The sunlight streaming through the Burrow's living room windows was still a watery grey when Harry Potter Apparated in.

George yelped, jerking forward so sharply that he headbutted Millicent in the jaw. She fell of his lap and hit the floor, swearing.

"Morning, George. Morning, Mill."

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" George glared up at Harry before leaning down to help Millicent up.

Harry was faster, stopping by her and offering a hand. He might have had qualms about her at first, but after three years, most of George's acquaintance had gotten it into their heads that Mill was a fixture, not a fad.

Most. Molly was still not the slightest bit receptive to Millicent. And Arthur tended to give George the Floos of witches that he said had liked George at Hogwarts. Whenever Mill and George got into a particularly vicious slanging match, she'd throw her hands up and tell him to Floo one of his father's witches, if he didn't want her. And he'd almost always counter with, "Go take my brother, if you don't want me!" Then she'd toss her head, glare at him and demand, "You think I'd be here if he'd have me?"

Their fights were ridiculous. George was unspeakably grateful that none of his relatives had ever witnessed one. He'd had the bad luck to get into a row with Mill at her parents' house once. To his eternal shame, both her mother and father had snuck into the parlour to watch the fight – with popcorn.

It would be fine if he and Mill fought like Fleur and Fred, or like Draco and Pansy. Their rows were spectacular. All tossing of glossy hair and power poses. Elegant hand gestures – which were of themselves cutting insults. Smoulder-y looks, eloquently hurled battle cries. They could be fighting about whose hair was prettiest and it was still epic. Kind of a pity if they had fights without an audience, really.

"Why are you here so early?" Mill asked as Harry pulled her to her feet.

He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at her. "You know. It's Christmas so – family and all."

"Where's your boyfriend?" asked George. Harry had brought him to the previous Christmas and a couple of birthdays. Callum, maybe? Ex-Durmstrang student. He was beautiful and the things he could do on a broom were insane. He'd grabbed a snitch out from under Harry's nose that Christmas. Leapt off his broom, snatched it mid-air and spelled the ground to mud as he tumbled into it.

George had just stared, open-mouthed, until Mill punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

"If you're that enamoured, why don't you date him?"

George grinned and slicked a hand through his hair. "You think he'll have me?"

But then Harry was landing, tossing his broom aside as he leapt to the ground. The momentum hurled him into Callum's muddy torso. "Idiot!" He hit one hand into Callum's broad chest. It squelched in the mud, splattering them both.

Callum held up a hand. A glitter of gold as the snitch struggled. "Don't be a sore loser now."

Harry laughed and dragged Callum in for a kiss.

Malfoy had spent that whole Christmas hissing and spitting at Harry with even more viciousness than usual, desperate to claw some attention back to himself. He managed it, of course. It was impossible to ignore Malfoy when he wanted attention.

"We broke up." Harry's voice was clipped. Kind of like he was pissed off that George had reminded him.

George choked in shock. "You let that spectacular piece of man-meat go? Merlin's wand, Harry, why?"

Mill grinned. "I think what George is asking is, can George have him now?"

"What?" Harry glanced from one of them to the other. "Oh, yeah, um – We're still friends. It's all just a bit confusing, alright?"

"Are you dating Oliver Wood now?" Nothing else made sense. George had never seen anyone match Harry like that on a Quidditch pitch. Oliver Wood might just.

Harry blinked. "Oliver Wood's gay?"

"I – don't know."

Harry's surprised look turned to a scowl. "I know what you're doing." He pointed an accusing finger at George.

George held both hands up. "No, no. We were just kissing. There was no other kinky stuff going on."

When Harry's accusing glare didn't abate, Mill shook her head in agreement. "In the Burrow living room, Potter!" she exclaimed in scandalised tones. "The Weasley parentals have probably gotten freaky in here."

Both boys shuddered in horror. George quickly stood up and stepped away from the couch. "Why do you always make it weird?" he complained.

Harry jabbed a finger at Mill before pointing at George again. "So, it's both of you? This won't work."

"Potter, please. The children were watching." Millicent motioned to the other sofa. Pudding sat regally, cleaning her whiskers. Beside her Slug was coiled around a protesting Brutus.

Harry glanced at them, frowned a little when he saw that Slug was as active as ever, but didn't comment. No one knew how a transfigured ribbon had lasted three years, but Mill got kind of offended if anyone suggested that her pet should be dead so mostly people didn't. A good call, really. When Slytherins got offended they tended to get hex-happy.

"Okay, I honestly don't care what either of you were doing. Please go back to it and stop trying to distract me."

"Distract you…" Millicent trailed off, tilting her head to glance at George.

"That means there's something to distract you from," said George.

"Why are you here so early?" asked Millicent.

"What are you up to?" asked George.

Harry gave a grunt of irritation and headed for the door. On his way through, he dragged a berry-laden sprig of mistletoe down from the door-frame.

Mill caught George's eye again. They burst into laughter at the same moment. "About bloody time, you thick git," George called after him, reaching out to pull Mill into him.

She leant against his ribcage, tucking her hands into his back-pockets. "Four Christmases, and it only just occurs to him to get rid of the stuff?"

"We Gryffindors are brave, not clever," said George.

Mill smirked up at him. "Poor little Malfoy will be disappointed."

Malfoy might be a creepy basket-case, but George felt a pang of sympathy for him. That first Christmas, three years ago, George had come downstairs at some ungodly hour to find Malfoy at the front door, an overflowing bag of magical mistletoe in hand and a pile of expensive luggage behind him.

"Merlin, Malfoy." George rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" He squinted into the grey light of the winter morning. "What time is it?"

Malfoy wasn't listening. He pushed past George instead and stood in the kitchen, looking around before shaking his head. "This won't do. Here." He shoved the bag of mistletoe into George's hands. "You'll need to hold that for me."

For the next two hours, Malfoy hung magical mistletoe around the Burrow. He was ridiculously thorough. He decked out the kitchen before dragging George through the rest of the house, garlanding ceilings liberally.

Then he made a coffee, leant in the entrance doorway and refused to move except to refill his mug.

Half an hour later, a crack of Apparation sounded from outside. A moment later, Harry was in the doorway, slamming Malfoy back against the inside of the frame. Coffee sloshed out on both of them. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Malfoy threw the remainder of his mug at Harry. "Merlin's wand, Potter!" he snapped. On him hopeless infatuation sounded the same as bitter hatred. Kind of looked the same too. "I'm having a coffee in peace, you complete lunatic!"

Harry slammed him into the doorframe again. "Not here," he snarled. "Anywhere but here."

Malfoy glanced at the ceiling and swore in a more colourful and inventive manner than George would have thought him capable. "You utter tool, Potter. Did you wake up this morning and decide that you weren't doing enough in the world to make me miserable?"

"I woke up this morning hoping to go two weeks without seeing you!"

"Well, I woke up this morning hoping that I'd get through the day without kissing you but…" Malfoy held his hands out to show how badly that hope had failed him.

Harry spluttered, rearing away from Malfoy and hitting the other side of the doorframe. "What..? I… No – what?"

Charlie – still outside after having Apparated Harry to the Burrow – glanced up. "Huh," he said. "Mum invested in magical mistletoe this year?"

Harry eyed the sprig of mistletoe warily. "What does that..? Stay back, Malfoy! What, Charlie?"

"Each berry is a kiss," said Charlie. "If you're caught under a sprig with someone who's not immediately related to you and you refuse, you have a year of bad luck."

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "I have that anyway! Every damn year."

"You haven't lost to You-Know-Who yet," George pointed out.

"I'll take that chance!"

Malfoy pushed him against the door and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I won't," he said, voice full of ice. "I'll thank you not to barge into my personal space again. And bloody look where you're going." He plucked a berry from the mistletoe and pegged it at Harry before leaning back against his side of the doorway.

Swearing, Harry stumbled into the kitchen, scrubbing at his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.

Snorting on laughter, Charlie crossed the threshold, slowing only to kiss the top of Malfoy's head.

It had been a Christmas tradition ever since. Malfoy decking out the Burrow so that he and Harry could spend the next few days playing a complicated psychological game of catch and kiss.

It was bizarre that Harry never caught on to the whole thing. To be fair, Harry probably did think that Molly was putting the mistletoe up. And if he got caught under it with Malfoy a whole lot, well, so did everyone else in the Burrow. Over the three Christmases, every Weasley figured it out. And for some reason, every Weasley ended up conspiring to help Malfoy. None of them spoke to each other about it – George was pretty sure that they didn't even speak to Malfoy about it. They just played along.

Ginny first. That first Christmas, she got herself caught in doorways with Malfoy at an approximate rate of twice every hour until the family was convinced that she was the one Malfoy was visiting for. For a couple of stressful hours, George worried that Ginny thought that Malfoy was there for her too. But then he caught the way she'd nudge her other brothers into doorways at opportune times and realised that it was some sort of game she was playing.

#

"I'm torn," said Mill, collapsing back onto the sofa. She motioned to the doorway Harry had disappeared through. "If we help him pull the mistletoe down, Malfoy's sure to have a complete meltdown. But if we don't help, he's sure to miss at least some sprigs and he's always so desolate when Malfoy gets to kiss him."

George's brows drew together in consternation. "I see your point. Both scenarios will be hilarious…"

"Yes," agreed Mill. "But which one more so?"

"Hm." George rubbed his jaw, frowned and said, "Hm," again. "Well," he said finally, sinking to sit by Millicent on the sofa. "We've already had the scenarios in which mistletoe is involved…"

"No, no, no," Mill cut in, shaking her head. "Don't act as though we've gleaned all the entertainment we could glean from this. Only last year Potter threw himself out of the window to avoid getting stuck under the mistletoe with Malfoy. Threw himself out of the window, George!"

He'd fractured a bone in that incident, but George tried not to judge Mill's sense of humour too harshly. "True," he said. "And then there was that awkward moment when the family ghoul got stuck under the mistletoe with Percy."

Mill's eyes glossed over with happiness. "And the time that Callum got stuck under the mistletoe with Oliver Wood."

George frowned. "Was that funny?"

Mill punched him in the shoulder. "No, dumb-arse. That was super-hot. The time Callum got stuck under the mistletoe with Malfoy was funny."

George snorted. "Yeah."

Malfoy had hissed and spat like Pudding whenever Pudding had to have a bath. But the bad luck associated with breaking magical mistletoe rules was no joke, so he hadn't actually stalked off.

Callum, for his part, had leant in his side of the door-frame, kind of amused and not too bothered by the whole thing. For the entire two hours it took Malfoy to relent. They'd been in a medium traffic doorway and the rest of the Burrow's occupants had to kiss both of them every time they went through.

Every time Harry passed, he'd press Callum into the timber of the door way, lingering on long, languid kisses. Then he'd peck Malfoy on the cheek, with a grimace of distaste on his face and walk on. That had nearly broken Malfoy.

George, Mill, Fred and Pansy had sat in the corridor and watched, laughing and eating popcorn. George kind of loved Hermione for introducing them to cinemas. Popcorn really did make a show better.

But if Malfoy had loathed Callum before that incident, his feelings had spiked to homicidal afterwards.

Kind of odd, really. The Christmas prior to that, Harry had brought Terry Boot back to the Burrow. Terry might not have been the golden god that Callum was – all deep tan and hair the colour of sunlight – but Terry was attractive. Athletic in the elegant style of a swimmer. He was smart.

And in the bloody aftermath of the final battle, he was there for Harry. Unwaveringly.

Malfoy had been mean to Terry, for sure, in his usual casual way. But Malfoy's interactions with Terry lacked the malice that cropped up every time he spoke to – hell, even looked at – Callum.

Sometimes George thought that maybe Malfoy realised how much Harry had needed someone after the war, so Malfoy had let Harry have Terry – kind of like at Hogwarts when Malfoy realised that Harry needed his stone more than Malfoy needed an addition to his Potter shrine. But then Malfoy had been so fucking awful to Harry that year, that George really couldn't say for sure.

Malfoy really had been an arse to Harry for the past few years, but that was only part of the reason that George said, "I think we should help Harry."

When Millicent looked as though she might object, he held his hands up.

"I get that pulling the mistletoe down takes what could be a wide range of amusements and focuses them on Malfoy, but imagine it, Mill. He'll have a meltdown, sure, but he won't be able to do it openly. If he does, Harry's sure to figure out what's going on. Seriously, Mill. Draco Malfoy trying to have a temper tantrum quietly. Think on it."

Millicent did think about it. Then she went to the fireplace and began tearing down mistletoe.

George grinned and headed off to work on another room.