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Harry is all packed up to leave for the burrow when Hermione’s patronus arrives.
The otter floats before Harry, its paws paddling through the air lazily. He watches it’s progression, waiting for Hermione’s voice to begin speaking.
“Harry,” it says, finally, “We’re really sorry, but you’re not going to be able to come to the Burrow for Christmas. Percy and I were experimenting with a couple of experimental protection charms, and we accidentally locked down the Burrow so that no one can enter or exit the property. We can’t even send owls. Everyone’s working on taking them down, but… it’s not looking good.”
Harry sinks back against his bags.
“I’ll let you know the second that anything changes,” Hermione’s voice promises, “But for now… you’ll have to stay at your apartment. See you soon, hopefully.”
With that, the otter dissipates into thin air, leaving the room empty but for Harry. Sighing, he gets up and enters his kitchen, opening his fridge to check for food. Nothing especially suited for a Christmas dinner, but Harry is willing to take what he can get. It’s going to be a lonely holiday anyways, he thinks.
The first half of the day passes without much activity. Harry reviewed some of his auror cases, finding himself getting distracted by noises outside. Through his window, he can see families going for walks in the snow, their laughter floating up and echoing through the street. Dragging his attention away, he scans the apartment for something more distracting to do.
He can’t think of anything.
Annoyed that he can’t even owl Ron or Hermione, he occupies himself by cleaning his apartment. This might have been a more effective tactic if it took him more than a quick wave of his wand and a scouring charm, but as it is, he finishes cleaning in less than five minutes. Tucking his wand away, he ties up his garbage bag and takes it outside.
As he drops off his garbage, he notices Draco Malfoy standing near his own apartment entrance.
The close proximity of their homes hasn’t affected them as much as Harry had expected they would. When he had first found out that Malfoy had inhabited an apartment only a few away from Harry’s, Harry had agonized over it, playing out all sorts of scenarios in his head where Malfoy confronted him or tried to get into a fight. Ron and Hermione had been forced to sit through more than a couple conversations where Harry had ranted to them about Draco Malfoy choosing this particular apartment to move into.
To Harry’s surprise, though, Malfoy had become more reclusive than hostile. After a while of being glad for Malfoy’s unwillingness to start anything, Harry began to become more and more curious about him. He started attempting to engage Malfoy in conversations as often as he could, but Malfoy always seemed to be able to slide out of the discussion before Harry was satisfied.
So Harry had been required to accept Malfoy’s reticent ways. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from paying extra attention every time he was aware of Malfoy’s presence in his vicinity.
Now, he sees the blond-haired man across the hall, and something prompts him to approach.
Malfoy looks up when Harry appears in his line of vision, wary. “Potter.”
“Malfoy,” Harry says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You have any plans for the holidays?”
Malfoy half-shrugs, still looking a little mistrustful. “Not particularly.”
He doesn’t ask about Harry, obviously just wanting to escape to his apartment. Harry ignores this, and presses on anyways.
“Me neither.”
This catches Malfoy’s attention, if only a bit. “No huge parties with the Weasleys?”
“Got cancelled,” Harry tells him.
Malfoy’s mouth twists slightly. “Poor Potter, having to spend the holiday alone. How will the Golden Boy ever survive?”
Harry chuckles, a little self-deprecatingly. “I think I’d be able to manage. Hey, but there’s hope. You’re right, I don’t like the idea of spending the holiday alone.”
Malfoy looks at him. “What, are you going to invite some person off the streets? Do you even have any friends that aren’t the Weasleys?”
Harry shakes his head. “Hadn’t thought of that. I was thinking, though, since you’re doing nothing either-”
Understanding seems to dawn on Malfoy.
“- Maybe you’d like to come over?”
Harry waits. Finally, Malfoy says, “I don’t have a turkey or anything.”
This is enough of an answer for Harry, who grins. “The only thing in my fridge is leftover macaroni and cheese. We can make do.”
Malfoy presses his lips together, and then nods. “Hold on. Let me just get ready.”
“Sure,” Harry says, raising a hand in goodbye and turning to head back to his own apartment, feeling ecstatic.
Back in his own space, he quickly puts his packed bags away and turns on the lights, attempting to make the whole space look less lonely. Even after turning on the strings of Christmas lights that Hermione had insisted that he put up, he doesn’t quite succeed, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell too much on it. If he had to guess, he’d say that Malfoy’s apartment probably doesn’t look much better.
A knock comes from the door a couple minutes later. Harry gives his apartment one last appraisal before rushing to open it, letting Draco Malfoy into the room. Malfoy holds out a large box of Chocolate Frogs as an offering.
Harry accepts it, ushering him into the room. Malfoy takes a seat on one of the chairs in the dining room, his eyes scanning the room. Harry, suddenly self-conscious about his messy kitchen and the jacket tossed over the couch, clears his throat and points to his chess set before the silence can stretch on too long.
“You up for a game?”
Draco is good, but Harry has spent too much time with Ron to be completely hopeless. It’s tricky, trying to read Malfoy’s expression. He seems to be able to conceal every emotion until it’s his turn, and he reaches to take one of Harry’s pieces, a gloating, satisfied smile spreading over his face.
Harry, though, is able to corner Malfoy into a stalemate. It seems to take a moment for Malfoy to actually register what happened.
“Rematch,” he says, and Harry sits back.
“Fine, if you want to lose again,” Harry says, contented. Malfoy scowls.
“I didn’t lose. A stalemate means that we’re evenly matched.”
“Oh, so you’ll admit that I’m a match for you?”
Malfoy didn’t say anything, but instead waved his wand to reset the players to their original positions.
“Rematch,” he says again. Harry obliges.
Halfway into the second game, just as their competitiveness had met its peak, Harry opens the box of chocolate frogs. One of the frogs leaps from the box and knocks over the pieces, which crash into one another as they fall. Harry and Malfoy stare at the desecrated chessboard in mutual astonishment for a full second, and then Harry begins to laugh.
“We’ll call it a tie?” Harry asks.
Malfoy shrugs. “Fine.”
“Merlin, I was getting sick of chess anyways. That’s more than enough for me,” Harry told the other man, standing up and stretching. “How do you feel about making cookies?”
“As long as you keep the chocolate frogs far away from the oven,” Malfoy says, “I think that we can manage that without fucking up.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Those were your chocolate frogs, Malfoy. If anything, it was your fault.”
“Sure, Potter, place all the blame on me,” says Malfoy, “But I think we both know that you unleashed the chocolate frogs just to stop me from winning.”
Harry’s jaw drops. “I did not--”
He is cut off by Malfoy laughing, a strange sight in itself. Distracted, Harry lets his half-sentence hang, unfinished.
Malfoy shakes his head. “You should see your face.”
“Oh, sure, let’s all make fun of Harry,” Harry grumbles, pulling ingredients from the cupboards.
“But it’s so fun,” Malfoy says, “Your face gets all red when you get really angry about it.”
“Ah, so that’s why you spend all those years tormenting me.”
“It may have been part of the reason.”
The two of them continue the easy banter for the entirety of the evening, building up a fragile affinity to one another, unlike anything that they had ever experienced between the two of them before. By the time that the cookies are done, they are an odd combination of new friendship mixed with the remnants of old animosity.
Amidst the new camaraderie, Harry’s able to spend more time looking at Malfoy without the tinge of hatred, and with a sudden realization notices that Draco Malfoy is actually almost… attractive.
Well, no. That’s wrong. Harry has to admit -- he’s more than a little attractive. And suddenly, he’s re-analyzing every moment that he ever stayed up late, watching Malfoy on the Marauder’s Map. He’s thinking about every time that he went out of his way to pass by Malfoy, every time he found himself distracted by the Slytherin boy across the hall.
And all of a sudden, all Harry can think about is reaching for Draco and pulling him closer, running his fingers through that white-blond hair until it has lost all semblance of tidiness. All he can think about is unbuttoning Draco’s shirt and sliding his hands across his chest, around his torso, down his back. He thinks about turning Draco’s face upwards and capturing his lips with his own.
An a desperate attempt to stop these thoughts before they went too far, Harry quickly turns away from Malfoy and picked up one of the fresh cookies. He can feel Malfoy’s eyes on him.
“They’re good,” Harry tells him, passing one over to Malfoy. Their hands brush.
Draco meets Harry’s eyes. And moves closer.
“Harry,” he says, with the hesitant tone of someone who is trying to gauge a situation and doesn’t quote know what to think.
Hearing Malfoy speak his first name makes Harry shiver, slightly.
Malfoy reaches out, and that’s enough of a hint for Harry. Taking action to do something that he’s only just realized has been a long time coming, he does what he had been wanting to do only moments earlier. He kisses Draco, and it’s a thousand times better than anything he had imagined.
They are interrupted, a minute later, by the arrival of Hermione’s patronus. It tells Harry that the faulty wards that they had put up were successfully taken down, and that Harry can come over anytime.
Harry declines. He has a better way to spend Christmas Eve.