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Harry woke to a faint thumping sound. As his eyes peeled open, he caught a look at his alarm clock and groaned. 3 AM. The wind whistled in the trees, and he reasoned it was likely just a branch knocking against his house.

Nonetheless, he lay awake listening. He would be a damned poor Auror if he wasn’t positively paranoid at the slightest provocation.

After a few minutes of silence, he reasoned it was safe to go back to sleep, but by that point, the day’s worries had already flooded his mind. The crushing loneliness. Today was Christmas Eve - and this year, he was all alone.

Molly had still invited him, of course, but seeing as Ginny was going to be there, he just didn’t have the heart to go. It had only been a month since their breakup, and the wound still felt as fresh as it had the day she had walked out of this house.

He had been working too much. That had been one of the reasons she’d given him that day. He’d been absent – physically, mentally, emotionally - for far too long. He’d become obsessed with his cases. He didn’t make time for her or himself. It wasn’t healthy.

But losing Ginny hadn’t helped him solve any of his issues – in fact, it had only made them exponentially worse. Now, without even the guilt to pull him home at the end of the day, he found himself pulling all-nighters frequently, leaving the Ministry rarely, and even then, only for cases. He was living in a haze of investigations and paperwork, spaced intermittently with naps in his office chair, and he couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to desire anything different.

The only reason he was home tonight was because Kingsley had forced him out for the holiday. “Get some rest,” he had told him, not knowing how much harder that order was than a death mission.

Harry rolled onto his side. Ron and Hermione were spending Christmas at the Burrow as well, so this was bound to be the worst holiday yet. Seeing his mental and physical decline after the breakup, they had both been advising him to get a pet or “something to make you happy.” He ignored their suggestions, knowing they just wanted him to find a reason to leave the Ministry every so often. The way he saw it though, if he wanted to throw himself into his work and do something useful, then there was no reason he shouldn’t.

Thump.

Harry started from his bed, scrabbling to throw the covers off as he heard a distinctive clatter downstairs this time. What the hell could that be?

He grabbed his glasses and his wand and raced down into the living room. His bare feet slapped across the wood floor, but he didn’t care as he rounded the corner into the living room and flicked on the lights. Harry snapped his head back and forth, searching for anything out of place, until his eyes fell on the mantel. Namely, the stocking swinging wildly on the mantel.

“What the-”

He stepped over to it, wand hovering by its squirming mass. “Verdimillious Duo!” Green sparks shot from the end of his wand, illuminating the room briefly yet brightly before fading away. Satisfied that it didn’t contain some type of horrible Dark magic, he grabbed the stocking around the middle and pulled it from the nail.

Whatever was inside immediately stopped moving. Gingerly, he peeled open the top and looked in.

Inside, the face of a ruffled sooty ferret stared back.

***

Yesterday

Draco was utterly fucked. In the course of his life, he had made many terrible decisions, but this was definitely one of the worst.

No matter the context, drinking with Blaise was always a bad idea. Not because it ended with him piss-drunk and slumped across a sofa in one of the more obscure rooms of the Manor – that was the result of him drinking with anybody, really – but Blaise had a cruel and specific knack for working people into bets they would undoubtedly regret in the morning.

Sometimes, the bets were mere trifles. A saucy line to say to your boss, or a matter of coming to work by broom instead of Floo – things that didn’t impact the course of your entire life thereafter. Sometimes, however, Blaise manipulated a person’s pride into accepting a dare that would make their sober minds cringe and curl away from merely thinking, let alone doing. He was a master at playing people, pitting them against themselves in the most Slytherin of ways, and a close personal friendship did not exclude him from Blaise’s line of sight.

And Draco had oh so much pride to manipulate.

Last night had been an exceptionally poor idea, as the two of them had gone drinking with several other friends from the Ministry, which meant that there had been yet more witnesses to the bet that Draco had been naïve enough to take. Blaise had brought some coworkers from his team – the Muggle-worthy Excuse Committee – and a few more from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in general. Draco, though not nearly the social butterfly that Blaise was, had brought a few friends of his own – not his coworkers from the Wizengamot, but some of the lower-level Magical Law Enforcement clerks with whom he had struck up a friendly rapport over the past few years.

All of them had, of course, heard him promise to steal something from the house of Harry fucking Potter, childhood nemesis, paranoiac Auror, and golden boy of the Ministry and Wizarding World at large.

And, lest he forget, lifelong crush.

It didn’t help that Blaise knew about his unending obsession with the man and had been egging him on all night through thinly-veiled jokes and lurid implications. Draco had been three drinks deep and giddy from watching Caleb drink several shots of gigglewater when Blaise had posed the dare - it hadn’t even been a fair fight.

“Draco, Draco – it’s been a while since you’ve done anything fun. You’ve lost your edge. You probably couldn’t even swipe a pack of candy from a child,” Blaise had said.

The insult had been innocuous enough for Draco to push aside, and he had waved it off with a “Whatever, Blaise” and returned to his drink.

“Oh? You want to talk about some of your daring recent endeavors then? Like walking past the Auror’s office every day to see if a certain someone-”

“Shut up!” Draco had snapped, rising to the bait, which incited all the ill-advised decisions that came next. “And I do plenty of exciting things. What are you going on about?”

“Yeah? Then how come the only bets you’ve taken recently have been boring things, like tripping people or sending dramatic memos to coworkers ‘by mistake?’”

Draco rolled his eyes, but inside, he had been nervous. “Nobody’s given me a good dare then.”

Blaise grinned widely at that, and that’s when he knew he had made a fatal mistake. “Well, I have a dare. A bet, really – if you’re game. I bet you twenty galleons you won’t steal something from Potter’s house.”

Draco had just frozen in place, paling as their friends turned their eyes on him, clearly expecting him to fold. He clutched his glass tighter, knuckles whitening. “Steal something?” he stalled. “Just…anything?”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Anything is fine. As long as you can prove it’s Potter’s.”

“Well…well that’s ridiculous then, because unless it has his bloody name on it, you’ll just deny that it’s his!” Draco could feel a bead of sweat gathering at his temple. There was no way he could do this. While Potter lived in a muggle house downtown, everyone knew how paranoid he was. The place was likely doused in protective enchantments and barriers that not even the best wizard could break. Why hadn’t he just turned it down immediately?

“Yeah, but it’d have his magical signature on it,” Elizabeth chimed in.

“As if any of you know Potter’s magical signature-” he protested, because this was honestly getting ridiculous.

“Well, he works here,” Blaise interrupted with a devilish smirk, “as you well know. It wouldn’t be too hard to get.”

Draco’s cheeks flamed, and he cursed his inebriation for allowing his body to betray him in this manner.

Though he was waffling, he hadn’t straight up denied the bet yet, and there was a rising excitement amongst their friends that was becoming almost palpable. Something this crazy? They wanted him to take it. If he backed out now, he’d be a coward, and none of them would be able to tell that tangled tale to their friends over eggnog in the weeks to come. In short, he would never live it down.

“And what would I get if I succeeded?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Surely, breaking into one of the most protected houses in England warrants more than twenty galleons?”

Blaise smiled consideringly. “Fair enough. What about…a bit of luck?”

“Pardon?”

“I may, in my travels, have stumbled across some Felix felicis. Rare little potion, I’m sure you would agree. I’d hate to part with it, but…I’m not one to make an unfair deal.”

“Where? Where did you get it?” Draco demanded. It wasn’t that it was an impossible potion to obtain, just damned difficult for a person like him or Blaise. It was a controlled substance, so the Ministry monitored its customers closely; people with a record – people like him – would attract questions. And he surely wasn’t going to brew it himself, seeing as it took over six months.

Blaise smiled, knowing his friend was hooked. “You know…around.” He waved his hand in lofty gesture. “Besides, it could help you in your trials.”

Draco made an affronted sound. “I would never take it in order to influence the outcome of a trial, that’s obstruction of justice-”

“I meant the information-gathering phase, you prat. It can’t do the impossible, but it can help you coax the witnesses into giving good information, if it was in your power to do so.”

Draco scowled, hating that Blaise was right. It would be useful – terribly so. The past few cases had barely gone his way after all the bureaucratic bullshit they were filtered through. He stared Blaise down for several long moments, wondering if it was worth it, wondering if anything was worth it. After all, this could go wrong in so many terrible ways. He could lose face; he could definitely lose his job. Yet, even as he deliberated, he knew he wouldn’t refuse.

It was about Potter. When had he ever refused anything regarding Potter before?

***

Harry’s first reaction was a stretch of dumbfounded silence.

His second reaction was to laugh.

By the time he landed on “wearied puzzlement,” he was heaving for breath after cackling for several long minutes. The ferret, still trapped in the stocking in his fist, remained motionless in his grasp.

“Man, I come down here thinking a Dark wizard has broken in, and I find-…I find a ferret.” He burst out laughing again, even though his throat was starting to feel sore from it all; this was the most he’d spoken in several days.

“I bet Ron and Hermione will feel real silly when I tell them their present arrived at three in the morning,” he muttered, speculating. “Not the best delivery service.”

After all, it had to be their doing – they’d been going on and on about pets recently. When he hadn’t acted on it, they must’ve felt it necessary to take it into their own hands. Which, while admittedly hilarious, was something he’d prefer to have been consulted on; he’d definitely have them return the ferret. Like he’d said to them before, he didn’t need a pet.

Harry carried his strange, early present into the kitchen, setting it on the counter as he put on the kettle for tea. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to sleep again after this, he decided.

As soon as he released it, the ferret sprang into motion, darting across the counter before Harry summoned it back with a lazy swish of his wand. It waited until his back was turned to lunge behind the refrigerator, where Harry once again summoned it back from. After the third escape attempt, it squeaked irritably and took to glaring at him as he finished brewing the tea.

“You’re a funny little thing,” he told the ferret once he’d sat down with his mug. “Kinda remind me of Draco Malfoy. He was a ferret once too, you know?”

The ferret continued to glare, so he continued to reminisce. “It was pretty hilarious to watch – Moody came over, because he was being an arse, and just transfigured him into a ferret! This little white thing. And then he bounced him up and down a bunch of times to knock some sense into him – much good that did though. Of course, it wasn’t actually Moody, now that I think about it – rather, a Death Eater disguised as Moody - so the whole situation seems a bit more malevolent looking back…”

After several moments, the ferret squeaked again, and Harry startled to attention. Amused by the whole situation of conversing with a tiny animal, he let himself think aloud. “Looking back, it was definitely a fitting choice though. Malfoy was always weaseling his way out of things back then – like punishments and prefect duty and any type of strenuous activity…and, of course, later with the Room of Requirement. But that just made me want to catch him more, I guess.”

Harry took a deep sip from his tea, then stirred in some more sugar. He was surprised he had found any in the barren cabinets.

He considered the little grey creature. “You’re a much better-looking ferret than Malfoy though. He was always a pointy git. Not that he’s bad-looking per say – I mean, he’s got nice…cheekbones, I suppose. His hair isn’t terrible either, when he doesn’t slick it back.”

Merlin, what am I doing? he thought to himself. Talking about Draco Malfoy’s apparently “not-terrible” looks with a bloody ferret? I’m clearly going mental.

Harry cracked a smile though. If he was already crazy, he might as well lean into it. He transfigured a napkin into a length of red ribbon to tie around the ferret’s neck. Harry had it partway tied by the time it realized what he was doing and began to struggle - biting him good on the knuckle before he finished the job with his wand.

“There,” he said, sucking the drop of blood from his finger. “You’re a festive ferret now.”

***

Draco was doomed. This whole bet had been a relentless lesson in hubris, and he was going to die a ferret in Harry Potter’s house with a fucking bow on.

When he had realized that the only way to break in would be in his animagus form – unregistered animagus form, that is – he certainly hadn’t planned on getting caught. As he had expected, the enchantments hadn’t barred animals in the same way it had blocked humans from entering, but he had nonetheless been buffeted by different protective spells while trying to enter through doors or windows. In the end, the chimney – kept open for mail by owl – was the only viable entrance point.

He just hadn’t known that muggle chimneys were long and horrible and filled with decades of uncleaned soot.

Once he had scrambled down all the way down and emerged onto a ledge inside, he had been so coated in dirt and ash that stumbled blindly into a stocking whose yarny maw had consumed him for several minutes as he thrashed to gain purchase. And it didn’t help that ferrets had bad eyesight to begin with – his depth perception was awful at the best of times.

Regardless, this unfortunate ruckus had then woken The Savior himself.

Frankly, he didn’t know what to make of the things Potter had just divulged in his aimless chatter. The idea that Potter still thought of him at all filled him with a sort of breathless energy that he didn’t want to think about or acknowledge right now, lest it get his hopes up too much.

Merlin, but he thought Draco was good-looking? Well, at least, “not terrible” - and that was a start. Nice cheekbones and good hair; he could live with that.

And he was still a handsome ferret, even doused in soot as he was.

But that was all beside the point: he was trapped here. Despite the unholy hour, Potter just kept chatting away as if sleep was something for somebody who didn’t save the world every other day. And now, because he had tied this damned bow on him, he couldn’t even transform back if he wanted to – he would be betting on the chance that the ribbon would snap before it choked him as his neck expanded back to normal size. And he might have made some bad bets in his day, but that would not be one of them.

What the bloody hell was Potter doing, talking to a ferret? In the past few minutes of Draco’s panicking, Potter had somehow transitioned into discussing Auror division politics – which at any other time, Draco would find fascinating.

“And then Robards told Grierson that he’d better shape up, which of course he didn’t like, so he started trying to show me up – even though I have nothing to do with how Robards sees him. And then Grierson hexed Carla over the rumors the next day…”

Draco unintentionally began to tune him out as his eyes searched the room for any method of escape. If he could just slip away and get far enough without Potter accio-ing him back…

He snapped his attention back as Potter began fumbling around with pots and pans on the stove. Draco found himself entranced as he watched the easy way Potter moved around, grabbing several eggs and a package of bacon from the muggle icebox. While he knew, in theory, that muggles cooked things on their weird metal contraptions without the aid of magic, it was totally different seeing it in real life.

It didn’t help that he was wearing these loose, comfortable flannels that made him look far too appealing.

Potter peeked over his shoulder. “Hungry, you little scamp?” He smiled in amusement.

Draco hadn’t realized he’d moved to the edge of the counter to get a better view. Not for the first time, he was glad he was a ferret, if only to save him the mortification of his inevitable blush, were he human.

Because Potter would never find out it was him, he allowed himself to wander closer to watch. His former nemesis was scrambling the eggs in the pan with a fork, and Draco jumped as he dropped a slice of bacon into the pan with a loud crackle and pop from the oil.

Potter laughed. “Merlin, your fur is standing straight up.”

Draco pawed at his face in indignation, before realizing that it was probably too canny a move for a ferret. Potter looked at him curiously.

He finished making his breakfast and sat down to eat, setting the kettle back on to boil more water. Potter ate clumsily – like always. Not that Draco had ever watched him or anything. He gripped his fork like a savage, and shoveled eggs into his mouth at an alarming rate. After a few moments, he seemed to remember that Draco was there, and beckoned him over with a little wave.

“Come here, little guy. You want some?” He picked up a fleck of egg that had fallen onto the table.

Draco scrunched his nose in the most disdainful expression he could muster. He was hungry, yes – he had been trapped for several hours now – but his pride would absolutely not let him eat something that had fallen off someone else’s plate. Even if they were the savior of the Wizarding World.

“No? Not interested?” Potter broke off a chunk of bacon. “How about this?”

He held it out in front of Draco, and again, he tried to resist – he really did. But the intoxicating scent of bacon was making his whole body shake in hunger cramps and the mere thought of it was too tempting to pass up: Harry Potter unknowingly feeding Draco by hand. He padded in place several times out of nervous energy, before gingerly stepping forward and taking the bacon piece in his mouth.

And because Potter would never know, he let himself move forward and lick the grease off his fingers too.

“Woah, you really are kinda cute, when you’re not biting or running away.”

While knowing it was ridiculous to play coy when he was a ferret, Draco found that in that moment, mouth swimming with the taste of Potter’s skin, he still couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

***

After breakfast, Harry decided to pay Ron and Hermione a visit. It was still early – just past six – but he figured if they could wake him up in the middle of the night with a pet delivery, then he could wake them up a bit before Ron got his beauty sleep.

It was almost a shame though – after chatting for several hours, he was starting to get a little attached to the ferret. He knew it was just coincidence, but the thing looked so damned indignant all the time, and he couldn’t help but finding it adorable. And several times, he caught it watching him intently – almost like it was listening.

But he knew he still had to give it back; he just wasn’t cut out for having a pet at this point.

After Apparating to their cottage, Harry rapped on the door for several minutes, until a bleary-eyed Ron pushed it open with a grimace. “Harry? What the bloody hell are you doing here so early? It’s not even seven!”

Harry grinned, feeling surprisingly good for someone who had barely slept at all in the past few weeks. “Yeah, well, your present woke me up at three, so I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Present?” Ron stared blankly at him.

“Who is it, Ron?” Hermione’s voice floated in from the other room.

He turned back inside to call, “It’s Harry! Says he got our ‘present’ in the middle of the night! Did you send something?”

Hermione appeared in her flannel pajamas. “Harry? Is something wrong? And no, I didn’t send anything.”

They looked so genuinely confused that he almost let them trick him. “Come on guys, I know it was you. Who else would send me a bloody ferret?” At that, he lifted up the stocking he was carrying, displaying the little pointy grey face sticking out the end.

“F-ferret?” Ron repeated dumbly.

Hermione’s brow furrowed so deep it could probably grip a wand.

Harry laughed. “Come on! There’s no use pretending. You’re the only ones who’ve been badgering me about getting a pet for the past few weeks.”

Hermione was looking at him with a mix of confusion and concern. “Harry…while it’s true that we think a pet would keep you company…this wasn’t from us.”

His amusement slipped away, when he realized she was serious. “But-…If it’s not from you, then who?”

Hermione took the stocking gently from his proffered hand, and the ferret immediately started squeaking. “Mean little guy, isn’t he?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s actually pretty cute once he settles down.”

Hermione shared a meaningful glance with Ron, who still looked puzzled by the whole situation.

After examining the ferret for several moments, she asked, “Is he covered in…soot?”

“Hmm, I think so. He came down the chimney and ended up in this stocking.”

She nodded. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.” She cast a wordless scourgify, and the ferret suddenly went from splotchy grey to a spotless white.

“Woah, I thought he was just a grey ferret!”

Hermione scoffed and straightened the bow around his neck. “Honestly, Harry… Oh, did he come with this? Maybe it has a note.”

“Nah, I put it on him to look more festive,” Harry replied, catching the look she shared with Ron once more. “And what is up with you two? Are you sure you didn’t send it?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I was just thinking…I mean, now that you have it, don’t you see the merits of getting a pet-”

“Hermione, I’ve told you before. I don’t want one right now. I need the flexibility to work-”

“There’s more to life than work!” she snapped.

Harry’s eyes grew wide, and Ron took their awkward silence as a cue to usher them to the couches inside. He summoned their kettle, bringing it to a boil in mere moments using magic, and setting down a pot of tea on the coffee table.

“Harry, mate, we know it’s been hard for you lately,” Ron began.

“What is this, an intervention?”

He frowned, and Hermione still looked cross, so he didn’t dare address her directly.

“No. I mean, kind of. Yeah. You’ve been doing too much lately, Harry.”

“I can do what I want. I’m an adult,” he replied nastily. “And you work a lot too! You’re only saying that because I’m not in a relationship anymore, which isn’t exactly my fault.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “No one’s saying it’s your fault. We’re just saying that what you’re doing now…it’s not healthy, Harry. You need things in your life that aren’t Auror business.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t have anything else.”

She recoiled. “What does that make us then?” she asked in a soft voice.

Harry clenched his jaw, biting back hurtful words. “Fine. Other than you two, I don’t have anything!” He sighed. “Can you just help me find out who sent me this ferret?”

With his head bowed in defeat, he didn’t see the third look his friends silently exchanged.

***

Draco was going to be sick. First, he never should have eaten that bacon. Technically speaking, he didn’t know if ferrets could eat bacon. They were omnivores, sure, but he hadn’t tested it really. As a general rule, he didn’t eat as a ferret, because the idea of digesting something while his stomach expanded and morphed made him squirrelly to say the least.

Second, Apparition as a ferret was – clinically speaking – the absolute worst. It felt bad enough to Apparate as a human, when you had some semblance of control and more matter to hold you together when you reappeared. Draco rather felt like he’d barely escaped being left in a pocket dimension after the latest jump to the Ministry.

Something else that was disquieting was how fucked up Potter was. He’d noticed that the man had become more serious over the years, laughing less, staying late at work, but Draco had had no idea how deeply his issues seemed to run. This revelation came as both relieving and devastating at once.

On the one hand, it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who had struggled after the war. To know that perfect Potter – a hero in everyone’s eyes – was only human. That his childhood nemesis was finally reduced to the misery Draco had always hoped for him.

But on the other hand, that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

His tiny chest clenched at the unhappiness that had written itself across Potter’s face at the Granger-Weasley’s. It was conflicting – he wanted Potter to be angry and sad and lament his downfall via hubris etcetera etcetera, but only if Draco was the one to cause it. He hated how these serious, outside factors were the things causing Potter’s despair.

In short, he wanted Potter to obsess over him in the same way Draco did.

Though, he knew that would never happen. Potter would never drop into the Wizengamot without an excuse yet with hopes of snatching a glimpse of him. He would never purposefully forget his folders downstairs and ride the lift several times in hopes of catching him on his way in. He wouldn’t toss his hair and pray to be noticed, or any of the other pathetic things that Draco did on a daily basis. They were in two different worlds, and it was never going to happen.

And yet. He still couldn’t stop.

Even now, while he should have been trying to run away, he allowed himself to be carried – in a fucking stocking – to whatever unknown destination Potter had in mind.

“List…list…where’s that list?” Potter muttered on cue. After searching his messy desk for several minutes, he gave up and accio-ed it. “Ah, here we go. The Secret Santa list. If it wasn’t Hermione or Ron, it’s got to be one of them.”

Draco watched him scan the list with a determination he’d always found worryingly attractive. It was ironic that even as Potter was desperate to be rid of him, he was finally giving Draco the singular attention he’d always desired. When Potter had a case, he latched on and obsessed until he’d found a solution, and Draco had unknowingly created the perfect Christmas case.

“Perhaps it was Luna,” he muttered, before they Apparated yet again.

When Draco had blinked away his nausea, he found that they were standing at the door of a rather unusual-looking house. Had he not been familiar with the eccentricities of Luna Lovegood, he may have been surprised by the dirigible plums bumping at them from their planters or the large, arm-shaped knocker that Potter did not hesitate to thump against the door. As it was, he was merely surprised that door wasn’t chartreuse.

The door opened after a minute, Luna blinking owlishly at them. “Harry. This is a pleasant surprise. Are you here to see those bowtruckle seedlings I told you about?”

“Err…no.” Potter had the good grace to look sheepish about it too. “I just stopped by to see if you…err…were the one who sent me this ferret?”

Draco clawed at the stitching as Potter suddenly thrust him in front of Luna for inspection.

“What a cute little familiar, Harry! I’m so glad you’ve found a new friend.” She cooed and patted his head, which Draco endured with only a small squeak of irritation.

“Well, actually…he’s not my, er, familiar. He just appeared in my house last night, so I’m trying to find who sent him. Since you’re part of the Ministry Secret Santa, I thought it might be you…”

She smiled gently at him. “You’re not my person for the Secret Santa. Though, isn’t the point of them that you don’t find out until the party?”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t planning to go to the party tonight, which is why I’m trying to find this out in the morning.”

Luna looked him up and down. “Well, good luck then. But I don’t think you’re going to find your answer before then. That’s just the way these things go.”

Potter frowned, clearly displeased with the idea. “We’ll see.”

The next house they visited was of Potter’s boss, Robards. Potter muttered darkly that though it was supremely unlikely that Robards would have gotten him a ferret, he was one of the few people on this list he could envision giving him a ferret ironically. “Just to see what he would do” - apparently.

He knocked on the door after a slight hesitation. He didn’t seem eager about it, but there was also no point in standing out in the windy cold, especially as snowflakes were beginning to fall and catch in his hair.

The door cracked open to reveal the tough, older Auror. “Potter? What forced you out of your cave? Must be a Christmas miracle.”

Draco could see Potter biting back one of those sassy retorts he was known for. “Not exactly. I…well, I received a-”

With his boss making wary eye contact, he suddenly seemed incapable of saying something as ludicrous as “I received a mysterious ferret.”

“A what, Potter? A threat? Do I have to add another person to your stalker list?”

“No! A…a gift. That was a little strange, but…” He seemed to wither under Robards gaze, but the man had finally glanced down at Draco, dangling from a stocking in Potter’s grasp.

His eyes went a little wide. “What the hell is that? A rodent problem?”

Seeing the derision in the weathered Auror’s eyes, Draco was definitely beginning to regret this visit as much as Potter seemed to be doing. He wondered whether he may or may not end up as a decorative coat by the end of it.

“Erm, no – this is actually the, er, gift. Which I was wondering if you sent me for the Secret Santa, but I can see now that you definitely didn’t.” He ended in a rush.

Robards was giving him a hard look. “Potter, are you ill?”

His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “I’m fine.”

“Because if we’re working you too hard… I mean, I never thought there was any truth behind those rumors about you, but if all the extra hours are jumbling your mind a bit – or however they say it in that nicer way at St. Mungo’s - then perhaps we should-”

“I’m fine,” Potter repeated, a little more forcefully.

Robards stared into his eyes a moment longer, before clapping a large hand on his shoulder. “Well, let’s get a drink in you then, Potter. You’re tenser than a petrified corpse!” He threw his head back and laughed as he ushered them into his house.

They emerged about a half hour later, not terribly worse for wear, but Draco saw Potter trip over his feet at least once while exiting. Potter also had the hiccups, which he tried really hard not to find adorable.

After visiting about ten more people from the list, Draco could see that Potter’s patience was wearing thin. He had received Christmas cookies, off-key carols, several prayers, and an enchanted embroidery of a toad in a Santa hat, but no one had given him any answers. Each person had also asked whether he’d be attending the party tonight, and each time he’d refused, they had spent another ten to fifteen minutes trying to convince him otherwise.

As Potter’s mood soured, Draco lost even the small joy he’d felt at the man investing so much time in him. It wasn’t worth it anymore. If Potter wanted him gone so badly, then maybe it was time to go.

After the last house, he’d been shoved in Potter’s coat pocket, stocking and all, presumably because he’d tired of carrying him. There wasn’t much room, but Draco slithered from the stocking as best he could in the confined space and began to chew at the stitch holding the button in place. With a few bites, the deed was done, and he yanked the button off and leapt.

He tried not to look back.

But perhaps Potter was done with him too, because after a startled “Hey,” he simply let him go.

***

His life was in shambles, he’d been mean to his friends, and he was alone.

Even the fucking ferret had left him in the end.

***

Draco rapped at the door to Blaise’s office, knowing the man had planned to get in a few more hours this morning before the holiday. The bastard had better be here.

“Come in,” came the lazy drawl of his friend.

Draco threw open the door. He stalked rather dramatically up to the desk that Blaise was perched behind and slapped an object down on his papers. He waited, glaring.

Blaise, for his part, looked terribly amused – and only slightly surprised – though, he did raise an eyebrow at what Draco had brought. “A button?”

“Potter’s button,” he corrected. “Collected at great personal risk. So where’s my prize?”

Blaise laughed outright. “I told you to steal something from his house, not rip his clothes off!”

Draco could feel his cheeks flush and snarled to cover for it. “I didn’t fucking rip his clothes off. And I was at his house. I just-…I didn’t have a chance to take something more significant. But seeing as Potter himself was in his house, then through logic, you must know that this button was also from his house.”

“Very Slytherin. And you were able to just walk into his house, pluck the button from his clothes, and walk out? On the Auror department’s most paranoid detective, no less?” Blaise gave him a knowing look. “Or did you find a different way to weasel into Potter’s good graces?”

Draco clenched his jaw. “How do you know about that?” he demanded. “No one knows. How do you know?”

Blaise smiled. “I know a lot of things. Things that would surprise you, Draco.”

“Enough. Enough of your games, Zabini.” Draco was tense and exhausted and frustrated, and he was tired of being a pawn for Blaise’s amusement. It didn’t help that it had taken him nearly twenty minutes to wriggle out of the bow around his neck once he’d escaped, after which he had had to Apparate home to get some clothes before coming back to the Ministry. It had been a supremely long day. “Are you going to give me the potion or not?”

Blaise pushed the button back towards him with a smirk.

Draco’s stomach lurched.

“Not, I’d say.” He met his eyes. “Steal something better.”

***

Not knowing quite what to do with himself after the ferret had run away, Harry returned to the place that seemed least irritating at the moment: Luna’s house. He had stumbled in, looking lost, after she had opened the door, but Luna had simply smiled and let him in again.

“It’s gone,” he said after a long time sitting on her vibrant orange sofa in silence. “It ran away.”

“Well, of course it did,” she said sagely. “You were trying to figure things out too soon. It’s bad luck, you see – to find out your Secret Santa before it’s time. If you’d gone through with it, you would’ve been cursed to grow prickly branches from your ears and likely go deaf.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Harry almost believed her. “It’s a shame though, it really was a cute familiar.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, not bothering to correct her. “It was.”

“So are you going to go now?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“To the party,” she insisted. “To find your Secret Santa.” Despite wearing a dress that was clearly meant to make her look like an emperor penguin, she managed to look oddly serious.

“Well, there’s not much point now, is there?” he asked. He remembered the sight of the little ferret’s receding back as it slipped away in the snow.

“Of course there is! If you can find out the sender, then you can find your familiar again! They’ll have a way to track it, since they’d need a way to find out if it arrived.”

Harry considered this. For Luna, it seemed surprisingly logical. “Maybe…” he ventured.

“Good, then it’s settled.” She smiled rather brightly, and Harry wondered just how much he would regret this later. He wasn’t up to all the socialization without the comforting fallback of work. And he’d gotten rather snippy with several of the people on his team during the last few cases…

Eight o’clock arrived far too quickly for his liking, not that he was particularly enjoying his time watching bowtruckle seedlings. Him and Luna Apparated to the party – held in the lofty entrance to the Ministry – and were bombarded with fairies and festive music fluttering throughout the hall.

It was packed. Harry had made them arrive late, after all, so they could appear just in time for the gift-exchange without too much dawdling. People still swarmed up to greet Harry though – an effect he’d much rather have avoided.

“Auror Potter! I thought you said you weren’t coming tonight!” said Carol, from whom he’d received the oddly-specific embroidery.

“Hadn’t planned on it,” he replied with a forced smile. Others came up to wish him a happy Christmas or get his opinion on the decorating, in which they’d taken part. But he found his eyes scanning the crowd, wondering who – if any of them – had given him the gift. His wandering mind also sought the flash of blonde and the plum-colored robes from the Wizengamot, before he realized what he was doing. His reminiscing earlier with the ferret had made him curious what Malfoy was up to these days. He’d seen him around the Ministry on occasion, but hadn’t paid him much mind.

“Potter,” came a new voice, once the crowd had somewhat cleared.

He turned, then narrowed his eyes. “Zabini. What do you want?”

The enigmatic man smiled. “I heard you may have lost something.” And with that, he pulled a white ferret with a bow from his pocket.

For a long moment, Harry could only gape. “Why do you-…I mean, you’re not my Secret Santa, are you?”

Zabini laughed. “If only you were so lucky. I heard from Gladys that you stopped by her place asking about a ferret, then happened to see said ferret on my way here. Anyway, here you go.” He deposited the little beast into Harry’s hands and disappeared into the crowd.

People were starting to stare at him, surely wondering why the Savior was now holding a little mustelid in the middle of a corporate party. Embarrassed, and unable to pet and croon to the ferret like he was suddenly inspired to do by their reunion, he merely brought it up near his face and whispered, “Don’t you dare run off again, you little scamp.” His voice may or may not have cracked.

The little guy squeaked, and Harry couldn’t resist planting a peck on his head.

It was at that point that Ron and Hermione caught up with him. “Hey, Harry! You came after all!” Ron clapped him on the shoulder, and Hermione pulled him into a swift hug.

“I’m glad you could make it,” she said, undeterred by their earlier argument. “And I see your little friend came too?”

Harry laughed; he couldn’t help it – he felt so much lighter for some reason now that the ferret was back. “Well, not exactly. He ran off, then was returned to me by Zabini of all people.”

Hermione had that puzzled expression again.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Ron said, slinging his arm around Harry and dragging him towards the tables of hors d’oeuvres and punch. They were almost there when Harry felt a sudden wrenching in his feet.

“Hold up – I can’t move!”

Ron glanced back at him, eyes flicking upward. He laughed. “You’ve been caught by a mistletoe, mate!” Then, his gaze turned confused. “But someone else should be stuck too.”

He looked at Hermione, who was also decidedly not stuck in place, then back to Harry.

“Maybe it’s the ferret?”

Hermione huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ron, the magic is only binding between two-” she paused, drawing in a sharp breath, “-humans.”

Harry’s Auror senses tingled, as he glanced back down at the animal in his palms. The answering squeaks and canny movements of the beast from earlier ran through his head with rapidly increasing importance. He hadn’t thought to check-… He had only checked for Dark magic-

In a daze, he drew the ferret to his face again and kissed it softly on the head. Immediately, he felt his feet spring free of their magical bounds.

He swallowed. Drew his wand.

The ferret had squeezed its eyes shut in a decidedly human way of showing fear. Harry felt sick to his stomach.

He cast the spell with a harsh, silent flick.

***

Draco was choking. He was choking, and he deserved it, and this had really been his worst idea ever, and he only wished that he didn’t have to die in such a pathetic way in front of Harry Potter-

Snap.

With mercy, the bow band snapped before it could crush his windpipe, and his claws – now hands – flew to massage the bruised skin. Hair fell in his face, and he knew without looking that the transformation was done.

He coughed – a deep, hacking thing. Then he made the mistake of looking up.

Everyone was staring.

Potter was staring – with a look of absolute shock on his face.

The chill of the floor finally registered, and Draco realized, with horror, that he was sprawled – completely naked – on the Ministry ground, and Potter was still staring at him.

He yelped, rushing to cover himself with his hands, while simultaneously scrambling backwards. He catapulted to his feet and ran.

***

Draco Malfoy. His fucking ferret was Draco Malfoy.

It was all Harry could think.

Well, it was all Harry could think, until his eyes dropped lower, and his mind suddenly processed that Malfoy was naked. From there, his thoughts were only a small step from realizing that Malfoy was fit, and by then, he knew he’d gone completely mad.

Draco Malfoy is my naked ferret-….No - Draco Malfoy is my ferret, and now he’s naked, and I really should be more disgusted by this whole situation than I am.

But by the time he had come to that sentiment, Malfoy had flung himself to his feet and ran, his whole body a flushing pink blur of motion.

“Harry, are you alrigh-”

“Later, Hermione!” And then he was running too.

As he tumbled into the hallway, his mind racing over where Malfoy would have gone, he felt a sharp wave of nostalgia rush over him. He had spent so much of his life chasing the git, after all.

Would he have gone to his office? No, that was too obvious. His mind went back to Zabini, the smug way he’d returned the ferret to Harry. He was definitely in on it. Harry changed directions, running towards the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

He noted, with satisfaction, that he’d been right, as he burst into Zabini’s office and found a startled Malfoy doing up the buttons on his shirt. He had on trousers now too, Harry noted with relief, as it would make having this conversation easier. Less distracting.

He shut the door. “Malfoy,” he began. “What the hell?”

To his credit, the Slytherin seemed to be as earnestly perturbed as he was, and for once in his life, he didn’t have some ready-made lie or comeback. He stood there speechless.

“Why did you even come to my house? Or…before that, how did you even get in?”

Malfoy opened his mouth several times to start before seeming to think better of it. In the end, he settled on simply, “I’m an animagus.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah. I’d figured that much out for myself, actually.”

If possible, Malfoy flushed even more crimson. “No, I mean, that’s how I got in. Most of your wards are against people.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that doesn’t answer why you were there.”

Malfoy turned away abruptly to finish buttoning his shirt. Harry noticed his hands were shaking.

“It was a bet, you see. Blaise figured I wouldn’t have the guts to steal something from your house.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “My house? Why would he want something from my house?”

Malfoy threw him a derisive glance over his shoulder – or at least, as derisive as he could manage while still looking so flustered. “He didn’t. That’s not the point, Potter.”

Harry noticed with interest the thrill it sent down his spine to hear Malfoy say his name after so long. It was familiar, and yet new and odd coming from Malfoy as an adult.

“He wanted me to make a fool out of myself, since everyone knows how paranoid you are – you were bound to have a well-protected house.”

Was that really the way he was known to everyone? “Well what made you agree then, if you knew that was his intent?”

Malfoy stepped into his shoes, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves as he did. “He offered me something good. And I was already curious-” His eyes widened like he hadn’t meant to say that last part.

“Curious? About what – my house?” Harry asked, a little incredulously. He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand Malfoy. He could never tell what he was thinking.

“About you,” Malfoy breathed, then sank back into the desk chair, covering his face with a self-deprecating laugh. “Merlin, Potter, do you really think I would’ve sat there listening to you talk about Robards and all your office drama for close to three hours if I hadn’t been wondering about you? About your life after school?”

His throat was suddenly dry. “What are you saying?”

Malfoy looked up at him intently for a long moment, before sagging back in the chair. The exhaustion and frustration and public humiliation of the day seemed to have broken down his usual barriers, and he looked more vulnerable than Harry remembered ever seeing him.

“I’m in love with you.”

The world seemed to stop.

“You’re…what?”

Malfoy glanced up sadly, his expression changing to confusion as he saw Harry’s face. “In love with you. Hey-”

“But that’s…you can’t be-” he sputtered. It wasn’t possible. Surely Malfoy was taking the piss.

But a hungry curiosity had worked its way across Malfoy’s face. “Potter, are you blushing?”

He threw a hand up to cover his face. Was he? In his heart, he already suspected the answer.

“I’m not,” he lied.

“You are,” Malfoy said, sliding to his feet.

He took a step closer, and Harry moved a step back before Malfoy had closed the distance. “Don’t-” he started as Malfoy peeled Harry’s hand from his face.

“Merlin, your face is scarlet,” he said with wonder. He skated a thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, and Harry cursed the shiver that ran up his spine.

Fuck, when had Malfoy grown into his pointy face? Now, he was all chiseled angles and luminous grey eyes. Had he always been so striking? When he thought of all the times his eyes had been drawn to Malfoy at Hogwarts, he realized that he likely always had.

“I hand-fed you bacon today,” he blurted. The thought had crossed his mind quite randomly.

Malfoy smiled rather gloatingly. That expression, at least, was one he knew well.

“Yes. You did.”

“And you licked my fingers after.”

The smug look dropped from his face. “I…I didn’t think you’d ever know it was me.” He chewed at his lip. “And it’s not like I’d get another chance,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Harry said quickly. Malfoy was drawing away in embarrassment, and he found he wanted him to stay, desperately wanted to say something that would keep his face so near to Harry’s that anything was possible.

Malfoy’s brows drew together. “It is?”

Harry shuffled a little closer, glancing down at Malfoy’s lips and wondering, for the first time, what they would taste like.

Malfoy met his gaze a little breathlessly. “Potter… I know it’s terribly uncouth to ask for a Christmas gift, but can I…can I have a kiss?” His eyes dropped shamelessly to Harry’s mouth. “Just to see…”

“Sure,” Harry exclaimed. “Yeah. Right. Just to see…”

To see if he was crazy, or if Malfoy tasted as good as he looked.

He leaned in, catching Malfoy’s lips in a soft, tender kiss that deepened as Malfoy let out a low groan. His hand slid from Harry’s cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and the effect was dizzying.

When they finally broke apart, Harry’s heart was thundering in his chest. He licked at his lips. “Well?” he asked nervously.

“Just as I thought,” Malfoy said, eyes lidded and smokey. His lips curled into a wry smile. “I can’t just kiss you once and let it go after all.”

Relief washed over him. “Good! Er…I mean, fine. That’s fine with me. If we can maybe…do that again sometime?”

“Soon,” Malfoy assured. “And again at frequent intervals.”

Harry smiled, tracing a thumb across Draco’s sharp cheekbone, before dropping it down to his neck where an angry line of red still striped his flesh. “I’m sorry about the bow, by the way.”

Malfoy laughed. “It’s fine. To be fair, you were probably expecting your ferret to be a normal ferret. And I’m sure the bow looked handsome on me.”

Harry ignored Malfoy’s self-compliment. “Speaking of, aren’t you going to get in trouble for being an unregistered animagus? People kind of…saw. Lots of people.”

Worry flashed across Malfoy’s face. “Probably. It doesn’t look great that someone who works in law was flagrantly breaking them.” He cast a coy glance at Harry. “Think you could pull a few strings?”

Harry barked a laugh at the blatant nepotism. Some things never changed. But Malfoy must be cleverer than he was in the past, because Harry was already feeling inclined to help.

They rejoined the party after a few more kisses, just in time for Malfoy to receive a pair of ever-warm socks from Gladys, and to have someone thank him for the fancy charcuterie platter (which Harry thought was a little bourgeois for his taste). Hermione and Ron rushed over with a mouthful of questions, but Hermione curbed them quite neatly when she noticed Harry holding Malfoy’s hand.

“Harry! How’d Malfoy end up as a ferr-” Ron started, but Hermione shushed him with a “Not now, Ronald,” and pulled him away to get more punch. Brightest witch of her age, really.

The woman who’d received Harry’s gift – a rather lackluster candy assortment from Honeydukes – came over to thank him, and it wasn’t until she had said her gushing goodnights than Harry realized he still hadn’t received anything.

“Hey, Potter!” Blaise Zabini sidled up next to him once more. He eyed up Malfoy with a smirk. “I see you enjoyed your gift.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

“Blaise, what are you talking-” Malfoy started with great irritation.

“Incidentally,” Zabini cut in, “I was your Secret Santa after all.” He gave Harry a fiendish wink and a pat on the shoulder. “You can thank me later.”

He leaned in and whispered something to Malfoy that had him sputtering and red.

“Merry Christmas!” he said to both of them, laughing as he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

“What did he say to you?” Harry asked.

Malfoy glanced at him through the corner of his eye. “Nothing important,” he gritted through a clenched jaw and flushed cheeks.

They stayed until all the gifts were distributed, saying hi to people who came up to chat, but mostly talking to each other. Initially, they had received a few weird looks and questions – after Malfoy’s wardrobe malfunction – but they seemed to get away with pretending he’d been cursed by Zabini as prank. That was probably the story they’d tell if anyone launched an inquiry at work.

At one point, as they wandered the room, Malfoy stooped to pick something up, and Harry saw the tail end of the red ribbon slipping into his pocket. The blonde looked at him defiantly, and he chose to simply smile and hold his tongue.

So he was sentimental too.

“So Granger and Weasley wanted you to get a pet, which is why you thought I was a mere common ferret?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You were covered in soot when I found you. Thrashing around in a stocking and unable to get out.” He loved the way Malfoy’s lips pursed and his cheeks pinkened slightly even through the haughty airs. “Besides, I thought it would be too ironic if your animagus was a ferret, after Moody’s stunt all those years ago.”

“Which you seemed to find funny,” Malfoy pouted.

“It was funny. You were insufferable back then.”

“And now?”

Harry turned to him rather seriously. “Malfoy, I… I haven’t really given you a chance to show how you’ve changed, but I’d really like to. But if…if this is going to turn into anything, you need to know that I’m really not as perfect as people make me out to be-”

“I know that.”

“And I work all the time, and I can be distant and bad at communicating – that’s why Ginny broke up with me, actually – and sometimes I get really sad, and I don’t even know why-”

Malfoy placed his hands on Harry’s cheeks. “Potter. It’s okay. I want to know those sides of you too.” His hands were warm, and his smile was gentle. “And for the record, you’ve never been perfect – you’ve been brassy since eleven years old.”

Harry slid his hand on top of Malfoy’s with the ghost of a smile, relaxing a fraction. “Yeah,” he said simply. “And I want to see the different sides of you, ferrety sides included.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Potter. I don’t just lounge around as a ferret in my free time, in case that comes as a surprise.” At Harry’s crestfallen appearance, he quickly added, “Though I might be persuaded on occasion. If you feed me something nice.”

Eyes sparkling, Harry grabbed a finger sandwich from a passing tray and held it out in front of him. “That sounds…doable.”

It seemed that this wasn’t going to be the worst Christmas ever. And he wasn’t as terribly alone as he had suspected at all.

***

30 Minutes Prior

Blaise was such a sneaky, conniving bastard. Of course he was Potter’s Secret Santa. Of fucking course. Draco wouldn’t have expected anything less.

Blaise, catching his look of resentment, smirked and leaned in to whisper something.

“Congratulations on the bet – come visit to get your prize when you can pry yourself away for a moment.”

When Draco started to pull away out of confusion, he continued.

“See, I said ‘anything,’ but there was actually something specific I wanted you to steal. Good job, by the way! You’ve stolen Potter’s heart.”