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The Potters moved across the street from the Malfoys almost twenty years after the war. Draco wasn’t sure if they knew he lived on High Street when they purchased the home, or if they simply wanted to live as far from the infamous Potter House Memorial while still being in the Hollow town limits.
No matter the reason, their little street was soon abuzz with chatter of the new Potter residents, everyone bringing over pies and treats. Astoria mixed a batch of Treacle Tarts as a gesture of goodwill. The Potters returned the platter back a few days later, accompanied by a short handwritten thank-you note.
Draco would see Potter occasionally, on his morning jog, or removing the trash bins from the corner. He’d wave, a polite gesture between neighbors, but nothing else. His son, Scorpius, would occasionally stare out the window, itching to play with the kids next door, but Draco would instead rush him to his next violin lesson or ballet class.
Life continued on as usual, the Potter’s settling down quietly into their new home, and the Malfoy’s playing the friendly but detached neighbors. That was until the Christmas Light Competition™ of 2016.
Draco was magicking up his lights, the beautiful clear bulbs dancing brightly against the roofline and eaves of his home. He carefully wrapped delicate strands around the ferns in front of his door, before placing sprigs of garland atop his bushes. Each window held a single candle, charmed to flicker with the most gentle glow. He wrapped the red and gold ribbon around his mailbox and graced the top of the post with a large, hand-crafted bow.
His decorated home was picturesque perfection, the classic look you would find in a Dickens novel. Draco prided himself in his handiwork before he walked inside to make the family hot cocoa before bed.
When he came home the next day, he noticed the Potter house had a few decorations in the windows, but he thought nothing of it as he gathered the post and headed into his home. It wasn’t until Astoria was setting down the Duck à l'orange, that the realization set in.
The Potters had decorated. For Christmas. And their house looked like it was on fire.
There were lights everywhere; big, colorful bulbs jutting carelessly across the roof, green and red twinkle lights shining sporadically throughout the trees, three reindeer pulling a fat man in red waving from a gaudish sleigh. A wreath made out of cut-out hands garnished the door.
The colours were blinding, his eyes unable to focus from the bright greens and reds, yellows and blues that screamed from the Potter residence. Draco tried to close the shutters, but the light still crawled through, making his dining room look like the inside of a disco club.
He tossed and turned that night, trying to find a suitable position that didn’t blind his eyes with technicolour. The next morning, he clenched his fists, vowing to tell the prick that High Street would not accept the vulgar display of his ostentatious Christmas lights.
As he walked across the street, however, he noticed that several of his fellow neighbors (nay, traitors) were lined up in front of the Potter residence, complimenting Weaslette on the impressive display.
“Impressive? More like horrific!” he joked to Lottie, his elderly neighbor to the right. Surely she would agree the Christmas display was extremely offensive for their usually quiet street.
“Impressive, indeed!” Lottie grinned as she studied the details on the reindeer's ropes. “They even have little bells attached to the sleigh!’
What kind of joke was this? Draco thought as he stared from the Potter’s outlandish decorations to the exemplary state of his current home. Draco made a vow that day, that he would show the completely out-of-control Potters what a real, classic, Christmas display would look like.
And so, every Christmas season, Draco would rush to unveil his lights, making sure every bulb was in the perfect place, and every ribbon was expertly tied. He found candles that glowed even softer for his windows; he used ribbon that was made of real, sparkling gold; he ventured all the way to the fey to procure actual fairy lights that twinkled tenderly in the moonlight.
Yet, the Potter’s only increased their monstrosity of a display, adding on a blow-up snowman who lifted his top hat with scraggly branch arms; a fence made of lickable lollies and edible gingerbread houses; even a jumbo nutcracker who repeatedly cracked oversized walnuts, their shells littering the snow-covered ground.
The year after Astoria passed, Draco almost stopped, not sure if he could gather the energy to set up his dignified display. If it wasn’t for Scorpius, Draco most certainly would have disregarded the coloured boxes, keeping them packed tightly until the following season.
However, his son begged for the consistent cheer that the decorations always brought. Draco had awoke one morning to his son dragging out box after box filled to the brim with colourful decorations.
“Mom wouldn’t have wanted us to give up. She would want the house to be as beautiful as she was,” Scorpius had pleaded, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
Draco wrapped his son into a warm hug, nodding in agreement. Later on that evening, after every light was fastidiously placed, the two men Leviosa’d a grand, crystalized star to the apex of their roof in Astoria’s honour.
Then, one year, as Draco was putting on the finishing touches to his breathtaking Christmas display, he realized the Potters hadn’t placed a bow or ribbon to their home.
He waited, thinking that maybe he had just started earlier, that they were just planning their attack, picking out more garish decorations, upping the number of colourful bulbs on each strand of lights. Yet, the days passed without a single twinkle.
Draco couldn’t figure out what the Potters were up to. He knew their house was now void of children, their youngest having graduated from Hogwarts, joining her brothers and Scorpius in the city. Still, would that really stop them from their annual holiday cheer, their annual friendly/not-so-friendly competition?
He marched over to the Potter’s one evening, banging an angry fist on the door.
“Malfoy.” Harry swung the door open.
“Potter,” Draco answered. He surveyed his neighbor. Potter’s hair was a disaster, long strands sticking out every which way. His flannel pants were covered in stains, pooling awkwardly around his bare feet. A scraggly beard ran across his chin, and dark circles framed his eyes. For all intents and purposes, Potter looked like a mess.
“What’s happened to you - I mean, your holiday lights,” he asked, gesturing to the empty nail on his door that usually held a handcrafted wreath.
“I, erm, I dunno,” Harry responded, his voice raw. He turned, leaving the door open.
Draco followed. He hadn’t been in Potter’s house and was curious to see what was hidden behind their walls. At least that’s what he told himself as he watched his arse move down the darkened hallway.
“Tea?” Harry asked as they entered the kitchen. The walls were covered in photos, and Draco gaped as he saw faces he recognized flitter between the frames. He even caught a glimpse of his son, arm wrapped tightly around his roommate, best friend, and Harry Potter look-alike, Albus.
He nodded, accepting the warm cup of Earl Grey between his cold fingers.
“So, what’s up, Draco,” Harry asked casually, the steam from his tea fogging his thick-rimmed frames.
Draco winced. His life was full of Mr. Malfoys and Father. He hadn’t heard his first name since Astoria died. An image of her delicate face ran through his mind, clouding his thoughts.
“No decorations,” he murmured, staring into the dark liquid in his mug.
“Oh, yeah. That was usually Ginny’s thing. With her gone, I guess I just haven’t felt up to it.”
“Gone?” Draco’s voice pitched awkwardly.
“Yeah. She, erm, moved out right after Lily.”
Draco took a sip of his tea, trying to hide his disbelief at the sudden news. He knew how hard it was to lose a partner, whether by choice or by fate. Draco thought back to the moments that helped him move forward, what had helped Scorpius move forward as well.
“Well, you can’t just not decorate, Potter. After all, ‘ we must lose ourselves in action, lest we wither in despair’ .” Draco thought about the simple act of decorating his home, of keeping his traditions. How every bulb he hung had felt cathartic, slowly mending his broken heart after the loss of his wife.
Potter’s eyes widened as he glanced at Draco. He nodded, standing straighter as he approached the large stack of red and white boxes in the corner
“I suppose I should at least put up the tree,” he mused, running his hand through his unkempt hair.
“I’ll help,” Draco agreed encouragingly. It wasn’t cheating if they were only using Potter’s decorations, after all. He thought the holiday spirit might do the house, and the man in it, some good.
He itched to take control, to Apparate to the nearest forest and procure the best, the most filled-out Fraser fir he could find. He wanted to fluff out every branch and cover the whole thing with baubles, matching ribbon, and top it with the most elegant star.
Instead, Draco turned the wireless to a holiday station as he dug into the first two boxes of decorations. Potter stared helpless, unsure of where to start. Draco pointed towards the large brown box.
“Put up the tree,” he nodded encouragingly. Harry tentatively opened the folds, staring at the various metal pieces covered with artificial needles. He began to shove the rods together, slowly but surely constructing his artificial spruce.
Once the top slid into place, Draco dug into the various decorations. He began to wrap each branch with the bulbs that he detested, but that the Potter’s seemed so fond of. At least, that’s what he thought.
“Could we change these?” Harry’s voice sounded so small.
“It’s your tree, Potter. What do you want?”
Harry’s mouth set into a thin line as he contemplated this.
“Ginny always wanted bigger, brighter. I think I’d prefer this.” Harry made a few small movements with his wand and transfigured the large, glassy bulbs into smaller, frosted lights. He carefully began to wind each strand around the individual branches.
Draco knew there was a spell, one that would cover the tree in perfectly-spaced lights, but it took him only one glance at Harry to know that he needed this, too. He needed to place each bulb by hand, the bulbs he wanted, wrapping them gingerly around each branch.
He busied himself by opening other boxes, sorting through the decorations. Draco stopped suddenly when he uncovered a container filled to the brim with homemade ornaments. He lifted a tiny paper circle off the top of the box, admiring the tiny black thumbprint pressed against the yellowed parchment. Albus Severus, First Christmas was written in scrawled handwriting.
He glanced down at the box again, noting it was filled with similar circles and squares, each holding a thumbprint, or in some cases, a handprint. A few of the ornaments were covered with children’s handwriting or messy drawings in coloured crayons. He held one in his hands that showed a father and son on a broom, flying from one end of the parchment to the other.
Draco’s ornaments were beautiful, ornately covered in diamonds or crystals, passed down from generation to generation. He treasured them dearly, remembering the nights when he and his mother would carefully place each one on the full branches, not trusting a spell to secure the delicate bulbs properly.
Yet, he knew in an instant that this box full of curled edges and faded paper was far more precious than the entirety of his Christmas decorations combined.
Harry approached him as he stared at the ink blots and dates, detailing the passing of time through his children’s lives and the life he shared with his beloved family. He handed a few to Draco, who took them with shaking hands.
With great care, Draco meticulously placed each ornament of history on Harry’s tree, smiling as he read each description, each date, each person that had created such a beautiful thing.
He came across a piece of a white lace veil, with the initials GWP sewn into the corner.
“What happened with Ginny?” he asked, instantly wishing he could grab the question out of the air and throw it out the window.
Harry paused, his fingers clenched around what looked like a tiny sock ornament, a tiny D knitted into the top.
“We stayed together for the kids. Once they were gone, well, there wasn’t really anything holding us together.”
Draco nodded. He thought back to his own house, increasingly empty with the absence of his son.
“I want to be with someone who doesn’t just think of me as The Chosen One. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to call me a right prick if I was being one, you know?”
“Yes, well I always think you’re a prat, Potter.”
Harry laughed, his smile broadening. Their eyes met, and Draco caught a glimpse of something darker, something heated.
“The kids are coming over to ring in the new year,” Harry said, turning back to the tree, his arm reaching to place an ornament on a higher branch. His shirt rode up slightly, and Draco couldn’t help but stare at the sliver of skin, the sharp outline of muscle that the stretch revealed.
He licked his lips before he answered. “Oh, yeah?”
“You should come,” Harry offered, his eyes shining brightly for the first time that evening. “After all, ‘hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, ‘it will be happier’ .”
Draco’s eyes widened. He wondered if it could be, if another year forward could hold his happiness. If Harry could hold his happiness.
“I think I’d like that.”
--
Twelve months later.
“I just want everything to be perfect,” Draco exclaimed as he bustled around the living room, adjusting the ribbons on the banister before checking the flickering lights on the candles nestled in the window.
“Everything is perfect,” Harry said, wrapping a calming arm around Draco’s waist, forcing him to stop. He turned their bodies so they could admire the Douglas Fir that stood gallantly in the corner.
“Do you want to hang the last ornament?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded, smiling softly.
He found the perfect spot, a slightly bare branch in the middle of the tree, where he’d be able to admire it every time he entered the room.
“I love you,” Harry said, pulling Draco close to his chest as they looked at the golden heart together.
“Love you, too. Merry Christmas.”
