Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit is being made, monetary or otherwise, though the writing of this.
A/N: Inspired by a prompt found on A03's "Under the Mistletoe" challenge. Unfortunately I missed the deadline. The prompt featured Draco alone on Christmas Eve, waiting for Harry (his husband of a year) who was away on an Auror mission, as well as the song, "I'll Be Home for Christmas". This is the version of the song that I am using for my link on A03, "I'll Be Home for Christmas," Brett Eldredge.
Draco frowns at the odd looking envelope in his hands. It was delivered, not by owl, but by Muggle post mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve. The address of the home that he shares with Harry is written across the front of the white envelope, and there is something squarish with an image of a heart on it in the upper left hand corner of the envelope. It's a colorful, garish heart, and Draco wonders what his husband was thinking when he sent...whatever this is...to him.
There's no return address. Another reminder that Harry's away on Auror business (possibly dangerous) during the holidays, and that Draco is home, alone. This is not how either of them had wanted to spend their first Christmas as a married couple. Draco knows that he could go to his parents' house, or that he could spend Christmas Day with Harry's adoptive family - the Weasleys - but it's not the same without Harry. He misses him, and it makes his heart ache.
Draco flips the envelope over and reads Harry's messy scrawl across the back: Open carefully, love.
Draco holds the envelope to his lips and kisses it. He imagines that he's kissing Harry, and for a moment it feels like he is. He can smell traces of Harry's scent on the envelope - cardamom, nutmeg, cinnamon and something earthy that Draco can't quite define, though he's tried.
Raising an eyebrow and shaking his head at Harry's antics, Draco carries the envelope into the parlor. There's a large Christmas tree in one corner of the room. Presents of all sizes, and shapes, sit beneath the tree. More presents than Harry's gotten during the entirety of his childhood with the Dursleys (Draco wishes that Harry would let him curse the Dursleys, but the man is adamant that their own misery is enough of a curse for them to live with).
Draco had been determined to give Harry the best Christmas ever this year, and had even collaborated with the Weasleys in an effort to make the holiday special for the man he loves. There are plates piled high with Christmas goodies, the likes of which Harry had been denied the pleasure of even tasting when he'd been a child - mince pies, gingerbread, slices of fruitcake, shortbread - and Draco and Harry had planned to make Christmas dinner together, using a mixture of Muggle and magical methods. It was going to be the start of a series of new traditions, and now Draco is sitting alone in the parlor, watching the snow fall, clutching an envelope, rather than his lover, to his aching chest.
Taking a deep breath, and scolding himself for being so maudlin, Draco places the letter opener between the upper right hand corner of the envelope and the flap that was used to seal it and carefully prises it open. It's not like he'd ever romanticized the holidays before meeting Harry, it shouldn't be any different now, especially since the love of his life is 'away on business'. Some godforsaken Auror mission that apparently couldn't wait until after the Christmas holidays.
If Harry didn't love his work so much, Draco would try, again, to convince him to quit, and travel the world with him. He has plenty of money (they both do - Harry's got his inheritance, and Draco has the Malfoy family fortune at his disposal) that work is unnecessary for either of them. Even so, Harry insists upon working, and Draco, in part to please his lover, and in part to occupy himself, owns an apothecary in town a short distance from where they live. It is satisfying, though he doesn't tell Harry that.
Taking a deep breath, and being as careful as Harry's words had cautioned him to be, Draco peers into the envelope. There is a sheet of paper and a colorful something else that sets Draco's heart to beating like an owl's wings.
He pulls the edges of the envelope apart, and the parlor is flooded with music. Harry's voice, clear as day, and as beautiful as that of an angel's, spills out of the envelope (which is no doubt the work of Granger-Weasley, Harry's second best friend in all the world) accompanied by stringed instruments.
Draco's eyes fill with tears that he steadfastly blinks away as he listens to the words of an unfamiliar song that somehow captures just how lonely, and yet happy (because he and Harry are finally together, even though they are momentarily apart) he feels. It's a small comfort to know that Harry feels the same way that he does - Draco can hear it in the plaintive tone of the man's voice as he sings, the way that Harry's voice hitches as he sings the last few lines.
"Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light beams, I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams, if only in my dreams."
Draco closes his eyes and listens to the echoes of Harry's voice as the last words die out. It's a hauntingly beautiful song, and Draco wonders if he can listen to it again, or if whatever magic had been imbued into the contents of the envelope has faded along with the final strains of the song.
It makes him miss Harry even more, though Harry's only been gone for just over a day (he's not expected to return until a day or two after Christmas). Brushing impatiently at a wayward tear, Draco reaches into the envelope and pulls out the piece of paper; it's covered in Harry's messy handwriting, and there's an animated doodle of a Christmas tree, and a pair of stick figures (Harry and Draco) opening presents in the bottom right corner of the lined paper (no doubt another Muggle invention).
Draco laughs at Harry's 'artwork' and leans back in the armchair (the one near the window that he and Harry normally share, even though it's a bit snug) to read.
Love,
I'm sorry about sending this through Muggle post, but for the sake of our mission (sorry I can't tell you anything about it) it was either Muggle post or nothing, and I didn't want our first Christmas to be spent apart. I know it's silly, but in sending a little bit of me, I feel like, even though we are not physically together, we can be together in spirit. Call me maudlin, or a hopeless romantic all you want. I miss you, and wish that we could be together for our first Christmas. I wish that I could mail myself home to you. Like the song says, love (Hermione really is a brilliant witch, without her help, I would probably have sent you something more like a howler than a music gram) even if it is only in our dreams, I'll be home for Christmas. In your heart. In my heart. Look for me in your dreams, and I'll look for you in mine.
Love always and with everything that I am,
Harry
Clearing his throat, Draco reads the letter through three times before tucking it away in his robe, and turning his attention to the last item that Harry had sent to him.
It's a picture. Of Harry. Naked, save for a santa hat (mistletoe hanging from the tassle) perched atop his head, and a red ribbon tied around his large...package.
The picture's been animated (Draco really hoped that Weasley-Granger had nothing to do with the magic involved in that) and Draco watches, eyes wide with lust, mouth dry, hands shaking, as Harry proceeds to 'unwrap' his package and show Draco, in great detail, just what that beautiful package can do, given the right incentives. Incentives that Draco is more than willing to employ just as soon as Harry returns home, safe, from his mission.
Draco watches Harry unwrap himself several times, enjoying the playful, yet mischievous look in Harry's green eyes as the man touches himself, and blows kisses at Draco, before he turns the photograph around (if he doesn't, he'll be singing quite another Christmas tune, and decking, not the hall, but the tree and the parlor walls with something other than boughs of holly).
There are words on the back of the picture: A little treat for your Christmas Eve. I promise to let you unwrap the real thing when I'm home.
Draco watches the snow fall, knowing that, if Harry was there, they'd be staying up until midnight, exchanging slow kisses, and sharing stories of Christmases past. Maybe christening another piece of furniture (there are still several pieces that hadn't had the pleasure yet), or simply drinking wine, or firewhiskey and enjoying each other's company. They'd open a present each at midnight, and then turn in for the night. It's what they'd talked about doing.
Fingering the edges of Harry's letter, and the corner of the picture, Draco lets his mind wander along with the snow that falls outside. He shivers, though he's not cold, and wonders, as midnight approaches, if Harry's watching the snow, too. If he's tucked away in bed, already asleep, and toasty warm, or if he's freezing his ass off on the secret mission. Merlin, how he misses him.
Draco's eyes grow heavy. The fire in the fireplace starts to die down to embers, but Draco doesn't move from the armchair. He pulls the Weasley made blanket that's draped across the back of the chair over himself and settles in for the night. He doesn't like to sleep alone, and the bed feels far too empty without Harry there to share it with him.
As he's drifting off to sleep, the memory of Harry's voice singing, "I'll be home for Christmas," washes over him, and, for a second, just as his eyes close in sleep, Draco sees Harry, etched in the falling snowflakes, smiling and whispering, "I love you."
Draco does dream of Harry that night. Laughing quietly, kissing him on the temple, and lifting him in his arms, carrying him into their bedroom, and stripping him down to nothing more than the silly Christmas boxers covered in candy canes and mistletoe, that Harry'd insisted they buy (Harry has a matching pair). In his dream, Harry slips into bed beside him, and he's warmer than the snowflakes which had etched him earlier. Warm, and safe, and holding Draco in arms that he never wants to leave.
"Happy Christmas," dream Harry whispers, and Draco snuggles into the warmth of his dream, relishing the way that, even as a dream, Harry makes him feel cherished.
"Happy Christmas," Draco murmurs, and he falls into a deeper sleep, the feeling of being held against a strong chest, very real, though there's a part of him that knows it isn't.
The next morning, Draco wakes, stretches out his stiff limbs, and sits up so abruptly that it's a wonder he doesn't give himself whiplash. He's in bed, the side where Harry normally sleeps is empty, but warm, the sheets disturbed, and Draco's in nothing but the Christmas boxers. He blinks in the daylight that streams in through the window. It's well past daybreak, and he can hear movement in the kitchen. The sound of someone singing, and his heart almost stops.
Certain that he's still dreaming, Draco pinches himself, and winces at the pain. The scent of tea, and eggs and bacon wafts into the room, and, clad in nothing but the santa hat and red ribbon, as he'd been in the picture that he'd sent, Harry walks into the bedroom, a tray of breakfast in his hands, and a loving smile on his face.
"You-"
"I made it home in time for Christmas," Harry says, voice soft. He sets the tray on the bedside table. "Breakfast first, presents after?"
Nodding, and still pinching himself in spite of the pain that it causes, because this dream is apparently not a dream, Draco pulls Harry to himself, and buries his nose into the other man's chest, breathing in the scent of his love, and relishing this moment, hoping that it's really not a dream.
"It's not a dream," Harry says, reassuring, kissing the top of Draco's head. "The mission ended early."
"You were in my dreams," Draco insists, lips brushing over sensitive flesh, raising goosebumps.
"I was," Harry agrees, indulgent.
Draco can hear the smile in his lover's voice. He pinches Harry, and is rewarded with a tight squeeze, and a pained yelp.
"Just checking to make sure that you're real and not dreaming," Draco says, not at all repentant.
"You're supposed to pinch yourself, not your poor, homesick husband," Harry says, just short of pouting.
"Please," Draco huffs, pulls back just enough to see the playful glitter of green in Harry's eyes before he buries himself back in the man's muscular chest and kisses a mark that hadn't been there prior to this latest mission. "You were only gone for a day and a half."
Harry sniffs, and shivers when Draco kisses another bruise. "I was gone for almost two full days. I missed you."
"Missed you, too," Draco admits in a whisper, fingers digging into Harry's arms, proving to himself, and to Harry, that this is real and not a Christmas dream.