The chill of the dungeons always lingered a little more stubbornly than elsewhere in the castle. Even with the torches crackling along the corridor walls, that cold crept into the bones and settled there.
But the Slytherin common room was a different world entirely. A towering Christmas tree stood in the corner, draped in silver-and-green ornaments and shimmering crystal icicles. The fireplace blazed warmly, casting soft amber light across the plush carpets and carved armchairs.
Harry and Draco sat together on a sofa near the fire.
An enormous copy of A History of Magic lay open on Harry's lap, though his gaze had long since drifted from the text. His fingertips traced absently along the edge of the page.
Draco held a Daily Prophet, though he was clearly not reading. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward Harry's unusually quiet profile.
It was Draco who finally broke the silence.
He set the newspaper aside and leaned back comfortably into the cushions, his tone light and careless as he pierced through the thick stillness:
"So, Your Saviorness—after staring at that old mirror all night, did you come up with any grand plan to overthrow the wizarding world?"
Harry lifted his eyes, emerald gaze cool and steady.
"Not everyone's as goal-oriented as a certain young master whose sole ambition is to become Minister for Magic."
Draco let out a soft scoff, a glint of I knew you didn't buy that flashing across his grey eyes.
"Minister? Exhausting job. I'd rather become a Hogwarts governor. Then I'd install one of those mirrors in every classroom—imagine the entertainment. Watching our dear classmates' daydreams? Spectacle of the century."
He drawled wickedly,
"Perhaps Weasley dreaming of eating the school kitchens into bankruptcy… or Longbottom imagining himself a dueling champion…"
The absurdity did its work, scattering the lingering tension from the night before. Harry's lips twitched—barely—but Draco caught it. Harry knew Draco was shifting the subject, but he didn't mind playing along.
"Let's talk serious matters, Draco." Harry closed his book. "What are your plans for the Christmas holidays?"
Draco raised an eyebrow—surprised, perhaps, that Harry had asked so directly. But he slid easily into the topic.
"Going back to Malfoy Manor, of course. Mother's owled me three times already asking which sweets you prefer—as if our house-elves don't have a recipe archive the size of a library."
"And you?" Draco asked, tone casual—too casual—eyes sharp beneath it. "Returning to your Muggle relatives?" The disdain was barely veiled.
Harry's expression remained still. Even after returning, it had taken all his restraint not to curse the entire household on the first day.
"No." Harry's voice was calm. "I'm not going back to Privet Drive."
A brief, unmistakable spark of satisfaction flickered in Draco's eyes, quickly smothered as he tapped the sofa's armrest with manufactured thoughtfulness.
"Oh? Then where will you go? Surely the great Savior of the Wizarding World won't mould away in an empty Hogwarts corridor? Though I suppose the house-elves would enjoy delivering meals to you."
Harry met his gaze, quiet and steady.
"I recall someone extended an invitation."
Draco grinned—a triumphant, delighted grin—the kind a cat wore after successfully stealing cream.
"Ah, yes. That. Malfoy Manor does have a few spare guest rooms. Not quite as grand as the Potter estate… oh, wait, I forgot—you didn't inherit it, did you?"
He poked at the wound with exquisite malice, but the mockery in his eyes carried no real venom.
Harry didn't react, simply stared him down.
Draco relented with a soft huff and a shrug.
"Fine, fine. Considering how pathetic you are, I'll write Mother a letter. A proper invitation—Harry Potter, honored guest of Malfoy Manor for Christmas."
He rose gracefully, brushing invisible dust from his robes.
"She'll be thrilled to prepare the finest room and the most extravagant feast."
And just like that, the matter was settled.
"But the holidays aren't all feasting and lounging, Harry." Draco sat back down, tone dropping slightly, taking on a quiet seriousness.
"This is an opportunity. Father… needs to understand you properly. To see your value. And we need to use the Malfoy name to begin reaching the right people."
Harry understood at once.
"Those dissatisfied with the current situation… or families who want to break free from the Dark Lord's shadow?"
"Bright as always." Draco nodded approvingly.
"Christmas gatherings are perfect cover. Music, food, idle chatter… important conversations start under the clink of wineglasses and polite lies. We'll identify possible allies—at least establish initial contact."
His grey eyes gleamed with a shrewdness far too mature for his age.
"Will your father agree?" Harry asked. He knew Lucius Malfoy—pure opportunist. Without leverage or clear benefit, he would never invest.
Draco smiled—sharp, confident, cunning.
"Why wouldn't he? Show him your potential. Make him see the profit in backing you. And besides—this expands the Malfoy influence and lets him 'shape the future.' If we play this right, he'll believe it was his idea."
He sounded entirely certain of his ability to manipulate his father.
"We'll need a plan," Harry said, voice lowering, eyes turning razor-focused. "Who to approach. What to say. What objectives. We can't go in unprepared."
"Obviously." Draco pulled out a slim, dragon-hide notebook and an automatic quill.
"I've drafted a preliminary list. Some families are long-time allies of ours but uneasy about the Dark Lord's… madness. Others were coerced into loyalty but hate it and want out."
He flipped open the notebook—neat, elegant script filled a page with surnames, family backgrounds, political inclinations, and possible entry points.
He'd been preparing this for a while.
Harry leaned in to read, and something in his chest tightened.
Draco Malfoy—reincarnation or not—was nothing like the brat he remembered from his previous life. His mind was sharp, his strategy precise, his foresight far beyond his years. Whoever had taught him… had crafted something formidable.
"What about the Crabbes and Goyles?" Harry asked, pointing to the names. He remembered their families—loyal Death Eaters.
A flicker of disdain crossed Draco's face.
"Idiots and opportunists. Not worth including. They wouldn't understand or keep up. At best, they'll serve as misdirection if needed."
He crossed them off without hesitation—cutting away dead weight.
They leaned closer over the notebook, heads nearly touching, whispering as the fire crackled.
Notes and arrows filled the parchment—forming the early outline of a hidden network centered around Malfoy Manor. Harry contributed bits of knowledge about several families' secret weaknesses, earning raised eyebrows from Draco more than once.
By the time they settled on their priority targets and conversational strategies, the Black Lake outside the window was a seamless sheet of darkness, occasionally lit by passing magical creatures.
"That's enough for now. Either they bow willingly, or we take their minds." Draco shut the notebook and rubbed his eyes.
"Details can wait until we get to the Manor. After Father's seen you, we'll adjust. Mother will help too—nobody hosts a party like she does."
Harry nodded.
The thought of Narcissa Malfoy always stirred something complex in him.
In his previous life, she'd lied to save him. In this one, she was the first adult to treat him with genuine warmth. Perhaps it was for Draco's sake—or pity—but it was real.
"Thank you, Draco," Harry said softly.
Draco blinked, clearly caught off guard. He turned his face aside a heartbeat later, flustered.
"Thank me for what? Saving you from your Muggle kennel? Or for doing all this planning so your life doesn't collapse around your ears?"
His tone was sharp, but the tips of his ears had turned faintly pink.
"All of it," Harry murmured, watching the fire dance.
Draco was silent for a few breaths. Then he stood, returning to his usual drawl:
"Come on. Bed. We've got the last classes tomorrow—and pack your things, Harry. And also… when we get back, stop thanking me. You never need to say those two words to me."
Because… I've already chosen my reward.
Harry watched him walk away, a faint smile touching his lips.
Perhaps this Christmas wouldn't be so bad.
The delicate tension stirred by the Mirror seemed to dissolve into the night's conspiratorial warmth. They were still allies, still partners in crime, still the only ones who shared certain truths.
As for the deeper feelings reflected in that mirror—Harry pushed them back into the depths of his heart.
For now, at least…
It wasn't yet time.
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