Chapter Text
Christmas and Other Small Disasters Part 3 of 3
Draco didn't have many happy memories of his family, and all of the ones he did have were at Christmas. That seemed to be the only time his parents were able to set aside their resentment for each other long enough to almost be pleasant to one another. It made for a nice change from the regular acid-laced dinner conversations.
The thing was, while Draco knew that his parents loved each other, at some point, a chasm had formed between them, one that had festered in the last twenty years into something neither of them wanted to cross, and it had only gotten worse once Draco had gone to school.
But Christmas had been special, and it brought a little of the love and magic, and tranquility of Draco's childhood back into the cold halls of Malfoy manor. It was a feeling he held onto for the rest of the year and looked forward to with the same fervor as when he'd been a small child.
That feeling would be missing this year; Draco always longed for it, and it was looking unlikely that he'd make it through Christmas- the first Christmas he would ever spend without his parents, without dissolving into a puddle of tears.
Still, considering how much of his dignity Draco had sacrificed in the past few months, he was going to try. Not that he thought Ron would care. He wouldn't, and if anything, he'd probably be sweet, but there was only so much of that Draco could take before he just internalized the problem and convinced himself that really he was annoying Ron secretly, and at any moment he would realize that Draco was actually a horrible person and then he'd leave him. And knowing Draco's luck, it would be on Christmas morning.
Draco was fully aware that this train of thought was ridiculous, but that didn't mean that once it got started, he had any power to stop it. So obviously, the best course of action would be to not let himself get upset in the first place. If he could manage that, it would solve all of his problems.
So far, he'd done a pretty bang up job. Christmas was only about a week away, and he'd not shed one tear.
Until today.
The rub of it was Draco didn't know where the tears came from. There was just something about reading the gold embossed invitation to Ginny's super secret engagement celebration after an exceedingly long day at work that stung in a way that he couldn't put into words.
When the tears started, they surprised him, splattering on the invitation and smudging the brilliant blue ink.
"Shit," said Draco, trying to swipe them away, but they just kept coming, and by the time the kettle went off a minute later, he was bent over the table, trying to muffle his sobs in the crook of his arm.
Which was where Ron found him when he came to investigate the screaming kettle.
Draco looked up when the door opened and immediately wished he hadn't. Because now it was far too late to hide his tear stained face.
"Right," said Ron. He turned off the kettle, silencing its echoing whistle, and leaving the kitchen in a heavy silence.
"You know," he said, pulling two thick mugs out of the cupboard, "I'm going to sound like an arse when I say this, but this is a bit of a relief."
"Excuse me?!" said Draco, so shocked that his voice cracked.
"Ah-" said Ron, "that sounded a bit shit didn't it-" he poured the tea, the steam twisting in spirals toward the ceiling.
"I just mean, you've been having a bit of a hard time, and sometimes it's better to just let it out, then try and push it all down, you know?"
Draco sniffed, rubbing his eyes. "I thought I was doing alright keeping to myself-"
"You were, but you don't have to," said Ron, turning and leaning on the counter, "Christmas is hard. There's always stuff, you know? God, with a family like mine, something always happens, and everyone dreads it as much as they love it, you know?"
"Then you don't need my shit, mucking up your holiday," said Draco, "there's enough going on already without me being a whingeing twat."
Ron pushed off the counter so that he could take Draco's hand. "That's bullshit, and you know it. Now, we're going to go sit on the sofa and drink some tea, and you can have a little cry if you need to."
"I am extremely tired of crying," said Draco sullenly, but he let Ron lead him out of the kitchen anyway, and once he was bundled up on the couch with a hot mug of tea, wrapped in Ron's arms, he felt considerably less weepy.
"If I'm honest," he said, tipping his head back, against Ron's shoulder, "I don't even know what that was all about- I think maybe I was jealous."
"Of Ginny?"
"Sort of. More like your family in general. My parents- for as much as they claimed they loved each other, weren't very good at showing, but Christmas was different. It was the one time they managed to get on, and I loved it. Looked forward to it all year, and-"
Draco closed his eyes. "Well, I won't ever get to have that again, and-"
The tears started to well up again, tightening his throat and stinging his eyes.
Ron squeezed his hand and pressed a kiss to his temple.
"It's going to be a bit shit," he said, "and you're allowed to be upset, and no one is going to blame you for missing your family at Christmas."
"You know," said Draco, "for always saying your shit at this, you're pretty good at it."
"I'm sure sooner or later, I'll put my foot in my mouth, and when I do, I hope you'll remember this moment. Now, should we watch the crabs?"
Draco nodded. He always wanted to watch the crabs.
He wasn't sure if it was talking about why he was sad or the crabs, but Draco did feel slightly better in the morning. Although it was only slightly, and he was aware that he was still teetering on the edge of weepy and that one wrong word could easily push him over the edge. It was at least an improvement from the night before, so he'd take it.
And since Christmas was nearly here, soon it would be over, and then he wouldn't have to think about it until next year.
Later, at lunch, Ron brought him a sandwich and sat on the edge of Draco's desk.
"I was thinking," he said, "that we could go to a Christmas market this weekend. There's this muggle one I keep hearing about out in the country. It sounds nice."
"Alright, if you'd like."
"I was kind of hoping you'd like. I thought maybe it'd be nice to get out for a bit, you know?"
That was enough to nearly send Draco to tears, and he had to focus very hard on unwrapping his sandwich to keep from blubbering. It didn't help that the sandwich was turkey with cranberry relish - his favorite.
"I think," said Draco, slowly, "that I would like that very much, actually."
"Oh good," said Ron, looking considerably more cheerful than a moment ago. "I'll sort out the details, and we can go tomorrow, and we can look for a present for Gin's todo while we're out."
By the evening, Draco had forgotten about their plans. He'd also forgotten that he'd been weepy because he was far too busy running about.
The shop had been a new and terrifying level of busy for the past month and a half, but they had finally started to adapt so that it wasn't overwhelming all of the time anymore.
But that was before last minute orders started pouring in. They had started at around two in the afternoon, and Draco had been working in the little office, checking inventory slips against invoices before filing them, when an alarmed looking George knocked on his door at half past two.
"Is everything alright?" asked Draco.
George's short hair was messy, and he looked a bit wild round the eyes.
"Er- well, we're a bit slammed," he said, "and I think we're going to sell out-" 'he took a big breath and started again. "Do you think you can come help Ron? He's drowning, and I need to make things- the things- we need all the things-"
"Right," said Draco, "I'll be right down."
"Good. Great- Awesome . I'll just-" George ducked back into the hall, the door banging closed behind him, leaving Draco even more confused than when he'd arrived.
Draco went downstairs after closing up his files, and what he found in the packing room was a sight to behold.
A panicked Ron stood near the middle of the huge table, surrounded by mounds of packages and a truly alarming pile of packing slips that seemed to grow by the second.
"Oh, thank Merlin," said Ron, "George asked you to help."
"He did," said Draco, taking a thick stack off the top of the pile of orders, "he looked a bit mad."
"He is mad, everything's mad- I swear we're going to sell out of everything at this rate."
"So that's what he was mumbling about then."
"He's in a bit of a panic," said Ron, rubbing at the dot of ink on his nose and leaving a streak of blue.
"Said he's going to try and restock half the shop overnight- it's mental is what it is.
By the time they had gotten through the packing and back home, it was half eleven, and they were so exhausted that they didn't bother with dinner and just went to bed.
So when Draco woke up late the following morning, he'd completely forgotten that he'd agreed to go out.
It was a rare sunny morning, leaving pools of soft sunshine near the foot of the bed, and the only way it could have been better than it already was was if Ron was still in bed with him.
But since he wasn't, Draco intended to take up as much space as he pleased; rolling into the center of the bed, he mashed Ron's pillow under his cheek.
If only he had a coffee and maybe a book, he'd be content to stay here for the rest of the day.
Ron had impeccable timing because that was when he slipped through the cracked bedroom door with two steaming mugs of coffee.
"You," said Draco, sitting up to take the coffee, "are amazing."
The tips of Ron's ears turned a burning crimson that Draco felt generous enough to ignore, and besides, it was adorable.
"I thought you might need a bit of an incentive to get up," said Ron, perching on the edge of the bed.
"Why on earth would I want to get up?"
"We're going out, remember? I figured you'd forget after last night. If it helps, there ought to be mulled wine."
"That does help."
Draco sipped his coffee, savoring its rich warmth. If he had to get up and go out, he should, at the very least, get a treat out of it.
"What time is Gin's todo?" he asked.
"I think half past eight?" said Ron. "I feel like that's awful late, but when I say it out loud, I feel about a hundred years old."
Draco snorted. "You don't look a hundred years old."
Once Draco had finished his coffee, he'd lured Ron back onto the bed, and it took another hour and a half for either one of them to muster up the willpower to get up. Then, once they had, Draco still needed to shower and eat, so it was nearly one by the time they made it outside.
The market was bigger than Draco expected. Not that he knew enough about Muggles and what their markets were like to really have expectations. Although considering the shopping center he'd gone to with Ron to get a new cable for the tele- an experience that he never wanted to repeat- maybe he should have.
It was a crisp, clear, sunny day. The market filled the town square, spilling over into the side streets. It was bright, cheerful, intensely crowded, and smelled of cloves and gingerbread. It was wonderful and overwhelming, and Draco, overcome with glee akin to a small child, wanted to touch everything.
Ron took hold of his elbow to keep him from getting distracted and wandering off into the crowd while they traipsed between the rows of stalls.
"So," he said, after they walked away from a very nice woman who had sold them three bars of handmade soap- Draco got too excited and couldn't choose, so Ron just bought all of them. "Any idea what we should get, Gin?"
Draco sipped his hot cider. "There was that place with the wine," he said, gesturing back the way they came, "there’s got to be about ten cheese stalls, and I think saw some cured meats over that way-"
"Okay," said Ron, his brow furrowed, not following.
"We can make her a nice cheese plate and bring some wine and jam," explained Draco, "she'll be thrilled."
"Oh!" said Ron. "She would, yeah," adding, "am I glad for you. I'd have never thought of that on my own."
Draco tried to hide his smile and patted Ron on the arm, "you'd have got there eventually," he said fondly.
Ron raised his eyebrows, skeptical, but Draco ignored it and dragged him off to look at the Christmas cookies.
They were at the Christmas market much longer than Draco anticipated. The sun had started to set, and the lights filling the street glowed a warm golden yellow in the evening gloom. Draco knew his cheeks were pink, his nose was runny, and he likely didn’t look his best, but he was having a lovely time, and for once, he didn't care.
He would have been happy to wander another few hours, except they still had to go to Gin's todo.
Draco leaned into Ron's shoulder and sighed, their collection of bags swinging as they walked.
"We should be going soon, shouldn't we?" he said.
"We can stay a bit longer if you'd like," said Ron, "Gin's late for everything; she won't care if we turn up at half past. Besides, there's something I want to do."
"Oh," said Draco, letting Ron guide him toward where rows of wreaths had been pinned up."
"Yeah," said Ron, he pointed, "which one should we get?"
Draco picked a fluffy evergreen wreath with a huge white and gold bow. Once it was paid for and added to their substantial collection of bags, they left, walking out of the gate, away from the cheerful lights and laughter.
They ducked into a nearby alley, and Ron shrunk their things so they could easily be tucked away for the trip home. Expect the wreath, which he's looped over his arm.
They turned together, vanishing with a crack, and when they landed, it was on the edge of a long drive and not in the alley next to their apartment.
It was properly dark now, but looking out over the field felt familiar.
"Where are we?" Draco asked.
Ron looked far less confident than he had a moment ago.
"I had a thought," he said in a rush, "and you're allowed to hate it, but I know how much you miss your family, and well- I thought it might be nice to bring your, Dad, a wreath for Christmas-"
"Oh-" said Draco. "That-" his voice broke, so he held on tightly to Ron's hand and nodded.
Draco hadn't been back to the manor since the day he'd gone to the office and died, and since then, he hadn't any intention of coming back, but now that he was, he was glad that he had.
They walked up the drive together, turning when they reached the garden, avoiding the looming manor.
"This way," said Draco, leading the way around the back of the house to where the olives grew. Ten slender trees grew together at the edge of the rolling lawn. They had been just as neglected as the rest of the grounds, their spindly crooked branches twisting together in a tangled mess.
Draco ducked under the low branches, stepping into the middle of the grove, the wreath held tight in front of him. He hadn't ever dared to come back here since the day they'd left his father here.
There had been a moment on the walk from the front gate where Draco had worried that he wouldn't be able to remember where his mother had left his father to rest, but now that he was here, it was obvious that he'd never be able to forget.
Draco knelt in the dirt in front of one of the old trees, its truck bent and twisted with age, and ever so carefully set the wreath at its base.
He had so many things he wanted to say, to tell his father even if Lucius couldn't hear him, but the words got so tangled up in his throat that Draco found he couldn't say anything at all. So he stayed silent, with Ron standing at his side. It was comfort, something else that he wanted to say but didn't know how, so he leaned into him, pressing his cheek against Ron's hip, and hoped he'd understand.
Eventually, Draco moved to stand, his trousers damp to the knees, and when he did, Ron took his hand, helping to pull him to his feet.
"I hope I didn't overstep," he said.
The idea that Ron didn't realize how much this meant to Draco was unbearable, so Draco, whose words were still caught in the hard lump in his chest, kissed him instead.
Soft and slow, and when he pulled away, he said. "That was the kindest thing I think anyone has done for me."
Draco cleared his throat, swiping away the tears threatening to fall. "Now," he said, "I think we've kept your sister waiting long enough, and I'm going to need a fresh pair of trousers."
The last thing Draco wanted to do at this moment was to pull himself together and go to a party; rather, he wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with Ron until he felt a little less untethered.
But that wasn't an option, so he pulled himself together the best he could and carried on. They arrived far later than what could be considered fashionable, but Ginny didn't seem to mind. She was a vision in a short party dress, and she pulled Draco into her arms as soon as she saw him.
Before dragging the both of them by the elbows into the dining room, where the rest of the small party had gathered, it was the first time since her engagement that Draco had seen her properly happy. Her face was alight with a glow of joy that had been suspiciously missing, and it was a relief.
That afternoon had been a relief, too, and between them, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from Draco's shoulders.
The party was good fun. Ginny was an enthusiastic host and, as Draco had predicted, was over the moon about her cheese platter, insisting that he help her assemble it in the kitchen.
"I know I've been a right pain in the arse," she said once they were alone. "Thanks for putting up with my dramatics. I'd have gone mad without someone to listen to me whinge."
"You are entitled to whinge as much as you'd like," said Draco, "I think the situation is rather whinge worthy."
Ginny snorted, bumping into his shoulder.
"That doesn't mean it hasn't been bloody annoying."
"I take it you and Potter have something sorted then?" asked Draco, spooning some of the blueberry spruce jam into a small bowl.
"Something like that," said Ginny. She leaned on the counter next to him. "Talking to him helped. I should have done it sooner- I just got so caught up in my head, you know?"
"A bit, yeah," said Draco, smiling ruefully at her.
"Worked out in the end, though," she said, grinning mischievously and leaning in close. "The truth is," she whispered, "we got married last week, and we're going to tell Mum on Christmas, and she'll be so put on the spot she won't know whether to be mad or not, it was Harry's idea, and I think it's brilliant- but you can't tell anyone, or you'll ruin the surprise."
Draco chuckled, like he would willingly miss out on getting to watch fireworks, but held out his pinky anyway.
"I swear on the magic in my little finger.”
The evening flew by in a blur of laughter and wine. When Draco stumbled back into the apartment, hanging off Ron's arm, it was sometime after midnight, and he was happier than he'd been in weeks. The cheer of the evening and the season bubbled up in his chest in a way that he'd missed terribly.
But it was back now, leaving him content, warm, and just a little wine drunk. And it was because of Ron, so Draco, overcome with fondness, kissed him in the middle of their dark living room, one hand holding tight to his wrist.
Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be anything like the ones from Draco's childhood, but it might be even better.