'Twas Brillig

***** Disclaimer: Not mine. Cue the sads. *****

Over the course of their time together, it had become a sort of tradition. On Sunday mornings, Harry would roll out of bed and come downstairs to find Draco sprawled across the couch, drinking his tea and reading poetry out of some book or another. It was one of the highlights of his week, having Draco look up at him with a soft smile and warm eyes, knowing that he was the only person allowed to see him at his most vulnerable.

Occasionally, Draco would pat the space next to him on the couch, inviting Harry to read a piece. Sometimes funny and sometimes hauntingly sad, all of the things Draco shared only increased Harry's appreciation for language. Hard as Hermione tried to instill some in him, she had never really understood that he didn't have the patience for it that she did. It appeared that Draco had succeeded where she had failed, getting Harry to take up voluntary reading. And Draco had noticed Harry's interest, going so far as to gift Harry some of his own books.

Harry had particularly enjoyed his copy of Where The Sidewalk Ends. He had received it for his last birthday and flown through it. Upon opening the book, he had first been insulted that Draco had given him a book of children's poems. Did he not think Harry capable of understanding his fancy, convoluted adult poetry? But he read the first poem and found himself ten pages in before he realized that Draco had chosen the book not because he thought Harry was incapable of understanding anything else, but because he knew Harry would actually like the poems.

Determined to return the favor, Harry went in search of a book Draco didn't already own. Fortunately, Draco had moved his entire collection out of the Manor, saving Harry the trouble of looking in two places. Armed with his list, he stepped out to Flourish and Blotts while Draco was at work, called in on an emergency. The store was largely empty, surprising for Christmas Eve.

"Nice to see you, Mr. Potter! What can I do for you today? Wrapping up your Christmas shopping?" he asked, both the books around him and discretion limiting his volume.

"I'm looking for some poetry," Harry answered, feeling a little lost amongst the sea of books. "The rarer, the better," he added, hoping to narrow down his options.

"In that case…" the man trailed off and looked around before continuing conspiratorially. "Follow me." He turned and Harry hesitated before deciding that it was highly unlikely that someone would try and off him in here. He followed the store owner through some thick red curtains into a neatly hidden room.

"This room isn't just for extra stock," Harry heard as the man disappeared around a corner ahead. He rounded the same corner and stopped short in front of a room that appeared to be an entire bookstore in its own right.

The man beamed at Harry's gaping face. "All these books are by Muggle authors. Creative individuals, I must say." He directed Harry to the poetry section and left him to his own devices. "Just come back out front when you're ready."

Skimming the poetry collections, Harry passed over one Edgar Allen Poe (deciding that, for a Muggle, the man had some rather inventive methods of torture) and a Miss Emily Dickinson (both he and Draco had had enough of death, capital D or otherwise, for several lifetimes), settling on a collection of William Blake. Having made his selection for Draco, he found himself drifting into the children's section. He picked up a book with a cover illustration of a girl in a blue dress and a very large cat that reminded him a bit of Crookshanks.

The Poems of Lewis Carroll, the title read. He turned to the first poem. Jabberwocky, it named itself. He started to read, a frown appearing on his face and becoming more pronounced the farther he got down the page. Finally reaching the end, his first thought was 'What did I just read?' His confusion made him wonder what Draco would think of the poem, which is what gave him his stroke of genius. He stacked Lewis Carroll on top of William Blake and came out to the front of the shop, looking like the cat that got the canary.

"I'll take these," he said excitedly.

"I'm glad you were able to find something so late, sir," the shop owner said as he was calculating Harry's total. "Me too," Harry said, nodding nervously in reply. Once his items were paid for and wrapped, Harry Apparated home, hoping Draco wasn't around. Luck was with him, and he managed to get his present under their small, sparsely decorated tree and park himself on the sofa just before he heard Draco in the kitchen.

"I'm back. Finally," Draco called from the kitchen. Harry could hear the exasperation in his voice. Draco stepped into the living room and flopped on the couch next to him. "Shall we do presents tonight?" Draco suggested. "Goodness knows we never have time after the dinner."

Harry was torn between saving the joy of opening his own presents later and the joy of having Draco open his now. He opted for the latter. "Tonight," he agreed, schooling his face into calmness with an effort. "You first," he said, handing Draco his recently acquired gift. "Merry Christmas."

Draco took the bag and peered inside at his gifts. He considered trying to guess what they were, but curiosity got the better of him. He unwrapped the first of his packages, the smile on his face growing by the second. Finishing unearthing the book of William Blake, he scooted closer to Harry on the couch and kissed him quite noisily on the cheek, the lightness of his resulting laughter countering the depths of his feelings. He tucked his head under Harry's chin as he quieted. "Thank you for supporting my poetry habit," he sighed.

Harry pulled him away, smiling widely out of happiness and anticipation. "Finish opening them."

Draco picked the bag and continued, unwrapping his other gifts. He pulled another book of poetry from the paper, frowning in confusion at the illustration on the front. He set it aside to read later. He rolled toward the tree, picking up the gift he had purchased for Harry. He grinned as he handed it over. "Behold, the results of my gifting prowess. Merry Christmas."

Harry took it and picked at the corner until he could pull the paper away from his present. Or presents, as it appeared. Harry was glad he had resisted the urge to buy anything for himself in Flourish and Blotts as he revealed more Shel Silverstein works. One, called A Light in the Attic, he recognized as a poetry collection, but the other was unfamiliar. The cover was bright green, with a picture of a boy under a willow (not whomping, Harry noticed). The Giving Tree, the title read. He wondered if Draco knew that the author was a Muggle. And where he was getting these books, for that matter. Following Draco's example, he held the book up, asking for more information.

"Just a reminder to not spread yourself too thin or run yourself ragged for people who don't appreciate it. A nicely illustrated reminder, at that." Draco said with a small smile. "Shall we read until one of us gets desperate enough to make food?" Harry nodded in agreement, watching over the top of his book as Draco opened the Lewis Carroll collection.

His surveillance apparently went unnoticed as Draco made his way through Jabberwocky, his face darkening as he read. Satisfied that he had stumped Draco, Harry began his own book. He was two pages in when Draco interrupted.

"Harry?" Draco began, dangerously quiet.

"Yes?" Harry replied, his face the picture of innocence.

"What is this nonsense?" Draco asked, very obviously struggling to maintain his conversational tone.

"That's exactly what I asked myself when I found it. Which is why I gave it to you. Wanted to see if it confused you as much as it did me," Harry said, proud of his accomplishment. "They're not all like that, though," he added in an attempt to placate Draco.

Draco did calm a bit at that, eyeing Harry warily for a bit before returning to his book. "I'll be the judge of that." Harry smiled at his antics and turned his attention back to the story of the very generous tree.

**0**

Harry made his way upstairs for bed, knowing he'd need to be well-rested to survive Mrs. Malfoy's Christmas lunch and Mrs. Weasley's Christmas dinner. The light was still on, which meant that Draco was still awake reading. Draco closed his book and looked up as Harry stepped into the room. "He lives," Draco said drily.

"Lucky you," Harry shot back with a smile as he got into the bed. "How's Mr. Carroll?"

"Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" Draco responded, batting his eyelashes at Harry.

"Quiet, you. I shall have you know I have indeed handled a vorpal blade," Harry admonished. "Nox." Draco shifted closer to Harry, still laughing at his own joke. "Good night, beamish," Draco said softly, drifting off.

"Good night," Harry replied, thinking life 'twas brillig indeed.