A Week in December
1.
It is one week to Christmas when Harry sees Draco. Nothing remarkable; Harry sees Draco around often enough after the war – the wizarding world is not all that big. Except this time, Draco is working in a pub. Now that was a first.
It is a cold, snowy night when Harry gets the absurd idea to start his Christmas shopping. He Apparates into Diagon Alley, takes one look at the hordes of people and crowded shops and swears loudly. He fights his way through several stores, ticks two people off his Christmas list and decides that was more than enough to warrant a drink. Harry wanders down to the other end of Diagon, where the crowds get sparser, and comes across a wooden door, above which a swinging brass sign reads 'The Fuzzy Kneazle'.
A peek through a small window reveals a cosy-looking pub, and so he heads in.
Inside, it is sinfully warm and suitably festive – all dark woods, garlands and twinkly lights. It smells like chocolate and Butterbeer and Harry sniffs appreciatively as he takes a seat at the bar. A harried-looking blond man bursts through a door behind the bar and drops a coaster in front of Harry.
"What'll it be tonight, sir?"
"Malfoy?"
Draco looks up and scowls. "Oh, buggering hell. Just what I need tonight."
"Charming as always, I see," Harry replies. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here, Potter, as my apron and the fact that I am serving you suggests." A waitress dashes past, dropping an order on the counter, and Draco snatches it up. "Now did you want a drink or not? We're terribly busy and short-staffed tonight."
Harry orders a mulled cider and enjoys it thoroughly, despite the niggling thought that Draco might have poisoned it. He leaves some money plus a hefty tip on the counter and sends an overly-cheerful wave at Draco as he leaves, pretending not to see the petulant scowl he receives in return.
2.
Harry isn't sure what brings him to the doorstep of The Fuzzy Kneazle the following night. All he knows is that he'd had a hellish day at work, he was in dire need of a drink and he'd spent the last eight hours daydreaming about that mulled cider. He pushes open the door and heads in. It doesn't seem as busy as last night; although that could be due to a third member of staff present.
Blaise Zabini smirks at him as he perches himself on a stool at the bar. Harry returns it half-heartedly.
"Potter." Blaise drops a coaster on the gleaming counter. Harry only notices now the black and white sketch of a very fluffy and grumpy looking kneazle on the coaster. "What can I get for you?"
"Mulled cider, please," Harry answers.
Harry is halfway through the deliciously warm and spicy beverage when Draco appears behind the bar, plates of food balanced professionally on his arms. Blaise is lazily polishing glasses and calls out, "Your favourite customer is here, Draco."
"Fuck you, Blaise, and get your arse back to work. Eva is swamped out there." Draco spares Harry a withering look and sweeps away to serve the dishes.
This time, when Harry leaves, he doesn't notice Draco watching him.
3.
It is four days to Christmas, and Harry thinks he really should get on with his shopping. So far he has bought a Muggle stationery set for Mr Weasley and a photo frame for Andromeda. He leaves work early with grim determination and a pocketful of Galleons.
It is a few hours later when he enters The Fuzzy Kneazle, laden down with shopping bags. The pub is only half full tonight and Draco is behind the counter looking a lot more relaxed.
"Good lord, Potter, is there anything left in Diagon for anyone else to buy?" he drawls as Harry collapses onto a stool, dropping his bags onto the floor.
"Very funny," Harry retorts, too tired to come up with a clever comeback. He orders the 'Warm Fuzzy Christmas Special' advertised on the small blackboard on the wall – "I'll have you know it was Eva who named that", says Draco – and sighs gratefully when Draco sets his order in front of him moments later.
Harry tucks eagerly into the slice of fruitcake and the large mug of hot chocolate – topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows – as Draco watches warily, leaning against the counter.
Harry is halfway through his cake when he pauses and looks up.
"Do you mind, Malfoy? It's a little unnerving; you watching me eat."
Draco shrugs, picking up a dishcloth, and begins to wipe down the counter. He stops when he gets to Harry's plate.
"Why do you keep coming here?" Draco asks.
Harry sets down his fork. He'd asked himself the same question earlier that evening before coming into the pub. "Your food is good and the Leaky is too crowded."
Draco seems satisfied with this but doesn't move away.
"So, The Fuzzy Kneazle. There must be a story behind that," Harry says, fishing a marshmallow out of his mug and popping it into his mouth.
"Blaise used to have a kneazle named Fuzzy," Draco replies, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I myself was pushing for 'The Poison Fang'."
Later when Harry leaves, gathering up his bags, he raises a hand in farewell, smiling when Draco nods in return.
4.
Harry enters The Fuzzy Kneazle, scanning the pub and feeling disappointed when he does not see Draco's fair head. Blaise serves him with his usual smirk, and Harry drinks his peppermint hot chocolate silently. As he stands to leave, throwing a few coins down on the counter, he looks around one last time. Blaise, who is filling up several tankards of Butterbeer, shoots him a sly and knowing smile.
"It's his night off, Potter," he calls out.
5.
Two days to Christmas, and Harry sees Draco for the first time this week outside the pub. He is strolling down Diagon, having just finished lunch with Hermione, and he catches a glimpse of pale blond hair through the window of Fitzy's, the hideously overpriced chocolate store. Harry enters the store, watches as Malfoy picks up and studies a bar of white chocolate with raspberries.
"You know Honeydukes sells the same thing for a third of the price."
Draco seems hardly startled, and turns to face Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Are you actually stalking me, Potter?" He places the chocolate bar in his basket.
"No," Harry half-lies. And then, "Do you want to get a coffee?" Because that was less creepy than being a stalker.
Draco glances at his watch. "I have to be at the pub in 15 minutes."
Harry nods in understanding, "Of course, I'm sorry-,"
"We do serve coffee, though."
It is past lunchtime and the pub is almost empty. Draco leaves Eva to deal with the few customers as he sits across Harry in a booth, warming his hands on a mug of coffee.
"So, the busiest week of the year and I find you in my pub every day. Nothing better to do?" Draco asks.
"Not many Christmas plans when you have next to no family," Harry replies.
"What about the red-headed brood?"
"The Weasleys all have families of their own now. I'll see them on Christmas Eve for dinner, but that's about it. What about you?"
"No family, either," Draco says simply.
They chat until Eva interrupts them by throwing Draco an apron and a pointed look. Harry looks around and sees the pub had filled up while they were talking. Draco says goodbye as he ties on his apron, watches Harry leave, and realises he has a crush on bloody Potter.
6.
Christmas Eve, and Harry finds himself yet again at The Fuzzy Kneazle, only this time he doesn't stay for a drink. He rushes into the pub after work to pick up some mulled cider to take to The Burrow for Christmas Eve dinner. Draco and Blaise are talking behind the counter as Harry walks up. Blaise sees Harry first and sidles away through the door into the kitchen.
"Potter," Draco greets him with a nod.
"Evening, Malfoy." He grins as Draco pulls up two bottles of cider, tinsel wrapped round the necks.
Harry fishes the coins out of his pocket, but Malfoy waves him off.
"On the house."
"No, I couldn't possibly..."
"Just regard it as a thank you for your patronage this week," Draco says with a smirk.
"Well...thank you." Harry picks up the bottles, nestling them in his arms. "Have a happy Christmas, Malfoy."
Draco inclines his head. "And the same to you."
7.
Christmas Day is bitterly cold, and Harry tucks his hands deeper into his pockets as he walks against the wind on the snowy street. He'd ventured into London for dinner and decided to come through the Leaky and Apparate home from Diagon. All the shops were closed, of course, and the Alley was deserted. Harry felt quite alone. Ron and Hermione had invited him over for Christmas dinner, but he'd declined. They were their own family now – kids plus dog, and he didn't want to be aging bachelor Uncle Harry in the family photo.
Harry keeps walking, enjoying the still silence and the way his footsteps sinks into and ruins the perfectly smooth, white, blanket of snow. He walks until he sees the familiar hanging sign over the wooden door, and he isn't alone anymore.
Draco is at the doorstep of The Fuzzy Kneazle, head bent over the doorknob. Harry sees the glint of keys in his gloved hands.
"Malfoy," he says, and his voice sounds very loud in the night.
Draco looks up, startled. "It's Christmas, Potter."
"I'm aware of that."
"Well, what are you doing here? We're closed."
"I could ask the same of you."
Draco looks down and locks the door. "I left something here, I just came by to pick it up."
He drops the key into his pocket and steps away from the door, blinking at Harry from beneath his grey woollen beanie. Harry notices it matches his eyes perfectly.
"Well, damn. I was hoping for some of that delicious cider."
Draco stares at him for a long moment, then finally, "I have some at home."
Harry smiles. "Sounds perfect."
It turns out Draco lives at Corin Alley, the residential street just off Diagon. They walk up the empty, snowy street, and Harry sees many a lighted window, through which Christmas trees twinkle. They come up to Draco's modest but stylish townhouse, and the next thing he knows, Draco is pressed up against his own front door, Harry leaning over him, hands on either side of his head.
"You have some nerve," Draco murmurs, his eyes on Harrys lips, only centimetres away from his. "Coming into my pub every single night, stalking me, using mulled cider as a flimsy excuse..."
Harry moves infinitesimally closer. "Damn, Malfoy, you always see right through me."
Draco looks up into Harry's eyes. "And you, Potter, always turn up when I least expect it."
Harry lowers one hand and cups the back of Draco's neck, pulls him in and kisses him. He can feel the warmth of Draco even through his gloves. Draco wraps an arm around Harry's waist and with his other hand, unlocks his front door wandlessly. It swings open behind him and they stumble through over the front step, still kissing. Harry has a one hand tangled in Draco's hair, another wrapped around his slim body and he mindlessly notes that Draco tastes just like the mulled cider he'd promised.
8.
Boxing Day, and Harry has consumed entirely too much mulled cider. It's not a holiday in the Wizarding World and Harry was expected at work three hours ago, but it's hard to care when it is cold outside, and a warm body is pressed up against him, pressing kisses to his bare chest and whispering filthy things and promises of more cider in his ear.
It had been a good week, indeed.
The End.
Merry Christmas!