Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
A/N: Written for sirene, a gift for the H/D Owlpost 2018. Thanks for the prompt!
Present with a Bow on Top
You little minx—
Ink blotched on the coarse parchment as the quill stilled in his hand. With a grunt, he penned the rest of the note, his usual flourished script morphing into jagged scratches.
Open your blasted Floo. I need to speak with you. Immediately.
He rolled the short missive and handed it to the owl. "Hermione Granger. She's at the Ministry of Magic—allegedly." The spotted owl tilted his head, and Draco snorted. "I know. She was probably lying about that, too. Deceitful little—"
"Ahem."
A growl caught in the back of his throat. "What?" Draco snarled.
"That's no way to talk about my best friend."
"She's my best friend, too," he sneered at his unanticipated companion. "Or was. Now I'll have to make do with bloody Nott or Parkinson. Though I'd have never agreed to go with them on a tropical Christmas trip." He nudged his chin towards the window. The owl stretched its speckled wings and fluttered away. Within a minute, he was a dot on the blue horizon.
Under the afternoon sun, the beach stretched out for miles. Hundreds of people laid out on vibrant towels, frolicked at the water's edge, and ventured past the crashing waves on flat boards. A breeze carried the tangy ocean scent to his third-floor window.
The uninvited guest on the bed cleared his throat again. "What did she tell you?"
With a final glower at the happy tourists, Draco turned away from the window. He fished the crumpled note from his pocket and tossed it.
The bespectacled man snatched it out of the air without moving from his spot. He pushed the black frames up his nose before flattening out the parchment. His green eyes flickered over the lines.
Draco strode to the minibar. His eidetic memory recalled the words: Draco, the note said. Take the scheduled Portkey. I'm held up at work and won't be joining you this afternoon. Kingsley said I could get a Portkey from here after I wrap up this case, so I'll be there as soon as I can.
Head to the hotel and give them my name—I've already Owled to let them know to expect you. Oh, and by the time you get there, your Christmas present will be on the bed.
I hope you like it.
H.G.
Draco pulled out a small bottle of liquor from the minibar and gulped it down quickly. By the time he turned back, Harry Potter was looking around the wide mattress.
Draco sighed. "What are you doing?"
Harry shifted in his seat to look under him. "Did I sit on it?" he mumbled.
"Sit on what?"
"Your present."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn it, Granger," he grumbled. He was tempted to grab another bottle of amber liquid.
"I swear I didn't see anything when I first got here." On his hands and knees, Harry scurried to the head of the bed and flipped the thin blanket over.
"How did you even get in my room?"
As he looked under the pillows, Harry replied, "Well, Hermione Owled me a Portkey an hour ago saying she needed me."
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "And you just took it?"
Harry paused his search and mirrored his expression. "You wouldn't have?"
Draco folded his arms across his chest. Harry probably took the Portkey without question because of their long history of trust and amity. Although Draco's friendship with Hermione was much newer, he also would have taken her mystery Portkey. Hermione Granger had everyone's best interest at heart. That, and the woman was simply hard to refuse. Draco nodded tersely.
"So," Harry resumed his quest to find the missing present. He bent over the edge to look under the bed. "What do you think she got you? Must be something good if she sent it halfway 'round the world ahead of her."
Draco scoffed. "Isn't it obvious by now, Potter?" With a resolve to trust Hermione's instincts, Draco stepped away from the minibar and sauntered to the bed. "Where, exactly, did your Portkey take you?"
"Here," said Harry.
As Draco came closer, Harry straightened up and sat back on his heels.
"Where?" Draco pressed.
"Here." Annoyance flashed on Harry's face. Then—as Draco's knees hit the edge of the bed—understanding dawned in his emerald eyes. "Here," Harry whispered, "on the bed." His face twisted into a mask of indignation. "Why that cunning little—"
"Hey, now," Draco drawled. "Careful what you say about my best friend."
"So I," Harry sputtered, "and you—she thinks—" His cheeks flared.
"Calm down, Potter." Carefully, Draco placed his hands on the stammering man's shoulders. Harry froze at his touch.
"I'm your Christmas present?" Harry breathed.
A smirk tugged on the corner of Draco's lips. His forefinger skimmed the green bowtie at Harry's collar. "I didn't know you wear bowties," Draco murmured.
Harry's hand flew to the base of his neck; their fingers grazed. "I don't, usually. This came with the Portkey. Hermione wrote that I should wear it…" He groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Of course, she did." Draco chuckled quietly. "But you don't have to wear it,"—his gaze flicked to the bowtie before meeting Harry's eyes with a silent question—"if you don't want to."
For a moment, the muscles of Harry's jaws tensed. Then, with a soft grin, he said, "I like it. It's not a present if there's no bow on top, right?"
"A present. Hmm." Draco's smirk widened into a genuine smile. "Well, if that's the case—" He tugged on the tie; it unfurled with little resistance. The green silk cloth hung loosely over Harry's nape. Draco grabbed both ends and gently tugged him forward until their lips brushed together. "I simply cannot wait 'til Christmas to open my present."
Harry replied that he, too, was rather impatient for Christmas to come.
But not with words.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!
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