Harry just stared at her face, the face that looked like his but didn't know him. He swallowed and then said, "You love who I used to be. You love who I was for a few weeks. You don't know me now."
"Then help me know you. Tell me what's wrong and I'll light the stars on fire if I have to to make it better."
Harry gave a strangled gasp and slipped out of her embrace. He had the feeling that Mrs. Malfoy just barely kept herself from reaching after him. Harry paced slowly in circles, glancing back at her. Mrs. Malfoy bit her lip and clasped her arms to her sides.
"I like Muggles," Harry said. "The ones who raised me weren't the greatest, but I don't hate them. I won't hate them. And Hermione Granger is my friend." She was the only Gryffindor, other than Neville and the twins, who was still on his side, he thought. "Mal—I mean, Draco called her a Mudblood. I won't stand for that. And you act like all I have to do is look like the rest of you and get yelled at a few times about my manners, and I'll be a perfect little copy of you. I can't. I won't. I can't change who I was for twelve years!"
There was a silence after that. Mrs. Malfoy blinked a few times, and Harry thought he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. He turned away and said nothing. He hated to make her cry, but it was still true no matter what she said.
Mrs. Malfoy stood and came around, kneeling in front of him. Harry glanced at her reluctantly. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in and kissed his scar. Harry didn't flinch, the way he sometimes did when she tried to kiss his head or his cheek, or Mr. Malfoy put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Having someone touch his scar when most people tried to act like it didn't exist was…nice.
"I promise," Mrs. Malfoy whispered, "we won't try to make you hate Muggles. Your father is—unusual in his virulence. I don't hate Muggles myself, in general. I hate the ones who raised you for keeping you away from us. But I detest my cousin Sirius, and I detest the Potters, and I detest everyone who would come between me and my family. You can go on being friends with Miss Granger. She seems to be a good influence on you."
"Yeah, and are Draco and Mr. Malfoy going to agree to that?"
Mrs. Malfoy sighed and hugged him again. Harry felt the flutter of her eyelashes against his shoulder that probably meant she was closing her eyes. "It's a process of adaptation, Aldebaran. It will take time to get used to you, and time for you to get used to us. I know you still jump when we call you by name. But we want to call you that. We love you, we want you to love us. And I will tell your father and your brother to keep their mouths shut on certain words and certain attitudes."
"That doesn't mean they'll stop believing them, though."
"As you cannot change who you have been for twelve years overnight, Draco cannot change who he was for twelve years, either," Mrs. Malfoy explained, leaning back and studying Harry. "And your father has been as he is for much longer than that. Still, I will tell them to behave. In return, I ask that you give them a chance, and not insult your brother."
"Tell him to stop calling me Alde, then."
"Yes, I will." Mrs. Malfoy gave him a misty smile. "I cannot tell you what it means to me to see you standing here in this room. To know that you went through—what you went through, but now you are safe, and you are home."
Harry swallowed. "I wanted parents when I was growing up. I just thought I would never get them. And now I have a father who hates my best friend's family and a brother who was my rival for a year and a half. It's weird."
"Neither of those things is as important as the fact that they are your father and brother," Mrs. Malfoy said firmly. "I only ask that you give them a chance. Draco has heard stories of you all his life, which is the reason he can accept you at all, in the way that I'm sure he wouldn't have if we'd adopted another child. He'll want to make you comfortable, And let me speak with them about things like Draco insulting your friends and Lucius having his…beliefs. I am sure that I can persuade them to change for you."
"If they have to be persuaded to change, does it really matter? Is it real?"
"We all have to work on making this real," Mrs. Malfoy said, her arms tightening around him.
And that was true enough that Harry felt a little calmer, and let her talk with him about the kinds of pictures he might want to have on his walls, and whether he wanted to change the color of the carpet and the curtains on his bed.