Ron-Weasly book 1. V2

Harry was just tying the strap of his robes tighter, about to pass by, when Draco stopped abruptly right in front of him, lifting his chin slightly.

"Potter," he said, as if he were doing the greatest favor. I have cakes from Malfoy Manor here. Homemade. Mom told me not to eat dry, but I'm already full. Take one. You're my second cousin.

Harry froze. He was expecting a taunt, a sarcastic joke, maybe another "famous Potter will ruin everything again," but definitely not this. The cake in its neat paper wrapper looked... ordinary. And that makes it even more strange.

"What" Harry asked, as if he hadn't heard. "Are you offering me a cake?"

After all his sarcastic jokes, it looked strange. Draco shrugged, trying to maintain his aplomb, but there was something like annoyance at his own awkwardness in his eyes.

"Well yeah. Don't look at me like I've cast a curse." It's just that they're superfluous here, and it's a pity to throw them away. And don't think it's some kind of goodwill gesture," he added quickly, as if realizing that he sounded too human. "Just... take it if you want."

Harry felt the usual distrust rise up inside, mixed with pride. Accept something from Malfoy? After all the ridicule, after all the "mudbloods" and "part-time celebrity"? It almost felt like a betrayal of himself.

"No thanks," he said firmly, stepping back a little. "I'll manage somehow."

There was something like relief and annoyance on Draco's face at the same time, as if he wanted Harry to refuse, but was still slightly hurt. He pursed his lips for a second, then grimaced as if from a sour lemon, and slammed the lid of the box shut with a slightly louder click than necessary.

"Whatever you want," he said, already turning to leave. "I won't offer you any more homemade food. If they don't appreciate it, then don't."

He took a couple of steps away, but then he couldn't seem to resist and looked over his shoulder, his voice no longer sounding so arrogant, but rather tired:

"And don't look at me like I put poison in it. At least they know how to cook at Malfoy Manor. And unlike the Weasley twins, I don't put funny potions in my food."

And with that, he turned the corner, leaving Harry alone in the middle of the hallway, where the usual noise of voices rose again, as if nothing had happened. But Harry stood there for a long time, looking in the direction Draco had gone, and thought that sometimes the strangest thing about Hogwarts wasn't the spells or the monsters, but the way people suddenly took a step towards him and then recoiled from him.

* * *

Draco's POV (Saturday night)

Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbow on his knee, and running a quill over the parchment as if he were writing not letters, but some particularly stubborn runes — slowly, with pressure, as if the clarity of the strokes depended on whether they believed him or not. It was already getting dark outside, and the light of the oil lamp lay on the paper like a warm spot, hiding the corners of the room and making it a little less alien.

He sighed, dipped his pen into the ink, and began:

"Dear Mother,

Yesterday I tried again to do what you asked, to establish contact with Potter. You said that we should be dignified and not stoop to shouting in the hallways, and I tried. Honestly.

They sent cakes from home, and I thought it would be... well, not a reason to quarrel, anyway. I approached him outside the potions room and offered him one. Not as a handout, but simply because there were too many of them, and it's a pity to throw them away. And also... because you said that good manners are not about bowing, but about not making things worse than they already are.

He refused. He looked proud, as if I hadn't handed him a cake, but some kind of filth. He stood there, looked straight at me, and in his eyes was his eternal: "I'm on my own, I won't take anything from you."

I didn't insist. And why? If a person does not want to accept even the usual food, he is unlikely to want to hear about "decent behavior" or how it is accepted in decent families.

But I tried. Just like you wanted.

Your son,

Draco"

He reread the letter twice, and the second time it seemed to him that the lines sounded a little more plaintive than he would have liked. Draco grimaced, as if ashamed of himself, and quickly wrote at the bottom, in a different, firmer handwriting:

"P.S. I then gave the cake to Krebb. He ate it and said it was delicious. So nothing is missing."

This added some kind of proper, everyday completeness to the situation — as if everything had fallen into place. Draco rolled up the parchment, sealed it with wax with the family imprint, and called his Eagle owl. He sat down on the edge of the table, looked at him attentively with round eyes, as if asking: "Are you sure you're sending it?", and when Draco nodded, he picked up the letter and silently flew out the slightly open window.

Draco sat for a while longer, watching the last glimmer of day fade over the towers, and then pulled down his robes, as if throwing off this evening like an extra cape.

"Well, that's it," he muttered to himself, almost defiantly. "I did what I could. Let them figure it out for themselves."

After sending the letter, Draco went to the Slytherin Common Room to his friend Theo.

The Slytherin living room was in semi-darkness, with only emerald lamps casting narrow green strips of light on the walls, and a dry heat wafted from the fireplace. Draco was sitting with his legs crossed over his legs, tapping his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair. On the contrary, sprawled on the couch, Theo was idly turning the pages of an old volume on the dark arts, but he was watching his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"You know, sometimes I feel like my mom is just testing me", Draco muttered, not looking at Theo, as if the words were coming out of his mouth. "Everything keeps saying, `Be worthy of the name, don't stoop to squabble, try to find a common language...'"

Theo looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow:

"And who were you trying to be `decent' with this time?"

Draco grimaced, as if he were being sour.

"With this... with Potter. Well, you know. Mom keeps saying that you need to stay above fighting in the hallways, not be like... And I'm not like that! I just wanted to... I don't know, show that we're not some kind of... that everything at the Manor is according to the rules."

He stopped, as if he didn't want to admit to himself what he was doing.

"Anyway, they sent cakes from home. I went up to him and offered him one. Calmly, without ridicule. And he looked at me like I was trying to give him a toad. And he proudly refused. No thanks, no "not hungry" — just "don't.""

Theo chuckled, but not maliciously, but rather knowingly.

"Well, he's from Gryffindor. They have pride instead of breakfast."

Draco snorted, but there was more resentment than contempt in that snort.

"That's not the point! The thing is, I try to do as my mom tells me, but it only gets worse. It's like I'm becoming ridiculous to myself. And more..." He lowered his voice, even though there was hardly anyone in the living room, "Mom talks about "family" all the time, about the "connection of generations", as if Potter is some kind of wayward cousin of ours who behaves like a Muggleblood. That Sirius invited her to be Harry's godmother, and then they just hid him. And he's not ours at all! He's nobody's man!"

Theo put down his book and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Listen, Draco," he said calmly, without mockery, "Your mom wants you to stay Malfoy, but not become Lucius. These are different things. It's one thing to keep your back straight, it's another to climb where you're not expected. If Potter doesn't want to take the cake, don't let him take it. You've done your part. You don't get along with the younger Weasley, even though he's also a third Black. Draco gritted his teeth, then exhaled, as if relieving tension.

"It just pisses me off that I have to... justify all this. Why should I even try if he doesn't even try to understand that it's not a mockery? What kind of freaks did he even live with before that? That's right, Dad says all Muggleborns should be controlled and magical children should be removed from their families, as they did in the old days before the statute of secrecy."

"Because your mom believes that dignity is when you can reach out, even if they don't accept it," Theo said softly. "And Potter... well, he's like that. He has pride as a shield: it's cold and lonely behind her, but no one will get close. I don't understand how he got along with the younger Weasley, because Aunt Muriel raised him. Even though he's from Crazy Arthur's family, he's still pure-blooded."

Draco rolled his eyes, but without any real anger.

"Weasley, pf. Is as poor as Harry. I was shocked when I recognized him in that studio. Are you a philosopher now, Nott?"

"I've become the one who sits next to you when you're angry at the whole world", Theo grinned and nodded at the table, where there was a silver box with the remaining cakes. If you want, I'll take these cakes. The good will not be lost."

Draco chuckled a little, almost in earnest:

"Take it sweet, you've always been partial to your mother's baskets. I'm not going to offer Potter anything else. Although he also likes baskets, I noticed at the feast. I was almost sitting against it then, and because of our ghost, who decided to entertain me with a conversation, I was hungry. Let him deal with his pride."

Theo opened the box, took a cake, took a bite, and nodded approvingly:

"Delicious. They know a lot about the Manor. I love your mom's pastries."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the logs crackling in the fireplace. And there was something right in that silence, as if the world had fallen back into place: not perfect, not simple, but its own, understandable, where there was someone nearby who would not laugh at your offense, but would simply take the cake and say that it was delicious.

* * *

end Pov

By the way, Harry also stands out with his owl. His owl was the only polar owl in school, but at least they gave it to him and he values it very much. He always goes to the owlery to check on her.

The great hall smelled of warm bread, cinnamon, and something else, homely, as if the school itself was wrapping students in a soft blanket of familiar smells. There was a lot of noise, arguing, and laughter at the tables, and in the midst of this familiar chaos, a familiar sharp scream suddenly rang out, which immediately made Harry cheerfully raise his head from his porridge with raisins.

"Ugh!"

He raised his head — and immediately found her: Hedwig was circling under the arches, white, like a piece of winter sky that had accidentally flown into a warm hall. She circled around, as if checking to make sure everything was in place, and then confidently descended and gently landed right in front of Harry, flapping her wings a little to keep her balance on the edge of the table.

"Hedwig!" Harry couldn't hide his smile. She came out wide, real, and he suddenly felt so calm, as if everything had fallen into place again. He held out his hand, and the owl immediately tilted its head, exposing the feathers at its beak to be stroked. You've arrived again! I thought you thought it was warmer in the tower"...

The owl clicked its beak as if it snorted:

"And who will make sure that you don't miss an important letter?" — and pushed him into the palm of her hand with a warm side. Harry laughed, and it sounded a little louder than it should have, but he didn't care. There were already the usual whispers around, but now there was almost no surprise in those voices — rather a familiar, almost good-natured grumble, as if someone forgot an umbrella every day and everyone already knew: well, here we go again.

"That owl again," someone from Ravenclaw drawled, but without irritation, more as part of a familiar ritual. "Well, how much can I do? She almost hit Professor Flitwick when she flew in. When I saw her flying into Gryffindor Tower the day before yesterday, I initially mistook her for a messenger of winter. Do you know how it is in fairy tales?.."

"I saw her over the woods yesterday," the Halfpuff guy picked up, leaning over to his neighbor. "Circled just above the edge of the forest. Now I'm not scared anymore: I think, well, it's Hedwig. So it's okay."

The girl in the green tie smiled at the owl:

"She's already like her own. As if there's something missing without her."

I, who had been diligently spreading jam on toast, looked up, squinted at Hedwig, and chuckled:

"Well, now we have everything at home here. Porridge, arguments about potions, and Hedwig, who always flies in like she's announcing a royal decree.

Hermione, who had already unfolded her transfiguration textbook right next to her plate, looked at the owl with a soft smile:

"You know, Harry, I think she just gets bored if she doesn't see you for a long time. Polar owls get attached. And she knows where she belongs."

Harry ran his fingers over Hedwig's silky feathers again, and Hedwig hooted softly, as if agreeing with Hermione.

"The main thing is that she doesn't drop the letter in my porridge again." I muttered, although I didn't feel annoyed at the spoiled porridge, I was just trying it out and then thinking of giving it to Harry.

Hedwig squinted at me with an amber eye, as if she understood every word perfectly, and proudly turned away, making it clear that such trifles did not concern her. Then she gently poked Harry's shoulder with her beak, quite at home, without any importance, just to remind him: "I'm here."

Harry smiled as he looked at her and thought that this was probably the real feeling of home: when there was someone who would always find their way to you, even if the corridors of Hogwarts were confusing, the lessons were endless, and the whole world seemed to expect something big from you. For now, it's enough that Hedwig has returned, sat on the edge of the table, and now everything feels a little more right again.

"Harry, are you feeding her at all?" I asked when Hedwig stared at my bacon with interest. "Hedwig, I'm sorry, but you can't do this."

Harry handed Hedwig a piece of the bun he was eating. I almost choked on the scrambled eggs I was chewing.

"Here, eat. You've been flying all day... Ron, Hagrid said she'd feed herself on rats and lemengs."

The owl squinted an amber eye at the bun, as if assessing the degree of absurdity, and turned away.