Whelp

'That one,' Harry said, pointing. 'Father said you could choose your own dec'rations if you want something different.'

Draco nodded and threw himself onto the bed. 'Not bad. I guess I can get used to it. I'll want more pillows, though.' He looked around again. 'Where are all your toys? Do you have a play room?'

Harry's mouth opened and then he shut it, uncomfortably reminded of Dudley and his two bedrooms. Draco's room had been filled with toys, he remembered. Had there been even more, in another room? Harry could hardly even imagine it. 'These are my toys. I've got dragons, see?'

'Mm-hm. Where's your broom?'

Harry sighed, knowing he was about to be laughed at for being a baby, and helpless to do anything about it. He'd wanted Draco to visit, but he hadn't counted on it being like this. Pointing to the corner, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable jeers.

But when he heard nothing after another minute or two, he cautiously opened his eyes. Draco was standing by the broom, and his own lip was between his teeth as he watched Harry. 'I had one like this, too. Till my birthday.' He shrugged. 'It's not really a baby's broom.'

Harry gave him a tentative smile. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all. 'Hey, Draco, d'you want to meet a giant?'

Draco's eyes widened, all traces of bragging gone. 'Sure!'

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TBC . . . with more Hagrid, more Draco, and the continuing antics of seven-year-olds at Hogwarts. . . .

A/N: Thanks, as always, to all who read and/or review. You're my chocolate mousse, my inspiration, and my slave dri . . . er, that is, you're my very nice, friendly encouragement squad. :-) Next chapter by Wednesday.

*Chapter 21*: Chapter 21

Whelp -- Chapter 21

By jharad17

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Honest. She's rich, I'm not.

A/N at end.

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'Father! Can we go--' Harry ran out into the sitting room, and came skidding to a stop when he saw Mr. Malfoy was still there. The tall man with pale, silvery hair was standing face to face with Father, and neither of them looked happy. Both of them turned to stare at Harry, who stepped back.

'What is it, Harry?' Father asked. His tone was cool, but his eyes weren't angry, like they could be.

'I . . . er . . .'

'What is it? Speak up, boy!' Mr. Malfoy snapped.

The words made Harry feel dizzy, and he shook his head to try and clear it. When the man took a step towards him, his sliver tipped cane flashed in the firelight, and Harry fled, back down the hall to his room.

He was dimly aware of his father calling his name, but his own breaths were coming too loud to hear more than that. In his room, he ducked behind his bed and wormed his way underneath, taking comfort from the small, cramped space. Almost like his cupboard, it was, and no one could get him here.

'Harry?' It was a new voice, and it took him a minute to realize it was Draco, and then, only because he could see Draco's pointed face at the edge of the bed, where he crouched down. 'What're you doing under there? I thought we were going to go see a giant.'

Shaking his head, Harry curled in on himself, making as small a ball as he could.

'Uncle Sev!' Draco called, and his face disappeared. 'Come'ere! Something's wrong with Harry.'

'Draco. Lower your voice. Only hooligans shout.' Several sets of footsteps entered the small room, but the voice was Mr. Malfoy's, and Harry shivered as the man came closer.

'Yes, Father.' Draco paused, then, 'But Harry's under the bed, Uncle Sev. Like he's hiding. Is it a game?'

'Yes, Draco. . . . Why don't you and your father wait for us in the sitting room. We will be out shortly.'

The footsteps retreated, but one set paused, and Harry could hear Mr. Malfoy say something very softly, and though he couldn't actually hear what was said, the man's threatening tone made him tremble and bite his lip to keep himself quiet. Then that set of footsteps went away, down the hall, too, and it was quiet once more.

Harry drew a shuddering breath, then coughed as he inhaled some dust. His eyes itched and he rubbed at them until he sensed someone nearby. His father knelt beside the bed.

'Harry,' Father said, very softly. He was hunched over on the floor, and his bent nose and dark eyes were all Harry could see of him, through the black curtain of his hair. 'Come on out, now. No one's going to hurt you.'

'C-cane,' Harry whispered.

'Mister Malfoy will never, ever use that cane on you. Never. I won't let him. Do you hear me?'

Harry's breath hitched and he nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'All right then.' Father put out his hand, and after a long moment, Harry took it and let his father pull him out