Mill wasn't in the sitting room when George went back inside, so he headed up the stairs for his old bedroom. Mill was sitting on the bed, while Malfoy paced the sliver of floor-space, yelling at her.

"Oi," said George, sliding onto the bed and putting an arm around Mill. "Don't scream at my girl."

Malfoy slammed the door shut and cast a Muffliato. "You!" He jabbed his wand at George. "You were probably in on this! Did you and Mill conspire to send a letter to lure Callum bloody McCarrick here?"

When George had first dated Mill, he'd tried to take the heat for things she'd done. He knew better now. "No, no. That was all Mill's brilliant machination."

Mill grinned. "Damn straight."

"Why do you look so pleased with yourself?" wailed Malfoy. He jabbed the wand at George again. "Why are you acting so proud of her? She tried to obliterate my happiness!"

When Malfoy glowered at Mill, she tossed her head. "I refuse to apologise for keeping myself entertained," she said.

"Considering that Harry showed up at some ungodly hour merely to drag down all of your magical mistletoe, I kind of think that your happiness was already on shaky ground," George pointed out.

"If I never get Potter, I will hold you responsible!" exclaimed Malfoy.

"Or you could – you know – hold the fact that you stalked and tortured him for years responsible?" suggested George.

Mill snorted. "That's exactly how I got you, Weasley. But I'm significantly better at the whole thing because I broke you in days, not years."

George grinned at her. "Maybe I just know a good thing when I see it." Compliments still made her bristle, she just tried to hide it now.

"Stop being disgusting," snapped Malfoy. "Obviously no one else would have either of you." He threw himself on Fred's old bed and buried his face in his arms. "This is a nightmare. It's the first time Potter's been single at Christmas since he came out and you're both ruining it."

"Well," said George.

"And you don't even care!" Malfoy screeched.

"We really don't," agreed Mill. "It's not at all interesting. Can you go and have a fight with someone and make Christmas fun again?"

Malfoy lifted his head to stare at her in pained disbelief before throwing himself back into the mattress with a sob of despair.

George gave Mill a hard look and moved across to sit by Malfoy. "Hey." He smoothed the blond hair back soothingly. "Come on, buddy. You remember making 'Potter Stinks' badges that time, right?"

"I was a child!" wailed Malfoy. "I can't be held accountable for my rash but well-intended actions!"

Well-intended? Jesus Christ. George dropped that point of conversation. "Well, you remember last Christmas when you tried to seduce Callum away from Harry?"

Malfoy spluttered at the reminder of his failed conquest. "Potter never knew about that!" he protested. "He can't blame me for something he doesn't know about!"

George huffed out a breath. "He knows that you sold his story to the Daily Prophet." That incident still rankled, rubbing like salt against an open wound. Malfoy had taken their side during the final battle. Maybe he'd been a smug git about the fact that Harry couldn't kill Nagini, but it was Malfoy. If there was boasting to be done, he'd front the line.

George had thought that Harry and Malfoy would be good after that last fight. At least until he'd opened the Daily Prophet two weeks later to a full page spread of what had gone down in the final battle. Everything was there – lists of the living and dead on both sides, Harry's break-down, a description of the scene of the last battle – so detailed that it brought back all the cold-sweat nightmares that George had been trying to self-medicate away.

George had stormed back inside and tossed the paper at Mill. "Someone's leaked." He leant in the doorway and glowered at her as he tried to piece together who would have – Jesus, who could have? No one had seen Harry break at the end. No one they didn't trust.

She unfolded the creases George had crushed into the parchment and glanced the article over. "Draco Malfoy," she said finally.

"What?" George's head came up. Blinking away his thoughts, he stared at her.

"Draco Malfoy." She tapped the page. "It's no secret, Weasley. He's put himself on record."

George snatched the paper up. Sure enough, Malfoy was named. George swore and flung the paper away, smashing a nearby vase.

Mill smiled, because the vase had been a gift from Molly and she hated it. "The thing about Malfoy," she said, "is that no matter what he might be – and he is a whole lot of things, George – he is not boring."

"He's a fucking traitor," said George. "I was even – hell, I was thinking of inviting him to more than two Christmases. But he really is a Malfoy."

Mill crossed to him in two strides, caught his face and nipped hard at his bottom lip. "Try to see it from his perspective." Then she scooped Pudding off the couch and headed for the bedroom.

George did try to see it from Malfoy's perspective. He liked Draco Malfoy, God help him. And he wanted there to be a reasonable explanation. Was it that Malfoy wanted to be the hero for once? Had the reporter flattered his significant ego until he'd been overcome and spilled? Was it an attempt to get Harry's attention, only on a larger, more awful scale? Or had he not been able to handle finding out that, yes, Harry was gay, but he wanted Terry Boot; not Draco Malfoy?

#

George's brow furrowed at the memory. Crushing his hand into a fist, he pulled it away from Malfoy's hair. "Do you think Callum would sell Harry's story like that? And for what, Malfoy?"

Malfoy jerked up, spinning to glare at George. "I don't want to hear about bloody McCarrick! I hate him!"

George shrugged, but didn't relent. "Terry Boot then. Do you think he'd sell Harry's story?"

Malfoy threw his hands up. "What do I care what he'd do? He's an idiot!"

"You're an idiot," said George. "You had a million chances to make a good impression on Harry, and you blew every one of them."

Malfoy collapsed face down on the bed, buried his face in his jumper and snuffled.

Sighing, George glanced to Mill for help.

"Potter is an idiot," said Mill, which wasn't really the support that George was looking for. "Find a better boyfriend."

"I want Potter," wailed Malfoy.

Mill yawned.

Sitting up, Malfoy wiped his eyes. "He has a good body. And green eyes."

George hit him across the back of the head. He couldn't help it. And, really, it was obviously a case of extreme provocation. It was kind of hard to tell with Malfoy, but George was pretty sure that he did like Harry for reasons not related to muscle mass or melanin.

Maybe George was giving him too much credit. It was Malfoy, after all. The kid who, on being given a Weasley jumper the previous year, had demanded that Molly knit him a new one. In pine-needle green. When Bill had pointed out that the jumper Molly had made was green, Malfoy had thrown a spool of wool at his head and snapped, "And if I would be seen dead in a mint-green jumper that would be acceptable. But I have standards!"

Instead of smacking Malfoy about the head and banishing him from the Burrow, Molly had pulled her knitting basket out and gone through the colours with Malfoy. And the next morning, he'd had a pine-green jumper with rustic gold trim.

He was wearing the jumper now, snuggling into it like it was a comfort blanket. "Why can't I just have what I want?"

"Have you ever actually told him that you want him?" asked George.

"He should tell me! I buy new wardrobes every Christmas. My personal grooming is impeccable. How can he resist?"

The conversation was giving George a headache. Throwing an apologetic look at Mill, he abandoned her to Malfoy's tantrum.

Going downstairs after witnessing the fight between Harry and Callum wasn't appealing, so he headed for Ron's room instead. With luck, Harry would be in the living room.

Ron was in his bedroom, surprisingly enough. Lying on his back on the bed with a pillow over his face.

"Harry's back," said George.

"Close the door for Merlin's sake," said Ron.

George did so. "All good, mate?"

Ron sighed. "Malfoy's around somewhere?"

"Throwing a tantrum," agreed George. "I left Mill to deal with it."

Ron sat up and put the pillow aside. "As long as we know where he is."

George went to sit on the foot of the bed. With a new break-up under his belt, Harry probably didn't want a gloating Malfoy around. "Don't worry. Mill will be able to keep him busy." He leant back on his hands. "You know, we could probably get Malfoy to stop coming for Christmas…"

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Why on earth would we want to do that?"

"Well," said George. "If we got rid of Malfoy, Harry might be able to keep a boyfriend longer than one Christmas."

Ron gave a hollow laugh. "No doubt. But don't be a monster, George. You know both Terry and Callum have great big families. It's not as though Harry had nowhere else to go for Christmas."

The rest remained unspoken – that Malfoy didn't have anywhere to go – because he'd chosen Harry's side during the war and had lost every bit of family he'd had.

George rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know why he can't just be a bit more pleasant to Harry." His voice came out rough with irritation. "He can be the most ridiculously charming guy sometimes – why the hell doesn't he use it on Harry? He's so hung up on him, but he treats him like—" George threw his hands up.

Ron's mouth quirked. "He's not that bad."

George leaned back against the bedpost, studying his brother with narrowed eyes. Ron had broken sometime during the second Christmas. Not at the start. At the start, he'd been all for stringing Malfoy up by the ankles and practicing curses on him.

Then, after seemingly countless nights broken by Harry's nightmares, and equally endless days of Malfoy picking fights with Harry over nothing, it had come to a head.

A couple of nights after Christmas, George had retreated to the landing outside Ron's room to avoid another witch that Molly had invited to dinner. He could handle the witches reasonably well. Well, if Mill would tell them that she was his girlfriend, he'd be able to. But whenever he tried to explain it, she'd look at him blankly and then laugh carefully as though she thought it was a joke, but she didn't get it. Then George would be stuck talking to whoever it was that his parents had managed to wrangle up.

This time it was Jeannie, a willowy brunette whose father worked with Arthur. Molly had sat Mill as far away from George as physically possible – and, given the size of the Weasley family, it was far. But not far enough to evade Mill's super-hearing. Every time Jeannie mentioned one of her interests, Mill would turn and call out over the table, "Oh my God, George, that's your favourite too! What a coincidence!"

It was partially because they'd had a fight earlier, but most of it was that Mill was a bit of a cow.

Aside from embarrassing Jeannie in front of everyone, there wasn't anything for it. The moment that dinner was over, George retreated to the safest likely place in the Burrow – the landing outside of Ron's bedroom. The door was open a crack, letting out the watery glow of a nightlight.

A soft sound came from Ron's room. Frowning, George took a step toward the door.

Someone hissed from the stairwell. When George turned, Ron was coming up the stairs, holding up a hand to signal for him to stop.

"Harry's in there." Ron mouthed the words more than spoke them.

George backed up a few paces, confused. Terry and Harry were meant to be sharing Ginny's bedroom. Ginny had taken the attic. George would have swapped with her in an instant. The attic might be cramped, and the ghoul might bang on things long into the night, but it had to be better than listening to the muffled screams and whimpers that came through the floorboards.

George tilted his chin up in greeting as Ron reached the landing. No sounds coming from Ron's room right now, so he didn't risk speaking until Ron was closer. "All good, mate?"

Ron shrugged. His eyes were pools of darkness in the low light, but George knew they weren't much better in daylight. No one at the Burrow was sleeping well. Maybe Harry was in Ron's room because it's where he'd always slept before everything had become so screwed up and it felt safer than Ginny's room.

"Is Harry–" George began to ask but something creaked in Ron's room and they both froze.

George watched the chink in the doorway, hardly daring to breathe. The nightlight didn't do much to illuminate what little George could see through the gap. On the bed, the mound of blankets shifted, as though trying to shake off an attack.

Another creak. George squinted. Someone was in the chair by the bed, leaning forward. Their face was in shadow, but it couldn't be Terry Boot. George had just seen him downstairs. A swathe of something emerald-green hung down the chest. A Slytherin scarf… George swore under his breath.

Ron made a sharp cutting motion for George to shut up. Even if Malfoy was in the room, Harry was still asleep – and for once he wasn't having a nightmare. That had to be more important than whatever breech of privacy was going on.

Ron tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he watched the scene. At the top of the stairs, he was closer to the door than George, and could probably see more. He must have been able to see something on Malfoy's face because he dragged a hand through his hair, looking more baffled than infuriated. "So, Harry…" He broke off, shaking his head. "Is Malfoy – Malfoy – does he..?" He choked off as though this was beyond his capacity to understand. "Malfoy likes Harry?" There was something odd in his voice that George couldn't pin. Something almost like fear.

With Malfoy sitting by Harry's bed, holding his hand as he slept, it was kind of obvious. But Ron had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer.

George nodded. "Since Hogwarts. Since first year at least."

Ron's mouth fell open. "Merlin – that's…" He shook his head again. "Well," he said. "Okay."

After that he never much bothered Malfoy. Kind of treated him like he belonged at the Burrow at Christmas. Even started inviting him to his birthdays. George never asked what it was Ron had seen in Malfoy's face that made him decide to trust Malfoy after everything. Maybe it was the same thing George had seen in Malfoy near the start – that stubborn determination to cling to what he wanted until he got it. Malfoy was tenacious as hell, but his resolution was so firm that sometimes he seemed brittle.

"Do you think we should have cut it off sooner?" asked George. "Should I have, I mean?"

Obviously Harry didn't want Malfoy around – had never wanted him around. George didn't blame him. But once Malfoy had started coming to the Burrow, getting rid of him felt impossible. More so since Molly, Ginny, Charlie and Mill wanted him there.

Ron shook his head. "Probably a bit late now. I kind of thought that Malfoy would get bored of waiting around for Harry." He shrugged as though baffled by Malfoy's resilience.

"That's why you…" George paused, frowning. It did make sense though. Ron had thought Malfoy less attached – or more likely, less insane – than he was and had let things play out after that bedroom scene. Had invited Malfoy to things that Harry would be at, encouraged him along in the hopes of wearing Malfoy out. Making him realise that he wasn't going to have Harry, and he'd have to settle for someone else. "Malfoys don't give up on what they want," said George, voice soft because it sounded commendable, but it was sad if he stopped to think about it.

Ron gave a bark of laughter. "Well, I know that now," he said ruefully. "God." He shook his head. "We should never have let him back after that second Christmas – Well, you should never have let him come at all."

Was Harry that upset at having lost Callum? George thought about the way Callum would joke with Harry, leaning close, mouth quirking in that perfect, bright grin as he whispered into his ear. The way they rode brooms together, in harmony like they knew where the other person was without having to look. Yeah – for an orphan kid, George could imagine that losing that would destroy Harry.

George cleared his throat. "It was Malfoy then, was it? Malfoy did break them up?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "What do you think? Of course it was bloody Malfoy." He didn't sound bitter, angry – or even annoyed. As though he was resigned to Malfoy being Malfoy and to Harry having to live with it.

"I can ask him to leave," said George.

Ron shook his head. "It won't change anything, George. The damage is done. And, let's be honest, Malfoy's not the problem here."

George choked in outrage because obviously Malfoy was the damn problem.

Ron was frowning though. "I never thought…" He cut himself off and shook his head. "Well, maybe it's better this way."

Ron was being very forgiving of Malfoy, all things considered. The stuff Malfoy had done at Hogwarts might have been put down to schoolyard squabbling and forgotten, but the stuff after…