Work Text:
“Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that,” Harry read, the glow coming from the fireplace the only light in the room. Draco was huddled on the carpet, his head on Harry’s thigh, and occasionally sighed when Harry reached a particularly interesting point in the story.
“You seem quite invested in the plot, considering you didn’t want to hear a – how did you call it? – boring muggle story.”
Draco grumbled. “Will you shut up and keep reading?”
Harry closed the book with a mischievous smile. “Why, are you actually interested now? And here I thought this wasn’t good enough for your pureblood taste.”
“You prat! I want to know who the ghost is. Keep reading or I’ll Imperio you,” Draco said haughtily, and Harry laughed. “You can always read it yourself.”
“I like it more when you read.”
Harry’s face softened. “Alright, my love. Since you asked so nicely…” he joked, but he was actually very fond of Draco when he played the part of the snob pureblood who resembled more a spoiled, grown up child.
Harry kept on reading, stopping from time to time to listen to Draco’s comments. He found some of them quite amusing.
“Really, isn’t this a bit creepy for a Christmas story?”
“Well, in the 19th century it was tradition to read ghost stories on Christmas Eve.”
“Still, that’s creepy.”
“May I continue now? I believe we still have one ghost left…”
Draco would never admit it out loud, but he silently compared himself to old, rude Mr Scrooge. He’d been just like him once, and now the memory of his past behaviour burned him from the inside. The story had a happy ending, thankfully, but Draco couldn’t even smile by the end of it.
“How did you like it?” Harry asked, closing the book and threading his fingers through Draco’s hair.
I don’t deserve any of this, Draco thought miserably. “It was beautiful,” he said instead.
But Harry noticed something was off. He always did. “What’s wrong with you? This wasn’t too terrifying for you, was it?”
Draco shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. It’s just a silly ghost story.”
“Then why are you sulking like old Scrooge on Christmas Eve?”
Draco looked down, eyes fixed on the carpet. “Because I see myself in him.”
Harry kneeled down on the carpet, in front of Draco. “That was a long, long time ago. And you were much younger than that.”
Draco sniffed. “What difference does it make? I still was a monster.”
Harry smiled fondly. “You were a right pain in the ass, I’ll give you that, but not a monster. Never a monster.”
Draco looked up at Harry, eyes alight with the blaze coming from the fireplace. “Not even when I was about to kill a man?”
“Not even then. I didn’t think for a moment you would do that. Come on, let’s get to bed; I think you need some sleep.”
Draco accepted Harry’s hand and, together, they made it to the bedroom, where Draco immediately slumped on the soft mattress. “Thank you, Harry.”
“For the story? It was nothing; I can read to you whenever you want.”
Draco shot him an annoyed look. “Not for the story, idiot, for what you said afterwards. For not thinking I’m a monster.”
Harry sat down next to Draco. “Do you think I’d be in love with you if I thought you were a monster?”
“No.”
“Good. Now we’ve established that, let’s go to sleep, or we won’t wake up in time to exchange our gifts before our guests arrive.”
“Just so you know,” Draco whispered in the dark, as they were both under the blankets, “I’d really like to hear another story sometime.”
Harry smiled and kissed his forehead. “Whenever you want.”