Chapter Text
Ginny was a good cook. That shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering her mum was Molly Weasley and her best friend was Draco, who’d turned out to be quite the consummate baker and food snob, in Harry’s opinion. She was mean with a knife if you were a vegetable—and sometimes if you weren’t. She was sharp and efficient, and she liked to experiment, and the experiments almost always turned out all right.
So, when Ginny took point on their Thanksgiving-that-wasn’t-Thanksgiving, Harry was relieved. At least, until he was roped into cooking with her. Then he missed Luna.
Ginny didn’t sing to her vegetables, nor give Harry a discourse on the myriad uses of almonds, nor smile kindly when he asked what a microplane was.
And she certainly didn’t say, I’m so glad you like them! when she turned and caught him stealing a sprout from the pan cooling on the counter.
Instead, she raised her whisk like a Beater’s bat and cried, “Out! Or I’ll make you into a bowl of those!”
Harry sucked the hot sprout into his mouth and immediately regretted it. “They’re cooling for a reason,” Draco would have said if he were there—in a condescending drawl, like he couldn’t care less if Harry’s tongue burned out of his head. Then he would have pointed his wand at Harry’s face and rattled off charms for cooling and healing. Because he still had to be a twat, even when he was being nice.
Ginny, on the other hand, looked like she was about to turn him into a cabbage. She’d got that from her mum, too: a murderous expression that struck fear into his heart. Harry clapped his hand to his mouth and clattered out through the kitchen’s swinging doors.
Luna was there, just on her way to the kitchen. Mistaking the reason for his hasty exit, she said, “Don’t worry, Harry. She rarely carries out threats like that.”
She looked pink-nosed and happy. She’d been outside most of the day, harvesting vegetables, preparing the dinner table, and engaging in some mysterious activities that may have involved a long ritual in the forest, or decorating the house, or both, probably.
“You’ve done a great job helping us,” she said. “Why don’t you take a break before you get Draco?”
“Do not let him forget the goods!” Ginny shouted.
Luna leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “She really likes his pumpkin bread.”
Harry might have had something to say about that, but his eyes were watering and he had a very hot sprout in his mouth.
He gave Luna the thumbs up.
“They go down better if you chew them first,” she told him earnestly, and disappeared into the kitchen.
He cast a Cooling Charm at his mouth. Then it did go down better. Merlin. He ran a hand over his sweaty face. Behind him, cupboards clattered, Luna said something in a low voice to Ginny, and Ginny laughed, but the sounds were muffled by the doors and didn’t disturb the sense of quiet in the living room. At its far end, the patio entrance stood open.
He stepped outside. A wave of smells came with him onto the patio: sage and rosemary and caramelized squash and roast tempeh.
From what he understood, the American non-magical holiday of Thanksgiving usually involved turkey, but this dinner had been Luna’s brainchild. She’d explained to Harry that Thanksgiving had its roots in the oppression of American Indigenous peoples. Because of this, she wasn’t keen on it, though she thought the idea of a holiday to give thanks and share food was nice. So she’d come up with the Harvest of Gratitude feast, and she, Ginny, and Draco had been celebrating it since they’d moved to Oregon. And now Harry was a part of the tradition.
“We’ll make a tempeh roast,” Luna had said, when first describing the feast to him. “And mashed turnips, roast sprouts, cashew gravy, riced cauliflower. Oh! And stuffed squash. Have you ever had stuffed squash?”
Harry had been relieved to hear that the squash was stuffed only with lentils, cornbread, and herbs. Per Draco, Luna’s original plan had been to bury small objects in the food to represent things they were grateful for. He and Ginny had talked her out of this, and instead they’d come up with a ritual that involved stringing the patio with lengths of ribbon. Luna had promised Harry their “purpose would become clear” after dinner. Harry was curious but wary, although he figured that as long as the ritual didn’t involve ingesting them, he should be fine.
Beyond the patio’s bubble of warmth, the afternoon was cool. The sun shone in a mostly clear blue sky. Draco had warned him this weather wasn’t typical for autumn in Western Oregon. Rather, rain and cold were the norm—“So don’t get used to it.”
That was something about having moved to Oregon: Harry didn’t have a handle on what was normal and what wasn’t. It was all still new to him.
Harry walked through the garden. For late November, it was filled with a lot of green herbs and yellow dandelion flowers. At the crest of a hill, he looked down towards the forest. Only a few browning leaves still clung to the branches of the deciduous trees, but the firs and cedars remained as full and green as ever, so even at the cusp of winter, he couldn’t see the creek that wound through them.
Although he’d been in Oregon for three months, he still gathered up all of these quiet moments and tucked them behind his heart, like maybe they’d disappear at any moment, or he would. He did the same with Draco: hanging about and taking in every possible minute of dramatic gestures, mockery, and rare, unexpected gentleness. Clearly, this annoyed Draco, but he tolerated Harry, so Harry didn’t stop; he stuck close to Draco and stored him away in pieces of conversation and emotion and sense-memory.
It reminded Harry of his first year at Hogwarts. He’d gathered up every experience—the castle, his friends, the food—and stuffed them inside of himself as if any morning he might wake under the Dursley’s stairs, never to see the world of magic again.
The sense that he’d need to return to England in a month or two still loomed over Harry. It probably didn’t help that, although he spent most nights with Draco in Portland, he was still technically staying with Luna and Ginny. It was just easier to see more of Draco around Draco’s hellaciously early schedule if Harry was there with him.
“Long time, no see,” Ginny would say with a smirk when Harry Apparated to the farm to help with dinner or the goats.
“Wish it’d been longer,” Harry would reply.
“Me, too.”
It gave Harry a sense of being between—of drifting, not quite anchored. It wasn’t a bad feeling, per se. It was just—
His wand buzzed in his pocket, marking the hour. Draco would be waiting. He Apparated into the city.
***
Harry crossed the road to Knead. Draco would have given him shit for not using the zebra crossing if he’d caught him, but Draco wasn’t in the window right now, and anyway, the road was empty. Most of the shops and restaurants in this part of the city were closed for the holiday. Harry could have stood in the middle of the street if he’d wanted (which he didn’t).
Someone had replaced Knead’s door chime with a bunch of jingle bells—probably not Draco, who’d made his disapproval of pre-December Christmas decorations very clear. Harry suspected Heather, who currently stood behind the service counter, looking vaguely smug. He waved to her as the door swung shut with a cheerful jangle. She waved back, and then—when Harry lifted his eyebrows in inquiry (How is he doing?)—she responded with a wry expression (He is in a hell of a state today). Harry rolled his eyes and couldn’t help but smile.
The shop was empty, but so was much of the glass pastry display, so they must have had customers earlier. Harry rarely saw it so quiet. Even the large threshold at the back of the shop showed a dim, sleepy kitchen. Harry knew that was a lie. He steeled himself for chaos before stepping through.
Though he expected it, the sounds hit him like a physical force. Clattering, metallic bangs, the loud, rhythmic whir of machines. Smells rushed over him: peppermint, spices, liquor. Harry had got so used to them over the past month, he could hardly imagine what it’d smelled like before. Since Halloween, Draco had been in full holiday mode. It had started with pumpkin products—pie, coffee, muffins, soup. Then, as the month of November progressed, the kitchen had been overtaken by citrus, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, and even—bewilderingly—some pine.
In the last few days, Draco’s frantic experimentation had reached a peak. He’d filled long tables with petit fours and mince pies, peppermint coffee and caramel hot chocolate, eggnog and spiced cider and sweet holiday breads. He would leave for the bakery long before dawn and would return home well after nightfall. Harry didn’t mind too much since he got to taste-test all of the things. His feedback garnered frowns from Draco as often as smiles because Harry liked everything Draco made, even the things Draco didn’t. Harry wasn’t sure what elusive quality Draco looked for in his products, but he hadn’t made an item yet that Harry didn’t like.
Draco was no less frenzied today. The oven doors gaped open, trays of baked goods flying out. A bowl of icing stirred itself at Draco’s elbow. Draco had to be in a hell of a state, indeed, if he was using magic during business hours.
Harry knew better than to interrupt Draco when he was like this, and they still had a little time, so he checked that the Muggle-Repelling Charms were secure around the kitchen threshold (they were) before ducking under the soaring trays. He settled his hip against the far end of the big table and crossed his arms. The smile he’d had since he’d entered the shop grew. It was the kind of smile that drove Draco batty, but Draco wasn’t looking at him, so he could smile all he wanted.
The last trays flew from the ovens and lined themselves up on the table. Smells of hot sugar and candied fruit and rum thickened the air. Draco ran his wand over each of the brown loaves, perhaps preserving them. He didn’t glance at Harry. He never did when Harry stared this hard at him.
“Must you?” Draco finally snapped.
“Must I what? Stand here quietly?”
“Yes.”
“I can sing instead,” Harry said, and leapt into Jingle Bells, which was Draco’s least favorite Christmas song, topped only by Jingle Bell Rock.
“No! God. Your voice is the only thing worse than your hair.”
Harry laughed, which only irritated Draco further. Draco muttered and pressed Harry into service, but even scrubbing out the humongous mixing bowls could not shake Harry’s good cheer. It was a holiday, and Draco was pink-necked and worked up, and food and friends waited for them.
“What are you working on, anyway? Smells like a liquor cabinet. I.E.: almost worth risking Ginny’s wrath for.”
Draco snorted. “Ginny’s wrath. Considering I made this recipe at her request, she’d better keep it in check. I’m trying to finish this so we can test it at dinner. That will give me some time before Christmas to tweak it if needed.” He cast another spell over the loaves, then added, “Molly Weasley terrifies me.”
“Molly!” Harry grinned. “What has she got to do with your...” he wrinkled his brow “...drunken fruit cake? Is this a Christmas gift?”
“It will be a gift—to me—if I can get it right. Or a Christmas miracle. Molly Weasley may appear to be a gentle matriarch, but I know what she’s capable of, and I also know what destruction she can wreak in my kitchen if she senses weakness.”
Harry’s smile dropped. He turned to Draco. “What are you on about?”
“Molly. Molly Weasley. And this fruitcake. Which for some reason Ginny wants me to make for Christmas dinner, knowing full well I’m terrified of her mother.” He tsked and quickly corrected himself: “Her mother’s opinion. Though maybe that’s the intent? Would she be so cruel? Yes, she would.”
Harry stared, though in a different way, now.
Draco frowned at him and narrowed his eyes. “You do know that the Weasleys are coming to visit for Christmas.”
“What? No.”
Draco’s expression turned blank in that way it did when he was processing—or hiding—an emotion. Harry had come to recognize it. Then Draco’s mouth pursed and he said, “Well, they are. And Ginny wants fruitcake. So Ginny will get fruitcake.”
Harry still wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait. Molly and Arthur are coming here?”
“Yes. Hermione and Ron, too. Thank Merlin I think that’s all. Four Weasleys and a Weasley-by-marriage are enough.”
“Oh,” Harry said. He felt a bit of anger—they were his friends, they were his family, so why hadn’t they told him? But it dissipated the next moment. He’d hardly talked to them since moving, which was on him, he knew. He didn’t like talking on the phone—the sound was muffled and the whole experience made him feel oddly claustrophobic—and he hadn’t felt like fussing with the laptop to video-call them. Ginny made fun of him for not knowing how to navigate non-magical technology and didn’t waste an opportunity to tease him when he inevitably came up against some computer error or indecipherable popup.
Draco’s expression softened a fraction before he snapped back into movement, sliding the loaves into plastic bags. “Ginny only spoke with them yesterday morning. I was under the assumption she’d already told you.”
“Yeah. No. She didn’t.”
Draco snorted. “And that is Ginny Weasley for you.”
Harry felt another flicker of anger. An automatic defense came to his tongue. This was Malfoy talking about Ginny, who was his friend, his ex-girlfriend. But once more, the anger snuffed itself out. For years, she and Draco had practically been family.
He watched Draco cinch the bread bags shut with metal twist ties and a few quick sweeps of the hawthorn wand. He glanced up at the clock. Said, “I’ll help Heather close up.”
Draco might have responded, but Harry didn’t wait to hear. He left the clamor of the kitchen for the quiet dining area, where Heather accepted his offer of assistance.
After three months of helping at the coffee shop, Harry had the routine down. He stacked the chairs on the tables and moved food from the cases into the back, where he could place a Stasis Charm on them. (Knead always had the freshest baked goods in the mostly non-magical neighborhood.)
Heather worked around him, and they fell into easy rhythm. One thing Harry missed from the Aurors—and had thought he would never experience again—was that sense of clicking with someone else. Communicating silently, anticipating moves and needs. So, when Harry had found that sense of connection here, working alongside Draco, Heather, and the other baristas, he’d been surprised and pleased.
They worked quietly for a few minutes, until Harry realized he hadn’t said a word and was currently scowling at a tray of scones, trying to imagine Molly in Draco’s kitchen. He reached into his little bag of mindless small talk and said, “How was business?”
Heather was cleaning out the bank of coffee machines, and didn’t seem bothered by his protracted silence nor his abrupt attempt at conversation. “Actually pretty good this morning. We sold all of our pies and rolls before noon.”
“Wow. That’s nice,” Harry said. He turned off the Open sign. What did Hermione and Ron think of the shop, with its modern electric appliances and its little magical touches?
If they were coming, did that mean the kids were, too?
“It is,” Heather said. “I told Draco it’d be a good idea to open today, even if just for a few hours. There’s always a need for a last-minute pie.”
“Yeah.” He caught himself just before he cast a cleaning charm at a puddle of...something, maybe milk...next to the little table with creamers and sweeteners. He went for a rag instead.
“It had nothing to do with holiday pay,” Heather added.
“Right.” He sprayed cleaner onto the floor. He hadn’t told Molly or Arthur that he was seeing Draco. Both of them had visited Draco in the past, so that meant they were okay with him now, right? They accepted him?
Draco himself breezed out of the kitchen on a wave of sugar and rum scents. He carried a large cardboard box.
“This is for you,” he said briskly to Heather and dropped it onto the counter. “Harry, would you grab the other out of the kitchen?” Then he went to the till, which he did at the end of every day, to pull out the cash. Heather, looking into the box, said, “Fruitcake!”
The kitchen had been returned to a sparkling, untouched state. Only the smells of caramelized sugar, spices, and liquor attested to the chaos it’d been in.
Several boxes sat on the big center table. One bore the words “THIS ONE,” which Harry took as his cue. Inside, Draco had packed a small stack of pies, two of the experimental fruitcakes, numerous loaves of pumpkin bread, a bag of rolls, and some sort of scones. Harry guessed Draco had filled the other boxes with leftover baked goods to be brought to the food bank the next day. Harry would be helping with that delivery. He always looked forward to those visits, and not just because he got to sit in the car with Draco and watch the city pass by. He just...liked it.
Casting a discreet lightening charm on the box, Harry hoisted it into his arms. Back out in the front of the coffee shop, Draco was engaged in a friendly argument with Heather. She snorted, rolled her eyes, and folded Draco into a hug. Draco’s eyes went round, his body rigid.
Harry smirked. He suspected Draco liked shows of affection, despite how he struggled. Harry still had memories of Draco draped across Pansy’s lap on the train.
“Okay. Enough. Really,” Draco said after several long seconds.
Heather laughed and let him go. She picked up her box. “Happy Thanksgiving, Harry! Thanks for the help.”
“No problem. Happy Thanksgiving.”
They exited together, and Harry waved to Heather before she disappeared around the side of the building. He waited, box in arms, as Draco locked up the shop.
Autumn sunlight poured over the street. The trees in front of the shop had lost most of their leaves. A cold wind swirled past, plucking a few more free and scraping them over the pavement. At the intersection, the traffic light changed, and a single car passed through.
“Harry.”
“Hm?”
Draco gave him an annoyed look. “Let’s go.”
They crossed the street, and Draco led them toward a large car park surrounded by buildings and a maze of alleyways, which created a perfect Apparition point.
Draco looped his scarf tighter around his neck and tucked his hands into his pockets. He must have cast a charm on his hair, because—although it blew in the wind—it blew attractively, only in one direction or the other. It never flew into his face or everywhere all at once, like Harry’s.
As they walked, Draco told Harry about the first time Molly Weasley came to visit and took over the kitchen with Ginny, and how terrifying the two were together. Draco’s voice—the now-familiar mix of posh and American—flowed over him like the crisp November wind.
Harry thought he was responding appropriately—until Draco came to an abrupt stop and said, “What is up with you? You weren’t this quiet twenty minutes ago.”
“Huh? I’ve been talking to you.”
“No. You’re grunting.”
“I’m making...noises of acknowledgement. Besides, I hardly said anything earlier. I was watching you work. I’m talking way more now.”
“You were watching me with a big shit-eating grin on your face. I could hear the smug thoughts emanating from your brain.”
Harry scowled. “They weren’t smug thoughts.”
“Yes? Then what were they?”
“They were nothing.”
Draco snorted. “Of course.” He turned onto a narrow alley, made a show of glancing up and down the alley’s length, and—apparently concluding that the two of them were alone—faced Harry. He scrutinized Harry with faint amusement and something else. Perhaps...a knowing? But he didn’t say anything.
Harry tried not to squirm. Draco had a way of looking at him, like he was looking right into him. It wasn’t fair. Draco remained a closed book to Harry. Except for when they were in bed together and his defenses were down, the layers of shields and masks—the cool disdain and professional friendliness and droll, sharp humor—dismantled and peeled away. That was when expressions flashed across his face the way they had when he’d been a kid, obvious and uncomplicated: uncertainty, petulance, happiness. Affection.
“Shut up,” Harry muttered.
Draco smiled and murmured, “I didn’t say a thing.” His cool fingers closed around Harry’s wrist. His other hand came up to grip the edge of the box, and Harry felt some of the weight lift. A moment later, they appeared on the driveway outside Ginny and Luna’s farmhouse.
Someone had draped the house and surrounding trees with strings of colorful red, orange, and brown leaves, along with spiky seed balls. Looking closer, Harry recognized little bundles of twigs that had been fashioned to look like tiny brooms. They’d been charmed to float around the decorations. A few fairies from the garden had drifted over to inspect the trimmings, and occasionally, one would dip down to sit astride a tiny broom, ride it for a minute, and wander off again.
It had to be Luna’s handiwork. Each little broom trailed a length of ribbon—green and silver, red and gold. Harry smiled at the sight, and his heart constricted in a funny way.
Harry thought he might miss England when the holidays rolled around. This would be his first Christmas in recent memory that he didn’t spend at the Burrow. Not that it would have been difficult to take a Portkey to London, but—as the days grew cooler and Draco fell deeper and deeper into holiday preparations—Harry had sort of been looking forward to Christmas with Luna, Ginny, and Draco. Something quiet and intimate, a break from the festive mayhem of the Burrow.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling he’d had since Draco dropped the news about Molly, Arthur, Hermione, and Ron visiting. Which was terrible of Harry, really. He should have wanted to see his family. He should have been happy. He’d missed them—of course he had.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ginny said when they walked inside. She’d pulled her hair back into a fresh ponytail with a small plait at each of her temples. Brown and gold ribbons had been wound in with her hair.
“What?” Harry said, because she was looking straight at him.
“You look like someone spiked your eggnog with Jagermeister. Who spiked his eggnog?”
“No one,” Draco said, irritably.
Harry hoisted the box higher onto his arms. “I’m just going to put this in the kitchen.”
“What’s up with him?” he heard Ginny ask as he passed into the kitchen.
“When were you actually planning to tell him your family was coming to visit?” Draco said, and then the kitchen door swung shut behind him, and he stood in the fragrant warmth of the kitchen.
Luna looked up from shredding vegetables at the counter. “Hi, Harry.”
“Hi, Luna. We remembered the pumpkin bread.”
“Oh, good! Is it the kind with the chocolate chips?”
“I dunno.” He pulled one of the bags out of the box. “No? Wait. Yes. This one does,” he said, digging one of the loaves out.
“Oh, I love that one.”
“Wanna slice now?”
Luna answered him with a pleased, conspiratorial smile. He laughed and took a plate from the cupboard. Behind him, the kitchen door bumped open and he heard Ginny’s familiar footsteps, but he didn’t turn.
“Harry, I told you yesterday they were coming.”
Harry untwisted the little tie from the bag and slid the pumpkin loaf onto the plate. “I must not have been there for the conversation.”
“That’s nothing new for you. For your information, your body was present at the time. It was picking up eggs.”
Luna swept a mound of vegetable shavings into a bowl. “It’s all right, Harry. You might not have heard her. The hens were making a lot of noise.”
He turned to Ginny. “Wait. Is that what you shouted at me?”
Ginny crossed her arms at her chest. “You said ‘okay’ like you heard me.”
“I thought you said, ‘You’re visiting for Christmas.’”
“Of course you’re visiting for Christmas.”
“Of course. You see? I thought you were being bossy.”
Ginny scooped a wet towel from the counter and threw it at Harry’s face. He caught it with his free hand and grimaced. “Merlin, Ginny... Do you not know how to cast a drying charm?”
“I was keeping that one gross just for you.”
“Thanks,” he deadpanned.
“I’ll get it, Harry,” Luna said, and cast the drying charm on the towel.
“Thanks, Luna.” He draped it over his shoulder.
“So, yeah. Harry? Mum and Dad are coming to visit. Ron and Hermione, too, with the kids. They’ll be here on the 22nd, and they’ll stay till the fourth.”
“Okay,” he said, and slowly lifted the slice of pumpkin bread to his mouth. He took a bite, holding her gaze.
The edges of her eyes pinched. She reached out, tweaked off a corner of the slice, and stuffed it into her mouth, ignoring his muffled squawk.
“Here you go, Harry,” Luna said, as the doors flapped shut behind Ginny and they were once more alone in the kitchen. She held up a piece from her own slice of bread.
“It’s okay, Luna. You keep that.”
She smiled, took a bite, and closed her eyes. He had to agree. It was very good: moist and dense and soft like banana bread, with warm spices and the sweetness of pumpkin and creamy morsels of chocolate.
“Do you think Ginny will notice if this loaf is missing?”
Luna frowned in thought as she chewed. Then: “I think I wouldn’t take the chance.”
“Wise. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Luna.”
She placed a hand on his arm, eyes soft and earnest. “You would do just fine.”
The gesture and words caught him off-guard. She still had a way of surprising him with unexpected kindness.
Harry’s eyes warmed. He blinked them and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Thanks.”
***
Luna asked Harry to collect eggs, which gave him a few minutes to collect himself. When he returned with a full basket, they made apple crumble and custard. Soon, he slipped back into the rhythm he’d been in earlier, enjoying the easy camaraderie, the festive energy, and the severe looks from Ginny as he popped tiny balls of flour, butter, and sugar into his mouth. He spread the rest of the sugary dough over the pan of stewed apples.
With the crumble in the oven and the pot of custard sitting on the stove, still gently steaming, Harry wandered out of the kitchen. He found Draco sprawled on the sofa, watching an old black-and-white film.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Harry said. “Kicking back while the rest of us work our arses off.” He was teasing, of course. Draco had been working long hours—every day—for over a month. Meanwhile, Harry had spent only half the day in the kitchen with Luna and Ginny, and he was already worn out.
Draco gave him a smirk exactly like the ones from their school days—and nothing at all like them. There was a brightness to it, a fondness.
“Why should I?” he drawled. “When I have lesser beings to do the work for me. Besides, Ginny and Luna wouldn’t let me into their kitchen, anyway.”
“That’s right!” Ginny shouted from beyond the kitchen doors.
“You see?” Draco said, and turned his attention back to the TV screen.
Harry heaved a sigh. “And the table still needs to be set. I guess I’m going to have to do that myself?”
“Maybe Ginny or Luna could help.”
“Ginny and Luna are busy!” Ginny yelled.
Draco shrugged. “They’re busy.”
“Unbelievable,” Harry pronounced and spun on his heel before he could break into a smile and ruin the act.
“You’re a doll,” Draco said, voice trailing after Harry.
Harry stepped out onto the patio and surveyed the setup. Earlier, Luna had given him the whole run-through of their usual feast preparations. Although the twenty-minute monologue had been enhanced with plenty of expressive gesturing—and something that might have been interpretive dance?—Harry had struggled to keep up.
Anyway. He’d got the gist, enough to know that they were using a combination of shield and temperature charms to keep it as toasty as the house’s interior. Also, to know that Luna didn’t want to use an Extension Charm on the table and apparently had some other plan to fit the staggering amount of food onto its modest length. Harry wasn’t sure what this plan involved, and after staring at the table, he decided to set it as he always did at Weasley gatherings and hope for the best. After that, he strengthened the atmospheric charms and began to light the lamps.
Beyond the protection of the shield charms, a fog had risen. Shreds of mist wreathed the late-autumn garden. Inside the patio, the light was dim and ghostly.
Harry was just lighting the final lamp when Ginny arrived with several platters heaped with vegetables. She spread them out.
“These, too,” Luna said, right behind her with more.
“Ah. Wow. Those look great,” Harry said, staring at the table, which was suddenly (already) full.
“Don’t they? Wait until you see how the roast turned out.”
She and Ginny swept back inside, presumably for more food.
“The roast,” Harry echoed. Where would it even fit? Maybe if they each held their plate on their lap...?
“Need help?” Draco drawled a minute later, as Harry was rearranging the platters for the second time.
“Do I look like I need help?” Harry asked in an ominous tone. He would make this work. He would make this work.
“Yes, in fact,” Draco said, and glided up to the table. In moments, a number of the platters were floating in the air. Harry dodged the glazed carrots. Draco shot a barrage of extra spells at the hovering food—one to lengthen the effect of the Levitation Charm, another to keep the food warm, and a few more charms Harry didn’t recognize, though he guessed they were responsible for the way the platters rearranged themselves to accommodate more food when Ginny arrived with another flotilla of dishes. That done, Draco flicked his wand, and the lamps began to flicker as if lit by candles.
“Peacock,” Ginny said, releasing the sweet potato casserole over the table. To Harry, she added, “He’s doing it for you. It’s disgusting, really.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Luna said, as she placed the bread basket at the center of the table. “Harry likes Draco’s magic.” Seeing Harry’s expression, she added, “That’s what you told me.”
“Er.” Harry’s face heated. “I’ll grab what’s left from the kitchen.”
As he turned towards the door, he caught Ginny’s bright-eyed look of mischief, and he felt Draco’s gaze follow him till he was out of sight.
The pot of custard was the only thing left to fetch. Harry stood for a moment at the open window above the kitchen sink, cool air streaming over his face. Then he joined the others outside again. Fortunately, they seemed to have forgotten the previous line of conversation and were busy putting the final touches on the feast: Ginny pouring some kind of dark liquid into the jelly jars they used as drinking glasses, Luna casting unknown spells in the vague direction of the ceiling, Draco charming more lights around the patio—these ones small and glittering like fireflies. He looked over to see Harry watching him, and his face flickered in the glow of the lights. He tapped the pot in Harry’s hands, charming it to join the others above the table.
“That’s everything, then,” Luna said in satisfaction.
Harry regarded the (vertical) spread. “Wow.” He was used to large meals at the Weasleys’, but this rivaled even Molly’s most extravagant dinners.
Ginny wrapped an arm around Luna’s shoulders. “I’m sure I could whip at least one more thing up for you. What do you say?” She drew Luna in for a kiss.
It warmed Harry to see it, but also made him vaguely uncomfortable. He and Draco hadn’t reached that level of easy affection, and he didn’t know if they ever would. Maybe if Draco were not so removed; maybe if Harry himself weren’t so hopelessly lost when it came to physical intimacy.
“I say ‘let’s eat,’” Draco said, and pulled out a chair.
Harry took the one next to it. The smells of gravy and roasted squash and fresh bread enveloped him. Ginny sat down across from him. Beside her, Luna remained standing. She tapped her jelly jar with a knife as if it were a wine glass. It didn’t ring as impressively as crystal, but it did get their attention.
“It’s time to give thanks. We have so much to be grateful for this year. Most of all, we’re thankful that Harry could join us. We love you, Harry. It’s so nice you could be here with us for this Feast of Gratitude, and we appreciate your work helping us to prepare all of this wonderful food. We’re also thankful for our breaths and our magic and the flow of life force through the land that grew the vegetables we cooked as well as all of the plants that died many, many years ago to produce the petroleum that was used as fuel to bring us the tempeh made with soybeans we couldn’t grow ourselves.” She paused, smiled. Sat down.
Harry blinked, stunned and unsure what to say. Then Ginny smiled affectionately at Luna, and Draco intoned, “Thanks be,” which made Luna beam.
“All right!” Ginny said, breaking the quiet. “Cut it! Cut it!”
At that, Luna picked up a fork and knife and began to cut the vegan roast into thick slices. Harry accepted his slice from her with a smile and a “thank you,” and he even managed to make it sound genuine. (He hoped.) So far, he wasn’t the biggest fan of Luna’s vegan food, although he didn’t dislike it.
Draco, on the other hand, gave Luna a real, warm smile. He seemed to like Luna’s things, like barbecue tempeh and stuffed squash and cashew cream gravy and quinoa loaf, very much.
Ginny held a hand up, and the plate of sprouts came to her. She scooped some onto her plate, which Harry took to mean they were free to serve themselves, so he helped himself to a roll from the basket at the center of the table. He watched Ginny release the plate of sprouts and call over the glazed carrots.
Apparently, Draco had charmed the floating platters to come on request. Harry hadn’t noticed Ginny saying anything, so he assumed the charm worked by intent. He thought very hard at the bowl of mashed potatoes, and—to his delight—the bowl swooped toward him. But when he reached to take it, his hand closed on empty air. He blinked and tried again. The bowl once more jerked out of reach.
Nearby, Luna accepted the basket of rolls and the tureen of gravy, which both crowded towards her obediently, like small animals vying for her attention.
Frowning, thinking distinctly unthankful thoughts at the mashed potatoes, Harry tried with the green beans. They stayed just out of his reach. Meanwhile, Draco opened his hand, and the bowl of mashed potatoes drifted meekly into it.
Harry didn’t miss Draco’s little smirk. Across the table, Ginny grinned openly. Though her eyes were on the bowl of stuffing, Harry knew she was not smiling at mushed bread and herbs.
“Green beans, Harry?” Luna asked sweetly, drawing his attention away.
“Yeah. Sure,” he said, grumpily, but not too grumpily, because it was Luna. He held up his plate, and she dished some on. They glistened with olive oil.
“Mashed potatoes?” Ginny offered, just as sweetly.
“Sure...”
He held up his plate, eyes narrowed suspiciously while Ginny plopped a mound of potatoes onto it. She was still smiling.
“Is this orange zest in the carrots?” Draco asked Luna. “And fresh ginger?”
“Yes!”
“Amazing.”
Harry tried calling the basket of cornbread. This time, he cast a wandless, nonverbal Accio at it from under the table. The basket swooped towards him easily but quivered when he reached for it as it obviously attempted to dodge. Harry couldn’t help a little smirk of his own as his fingers closed around a warm square of bread.
A cool hand slid over his thigh, and Harry—startled—dropped the bread. The basket zoomed away.
“Oh, sorry,” Draco said, and squeezed Harry’s knee.
Harry scowled at Draco—at his profile bright and soft with amusement—and was annoyed but also turned on and inexplicably fond.
“Harry!” Ginny called. “Is this what you wanted?” Across the table, she held up a square of bread.
She lobbed it at him.
Harry tensed, expecting it to crash into porcelain and glass. Instead, the floating dishes bobbed out of the way. His hand shot up. He caught it.
“No, actually. I wanted the other,” he said, and hurled it back, aiming for her full plate.
She snatched the bread before it connected with her roast and gravy.
“Right. This one, then,” she said, and threw a different roll.
Harry caught it. But it was warm, which startled him, and he fumbled it.
“Some butter, too?” Ginny said, and a ball of butter flew through the air.
He caught that in his hand, too. It immediately began to melt. He grimaced. “Nice, Ginny.”
“Like this, Harry,” Draco said, and used a spoon to catapult a pat of butter at Ginny, who lifted two halves of a roll. She caught the butter on one half and sandwiched the other half on top of it.
Luna clapped her hands and kissed Ginny on the cheek while Ginny leaned into the kiss, grinning triumphantly.
“Right,” Harry said, wiping his hand clean. “The sprouts. Let’s have them.”
And soon, those were flying through the air—one by one. Harry caught most of them (one in his mouth, to his mixed triumph and chagrin) and Draco caught three that he missed. These were followed by servings of stuffing and cranberry salad, which Ginny spelled into spheres just for the occasion. One globe of mushroom gravy spun out of control and careened towards Draco, who lifted his wand from the table and calmly said, “Protego,” as if they did this every day.
The gravy splattered against the shield and went everywhere, including Harry’s glasses and into Ginny’s hair (which served her right).
Luna licked a dollop from her knuckle. “That was good.”
“Thank you,” Draco said.
Luna smiled. “I meant that the gravy turned out nicely. I think the addition of wine was a good idea. But your Shield Charm was also very good.”
They spelled the gravy from their hair and clothes, and Draco asked Luna about the type of wine she’d used in it, and they all returned to eating as if absolutely nothing had happened. The dishes and baskets came to Harry without a problem after that, although he and Ginny and Draco threw a few more things, and Luna awarded their aims and catches with numerical ratings.
None of them lobbed the pudding, though. He, Ginny, and Draco seemed to have tacitly agreed that it was too precious to mess with. And besides, they were all sluggish by the time they made it to the end of the meal, filled with good food and elderberry wine, which Ginny kept flowing into their jelly jars.
Harry didn’t think he could finish his bowl of crumble, but the apples were caramelized around the edges, and the sugary dough broke apart perfectly in his mouth, and the custard was creamy and good, even if it was made with goat milk.
When they were all done, and Ginny and Draco had conducted the food back into the kitchen, Luna stood.
“Draco, Ginny,” she said, looking at each of them. “You’ve both been through this ceremony, but Harry has not. So, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to explain it to him before we start.” Her tone was grave. Ginny and Draco both nodded, somberly.
“Thank you.” She turned to Harry. “Harry. Expressing gratitude is a very powerful healing practice. It’s deep magic, and it’s important for our psychosocial and emotional wellbeing to identify the things in our lives that improve our existence and to express our thanks for them. We should do this every day.”
Harry tried not to squirm under the intensity of Luna’s gaze. He did not say thanks for the things that improved his existence every day, even though he knew he had so much to be thankful for. He’d never thought to; no one had ever told him he should.
Luna continued: “But it’s difficult to identify all of the things to be grateful for because there are so many of them. So once a year—”
“In November,” Ginny said.
“In November,” Luna agreed. “We perform this ceremony to identify our deepest gratitudes.”
She paused. Harry felt like this was significant and that he should say something. But he wasn’t sure what, so he said, “All right.”
Luna beamed. “The spell works by reading what’s in your heart and conveying that to the gratitude ribbons.” She waved a hand towards the empty ribbons hanging around the patio. “Then we read them aloud!”
“She designed the spell herself,” Draco murmured, with a tone of honest admiration that made Harry’s heart twist in a pleasant way. He wished Draco would speak like that about him.
“Brilliant,” he said. Then: “Hang on, we read them aloud?”
Ginny’s eyes were smiling at him from across the table.
“Oh, yes,” Luna said. “It’s a very good bonding experience.”
Draco slid his hand over Harry’s on the table in mock sympathy. But even though Harry knew Draco was being a dick, he couldn’t help the way his stomach dipped, the warmth and pleasure the touch brought him.
“It is incredibly moving,” Draco said. “We’ll all be vulnerable together. You’ll love it.”
I don’t like being vulnerable together, thanks, Harry wanted to say. He squeezed Draco’s hand—hard—and smiled at Luna.
“Sounds brilliant.”
As if he hadn’t noticed Harry’s punishing grip at all, Draco laced their fingers together, and that was nice, their hands resting on the table. Draco’s gaze remained on Luna, but a little smirk played at the corner of his mouth, one just for Harry. Harry didn’t acknowledge it, but he also didn’t pull away. Draco’s fingers were strong and bony and just a little rough.
Luna went first, demonstrating the wand movement and the incantation for the spell. A golden spark flashed through the air and winked out. “Like that,” she said, with satisfaction.
Ginny went next, and Draco, who—to Harry’s disappointment—let his hand go. Then, Harry tried. On his first attempt, he didn’t notice an effect, but when he did it again, a shiver of warmth went through him to his heart, and he saw a glint from the corner of his eye.
“Good job, Harry!” Luna said. “Now we repeat it!”
Harry hesitated, waiting for her to tell them who should cast next, but she, Ginny, and Draco all raised their wands at once, and the patio exploded with drizzles of golden light. Luna smiled widely, watching the embers as they shot in every direction towards the ribbons. It was like a very small fireworks display, dazzling and mostly silent except for their murmured incantations and the faint sizzle of spells against fabric. Ginny and Draco had very intent expressions on their faces, as if they were racing each other, but now Harry knew better than to compete with them—not in a competition that was new to him, anyway.
Luna lowered her wand. Ginny and Draco were still casting, but the sparks now gathered and exploded over the center of the table. No more flew towards the ribbons.
“I think that’s all of them,” Luna said, gazing around the patio. “Harry, I think you should have the honor of reading the first one.”
“All right. Do I...what? Just pick one?”
“Yes. Pick any.”
Harry stood, aware of their attention on him. He chose the closest ribbon. “I think this is Ginny’s handwriting,” he said.
“Delightful!” Luna said, and they all seemed to be waiting for him to read it, including Draco, whose grey gaze was fixed on him.
“Right,” Harry said. He pulled the ribbon flat. “‘I’m really thankful that my girlfriend keeps her fingernails trimmed’? What?”
Draco snorted. Ginny cackled.
But why...? Then Harry understood, and blushed. “Ginny!”
“What! I am!”
Luna beamed at Ginny and leaned in for a kiss, and Harry had images in his head that he did not need to have at the dinner table.
Draco read the next one. “‘I’m grateful for the breakfast in bed my girlfriend brings me each Saturday.’ Wait. You get breakfast in bed?” He looked at Luna.
“Mm,” Luna hummed in agreement, and she and Ginny kissed again.
“I don’t get breakfast in bed. Harry.”
“Don’t look at me. I don’t either. And wouldn’t that be at three o’clock in the morning?”
“Hmmm,” Draco said, dubiously.
Ginny reached for a ribbon. “My turn,” she said. She squinted and frowned, and then the frown twisted into a grin. “I’m thankful...for...tooth-cleaning? ‘I’m thankful for tooth-cleaning charms because I hate the dentist’! Harry!”
“What! So what? Who doesn’t hate the dentist?”
Draco curled his lip. “I am not giving you a kiss for that one.”
“I don’t want a kiss!”
“Mm. I didn’t get that impression last night.”
“I’ve never been to the dentist,” Luna mused, rubbing her jaw. “Hermione doesn’t hate them. Her parents are dentists. Although I suppose that doesn’t mean anything for certain.”
“Right. Shall I do the next one, then?” Harry said, already reaching for another ribbon.
They took turns like that, reading out the statements. Laughing, flushing, sometimes exchanging heartfelt looks (or more kisses). Ginny was grateful for shin guards, Silencing Charms, cherry trees, and her family. Luna, for hope, the black farm cats who kept the mouse population in check, mycelium, and the carbon cycle. Draco, for some kind of fancy flour, being on another continent from his parents, the discovery of bezoars, and morning tea. Harry, for Hermione and Ron, spell-checking charms, Luna’s fir and clary sage soap, and the balcony from his room at the farm.
“Oh,” Luna said, looking at the ribbon in her hand. “‘I am thankful for Harry in the passenger seat, drifting off on long drives.’ Draco, that’s really sweet.”
Harry’s eyes snapped to Draco, who kept his chin up and didn't meet Harry’s gaze, though a pink flush stained his cheeks.
Ginny snorted. “More tooth-rotting than maple syrup.” She plucked down one of the remaining ribbons. Harry’s stomach tightened; he couldn’t say why he was nervous, though it might have been Ginny’s smirk as her eyes scanned the little slip of fabric. Harry nearly sprang across the table to grab it, but in that moment, she said, “‘I’m thankful for walking past Knead that first time and spotting Draco in the window.’”
Harry felt his own face heat, and he wanted to sink under the table, not because it wasn’t true or because he was ashamed of it in some way, but because of the way everyone looked at him. Luna, with shining eyes. Ginny, with a supremely smug grin. And Draco, with a curiously neutral expression as he searched Harry’s face, though there was something else in his eyes, maybe surprise.
Thank goodness for Luna. She said, “Draco, would you like to read the last one?”
“Hm? Oh, yes.”
Draco accepted the ribbon she handed him. He cleared his throat, skimmed the words, and said, “It’s from you,” to Luna. “‘I’m grateful we can all be together, especially now with Harry here.’”
Ginny squeezed her hand. Harry felt a little squirmy, yes, but also warm and happy. Then, his attention fell to the mess they’d made on the table, and he shook his head. He didn’t know why he’d thought their small gathering would be quiet. He’d grown up with Dudley, after all; he knew that it didn’t take a whole crowd of people to create mayhem. He should have known it would be loud and unpredictable and embarrassing.
In fact, he was grateful for it.
Draco didn’t smile at Harry or reach for his hand. Instead, he refilled Harry’s glass with wine. But Harry could see that Draco’s cheeks were still red, as were the tips of his ears.
“Thank you,” he said in a low voice just for Draco, and picked up his drink.
***
Harry sat at the bottom of the garden, wrapped up in the hush of the evening fog. He’d spelled the step dry beneath him but hadn’t cast a Warming Charm. He rested his hands on the stone and its soft moss, letting the chill run up his arms.
Twilight had fallen. The garden looked like another world in the mist and soft light. Fairies floated lazily in and out of sight, reminding him of the gratitude spell, though in slow motion.
I am thankful for this moment.
A loud croak split the muffled quiet, and the long shape of a blue heron winged into view and then faded out again, disappearing into the fog.
Footsteps crunched up the path. Harry thought he should budge over, in case whoever it was didn’t see him at the bottom of the steps, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
“I should have known,” Draco said. “Disappearing. Shirking duties.”
“Mm,” Harry said, too sated and wine-muzzy to sass Draco back. He patted the step next to him. “Come join me.”
Draco lowered next to him with a sniff.
Together, they watched the fog and the dying light. The babble of geese bubbled up from the east, grew as the flock materialized into view, and then dissolved into silence once more.
“Are you all right, then?” Draco asked.
“What? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Maybe it was just my wild imagination, or my untrained eye, but you seemed put-out when I mentioned the Weasleys coming to visit. I thought you’d be overjoyed.”
“Oh. I wasn’t—put-out. Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting it.”
Draco scrutinized him.
“I’m happy,” Harry said, and it was true. He didn’t know why he’d felt wrong-footed at the news when he’d got it, but since dinner, he didn’t feel that anymore.
Almost casually, Draco said, “I’m sure you’ve missed your friends.”
“Yeah. I have. They’re my family.”
“Hm.” Draco pressed his shoulder into Harry’s, and Harry, a little surprised, leaned into the contact.
“It’ll be good,” Harry said, stomach pleasantly heavy with vegan food, his heart light. “But I can imagine all of the prep.”
Draco groaned. “The prep.”
Harry grinned. “That reminds me. We need to taste-test that fruitcake of yours.” Still holding Draco’s hand, he stood and helped Draco up, then led him through the garden to the house.
Just inside the patio, shivering under the waves of warmth from the spells and dazzled by the lights that still flickered with Draco’s charms, Harry stepped close to Draco. He kissed him. Draco tasted like elderberry wine and vanilla and something savory, something to be savored.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he muttered, pulling back, running his hand over the rough skin of Draco’s jaw.
Before Draco could respond, Ginny said, “Were we not supposed to see that? Because I hate to break it to you, but it’s no state secret you two are shagging.”
They both whirled.
Ginny stood in the patio doorway, watching them. Luna appeared at her side and held up a plate. “Fruitcake?”
Draco sighed. “Fruitcake,” he agreed, and squeezed Harry’s fingers.
Harry squeezed back, and smiled.