Author: tigersilver
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: um, 3,000+/-
Warnings: AU; EWE. Established relationship which could possibly Epi-compliant, but likely isn't, really, given the age of the implied NextGen. But it does have lashings of banter and snuggling and it is Holiday-oriented, so...yes. Also, this is a Gift!Fic for these wonderful, lovely peoples and a Happy, Merry to you all, too: veritas03 , winnett , aydenclare , megyal , ravus_orbis and naadi ! Huggles and luuuurrrve, Tiger

HD 'Brooms & Bicycles'

"Ah!" Harry smiled, as he strolled into the toasty-cozy morning room, a supper plate balanced in one hand, silver cutlery and a too-full wine glass in the other. "You kept it warm for me!"

"Of course I did, nit," Draco smiled in return, a slow brilliant dawn of a grin that melted his normally frosty expression into something far less severe. He shuffled his copy of the Quibbler over and patted the cushion beside him in silent invitation. "Did they like them?"

"Merlin, yes," Harry plopped down his weary bum and juggled things manually for a moment till he remembered he was a Wizard and set his wine glass to floating. "James has been gagging after that Action Man Nimbus edition for I don't know how long and Al adores anything mechanical—that must be Arthur, showing up in the gene pool."

"And little Lily?" Draco's nimble fingers snagged the wine glass so he could steal a sip, earning a mock-scowl from the already chewing Harry. "She alright with the Muggle training wheels version of hers? Did Ginny even allow her on them? I know she was a bit chary of those bikes, Potter."

"Hey! Get you own, wanker!" Harry chided him, voice muffled by his full mouth. He swallowed and went on, "Loved 'em both, actually. Lils, especially. She's well into this bloody 'everything sodding thing must be pink' phase, of course, and damn me if I ever saw a Pink Princess Comet before, but they had them. Gin was right on all counts about that-even the swishy dangles on the handlebars of the Muggle bicycle and the glitter bristles in Lily's broom. And it's a trike for her, not a bicycle, git. With fuchsia flowers stuck on the wheel rims. Makes 'em go 'tick-tick-tick'—awful noise, but she loves that, too."

"Well, at least it's not themed like one of those Muggle film princess ones Pansy bought for her daughter," Draco sneered. "Poor little Agatha—doomed to emulate some chesty bint in a lace-up corset when she's not even a clue what those Dustney whores are really saying about Witches."

Harry laughed, 'round a mouth full of potatoes. "Disney, Draco—it's Disney. And be kind to them; they evidently package and market every little girl's dream, that lot. Let them to it; you had your Martin Miggs as a child, didn't you? And he was hardly a believable, realistic role model, now was he?"

Draco hummed, settling closer to Harry, so their elbows jostled. He took charge of the wine glass again and sipped.

"So, brooms and bicycles, huh? How ever am I to top that, Potter? I've purchased Scorpius the Deluxe Beginner Potions set from that new emporium Nott's installed over on Knockturn—nice place that; very reasonable prices-but your particular kiddies confound me and there's only one shopping day left. What shall I do, oh, Saviour mine? Do advise me, Master Auror."

"Mmm, true," Harry cleaned off his plate with the remnants of his bread, leaving it sparkling. "Thanks for that, prat—hit the spot," he murmured, setting it aside. "I dunno, actually. I had to consult with Gin over the kids for the brooms and bikes—make sure she'd allow it, even; you know how she is—so I don't even have a clue what else they might like. And you know the Weasleys will spoil them rotten, come Christmas morning. George, alone, for Merlin's sake! He's a room at Wheeze's full of gifts, the sanctimonious arse! Makes me vomit, that."

"Yes, and 'dearest Uncle Georgie' will no doubt leave me high and dry again, stuck in the role of the 'baddie' Uncle," Draco sniffed. He gathered Harry over and across his lap in a comfortable familiar motion, Vanishing the discarded dinner plate and the scattered pages of the Quibbler but keeping the wine glass they shared within easy reach. "I have to do something, Harry—I do. A helping hand here, please?"

"Sure, whatever," Harry offered, but no brilliant gift ideas followed that willing remark, only a slight shrug.

"Hmmm," Draco muttered, more to himself than his fellow Wizard. "Maybe…maybe a Remembrall? D'you think they'd like that? I know your mate Longbottom had one when he was James' age. Is that too—well, is it too demeaning, Potter? D'you think they could even use them? You know how they are."

"They're kids, Draco. Likely they'd be of the opinion it was 'cool' or 'neat-oh' or 'sweet' or whatever it is they say these days," Harry replied, settling in with a tired sigh. "I dunno, really. I'm too tired to think, even. Bother these long hours they shove on us just before hols! You'd think the Ministry would bloody fall apart if we all didn't spend our mandatory year-end overtime there, propping it up. No time to go last-minute shopping or anything—I don't even have a gift for Gin and she'll flay me alive if we dare show up Saturday morning without one! It's me who requires rescue, Draco—not you!"

"Silly twat," Draco grinned fondly at his lapful of Potter and pressed a passing kiss on the hair. "She's good—taken care of already. I picked her up one of those Mummy's Little Angels necklets when I was in Diagon, same as I got Astoria. More gemstones, too, so she'll not feel slighted in the least, don't worry. She's three to Tory's one—though I did spring for a diamond for the ex. What, did you think I'd not be on top of that? You're always underestimating me, Potter. I'm hurt."

"No, I don't," Harry protested, tilting his face up for a wine-flavoured snog. "And I'm not, git—ever! Never make the same mistake twice, me. Thanks, though—I literally don't know when I would've gotten to that, really. And Gin would gut me; make no mistake!"

He was hugged suddenly by a laughing Draco, Harry was: long lean arms wrapping around shoulders solidly, and delineated ribcage and trim, nipped-in waist as well. Even Draco's thighs gripped at Harry's through the folds of the intervening fabric, and Draco himself assumed a quite self-satisfied air of grand 'all-knowingness'.

"I am nothing if not thoughtful and timely, Potter," he announced, smirking. "As you should be well aware, now. But what of my little problem? I can't go empty-handed to the Burrow, at least not for your little monsters. That wouldn't be good at all."

"Well…" Harry mused, pecking in passing the faint, barely-there cleft of the pointy chin that jutted into his line of vision, "how about you give them whatever you got Rose and Hugo—or Goyle's son. What's it? 'Gilroy' he's called, poor little mite?"

"Gilderoy, cretin, after Lockheart, and no, I don't think the Annotated Decline and Fall of the Wizarding Roman Empire will be suitable for either young Al or your little princess, Potter! And I've purchased a Potions kit for Hugo, just as I did for Scorpius and Teddy. Different levels of skill and experience, naturally, so Ted's is quite a bit more advanced, but same general idea. Which is a brilliant one, may I add, and jus exactly what'd I expect of me. But I can't be giving the picky Pottery pratlings that—your Ginny will slay me, instead. Far too sodding dangerous, Potions ingredients and breakable beakers! I'd be most definitely the 'baddie', then."

"Hmmm, then I don't know what, exactly," Harry shook his head, thinking hard, if one judged y the furrows in his tired face. "And don't refer to my beautiful children as 'Potter pratlings', Draco. That's not on. I'll have to hex you."

Draco waggled his expressive eyebrows, but he nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

"Sorry—not so good with the kids, am I, even if I've got one? But my Scorp's a little different from the usual run, you'll admit."

"That he is," Harry chuckled, and plucked the wine glass from where it hovered, half-forgotten. "Just like Daddy—smart as a whip and all toffee-nosed over it, too. Hmmm. Perhaps…just perhaps a gift card? Maybe from WWW or something like? They'd all adore you for that, you big, bad, evil Wizard, you. Might solve your problem."

Draco instantly assumed a thoughtful mien, even when his lapsitter fed him an unexpected glug of warm Chardonnay. He tapped his chin a few times and ran a spare hand through that trademark fall of silvery tresses.

"A gift card? Those Muggle-minded pasteboard squares that are the rage these days-as in loads of Malfoy Galleons they can spend later, when they want? An IOU as a gift, Potter? For children? Isn't that rather gauche?"

"Pretty much," Harry nodded. "But it works like a Charm, trust me. Kids love having their own means to purchase things, they do. And if you spring for a Zonko's one for James, he'd adore you forever and I know for fact Al would die for one from Quality Quidditch. I imagine I could Floo Gin in the morning and see if she'd be willing to pop by one of the Muggle toy shops in Town and pick up a card for Lilykins for you—maybe fifty pounds? Or Euros—whatever it is the Muggles are spending for money these days. Then you'd be all set, yeah? You have those hampers all ready for the Weasleys, right? And we've covered Ron and Hermione and all those daft Slytherins of yours with cases of vintage Elf wine—so just my little lot to go yet and then we're both all finished, yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Draco polished off the wine with a flourish, leaving the long-stemmed crystal sadly empty. This, too, was twinkled out of immediate existence with a sparkling 'pop!' and then Harry's slump against Draco's chest and hips was quite carefully readjusted by long, thin, capable hands.

"Yessss," Draco sighed. "It could do nicely, Harry, however plebian a concept, giving cards instead of real presents. I rather like it, though, I admit; it's elegant in its own way and not so difficult to obtain last moment. Good-oh, then. Thanks."

"You're welcome, git. Don't ever say again I don't help you out with the shopping, 'kay?" Harry mumbled wearily. He attempted to slump again, but Draco kept him propped upright so he could peer into Harry's red-rimmed eyes with curiosity.

"So…er," Draco began, turning on the vaunted Malfoy charm full-blast. "Tell me, my Hero bloke. What did you buy me? What do I have to look forward to, come Christmas morning?"

"Hah!" Harry chortled. He laced his forearms 'round the wide shoulders of the Wizard he perched on and leant forward, a merry twinkle in the memorable though slightly bloodshot green eyes. "That would be telling, prat! You'll just have to wait, I'm afraid—so cultivate your store of patience, yeah? As I'm not."

"No, really, Harry," Draco did his very best to look hopeful, benign and worthy of receiving presents much earlier than everyone else in the whole wide Wizarding world, including all the deserving children who awaited St. Nick with such delight. He blinked at his companion with a great show of boyish anticipation and turned up the grin to sheer brilliance in dazzle. "You could give me just one present early, you know. I'm sure it's not a real problem—the elves will forgive you and so will Father Christmas, I know it."

He nibbled Harry's earlobe at that, adding a dollop of carnal invitation to his hopeful teasing.

"And…you know how I am when I'm pleased with you, Harry. Wouldn't you like that part to begin now, rather than later?"

"Prat!" Harry laughed aloud, wriggling. "And a willful one, too! You are simply too odiously transparent, you conniving git! As if you won't shag me if I don't bribe you—ahahaha! Very funny, that—but I'm not buying, not for a second. Try again then, will you? With something convincing, this time. 'Cause you're not getting a sodding thing from me before Christmas morning—not this year, at least!"

"Wanker," Draco sulked, but then he brightened up almost immediately, his brow clearing and the pouty twist on his lips lost to another fast-blooming grin.

"But! But, Harry Potter, that doesn't prevent me from giving you one of yours early, does it? Same difference, then, yeah? Same result!"

Draco pulled a hand free from where he'd latched it gently to Harry's nape.

"Right, hold on, will you? We can do that right now. Just let me Summon one for you and we'll get this process started—"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, and quick as winking caught at Draco's hands before he could wandlessly Magick a gaily-wrapped gift from the humungous pile beneath their sparkling, glowing tree. "No, Draco! I don't want one yet—I want to save them, for Christmas day, when it's proper. That's when I look forward to them, you know. So you hold up, alright? I'm perfectly happy with status quo, me. Let's not be bucking convention, prat."

"Oh—oh, fuck, Potter!" Draco, stymied, frowned and went all pouty again, but then he took a long moment to really examine his fellow Wizard's expression. "Well, I'll be…you really are, aren't you?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Harry nodded. "I really am, Draco. It's the best day of the year and I don't want to ruin it by spreading it too thin or anything. Bad enough I had to give the children theirs early. It was just that Gin didn't want to be carting 'round three Muggle bicycles—hard to Shrink, those. I know; I tried. All fiddly, the pedals."

"Mmm, alright," Draco was nodding slowly, a knowing and very wicked grin creeping across his pale face. "Fine, Potter. I'll just have to give you something else, instead."

Harry, who could feel the 'something else' rising under his bum, smirked in return—a knowing, sly twist of full lips and cheek stubble. He buried his messy head against his companion's shoulder and snuggled in with a happy sigh. Draco automatically clasped him all that much more closely and for another long moment neither said a word—didn't need to, which was so often the case between them.

"You seem…very tired, Potter," eventually Draco's voice rumbled gently under Harry's ear, his chest wide and hot beneath a layer of soft lamb's wool sweater and a shirt made of sueded silk. Harry rubbed his cheek into it, nodding quietly.

"I am. Stupid arses at the Ministry, running us all ragged. I feel like shite. Why d'you ask?"

"We should…go off to bed, then, right?" Draco mused aloud, and Harry could feel another of those barely-there snogs pressed against his scalp. "As you're weary and we have to wait till Christmas for presents. Might as well, yes? Nothing better to do, right?"

Harry snorted, which was muffled by the lamb's wool weave, and quite deliberately wriggled his bum across the Yule log-like ridge pressing into the sensitive flesh of his under-thigh.

"So right, git. Not a thing to do tonight and I am very tired, yes. Could do with a massage, actually. That's something you could give me early and I wouldn't even quibble—not a jot."

"Sneaky little monster, Potter, you are," Draco murmured, contentment full in his fond tone, "always wanting something from me; always expecting to break the rules. Worse even than your awful children, you naughty little prick—and them all namby-pamby 'butter wouldn't melt' and then breaking my antiques, tearing 'round the manor like wild creatures, they do. And then there's you, begging for favours and taunting me with that arse of yours. Well, come on, then—up!"

"Mmmm, no," Harry's smile was hidden by the flex of the muscle under his cheek. "Carry me, sod, if you want me to go anywhere at all. I'm shafted, I am. Don't wanna' move. Like it here, on you. Comfy."

"You're a right load, Potter, that's what," Draco laughed, but he rose to his loafer-clad feet anyway, hefting his smaller companion by combination of sheer brute force and a Lightening Charm, and began the long slow stroll off to their suite, bearing Potter.

"But…I love you. I do, Merlin have mercy on my poor soul."

"Mmm, Draco," Harry whispered, happily ensconced and only jouncing a bit as Draco hauled him bodily up the first of the stairwells. "Me, too, git. I meant—likewise."

The tree lights remained blinking merrily behind them—a combination of Muggle 'lectric strung lanterns and a herd of somewhat befuddled imported Tree Fairies, who spent a great deal of time fluttering about anxiously to avoid the heat of the mundane bulbs. The antique blown-glass German baubles bobbed on the branches of fragrant fir and the Yule log crackled with a mighty show of Christmas cheer. All 'round the room glowed bayberry-scented candles and small, silver-ribboned, braided balls of mistletoe and holly.

It was rather gorgeously pretty, the Manor's morning room, and festive as only Draco Malfoy could arrange it and—to that same Wizard's quiet joy-it was currently snowing all over the Manor grounds, quite conveniently, laying down a pristine carpet of white.

Too, there was but one shopping day left before Christmas yet and time enough to wrap up all the niggly details and make further pleas for any early presents to be connived out of Potter by dint of sexual favours and copious massage. Indeed, all was more than well in the small, self-contained world of Potter-Malfoy—and it would continue to be just that way, ever more, if Harry and Draco had damned thing to say about it.

Which they did, naturally. No one would dare disrupt the Christmas festivities of the Wizarding world's resident Hero and his Chosen One—not even Kingsley. Some things were actually still sacred in this workaday world—and one was the Yule.

Finite