A/N: The posting spree continues! I found this in my dusty folder of old fics I never thought I'd get around to typing up and decided to prove myself wrong… Don't expect updates anytime soon, I just wanted to get this out of the way.
Disclaimer: Look at how much I don't own this.
Chapter One
Harry sat broodingly on his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor boy's dorm, the curtains drawn around him and only dimly illuminated by the light emanating from the tip of his wand set on the bedspread beside him. It was the dead of night, and despite his best efforts sleep continued to elude the raven-haired boy. He was cross-legged, hunched over as he stared desolately at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.
Draco Malfoy.
Sometimes, the Boy-Who-Lived wondered if the old man was messing with him purely for his own twisted pleasure. The twinkle in his piercing blue eyes as Harry had drawn the slip of paper from the Sorting Hat in the Headmaster's hands indicated that he was at least partially right. But honestly, what did Dumbledore think he was accomplishing with this ruse? House unity was the official reason, of course, as he'd announced to the school exactly a day ago in the Great Hall. But Harry Potter giving Draco Malfoy a Christmas gift was just a tad absurd.
Vaguely, Harry thought about what the Malfoy boy might want for Christmas anyways. He was as rich as Harry, probably more so, and as far as Harry could tell he was a spoilt brat who had always as fara s he remembered gotten whatever he wanted. What would Harry be able to get him that he didn't already have, or just go out and buy himself if he fancied it?
No less frustrated than he had been before, Harry scowled at the little slip of paper and tossed it to the end of the bed. He glared at it as it floated, seemingly innocent, to his scarlet bedspread and climbed underneath the covers, resigned.
There was still a week before Christmas Eve; maybe he would think of something tomorrow…
HDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHD
"Draco, love, is something wrong?" Pansy simpered, combing her short black hair with her fingers. The blond Slytherin boy had his head in her lap; he was scowling up at the ceiling, arms and legs crossed tetchily. She could have been doing her Potions essay, but instead had chosen to allow her friend to brood on top of her, setting her parchment and quill aside.
"M'fine," he sulked. Secretly, Draco was glad that he had Pansy to try and comfort him at the very least. The pug-faced girl whose lap he laid in was one of his dearest friends, the only one he ever told about his private thoughts, and even though this was a matter that he literally couldn't confide in her, Draco had to be grateful.
"Not very convincing, are you?" she snorted. "Why don't you just tell me and get it over with? You tell me everything else. I was the only one you told when you figured out you were a ponce, and when you discovered your little crush on P-"
"Don't say it!" he growled, sitting up and shooting her a glare. "It doesn't matter if I want to or not, I can't tell you. Leave it be, Pansy."
"Oh but it's sweet, how enamored you are with him," she cooed, an evil glint in her eye. "Potter this, Potter that, I dreampt about Potter last night, I wonder what Potter is up to-"
"You are the human equivalent of a jarvey," he muttered, face falling into his hands.
"I'm only teasing, Draco. If you can't tell me then how can I help?" Fingers began playing with his long hair, which fell nearly to his shoulders now, and the Slytherin prince sighed into the contact.
"I suppose you can't," he admitted, and abruptly stood. "I think I'll turn in. We have arithmancy in the morning, and I need my beauty rest."
Pansy watched in exasperation as the Malfoy heir gracefully ascended the stairs to the boys dormitory. She didn't, however, see the two words written in an elegant scarlet script on the piece of parchment clutched in his fist.
Harry Potter