The Christmas Cookie
Even though it's only NovemberFrom the street below, if you were looking hard enough for it, you could see the faint outline of a Christmas tree in the fourth window on the fourth floor. The tree was never lit, because the occupants were never, ever home.
Some time after the sun had gone down on Christmas eve, a woman passed by the house and saw the tree, which had been nothing more than a looming shadow in the window for a week before, was lit. Each branch had shining, sparkling lights on it in all the colours of the rainbow.
She smiled to herself as she jogged up the steps of the building next door. Harry and Draco were finally home.
The Christmas tree had been bought a week ago when the two lovers, whom the jogging woman knew so well, were both home. She remembered seeing them leave at four o'clock in the afternoon to pick out the tree and they did not return until nine o'clock that night.
Harry had told her over a cup of tea the next day that he and Draco had been unable to find a tree that fit both their likings. Draco would find a tree he thought was beautiful, but Harry would think it was too big or not full enough. Harry would pick out a tree and Draco would call it 'stout' and 'thick,' which, while perhaps not insults in themselves, reminded Harry too much of his Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley for him to ever be able to look at the tree again. Draco had picked up on this rather quickly and had used it to his advantage, making sure that each tree that Harry so much as glanced at got the boot right away.
At five o'clock that evening, Harry thought Draco's method of getting his way was cute.
At six o'clock that evening, Harry was fed up.
At seven o'clock that evening, an argument finally broke out. By seven thirty the two lovers had gone their separate ways. All over a Christmas tree.
Harry had gone to the pub nearest his flat, trying to drown his sorrows. He had stayed until the bartender had told him it was closing time. Drunk and tired, Harry Potter had stumbled back to his flat.
When he finally managed his way up four flights of stairs and had found his keys, he stumbled into the house.
He had thrown his keys on the table and used the bathroom before he headed through the living room.
There, in the centre of the room was a short, full Christmas tree, decorated with all of the ornaments Harry and Draco had picked out at the store. He noticed there were even some handmade ornaments that were filling up the empty branches. At first, Harry thought he had had more to drink than he had thought.
When he turned to the couch, though, he knew it was no hallucination. There, curled up on the couch, sleeping practically on top of an assortment of scissors, glue, and paper, was Draco.