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“I’m not entirely sure you should be doing this, Harry.”
Harry finished the spell and frowned over towards Hermione. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, biting her lip, but met his gaze resolutely, firm in her belief.
“Did you find anything wrong with it?”
Hermione shook her head. “No, it’s clean. It’s just. . .”
“Weird?”
“Weird.”
It was a little weird.
About twenty minutes ago, Harry had received the little gift in the middle of the empty common room. It had popped into existence in front of him, startling him into almost dropping his tea and scalding his lap. It had looked innocuous enough, a brightly wrapped present with a silver tag, saying ‘For Harry’.
Hermione had immediately gone on the defensive, casting investigative and protection charms so quickly that the words almost fell over themselves, muttering under her breath about ‘another Romilda situation.’
Harry, for the most part, had just stared at her, absently sipping his tea. When Hermione got protective, it was probably best that he not interfere. He did look around the room for any of the other eighth-years paying attention. The only other people in the comfortable sitting room was Luna, in the window seat, staring out into the night sky, and Malfoy, sitting in the squashy armchair he preferred so far away from the more ‘common’ areas of the common room that he was practically outside. Malfoy had his nose in a book and was facing away and probably didn’t notice them anyway.
Harry mentally shrugged and sat patiently, waiting for Hermione to quit casting. Eventually, she did, and begrudgingly, handed him his gift.
“Harry, you should really be careful. This could be from anyone. It could be some kind of trick. . .”
“It’s got my name on, and it’s Christmas.” Harry tried a smile, but Hermione still stood with her hands crossed over her chest, nervously gripping her elbows. “Aw come on, Hermione. It’s probably fine. And if it’s not you get to tell me ‘I told you so’ for the next hundred years.”
He did his best puppy dog eyes and watched her waver.
“In your own time then.”
Harry snatched the gift from the air and waited for a second, just to make doubly sure it wasn’t going to explode as soon as he touched it. It wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing that had happened to him.
It didn’t.
The red and gold mystery package boasted shiny paper, the reflective kind found in a muggle shop. It was thin and flat and maybe weighed as much as a wand. As soon as Harry touched the tag, bright red fairy lights, tiny enough to almost look like glitter, flew out whirling around him in a shower of sparkles. They circled him twice before coalescing into one small red arrow, pointing down. Harry followed his gaze and saw that the tag which had previously had his name in a painfully neat scrawl, now had more words there, crowded together and jockeying for position on the tiny space.
As soon as he concentrated on the most prominent word, the words lined up neatly so that he could read them: “I put myself on the naughty list for you.” The stick figure drawn on the tag put its arms behind its head and did a little dance, involving a lot of burlesque-like hip movements. Tinny stripper music came from the card, giving it something to dance to. It winked, then disappeared with a poof of red glitter.
Harry’s mouth fell open, staring at the tag. Hermionie slapped two hands on her mouth, barely stifling her giggles as they stared at the cheerful little tag, which now looked as Muggle as the rest of the gift.
Harry found himself reaching up to detach the tag from his present. The thin package fell open as though on cue and a bar of Harry’s favourite chocolate fell out. Harry fumbled but managed to catch it, using Seeker reflexes that he’d not exactly had the chance to use in the past year or so.
“Well,” Hermione managed through her laughter, “I guess I don’t have to say I told you so.”
The second gift arrived while he was working in the fields around Hagrid’s house.
Ron had made it his personal mission to make sure Hagrid had a workable, useful house after the last one burned and its fields ruined by the Death Eaters that had lived there. He’d been upset that with all the plans in motion to rebuild Hogwarts, Hagrid’s hut had kind of gone by the wayside. McGonagall and the rest of the staff had their hands full helping with the rebuild. While Harry was reasonably sure that Hagrid had insisted Hogwarts get the bulk of attention before his hut, he was well pleased that Ron had taken such an interest. Harry and Hermione helped when they could, of course, but the house was mostly finished by this point, with the fields used to feed all the creatures Hagrid took care of needing lots of work.
To everyone’s shock, Malfoy, of all people, had thrown himself into work next to Ron. For three months, Ron said that the two of them had either spit insults at or attempted to out-silent-treatment each other. Ron had done his best to get Malfoy removed, but since there were so many other issues and had been so few people willing to help, McGonagall had simply looked at him with one eyebrow raised, and Ron had slunk back to work, objections stifled.
Harry had found the repetitive motion working the frozen landscape- of working in the fields- the rich smell of the earth and sharp bite of working in the cooler air strangely soothing. (Which was a bit strange- he hadn’t immensely enjoyed Professor Sprout’s classes- that had been all Neville.) Still, it was nice if a bit messy.
“Drink, Potter?”
Harry jumped so high that he flung up a bit of land he was working on in an almost perfect arc so that frozen chunks pattered against Malfoy’s chest. Malfoy’s lips twitched. He blinked a few times (there was a piece of dirt stuck to his left eyelash) and muttered a quick Scourgify while Harry tried to get his heartbeat to slow down.
“Suit yourself.” Anger flashed in his grey gaze as Malfoy started to turn away.
Harry waited for a beat then held out his hand. To say that his and Malfoy’s relationship was a little complicated since the eighth year’s return after the Battle of Hogwarts was like saying that Hermione was a little i ntelligent.
Malfoy couldn’t quite mask his surprise. Some emotion that Harry couldn’t quite identify flickered over his face, and as Harry watched as Malfoy handed him a large mug of tea, conjured seemingly from nowhere. Their fingers brushed, and Harry ducked his head so Malfoy wouldn’t spy the way his cheeks flamed. Harry ignored the swoop in his belly the same way he always did.
It smelled of lemon and ginger and had a faint tendril of steam curling from its surface. Harry wrapped his hands around it with a nod of thanks, appreciating the warmth. He took a sip. The temperature was perfect, just warm enough to feel comforting, but not so scalding that he burnt his tongue.
“Hey, thanks, Malfoy.” Harry took another sip, smiling a little.
Malfoy nodded, muttered something that Harry didn’t catch, and made his way back to Hagrid’s hut.
Harry stared after him with his lips tightened. The tea had been thoughtful, but weird and awkward. Faintly he heard Ron shouting something and Malfoy’s response. Harry shrugged then took another sip and set it aside, going back to his work. After another half hour, he got into a rhythm. This was actually the second time in as many weeks that Malfoy had pulled a random act of kindness, then left before Harry could think of a response other than an awkward ‘thanks.’
The gift popped into existence in front of him with a swirl of green sparkles and the faintest hint of peppermint in the air. Harry leaned back on his heels and wiped at his brow, feeling some of the dirt fall off onto his lap, staring a little stymied at the bright and cheerful package in the midst of the dreary, winter Scottish landscape.
Knowing that Hermione would murder him in his sleep if he just ripped right into it, he took a second to cast a few protection charms and wipe his filthy hands on his trousers. He threw a glance around, but other than a small group of students coming in from the forest, there was no one about.
“All right, let’s see what you have.”
This present was resplendent in green, with gold ribbon wrappings. The tag had his name in a flowing, cursive script, and like the last time, when he concentrated on the flowing letters, they rearranged themselves into something else entirely: “Oh baby, I’m hung like a stocking.” This time the little stick figure had the faintest hint of a smirk as it removed a strategically placed stocking and hung it on a mantel before turning so it was looking back at Harry over its shoulder, waggling its eyebrows then turning fully around, hands on its tiny hips. It was indeed hung like a stocking.
Harry snorted a laugh.
The gift scrunched down to something the size of a Bertie Bott’s bean, then expanded to a pen and ink set. It was quite lovely, with a silver and green inlay that was the exact shade of Harry’s eyes. He looked around again before taking it and running his finger over the design on the inkwell. Something flickered on it, and Harry squinted. The snake on the inkwell gave a little wiggle and settled itself with a bored flick of its tail.
Harry finished his tea and jumped a little when the mug disappeared. He smiled despite himself. It wasn’t common knowledge that Harry had almost been sorted into Slytherin, but Harry couldn’t deny that the design and colouring were far from subtle.
His thoughts immediately went to Malfoy and Harry froze a little before shaking his head as he made his way to the castle, telling himself that fleeting thought was ridiculous.
Malfoy loathed him at worst, barely tolerated him at best. He certainly wouldn’t be his mystery gift giver. That would be. . . silly.
Right?
“Malfoy.”
“Potter.”
Harry ignored the flush to his cheeks as Malfoy walked past him wearing only a towel, hoping that the other boy would attribute his red ears and neck to the heat of the steam from the shower being used. He nodded, hopefully without looking like too much of a twat, and made his way into the mirror. Nope, his cheeks were flaming.
Wonderful.
While at one point there had been a private bathing area for this part of the castle, it had been destroyed during the Battle. The eighth-years now shared a communal area much like the rest of the Houses, with several, separate showers in a room next to the toilets. Someone was using the one furthest from the door, and Malfoy took the one next to that, leaving only one shower stall empty. Harry cleared his throat and tried to avoid looking at the long expanse of muscled skin almost on display from the (in Harry’s utterly unbiased opinion) entirely too-small towel barely hanging onto Malfoy’s hips. He flicked his gaze in the mirror to watch Malfoy shut the curtain, then sighed.
His ‘tiny’ obsession with Malfoy? Had grown to rather a bit of a problem.
Harry made his way to the stall, stripped, balled his clothes into a bag, and set his glasses and wand into a handy caddy situated on the far wall for just that purpose. He heard the furthest shower shut off, and its occupant’s steps as he left the bathroom. He then cast a quick Colloportus so that the curtain couldn’t be opened, and began his shower.
(That had happened one time with an enterprising reporter disguised as a student, and Harry had been so humiliated that he had perfected the charm while still dripping from his messy hair onto his hastily-donned clothes. It was also the reason that Harry didn’t take off his clothes until he was ready to shower- he didn’t need more pictures of his pasty arse plastered all over the papers.)
Harry was tremendously aware that of all the people in the castle, Malfoy was showering next to him. He felt a bit creepy listening to him take a shower and started humming a tuneless song under his breath as he washed his hair, like that would somehow make the whole process less awkward.
He had just finished washing his ears when he heard the tiny ‘pop’ behind him.
Harry whirled, ready to blast whoever it was into the next plane of existence when he saw the small object bobbing in the air next to him.
Harry blinked, then reached cautiously for his glasses, setting them on his face. They had an anti-steaming charm on them, and Harry was grateful for it as he started to grin.
This time, the little stick figure was prominent on its tag. It stood patiently, as though waiting for Harry to notice it. Hilariously, it also had a bright red and green umbrella, as though the water from the shower would somehow damage him. One of the stick figure’s hands were clasped over its eyes, although it obviously peeked between its fingers as Harry reached out towards it.
As soon as he touched the paper, the little stick figure disappeared into a flurry of sparkles, swirling around the umbrella. The words: “Hey, baby. Let me put a little egg in your nog” made Harry snort a laugh. The words on the page paused for a moment as though appreciative of Harry’s reaction, then swirled back into the stick figure. Harry watched as it tossed its umbrella to. . . somewhere. . . and snapped its fingers. Another stick figure popped into existence next to the first. This one was very obviously meant to be Harry. The first stick figure pulled the Harry stick figure into its arms, and they began to dance around the small space. The music was tinny-- like the stripper theme had been, but it was also rich with melody and depth of sound that Harry couldn’t help but be charmed by.
“Potter. . . why are there Muggle Christmas songs coming from your shower?”
Harry made a sound that he would deny from the depths of his soul was a surprised squeak and shut off the water with a flick of his wand. Malfoy had made his way out of his shower and was standing in front of Harry’s. His voice had come from mere inches away, the two of them separated by only the thin curtain. Harry’s charm made it unable to be opened until Harry released the spell, but Harry could still hear him. He’d been so entranced with the goofy present that he’d hardly noticed his surroundings. If he stood on his tiptoes, he’d be able to see the familiar blonde head.
Even now, the stick figure seemed a bit miffed that Harry’s attention wasn’t entirely on it, and danced out of view. Harry laughed outright as it copped a feel of stick-figure Harry’s arse before the couple danced off the page.
“Er. . .”
“Riiiight.” Malfoy’s voice seemed to imply that Harry was completely barking, and Harry felt himself flush so deeply that he felt a little light-headed. There was a pause, then Malfoy’s steps continued off and out of the bathroom.
Harry winced at his own hopeless awkwardness and looked back at the tag.
The stick figure poked its head onto the tag as though trying to garner Harry’s attention, now that they were alone. It made a ‘come here’ gesture, and Harry, feeling rather stupid but still unable to help himself, leaned forward a little. The stick figure tapped the umbrella with its tiny wand and looked back towards Harry with eyebrows raised higher than the dimensions of its drawn head. It jerked its head to the left, indicating Harry should get out of the shower.
“Right,” Harry whispered. He dried off and dressed himself, bringing the little tag with him out of the stall and into the bathroom. No one was there, and Harry turned the tag over with his wand, not comfortable with touching it. Feeling rather ridiculous, he tapped his own wand against the umbrella on the paper.
There was an entire minute of silence before the tag curled up and expanded into a proper piece of parchment.
Harry caught his breath.
The words started to flow onto the parchment, much as the other script had flowed onto the tags of paper.
Harry,
I had planned to woo you with these ridiculous Muggle pick up lines for the rest of the week until we break for the hols. Such gems as ‘ ‘Why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap and we’ll talk about whatever comes up?.’ and ‘What do you say we make this a Not-So-Silent Night?’ and my personal favourite: ‘Santa’s not the only one coming tonight’ all seemed brilliant at the time, but having carefully watched you after you received these gifts, it occurs to me that I must be brave enough to give you your final gift in person.
This is a terrifying concept for reasons that will be abundantly clear once we meet. If we meet.
You should know that I am devastatingly attractive, charmingly witty, and unabashedly male. I will concede, however, that I am not an exceptionally clever artist. Still, should you choose to end the mystery, meet me in the eight classroom near the alakjdjdaa at midnight tonight. Should you not wish to meet me, I will, of course, cease all communication, never speak, write, etc. of this again.
X
Harry exhaled hard enough that the paper fluttered.
He had assumed that his secret gift-giver was male since the stick figures had been male. He had not exactly made his bisexuality known throughout the land, so it was somewhat comforting, if a bit terrifying, to know that his admirer was indeed male. Harry swallowed, looking at the careful script, brushing the tips of his fingers across the slightly sparkly ink. The thing was. . . Harry knew that handwriting.
A sound from the doorway made him jump.
He was standing here in a public bathroom like an idiot, hair dripping down his back. If nothing else, his room would give him privacy. He brushed his teeth and used his wand to quickly dry his hair, ignoring the floofy mess it turned into when freshly washed. Harry grabbed the paper and made his way to his room, thinking. He threw himself down on his bed, looking over at the items on his bedside table. The half-eaten bar of his favourite chocolate, the elegant inkwell and quill set, the tags empty of their charms set neatly by his stack of books.
Harry sighed.
You should know that I am devastatingly attractive, charmingly witty, and unabashedly male.
The thing was, it didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out who was sending him gifts.
He’d had classes with him most of his life. He’d seen notes passed with invisible ink, he’d seen POTTER STINKS, he’d seen essays written on lengths and lengths of parchment, and recently, he’d seen the same handwriting scratched over large boards as he and Hermione worked out Advanced Arithmancy problems, needing a large space for the complicated runes.
Harry swallowed, hard.
Draco Malfoy had beautifully elegant handwriting.
Harry paused at the door end of the corridor, attempting to get his heart rate under some sort of control. His hand was slightly sweaty on his wand, but its weight felt comforting. It was already five minutes past the time they were supposed to meet.
He’d spent the hours from his shower until midnight going back and forth over his options. He’d skipped dinner, and Hermione hadn’t fussed at him too much, giving him the space that he asked for.
The biggest problem- and there were problems stacked on problems here- was that Harry wasn’t entirely sure if this was legitimate or some elaborate prank. They’d gone from hating each other throughout their first six years at Hogwarts to Malfoy willingly bringing him tea when he looked a bit parched. Somewhere in the middle, there was Malfoy crying and bleeding on the floor, Malfoy lying to his batshit crazy family members, and terrifying moments in the Room of Requirement.
Harry still dreamed about that fire.
He’d gone from not trusting Malfoy, to begrudgingly realizing that yes, of course, he was a complete arse, but he was a complete arse who’d been used by his father and his father’s rather insane group of friends. He’d made bad choice after bad choice, and had suffered for it.
After Harry had killed Voldemort, Malfoy had changed. He wasn’t kind , but he wasn’t evil either. The fact that Hermione had pointed out that Draco hadn’t ever been evil was beside the point. Harry had thought of him as a certain way for years and suddenly. . .. Malfoy wasn’t that way anymore.
It had taken Harry awhile to really notice. Of course, by the time he noticed, he also noticed that his ‘little obsession’ had turned into something quite a bit different. He noticed that a lot of what had made Malfoy so . . . awful. . . was no longer there. Malfoy had done his best to help with the rebuild, despite the hundreds of owls sent protesting his involvement. Malfoy had quietly continued his studies when McGonagall had flatly refused to deny him his education, and his marks often rivalled Hermione's. While Harry had just plodded along, avoiding the worst of the stares and whispers whenever he entered a room with Hermione and Ron’s fierce glares causing the worst of them to suddenly find something else more pressing to do, Malfoy had refused to give them any ground, never reacting to the glares, or Howlers, or the fact that he was the only Slytherin from their year group that had been invited to come back to Hogwarts.
What if Harry was completely wrong and this was just an elaborate prank?
What if it wasn’t ?
“Fuck.”
Harry was stalling. Once he took the first step, the next was easier. He made his way down the deserted hallway. It was a bit weird- it had only recently been rebuilt, and none of the pictures or suits of armour that had become as familiar to Harry as the rest of the castle had been placed here yet. There wasn’t even a rug to soften his footsteps. His father’s cloak was a comforting, familiar weight around his shoulders, ensuring no one would see him.
The furthest classroom had the tiniest bit of light shining through where the door had not latched properly. His heart pounding, his knuckles tight on the wand in his hand, Harry peeked through the opening.
Malfoy leaned against the teacher desk, both hands against the stained wood of the desk’s surface. He was dressed in simple grey trousers, with a white dress shirt. His tie was loose, and the collar of the shirt had been opened, as though its wearer was nervous and needing to breathe. He was staring at the floor as though it held all the answers in the universe, lips twisted in a frown.
Harry pushed open the door. The creak of the door’s hinges caused Malfoy to jerk in place, straightening up and jerking his wand into a defensive mode.
Harry, trying to remember that there was something or the other about Gryphindors and courage, slipped the cloak off, and tossed it onto one of the desks near the door.
They stood there a moment, staring at each other. Harry took a step forward, his gaze flicking down to Malfoy’s wand.
Malfoy followed his gaze, then winced, quickly setting the wand on the desk next to him, ensuring that Harry knew he wasn’t here to fight. It fell to the wood with a clatter and rolled off the other side, thunking against the stone of the floor. Two flags of bright red-stained Malfoy’s usually pale cheeks. He swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gripped the edge of the desk.
“You came.” His normally deep, cultured voice wobbled a little.
Harry nodded and took a step forward. The obvious signs of nervousness helped quell his own as though a switch had been flipped. Against all possibility- this was obviously not a prank. He watched as Malfoy stared at him with wide eyes.
“You. . . guessed it was me.”
Harry nodded again, and walked a few more steps, stopping when he was roughly an arm’s length away. He felt his heart had to be visible in his chest with how hard it pounded. Malfoy hung onto his casual pose with teeth and toenails; his hands still gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that the fingers looked bloodless, legs crossed, head tilted as he watched Harry walk towards him.
Harry nodded one more time and stepped close enough that he could feel the heat from Malfoy’s body. He tilted his head back to meet the taller boy’s gaze. He waited, drawing out the moment before he took a slow, deep breath.
“Thank you for putting yourself on the naughty list for me.” He leaned forward slightly. “I'm not sure if I'm quite ready to see your 'stocking', well-hung or otherwise. This is. . . kind of new to me.” Malfoy snorted a laugh and reached out with his left hand, fingers shaking as he stroked the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. “Er. I'm not entirely sure what putting a little egg in my nog means, but I'll try anything once.” Malfoy’s fingers trembled as he cupped Harry’s cheek, tilting his head back just the slightest bit. Harry’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I will sit on your lap whenever you want, but I suspect if I do we'll be a bit too busy to talk.” He reached out to brush his own hand over Malfoy’s chest and relaxed slightly when he felt the other boy’s heart pounding under his fingers. “I am all for a not-so-silent night, Malfoy. I've wanted to hear the sounds you make when I kiss you for some time now.” Harry leaned forward the last bit so that when he spoke, their lips brushed together with the merest whisper. “And Santa might not be the only one coming tonight, but--”
Malfoy kissed him.
Harry heard himself make a low, surprised sound as Malfoy’s lips brushed softly against his. He didn’t have time to worry about his first kiss with a bloke, or if his lips were too wet, or if he was a rubbish kisser or not. Every swoopy, giddy, nervous feeling in his stomach seemed to just.. stop. Harry went up on his tiptoes so that Malfoy didn’t have to slouch quite so badly and kissed him back. Malfoy’s fingers squeezed once on his cheek before he brought his other hand up to cup both of Harry's cheeks, before sliding his fingers in the mess of his hair and kissing him as though he was afraid Harry would change his mind at any minute.
Harry forgot what minutes were.
When they stopped to breathe, Harry was just as shocked when Malfoy rested his forehead against Harry’s. That seemed almost as intimate as the kisses had been, and Harry fought a goofy smile at the realization that Malfoy was just as shaken by this as he was.
“Hey, Draco?” Harry’s whisper seemed loud in the quiet room.
Malfoy-- well, no. He’d just had his tongue in his mouth. Harry figured he could bloody well call him Draco. Draco drew away, blinking as though waking up from a really good dream.
“Hm?”
Harry bit his lip, a little nervous. In his bedroom, this had seemed like a great idea, but now. . . he wasn’t sure if it would ruin their moment or not. “Are you a tree topper? Because I’ve been told I’m a star on top.”
Harry managed to keep a straight face as he buffed his knuckles on his chest, raising his eyebrows in question as though waiting for Draco’s answer as they both cracked up. Harry had never laughed with Draco before. It was something he thought he could get used to very quickly. Harry kissed Draco’s laughing mouth, stepping close enough that he erased the space between them.
Draco pulled away, smirking down at him. He licked his lips as though he could still taste Harry on them (a thought that Harry felt he needed to explore in great detail later). Slowly, his lips stretched into a delighted grin. “Nice one.” He started to laugh again, shaking his head. “But we both know that I’m the star in that situation.”
THE END!