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All Harry could picture was shaking hands, practically throwing a very carefully wrapped gift into his own. A perfect rectangle, with perfectly fitting corners and folds. It was horrifically Christmassy, little Santa's all over it. It had to be Muggle wrapping, which meant Draco had ventured into Scotland, perhaps Edinburgh or Glasgow.
He sighed, watching Draco's retreating form. He was still there an hour later as Draco marched past, floating his trunk behind him. He still hadn't opened the gift, it was sat in his lap. Balanced ever so carefully.
Where would he even go? Draco wanted to spend time with George, but he was at the Burrow and it was very likely Draco would not want to sit through the tension, or awkwardness of him being possibly unwanted. Which wasn't true, as Harry knew there was an extra present lumped in with his, with the name Draco written almost haphazardly. He knew there was a beautiful apple green jumper with his initial waiting for him. Draco was wanted, he was wanted as Draco, maybe not Malfoy. That wouldn't last long either. He knew on its way was a rectangular gift, larger than the one Draco had given him, sent by Andromeda, with the possibility of Draco no longer having to carry the weight of the Malfoy name.
Harry had screwed that up, he could've let Draco have the Christmas he deserved, a happy one. And yet, Draco was probably sat alone in George's flat, watching crappy Christmas specials, with whatever ready meal George pre-emptively bought for him, just in case. And Harry was in a castle, surrounded by old friends and warm fire. He didn't want the guilt and pain that would come with opening Draco's present, but he couldn't avoid it. People had already started asking around. At least Harry was alone, the common room was empty, people were already down for dinner. If he opened there and then, well, no-one would have to see his reaction, they wouldn't see the guilt eating him alive.
And so, he gently pulled on the corners, not wanting to destroy the obvious care and attention that Draco had put into wrapping it.
And oh, as if that made the guilt any better. Harry found himself staring at two rectangles of glass with pictures etched into them, a muggle contraption, yet they were moving, mimicking the paper copies he had of them. It must have taken Draco weeks to find a witch or wizard who was able to enchant the muggle contraption to reflect the movements of the photos. He shakily sighed, moving almost numbly to his room. He held on tightly to the glass photos, not wanting to destroy them. He balanced them carefully on his bedside table.
His parents, that timeless photo he had of them dancing, looking in love. And a more recent addition, him stood between his belated surrogate fathers, Sirius and Remus, all three of them smiling widely as Sirius leans to tickle Harry, and Lupin ruffle's Harry's hair. Two separate etchings, immortalised in the glass.
Yes, Harry decided, he would go grovelling and beg for forgiveness from Draco.