"Now that's a cup of tea," he says, beaming, as Draco passes him one of the big red cups and settles in his armchair with a rather more modest one and a happily tacking Stanley.
Hagrid takes off his coat, revealing a hairy green jumper and Draco looks at it, wondering if he has made it himself.
"I knitted it," Hagrid says, making Draco wonder whether he actually voiced his thoughts or he has just been staring a little too hard.
"That's very clever," Draco admits. "I don't think anyone in my family knows how to knit."
"Not even yer mother?" Hagrid asks, raising bristly eyebrows.
"Not as far as I know. Perhaps I should ask her," Draco says absently.
"It's cheaper that way, and yeh can 'ave any colour yeh want," Hagrid says, eyeing the bright red sweater that Draco has left on the back of his spare armchair. "Them things cost a bloody fortune."
It isn't until Draco is halfway into his retelling of the story of Ivy and the rude shop assistant that he realises he's having a rather nice time, and then he finds himself picturing Harry on his way back to London and pauses, midsentence, in order to stop picturing it.
"And what did she say?" Hagrid asks.
"Hang on," Draco says, shifting Stanley so he can get up. "I think we need some more tea."