Summary: Nearly six months Harry and Draco had been together. Nearly six months Sirius had had to grow accustomed to the fact. And was he accustomed?
No.
No way in hell. There were some things that a man just couldn't stand for, and his godson dating a Malfoy sat front and centre at the top of his list. But how does one break apart a relationship when the active participants seem to think it is, actually, a relationship?
Sirius was still working on that one.

Character Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong, fundamentally, to J.K. Rowling. I've simply extrapolated. Thank you, you wonder woman. I make no profit from this work besides my own personal satisfaction.

Chapter 1: Day 1 – 12:32

Christmas was a time for family. A time for appreciating friends and loved ones, for sharing the company of those one truly cared for. In some instances, it was even to avoid those more objectionable characters that would disrupt the peace and to breeze through a day of gift giving, lethargy, and filling one's belly until it was fit to bursting.

Sirius knew how Christmas was supposed to be. He knew also how bad it could be, having grown up in a household of vastly un-celebratory individuals. He'd similarly experienced how it could be at its very best from his years in the Potter household; those years would always be his ideal, what he would measure everything else up against.

Azkaban had shown him a different side to the festive season entirely. A very different side, and mostly because Christmas more often than not passed without his notice. He'd thought that such a lack of celebration, of festivity, would be the worst possible way to spend the twenty-fifth of December.

He'd been wrong.

A small part of Sirius, that infuriatingly rational, mature-minded part, knew that he was being dramatic. That any mar or tarnish upon the otherwise glowing day could not compare to the darkness that had smothered him in Azkaban. Nothing could ever be that bad.

But the bigger, louder part of him resolutely drew his attention time and time again to one snotty little shitface. His cousin's spawn was more than a mar. He was a seeping stain upon the pristinely white tablecloth of purity and perfection that should have been Sirius' Christmas.

The luncheon saw a riot of movement and activity in the dining room of number twelve Grimmauld Place. It was not the first Christmas they'd spent in the once drab, gloomy room – a room that was, admittedly, just liveable even after hours of effort had been dedicated to making it presentable – but it was certainly the most raucous. Not because anyone was being particularly loud, but because there was simply so many people.

The Weasleys stood out amidst the throngs of chattering mouths and mulling bodies, all eight with the absence only of the deliberately-overlooked Percy. Arms clad in Molly's newly-knitted sweaters reached across the table to ladle spoonful's of stew onto plates, to slide slices of roast beef onto buttered bread and drizzle gravy over baked potatoes. Half of those redheaded bodies circulated the table for easier access to the dishes, weaving in the dance of accommodation that only family members with years of experience could enact so well.

Other figures, other faces of friends and acquaintances, edged with less fluidity or hunkered in their seats unobtrusively but with equal eagerness for Molly's exquisite cooking. Remus, with his quiet, tentative steps, was urged into a juggling act of grasping the bowl of buttered peas that Tonks' nearly flung at him with loud exclamations of, "You need to get some more meat on your bones, you beanpole". Tonks' mother, Andromeda, had tagged along that day and nodded her head in approving agreement at her daughter's sentiment; she had, according to Tonks, made leaps and bounds to reforge their fraying relationship and in recent months had been almost obliging in her consideration of Tonks' tendencies concerning friendships and life choices.

Kingsley had, at the last moment, accepted the invitation to dine that had been issued a month before. He sat in quiet conversation with Minerva halfway along the table, nearly half a dozen heads from where Sirius was seated at the table head. There was Moody a little further down, attacking a chicken leg with his knife, fork and, confusingly enough, spoon as though it had given him a personal insight, his magical eye whizzing dizzyingly even as he attention appeared focused on nothing but his meal. To his side, Fleur, seated between Moody and her fiancé, pretended not to notice him, though the slight curl of her lip and occasional sidelong glance suggested she was rather averse to his display.

Augusta Longbottom had deigned to accompany her grandson at Molly's request. Personally, Sirius wasn't all that fond of the woman – she was a harpy if ever he'd met one – but evidently Christmas was infecting her creaking bones too for she had put a very definite dampener on her sharp tongue. Neville, the neurotic boy usually so jittery whenever even in the same room as his grandmother, seemed almost relaxed as he conversed easily with Charlie across the table.

There was Hagrid directly opposite Sirius at the other end of the table, his booming voice ringing out across the chatter of conversation even as he so obviously strived to moderate his tone. And beside Hagrid, with what Sirius had come to recognise was their usual fond exasperation at the half-giant's tall tales and overt friendliness, were seated Harry, Ron and Hermione. The ease that filled his godson's face would have, at any other time, set Sirius' heart to rest; he wanted nothing more than to see Harry happy.

Except there, seated at his side in all of his stained presence and tarnishing glory, was the bloody blonde ferret. Presumptuous, as if he entirely belonged there.

Merlin, Sirius couldn't stand the boy. It was entirely the fault of Draco Malfoy that Sirius' Christmas was shaping up to be, most definitely, his worst yet. Definitely.

"Is the roast perhaps not to your taste, cousin?"

Sirius flinched at the soft, gentle words. Well, it was not only Draco. There were other characters in the room that vexed him almost as greatly.

Turning slowly towards Narcissa, Sirius affixed her with an unblinking stare. "What do you mean?"

Narcissa was always immaculate, always perfectly groomed, just like her son. Seated just to his right, she held an air of grace and elegance even in stillness. Back straight, chin raised, her hair was affixed with not a strand out of place, robes falling perfectly as though she were posing for a portrait. Even the dainty slicing of her knife, the prodding of her fork, was nothing if not at the height of etiquette. She looked out of place on the just-presentable stage of Sirius' dining room, a cat amongst the pigeons of the Weasley family, of his other guests, of his friends. Only those pigeons didn't even seem to notice the intruder. Or intruders, really, considering Narcissa brought her hateful spawn and almost as hateful husband along with her. Lucius, with his stoic silence and stony expression, couldn't have looked more out of place if he'd tried.

Sirius' cousin was looking pointedly and yet somehow not rudely at his plate with an expression of curiosity upon her face. Not rude, no; Narcissa would never be outright rude. But there was disapproval in her gaze. "I only ask because you appear to desire nothing more than to tear your meal to shreds. I was curious, as I had not yet partaken…"

Dropping his gaze down to his lunch, Sirius frowned down at the mess he had unconsciously made. At the torn slivers of meat, the crushed potatoes that had once been merely baked but now resembled mash, and the vegetables that were more a motley stew of contrasting colours than the steam-roasted morsels he'd forked onto his plate minutes before. It was remarkable that it had not all overflown onto the table in a tidal wave of disaster. From the slight amusement in Narcissa's tone and the tinge of inadequately veiled disgust on her husband's, he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Working his jaw for a reply, Sirius snapped his teeth with a click. "No. No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the meal. It's divine. Simply wonderful."

"Is that so?" Narcissa said, her eyebrow arching with almost-sincere curiosity. "Well, that is satisfying to know. Thank you for your contribution."

The words turned Sirius' stomach in a discomforting roil. He'd never been fond of his mother's side of the family, and though Andromeda was companionable enough these days, her sisters were… not. True, Narcissa was not even half as bad as Bellatrix – Sirius would never forgive the woman for nearly killing him earlier that year – and was not nearly half as mad either, but still.

Objectionable. That was the word.

It didn't help that the Malfoys, for all of their superiority complexes, were actually deigning to attempt to integrate themselves into the Order. Into the side of the Light. Though, Sirius reasoned, it was not like they had much choice given Dumbledore's ultimatum for offering protection, but still. Sirius didn't like it. He didn't like turncoats, not in the slightest. Not even when they turned to his side rather than from.

Untrustworthy. That's what the Malfoys were. It was a thorn in his side that he had to accommodate them for Christmas at all. It was only Harry's request that had seen him do so. Still, it didn't mean he had to like the fact that he was forced into such a discomforting corner.

A full-throated laugh sounded from the other end of the kitchen. Raising his gaze from his battlefield of a lunch, Sirius' eyes drew towards his godson.

Harry was bodily shaking with laughter, one hand pressed over his mouth in an inadequate attempt to smother the mirth bubbling from his lips. To his side, Hagrid wobbled the table with his own laughter and Hermione fought to suppress trembling chuckles. Only Ron wasn't nearly catatonic with amusement, but affronted through his expression was – evidently he'd been the butt of someone's joke – his disgruntlement was only half-hearted and he seemed nothing if not satisfied that his friends found their enjoyment, even if it was at his expense.

It was a picture perfect scene, except for the fact that Draco-sodding-Malfoy consumed a fifth of it. Narcissa's boy wasn't shaking with laughter, but he was evidently amused nonetheless. A smug smile spread across his lips, the sort of smile that nearly drove Sirius to his feet to stride the length of the room and smack it from his face. He couldn't stand the self-satisfaction that radiated like a pungent reek from the brat.

As he watched, a snarl threatening to rumble from his lips, Harry turned towards Draco and leant into him. He said something quietly, too quiet for Sirius to hear and likely meant for Draco's ears alone. The words, whatever they were, only served to stretch Draco's grin further. Face a mask of smugness, he said something quietly in reply, leaning into Harry's ear for better translation. He sealed their secrecy with a kiss to Harry's cheek. So natural. So assuming.

It made Sirius' vision flicker red for just a moment.

Worst. Christmas. Ever.

A/N: Hello, my beautiful, lovely readers! I hope you enjoyed the first chapters! If you have a moment, please take a second to leave a review. Anything and everything will be very much appreciated. Thank you!