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1.
This was not the kind of Thing that Harry often enjoyed, or the kind of Thing that he participated in at all, really. A ministry atrium teeming with tipsy onlookers would generally send him running precisely in the opposite direction, and usually he could find a way out of it. Usually , he’d dust off his decade-old “savior of the world” clout, offer vague regrets of how busy he is this time of year, let whoever invited him take it at face value, and they would leave him be.
But when the “whoever” was Hermione Granger, his luck ran out. Unfortunately, she had been able to see right through him since they were eleven years old, and after nearly 20 years of friendship, she was an expert at dismantling his every excuse. For an event like tonight’s, she’d gone so far as to arrange for Molly to watch Teddy, clear the rest of his schedule, and have fresh dress robes delivered to his house - all before she’d even asked him to come.
Of course, he wouldn’t have said no to Hermione of all people, (or so he told himself once he was already dressed and a glass of goblin wine into the evening). She saved his arse on a regular basis even now, and this was important to her. Granted, a lot of things were important to Hermione. She’d spent her days since Hogwarts lobbying for the rights of the overlooked in the wizarding world. Fair treatment for house elves (an ongoing battle, but progress had been made), land ownership for centaurs, and tonight, werewolf registration reform.
It was a battle she’d been fighting for years, since representatives of the ministry had come for Teddy at 5 years old, insisting that he be tested for any inheritance of his father’s condition, whether he’d change when he reached puberty, whether he’d retain his human form but carry the genes to future generations. Harry put his foot down against the tests at the time, and in the following days, Hermione had uncovered a relentless protocol for rooting out potential werewolves in wizarding society, and a barrage of painful and frankly unnecessary tests that were run with the very slightest of cause. Those discoveries had led to her digging into the registration and monitoring of werewolves in general, and the subsequent years had been filled with meetings and research, and drafting of horribly dull but much needed legislation to regulate the process and protect the weres and their families.
Naturally, the new process was all very expensive, hence the opulent and strategically timed fundraising gala, just at the beginning of the holiday season, close enough to Christmas and Yule that patrons would be in the giving spirit, but early enough that their vaults had yet to be emptied on other causes. Harry had dropped his own Gringotts promissory note in the collection bin at the start of the evening, and was now biding his time, wondering just how long he’d need to mingle to help Hermione gain the traction that she needed this evening.
Thankfully, he had a few friends around to help him pass the time, though as he scanned the crowd, they were largely otherwise occupied. Ron was here, of course, not only as Hermione’s supportive husband, but the new head of the Aurors, which kept him terribly busy tonight with all of the congratulations to collect. Ginny was here as well, with a host of her fellow A-list quidditch mates and Oliver Wood, her fiance of a year on her arm, each graciously signing autographs and smiling for camera flashes. George chatted in a corner with a handful of business associates, some Harry knew and others he didn’t.
Even Luna floated around the room, looking every bit the socialite in dress robes of pure white, with a hem of falling snow, leaving behind a trail of wintery glitter on the stone of the atrium floor. She worked as a counselor in the Janus Thickey ward these days, but if the rumors were true (which he knew them to be), by night she was Pansy Parkinson’s muse, and perhaps the secret behind the wild success of her magic couture clothing line.
The room was filled with money and prestige, a Witch Weekly reporter’s wet dream, and while Harry couldn’t deny the prominence of his friends in society, and was happy for each and every one of them, he never could relax into it the way they could. The admiring eyes on him still sent his skin itching, and his mind to the thought of flight. As if to echo that thought, a camera flashed off to his side, a gangly looking witch had snapped his photo as he surveyed the crowd, and as he turned her way she started picking through the crowd as though to speak with him.
Not wanting to give an interview this evening, he set his empty wine glass on a tray as it floated by, and turned to seek an escape into the crowd, or even back into the bowels of the ministry if necessary. Of course, his haste sent him careening directly into the wizard that had been passing behind him, and were it not for the unspillable glasses Hermione had selected for the event, he’d have sent a wash of dark red wine over the delicate features of one Draco Malfoy.
“Steady there, Potter,” his victim remarked cooly, looking unimpressed in that way that was practically his signature expression. Harry couldn’t find a response, for it seemed that his mouth had gone dry. Malfoy’s broad frame was adorned in what was certainly another of Pansy’s creations, immaculately tailored robes in a material that seemed to be made of unfathomably tiny scales, scales that shimmered the slightest bit in the light, and shifted subtly from a deep mauve to wine, to nearly black, then back again.
His platinum hair was pulled back from his face in small intricate braids on one side, and fell pin straight around his shoulder on the other, and it was just as Harry began to wonder if the little gunmetal stud in Malfoy’s ear was part of a set that the man spoke again.
“Perhaps not quite that steady.” The smirk came through in his voice as Malfoy called Harry out on his silence, and his staring.
“I uh, you alright, then?” He asked stupidly, hoping it was just the wine going to his head and that his cheeks weren’t flushed from his embarrassment. Perhaps he could pass off his little lull as an inspection of Malfoy’s wellbeing.
Mirth still colored his tone as Malfoy turned away, calling “I’m a fair bit more than alright, Potter,” over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Harry only tore his eyes away from Malfoy’s backside to glance around and ensure that no one else had witnessed the strange encounter. He decided that maybe it was time that he quit while he was ahead. He’d shown his face long enough for the evening. He’d take his leave and try to stop thinking about the swooping feeling in his belly.
*****
2.
“I’ve told you a million times, Ted, he’s not a toy!” Harry huffed, immediately regretting the outburst as tears welled up in the corner of his godson’s eyes.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to s-scare him.” Teddy’s voice wobbled even as he held his arm out for Harry to inspect. The burn was bad, and not helped any by the long bloody gash that accompanied it. The 10 year old boy had a fascination with Harry’s miniature Hungarian Horntail - the one he’d pulled from a silken bag so many years ago on the morning of his first task of the Triwizard Tournament.
It was just a little bit of complex imitation magic, but the Horntail from which it was created was still kicking, back in its home in Romania, and so the miniature survived. An inadvisable pet of sorts in the odd little home that Teddy found himself growing up in.
Andromeda had done the heavy lifting when he was a babe, changed diapers and gave baths and ensured he ate plenty of healthy meals. Harry had done what he could as his godfather but still a teenager himself. He’d spent as much free time as he had with the boy between the trials that drug on after the war, auror training, and his first few years out in the field. Back then it was all surprise gifts and babbity rabbity at bedtime.
And then they’d lost Andromeda, when Teddy was only seven.
Since then Harry had taken on full guardianship, and at only twenty-four he’d been out of his depth, but the Weasleys were there to help, Ron and Hermione when they had the time between looking after their own, and Molly and Arthur more often than Harry felt like he deserved. Such was life with his surrogate parents.
They’d settled into a rhythm now, Harry and Teddy, in their little flat outside London. On weekdays Harry would leave for work and Teddy would stay home in the capable hands of Sarabeth, the tutor that Andromeda had hired years ago. Her job was partially to be a nanny, and partially to teach Teddy everything a young wizard needed to know prior to Hogwarts. On the weekends Harry and Ted would visit family, or go to the park, or stay in and play exploding snap. It was a childhood that Harry liked to think he would have enjoyed. He was doing the best that he could, and Teddy seemed happy.
Of course there were moments like these that he felt as though he couldn’t do anything right. Perhaps he’d been mad in the first place to let a little dragon live in the same home as a young boy, even in a cage most of the time, and even when Teddy knew not to play with him.
Either way, now the damage was done.
“I know you didn’t mean to Ted, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he sighed, “Come here.” Harry rifled through the potions cabinet off the kitchen and found a dropper bottle of dittany, casting a quick numbing spell at Teddy’s arm to save him the sting of the cut stitching itself back together. “I’m afraid the burn is too much for me to handle with a few first aid potions, we’ll have to get you to Mungo’s. Go get your shoes and be careful with that arm!” The last part was called after Teddy as he scampered down the hall to his room.
By the time he returned, his hair had brightened to electric blue from the dark navy it had been when Harry discovered him in the living room with the wounds on his arm and a trembling lip. He stepped into the fireplace and reached out for Teddy, draping an arm around his shoulders and dropping a handful of glistening green powder into the floo.
The lobby of St. Mungo’s was absolute chaos when they arrived, with witches and wizards of all ages and ailments spread around the waiting room, some wailing in pain, others yelling in anger, and at least one singing Christmas carols in the highest pitched voice Harry had ever heard.
Harry pulled Teddy in a little closer, careful not to touch his arm - even if the numbing charm still held - and walked them up to the counter, clearing his throat to get the attention of the wizard sitting there. “My godson needs treatment for a dragon fire burn,” he stated over the cacophony of the room. The wizard looked up and him and opened his mouth as though to respond then stopped short as he took Harry in, eyes flicking tellingly up to to the scar on his forehead, then back to his eyes.
“Mr. Potter! Of course, right away, let me show you to a room myself!” He said frantically, clutching a clipboard to his chest as he stood and rounded the desk, gesturing for Harry and Teddy to follow.
Harry hated having his face and his name garner special treatment when others were obviously overlooked because they weren’t well known. But then again, this was Teddy, and he could be in pain, so Harry let it slide for once.
They were escorted to a room with an open door, and the wizard from the front desk gestured them inside with a little bow that made Harry cringe the slightest bit. “If you would, just fill out this form, Mr. Potter, and a healer will be right with you.”
He handed Harry a clipboard with a parchment on it and then vanished, closing them in the room.
Teddy wandered around the private room, avoiding the examination table in the middle in favor of peering at a cabinet of potions in different colors and another of instruments of all manor, while Harry filled out the form.
“What’s the healer gonna do?” Teddy asked after a while, scuffing the toe of his trainer against the pristine white floor, he was biting his lip and his hair was darkening again, giving Harry the idea that the numbness might be wearing off.
He flicked his wand and saw Teddy visibly relax. “Probably just take a look at your arm and then cover it with a very, very smelly special salve to heal the burn.”
Teddy’s head tilted to one side, “How do you know it’s smelly?”
Harry couldn’t help the dark little chuckle, “remember the story about how I got little Hughie?” The dragon hadn’t had a name until Teddy came along and picked one out for him. “I got a few burns in my little quarrel with the full sized version, and that stuff smells awful.”
“The awfulest thing you’ve ever smelled?” Teddy asked challengingly, an eyebrow raised in a way that was far too grown up for him, as far as Harry was concerned.
“Hmmm, maybe not as awful as….Kreacher’s dirty smock,” Harry started, knowing where this was going.
“As awful as a centaur’s armpit?”
They proceeded to go back and forth naming the very smelliest things they could think of until they ran out, or at least until Harry refreshed his numbing charm for the 3rd time and looked up at the clock to see that they’d been waiting nearly an hour.
“I’m going to go check and see what the holdup is, Ted. Be right back.”
As he spoke he crossed the room to the door and pushed it open carelessly, flinching as the thud of something heavy coming into contact with the door echoed in the otherwise silent hallway.
“Sorry!” he cried, pulling the door back closed and then peeking carefully around it to see the unfortunate victim of his bumbling.
A scowling Draco Malfoy looked back at him and he flushed, remembering distinctly the awkwardness of their encounter from a few nights earlier. Malfoy was dressed down now, clad in muted green healer's robes, his hair gathered and tied at the nape of his neck and no earrings in sight (not that Harry was looking for them).
He still looked fucking fit.
Appalled at both his unfortunate luck, and that thought, he opened and closed his mouth a time or two, before apologizing again, “I’m sorry I didn’t...know anyone was out here.”
“Yes well, the door is quite solid, isn’t it?” Malfoy grimaced, rubbing at his shoulder, but his annoyance didn’t seem to be deep as he shook it off and peered into the room. “I don’t believe you’re my patient, Potter. Have you got an Edward in there?”
“Teddy,” came a small but defiant voice from behind Harry, and Ted’s little face popped out from around him, blue eyebrows furrowed in seriousness, “No one calls me Edward.”
“I see. My apologies, Teddy.” Malfoy responded curtly, stepping into the room and pushing his sleeves up as he took a look at the paperwork. “Tell me, young man, how it is that you’ve been burned by a dragon in the middle of London?”
Teddy flushed, his hair going a little purple in the process, which drew an amused look from Malfoy. To Harry’s immense horror, Teddy just pointed up at him, wide-eyed.
He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and over his face, before daring to meet Malfoy’s accusatory gaze. “I didn’t burn him!” he cried in exasperation, “I have a little Hungarian Horntail, you know, from school...the miniature of the dragon that I….and well, he got a little snippy with Ted.” This didn’t seem to win him any good will with Malfoy, but Teddy chimed in a moment later in defence of the dragon.
“It wasn’t Hughie’s fault! I um…” he scuffed his toe against the floor again, the color draining from his hair to leave a pale sky blue, “I let him out of his cage and tried to catch him by his tail. He was just scared.” Teddy looked bereft, and Harry’s heart broke a little, like it did for this kid every damn day.
“Hmm, self-defence, then.” Malfoy said matter of factly. “No matter, hop up on this table, and we’ll get you patched right up.” He strode to the cabinet that Teddy had peered into earlier and waved his wand to unlock it, pulling forth a pot of salve and reaching out for Teddy’s arm. “I have to warn you, it smells quite foul.”
“Fouler than a troll bogie?” Teddy asked, quite seriously.
Malfoy didn’t miss a beat, “Fouler than a hippogriff cake.”
*****
3.
One day, Harry would learn not to step foot in Diagon the week before the holidays. Of course, between work and Teddy, this was the first chance he’d had to do any kind of gift shopping and he was intent on getting it all finished today. He’d crossed each and every Weasley off his list (which was saying something) as well as Luna and Pansy, Neville and Blaise, and the bottle of Ogden’s he sent to Aberforth every year since the war.
He even just finished making arrangements for a whole bundle of things from Quality Quidditch Supplies to be delivered via owl post to the flat after Teddy had gone to bed that night, ensuring that no early peeking would be allowed.
It was Sarabeth left on his list, and he knew from an offhand comment the other day that she needed a new cloak, so he thought he’d find a shop attendant that could help him select something appropriate for the young witch that she might enjoy. He certainly owed her more than a cloak for all that she did for Harry and Ted.
He was halfway to Madam Malkin’s when a thought struck him - Pansy’s place was just on the other side of the alley. It would be a little fancier, but he could certainly find Sarabeth a fashionable cloak there. And the fashion aspect was absolutely the only reason he’d choose Pansy’s over Malkin’s.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Pansy and Malfoy remained close these days. Or that he’d read in the society pages of the Prophet that Malfoy spent a lot of time in Pansy’s shop, informal model for her clothing line and all.
Nope, it was the cloak that had him turning about face in the middle of the sidewalk and scurrying off in the other direction, thinking about the fact that Sarabeth wore a lot of rusty oranges and mustard-y yellows, and would that help someone pick her a cloak?
The importance of the cloak, however, went right out of his head as he saw a white blonde head of hair bobbing between people on the street, making its way out of the shop. He froze in place and pushed down an odd flare of panic.
Harry couldn’t really blame his actions on the cloak anymore when he side-stepped through a stone archway back into the alley between two shops, counted as five seconds passed by, and popped back into the crowd just in time to collide head on with Malfoy, for the third time in a fortnight.
“We’ve got to stop running into one another like this,” Draco deadpanned once he’d righted himself and realized that yet again it was Harry derailing his progress. “I’ll start to believe that the Nargles are really playing tricks on me.”
Harry couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him, “How do you know about Nargles?”
Draco grinned, “Oh, they’re everywhere, I’ve been told. Luna goes on and on this time of year, says they infest all the greenery. Funny little witch.”
The fondness in his words belied the care that he had clearly developed for Luna in the time since she’d been involved with his best friend, and Harry found himself wondering, not for the first time, how he and Draco didn’t cross paths more often, with the way so many of their friends had become intertwined the past decade. They ran in the same crowds these days, but perhaps not quite close enough to actually bump in to one another, at least not until now.
“And they’re schemers as well, so one must stay vigilant,” Harry snorted.
“Perhaps that means you’ll begin to watch where you’re going.” The statement was pointed but not unkind and Harry just shrugged.
“Are you leaving Pansy’s? He asked, gesturing at a suit bag draped over Draco’s arm, the logo of Pansy’s shop embroidered in it to answer the question for him, but Draco nodded anyway.
“My robes for Pans and Luna’s big Yule party. If I’m to be a face of her brand I can never be underdressed...or something like that.” He rolled his eyes, even though Harry knew by the way he wore Pansy’s fancy clothes that he loved them. “Are you headed there? For you?” Draco looked skeptical, and Harry would be offended if he didn’t have admittedly the least creative wardrobe on the planet.
“For Teddy’s tutor...I’m getting her a nice cloak.”
Draco hummed thoughtfully and then nodded, “Go in and ask Malina for help, she’ll be the witch in pink, tell her I sent you.”
Harry blinked and nodded, “Thanks.”
“See you around, Potter.” And with that Draco stepped by him, the skin of their hands brushing as he did, and Harry watched him go for a moment before heading into Pansy’s in search of the witch Malina.
Neither of them noticed the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the stone arch over the alleyway, full of nargles or not.
*****
4.
The Yule log was burning brightly when Harry’s invitation-turned-portkey dumped him in the middle of the field in…well, the middle of nowhere, for all appearances.That was the danger and the thrill of attending a party at a mystery location, only to be discovered by getting all dressed up and going along for the ride. Of course, it was Luna throwing this get-together, and even if it was with Pansy at her side, Harry had come to trust the both of them.
He’d been as surprised as everyone else when they first appeared in public as a couple, at the very first launch of Pansy’s clothing line, with Luna as the star of the show. Harry hadn’t been there, but he’d heard all about it. And he’d been invited to a very interesting tea shortly after, where Pansy had made a shockingly genuine apology for her behavior in their youth, and her part in the war. Harry had offered her a fresh start, citing that if Luna saw the good in her, that was enough for him.
They’d been friendly enough since then, even if Harry had to dodge comments about his wardrobe each and every time they spoke. He was sure this evening she’d have plenty of words to say about his outfit. A simple set of burgundy semi-casual robes, fitted at the chest and flared out around his waist, with a woolen black trouser and waistcoat underneath. For him, it was a big step up from his usual jeans and sweater. Fond as he was of muggle wear, it felt only right to wear robes to a Yule celebration, which was so inherently magical for the wizarding world.
He could feel it in the air around them, pulsing from the earth below, and leaping from the flames of the fire, lighting up the darkest night of the year. He gazed around the field and saw dozens of people milling about in the fire light, drinking, laughing, and dancing along with music that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.
Someone caught his arm and he found himself pulled into a quick hug by Luna, her blonde hair nearly glowing in the night, and her robes actually glowing - a deep purple gown under lace robes that seemed to be woven from constellations of stars twinkling as the fabric shifted. “Harry, I’m so glad you could make it,” she cooed into his ear, sounding as though perhaps she’d already had a bit to drink...or maybe that was just Luna.
“Happy Yuletide, Luna.” He responded, pulling back to smile at her. “This place looks amazing.”
“Doesn’t it though!?” A sharp voice called from behind him and he turned to see Pansy stalking towards them, a self-satisfied grin on her face. She was clad in what looked like a leather bodysuit, the highest heels Harry had ever seen, and an acid green cloak that floated around her like smoke. “Thank you for coming, Harry, darling. How is your precious little ward? I’m working on a children’s line, you know.”
Harry laughed and shook his head, “Teddy is fine, thanks, he’s with Molly and Arthur for the evening...and I don’t know that he has much need for formalwear.”
Pansy tsked at him but was still smiling and kissed him on the cheek, standing at least his height or taller in her heels. “One day you’ll learn, dear, that everyone needs formalwear.” She gave a pointed look down at his outfit and then sauntered off again calling “Happy Yuletide, enjoy!” over her shoulder as she went. Luna just looked after with a dreamy little smile before she focused back on Harry.
“Are Ron and Hermione going to make it?”
Harry shook his head, “No, Hugo has Dragon Pox so they couldn’t leave him with the rest of the children.”
His eyes strayed out over the crowd as Luna expressed what a shame it was for them to be stuck at home, and he’d caught sight of the figure he’d been unconsciously looking for by the time she started going on about how a Siberan Feltlap’s sting could actually cure Dragon Pox faster than the usual method, but the side effects weren’t very desirable.
“And I could tell you more about it, but it looks as though there’s someone else you’d very much prefer to be talking to.” She derailed her own monologue with a knowing tone and pinned Harry with a smile that both shamed and soothed him for getting distracted from her.
“I- I’m not sure what you mean, Luna.”
She snorted at him then, shaking her head, “Go talk to him. We’ve all spent enough of our time pining for the unexpected thing.”
Luna was gone before Harry could even consider her words, and the way she always seemed to know things about Harry before he knew them himself, and just how much Pansy’s directness had rubbed off on her.
Deciding that thinking too much about it was a bad idea, Harry grabbed a couple of drinks from a floating tray and headed in the direction from which he’d caught sight of platinum hair moments before.
When he reached Draco he found him just parting from a conversation with a few witches...Harry vaguely recognized them from school, though he wasn’t certain he could even put a house with their faces.
Rather than run into him this time, Harry approached Draco carefully, to keep from spilling the drinks he insisted to himself, though maybe it was just to take in the figure that he cut in the darkness, clad in a silvery muggle-style suit, though it was clearly no muggle fabric, the silver reflected the flickering of the Yule log and the colorful flames that floated above them in the sky, but..softly, as though in slow motion. It all made him look more ethereal than usual, with his platinum hair hanging in waves around his shoulders.
Harry became painfully aware after a moment that he was mimicking his own graceless behavior at Hermione’s gala when Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and glanced down at the two cups in his hands.
“I uh, thought maybe you’d like a drink,” he stammered stupidly, holding one of them out to Draco.
To his immense relief, Draco took the cup and sipped it, though his eyes never left Harry, the grey of them flickering with light as much as his suit.
“I think I’ve seen you more this holiday season than in the past three years combined,” he pointed out knowingly as he began to wander towards the perimeter of the field, clearly expecting Harry to follow.
Harry did, feeling more and more comfortable as they strayed from the noise and ever-watching eyes of the crowd. “I’ve been out and about more than usual, I suppose.”
Draco hummed thoughtfully, “Finally stopped hiding from your adoring fans?”
That kind of remark would usually set Harry on edge, but there was a levity behind it that he wasn’t used to from Malfoy. “Finally got over the separation anxiety with my godson,” he chuckled, maybe far too honestly.
His companion stopped in his tracks and stared for a moment, and Harry followed suit. In the stillness he could feel the heat radiating from the wards surrounding the party, powerful magic to keep the warm and joyous atmosphere in and any uninvited guests out.
After a long moment, Draco nodded, walking again, “I’m sure that must have been hard. You’ll be old hat by the time you’ve got little Potters running around though.”
Harry gave a strangled laugh, “Not sure little Potters are in the cards for me.”
“You never know.”
He could only shrug at that. It was true enough, he guessed. “What about little Malfoys, then?”
A snort. “To my mother’s great displeasure I think I’ve got my hands full patching up little Lupins and Weasleys and so on.”
Harry grinned, “But you enjoy it, your work at Mungo’s?”
And so they carried on, chatting about this and that - the interesting places life had taken them since the war, what had become of their friends, from the inevitable power couple that Ron and Hermione had become to the absolutely out of left field Neville and Blaise Zabini.
Something unspoken between them agreed that the war itself, and everything that came before, was ancient history.
By the time the Yule log had burned down low, the music had slowed, and the party-goers dwindled, Harry found himself sat side by side with Draco, settled in the soft grass, fancy clothes be damned.
It was somewhere near the end of a story Draco was telling him about the field they were in (something about Merlin and a bunch of fairies in a lake) that Harry began to wonder how it would go over to kiss him, just there by the fire as the darkest night began to fade into light.
But even Harry Potter wasn’t Gryffindor enough for that.
*****
+1.
It was upon the end of a very lengthy battle that Harry collapsed onto the living room sofa, gazing up at the clock on the wall that would soon chime midnight on Christmas eve. It had been a gift, the clock, from Molly and Arthur, and like the one in their home, it had a hand for Harry and another for Ted. Teddy’s hand had only just shifted from “Making Mischief” back to “Home.”
Ten years old and he was still incorrigible on Christmas Eve. With a day full of celebration and presents on the horizon, convincing that boy to go to bed was a herculean task, but Harry had managed not only to do it, but to do it while maintaining the secrecy of the gifts he had stashed in the broom closet, the ones that Teddy was poking around for before the clock had tipped Harry off.
Ever since he’d gotten it in his head that Harry was getting him a Firebolt Gold to take to school next year, it had been a nightmare to keep him away from any hiding spots. He wasn’t wrong, and the broom in question was carefully wrapped up in a very broom shaped package and tucked away, where Harry meant for it to stay until Christmas morning.
Harry sighed in exasperation at the thought and wondered, not for the first time that night, what he’d gotten himself into with that kid. That wonderful, mischievous little kid.
Hughie the miniature Hungarian Horntail was curled up on the hearth, keeping warm by the embers of a dying fire, and Harry was just planning to gather him up to place in his cozy cage for the night when a disturbance rippled through his wards.
It wasn’t uncommon. He lived on a muggle street, with his little place sandwiched into a row of others. Anytime someone walked down the street the wards would ripple, then go back to still.
So it was the continuing ripples in his wards that set him on edge, becoming more and more intense as someone approached, someone the flat didn’t recognize.
Unsure of who could possibly be coming up his walk at near midnight on Christmas Eve, Harry stepped lightly from the living room to the door, and wordlessly cast a one-way window charm on the door, so he could see what was happening outside.
His heart dropped to his stomach, and then fluttered there in the pit as he recognized platinum hair and broad shoulders, clad in just joggers and a soft looking shirt under his cloak, no fancy garb to be seen.
Draco reached the front door and appeared to debate with himself for a long few moments, and Harry just watched as he waffled back and forth on knocking until finally he visibly steeled himself and rapped his knuckles against the wood.
Harry waited a moment or two for appearances sake and opened the door, trying to appear curious, confused, surprised, as he saw Draco standing there.
“Dra-” Harry began, but was cut off.
“I thought it was my turn now.” Draco said quietly, almost overcome with nerves before he cleared his throat and spoke again, more clearly, “I thought it was my turn to just pop up unexpectedly, but I didn’t have a shopping trip or a party to mask my intentions.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, ignoring the heat on his cheeks at how transparent he’d been, but asked anyway, “What intentions?”
Draco just looked at him for a long moment, as though sizing him up, and he must have seen what he was looking for, because he stepped forward and slipped a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, cold fingers pulling him in for a warm press of lips.
After a moment of dizzying realization, Harry kissed him back, hands coming to clutch at the soft cloak around his shoulders.
For either a heartbeat or an eternity, the world narrowed to the two of them on Harry’s doorstep, and then it passed and Draco stepped away, looking equal parts satisfied and horrified.
“Happy Christmas, Harry.” He said as the clock on the wall finally struck midnight.
Harry laughed quietly and tugged Draco across the threshold to better wish him a Happy Christmas.