Chapter Text
Day Zero
1
"Come on, Harry," Ron pressed, picking up a box of truffles and examining it. "It'll be great."
"No," Harry said firmly. "No, it will not be great. It'll be humiliating and awful and I'm not doing this."
"You've spent the whole bloody year pining," Ron replied. "I'm sick of it. Does Hermione like coconut? I know she either loves it or hates it, I just can't remember which."
"I have not been pining," Harry said. "And she loves it. Remember macaroons last week?"
Ron's eyes lit up. "Oh, yeah! Okay, great. That's six days down, six to go. Do you really think he's going to say no? It's twelve bloody days of Christmas. It's impossible not to be wooed by that. How many days do you think I can get away with chocolates?"
"One," Harry replied. "You ask me that every store. One book, one box of chocolates, one pair of earrings. One of each."
"Pick out a box of chocolates," Ron demanded. "Do it now. If you don't, I'll tell him myself. In the middle of the Great Hall. Tonight. Do you want that? Do you want everyone to know? Do you want him to find out that way?"
Harry glared at him. "You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would," Ron said. "I told you, I'm sick to death of your whining. Twelve days of Christmas. Twelve anonymous days. It starts tomorrow. You're out of time to drag your heels. We're not leaving Honeydukes until you pick something."
"For bloody Merlin's fucking beard," Harry grumbled. He pulled the first thing he saw off the shelf. "There, okay? It's a gift."
"Peppermints in a tin snowman? Suppose you could do worse."
Harry looked down at what he was holding and groaned. "Ron, please—"
"I'm not kidding. I'll tell everyone if you don't go through with this," he threatened. "Do you understand me? Everyone. Either everyone finds out tonight or you give him twelve anonymous gifts."
"It's not going to stay anonymous and you know it," Harry snapped. "You and Hermione are going to gang up on me on Christmas Day and force me to tell him."
"Well, of course," Ron replied. "Still, though. Tonight in front of everyone, or in twelve days, just the two of you? Your choice."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I hate you."
"Fine. Now start shopping."
2
Harry and Ron were camped out in their dorm wrapping gifts. Neville, Dean and Seamus were hanging around, laughing at the sentimentality of it, and bothering Harry relentlessly about who his gifts were for. Harry stayed silent, angrily wrapping the bloody peppermint snowman. It wasn't fucking square, how the bloody hell was he supposed to get it to look decent?
"This is highly suspicious," Seamus said, dropping to the floor and going through the pile of gifts. "Peppermints, fine. Chocolates, yes. A crystalized rose? Stupid, but normal. All this, though? Tentacula leaves? An advanced potions book? What the hell, Harry?"
He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Seamus. Leave me alone."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to woo Malfoy," Seamus said.
"For fuck's sake," Harry muttered. "Really? Malfoy?"
"Or Snape," Dean suggested helpfully. "They're the only two daft enough to enjoy potions."
"You're ridiculous," Harry snapped. "Leave me alone."
"There are only eleven gifts here," Neville said suddenly. "What about the other one?"
Harry ground his teeth together. "Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to broadcast this through the entire tower," he said. "Potentially it's somewhere else, somewhere you can't see them."
Ron grinned, carefully labeling a small package Day Three. "It's too obvious," he said. "He'd give himself away."
"You all need to shut up," Harry yelled. "This is none of your business! Besides, Ron's making me." He scrawled Day Two on the paper and set it aside. He moved onto day two—a candle that came in a box. A square box. Harry relaxed a little.
Dean picked up a box containing an eagle quill. "Must be someone stuck up," he mused. "An eagle quill? Really?"
Harry snatched it back. "Stop it. It's not about being stuck up, it's about nice things."
"You're terrible at wrapping, Harry," Seamus said, looking at the mangled snowman. "Whoever you're trying to woo isn't going to be impressed."
Harry gave up. Or overreacted. It was hard to tell which. He whipped out his wand and cast Muffliato and a concealment charm. This was humiliating enough without commentary.
"Ron, I hate you," he mumbled, finishing with the candle and moving onto the quill. "I really fucking hate you."
"You won't be saying that on Christmas," Ron replied. "Not when he melts into your arms."
"He's not going to melt," Harry said. "He's going to punch me."
"Not after everything you've gotten him," Ron argued. "Aside from being a materialistic prick, your gifts are actually decent. You'll be fine."
"I won't," Harry protested. "This is going to be awful."
"You're so pessimistic," Ron said lightly. "Have a little faith, would you?"
"No."