With the formal greetings out of the way, Harry was finally facing Draco, who smirked at him.
"Unanticipated company, Potter?" he remarked, reminding Harry of the first letter he'd sent at the beginning of summer. "Bit of an understatement." He didn't seem fazed by the enormous manor and its grounds; he probably lived in something twice the size of it. "No wonder you've been able to practice your Wronski Feint. Which I still don't believe you can pull off, by the way," he added.
"I'll prove it to you," Harry challenged. He glanced up at Sirius, who smiled fondly.
"Yes, you two can go flying. Narcissa and I can catch up in the parlour. Maybe even lure Snape up from his lab for a spot of tea." "Uncle Severus is here?" Draco asked, surprised.
"I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you, sweetheart, but you go ahead and play with Harry — it's his birthday, after all. We'll call you in for lunch," Narcissa said. She reached into her handbag, and Harry beamed when she pulled Draco's broom out, the bag much bigger on the inside than it appeared. "Have fun, boys. Do be safe. And happy birthday, Mr Potter."
"Thanks, Mrs Malfoy!" Harry grabbed Draco by the wrist, tugging him in the direction of the quidditch pitch at the back of the manor. When they were alone, he rounded on his friend. "You're supposed to be in France!" "You're supposed to be in Surrey," Draco returned in the same tone. "Explain, Potter." He mounted his broom, kicking off in a lazy spiral, and Harry summoned his Firebolt from the broom shed to join him. The two drifted in easy laps around the half-pitch as Harry told Draco all about Snape rescuing him from the Dursleys at the beginning of summer, and everything that had happened since.
"Mother was surprised when she got the letter from Uncle Severus, asking if we could get away for the day on the 31st," Draco said once it was his turn to explain things. "I suppose your godfather included a letter too, explaining his circumstances. She took it fairly well, all things considered." "I didn't realise she knew we were even friends," Harry commented. Draco shrugged, doing an effortless barrel roll.
"I tell my mother everything," he said evenly. "She won't tell Father." He smirked, swooping over to Harry's side. "Now, enough about our guardians surely you've got a snitch around here somewhere?" His eyes flashed in challenge, and Harry returned the look.
"You're on, Malfoy."
.-.-.
Harry hadn't realised how much he missed having company his own age until he had Draco around. Or maybe it was just Draco in particular. Being able to spend time with the blond boy without having to hide in abandoned classrooms in the middle of the night; flying against him for the snitch in companionship rather than rivalry — Harry couldn't stop smiling, even when Draco asked him why he was grinning like a loon.
They flew until lunchtime, first trying to beat each other to the snitch and then getting the quaffle out, passing back and forth as they talked about their summers. Harry told Draco about the concert he'd gone to the week before, while Draco bragged about all the interesting places he'd been in Europe. "I brought my cards with me," the Slytherin said, tossing the quaffle in Harry's direction. The dark-haired boy had to stretch to catch it, letting the movement carry him into a sloth roll. "I can teach you that French game. It's ever so simple. Mirielle said it's quite popular at Beauxbatons."
"Mirielle? She's one of the girls you saw in France?" Harry asked, wondering why the name seemed to stick funny in his throat. Draco nodded.
"She and her cousin, Adalene. Their home isn't far from our summer house, we spent most of the week together."
"Oh." Harry's next throw was so hard it almost knocked Draco off his broom. The blond shot him a glare.
"So, been having fun with Granger and Weasley all summer?" he returned. "Since you're not with the muggles and all." "They don't actually know I'm here," Harry admitted. "We didn't think it was safe. I've barely even heard from them Hermione's written more than Ron, but… anyway, you're the first visitor I've had all summer."
"Oh."
Draco was saved having to think up another response by Sirius calling for them from the back patio. "Lunch is ready, boys!"
They landed swiftly, carrying their brooms with them and hurrying towards the house. Halfway there, Draco skidded to a halt, eyes wide. "Is that— the hippogriff! Buckbeak!" Harry looked over towards the tree line, where Buckbeak was trotting out of the woods, tossing his head back and swallowing a dead rabbit. "Oh, yeah, did I not tell you that bit? Sirius escaped on his back. He lives here now."
Draco looked at him incredulously, then back to the hippogriff. "You're definitely telling me the full story after lunch," he declared, then grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him towards the house. Harry flushed; for a second there, he'd thought Draco was going to take him by the hand.
Ceri had made an excellent spread, and in the middle of the table was an enormous chocolate cake with the words 'Happy Birthday Harry' in swirling silver icing, delicately iced snitches all around the edges. A pang of fondness rose in Harry's chest as he remembered the cake Hagrid had brought him, three years ago. His first birthday cake.
"Uncle Severus!" Draco greeted, then glanced at the man beside him. "Professor Lupin."
Remus smiled. "Hello, Mr Malfoy. I'm glad you could make it."
"Draco." Snape reached out to touch his godson's shoulder briefly. "It's good to see you well."
As they sat down to eat, Harry looked around the table, getting a strong urge to laugh. If someone had told him a year ago he'd be spending his birthday with Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape, and actually be happy about that, he would've sent them to St Mungo's.
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