Draco was anxious, an emotion he was very displeased with. Such signs of insecurity were beneath Malfoys, he told himself. He stood before his mirror and squared his shoulders, smoothed down his navy blue v-neck sweater and straightened the knot on his tie. His gray dress slacks were perfectly pressed with a crease that was sharp enough to slice paper. His hair was styled neatly, freshly trimmed and trained into place. He looked impeccable. So why was he so nervous?
He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his expression, chiding himself for allowing that groove to appear between his eyebrows again. He took a moment to regain full control of his nerves, donned his jacket, then with a click of his heels he exited for the breezeway.
Harry Potter was already waiting for him, fidgeting and fumbling and looking a bit disheveled. Draco stopped in front of him and said nothing. He eyed Harry up and down. He was wearing a red cable knit sweater over a white collared shirt. His trousers were chocolate brown corduroy, just slightly too long at the inseam, which he had compensated for by cuffing them rather than having them properly hemmed.
Draco pulled out his wand and cast a spell he'd learned long ago from the family tailor. Harry's slacks straightened and the excess length dissolved into a perfectly seamed hem.
"Better," he said, stowing his wand.
"They were fine," Harry cocked his head and ran his hand through his perpetually messy hair.
"Leave that alone," Draco swatted his arm down. "You're fidgeting."
"I'm nervous," Harry shot him a half-hearted smile. The bright sun glared off of the snow covered grounds and glinted fiercely off of his glasses. He dropped his head and took a shuddery breath.
Draco grasped his shoulder and squeezed. Harry looked up and gave him another half-hearted smile. Draco stood tall and drew from his father's back of tricks.
"Pull yourself together," he commanded disdainfully. "You're Harry Potter, and you'd bloody well better act like it. We are not leaving until you calm your nerves. I will not walk into that house and face that family with you blithering like a fool."
Harry stared at him, stunned by his words. Draco smiled to take the edge off, but they seemed to have the desired effect. Harry stood a little straighter and set his jaw firmly. He took a breath and nodded. "I'm ready."
"Good," Draco lifted his chin approvingly. "I don't know what you're so nervous about. I'm the one who's about to walk into a completely unfamiliar setting and graciously enjoy the hospitality of a family I've spent most of my life reviling."
"The Weasleys are welcoming us into their home," Harry said. "They're welcoming us as we are, no hiding. You have nothing to be nervous about, they've already accepted you."
"Then let's go already," Draco hoped his false bravado would hide the somersaulting butterflies in his stomach.
Harry reached out and grasped Draco's arm, then Disapparated.
They landed just outside of a towering ramshackle structure unlike anything Draco had ever seen before. He gasped in spite of himself as he gazed up at the... he wasn't sure whether to call it a house or a monstrosity. It was four or five storeys tall, difficult to tell with all of the bits and pieces stuck together at impossible junctions. The windows were crooked, the siding was mismatched, and the roof erupted in a riot of chimneys that seemed far too numerous for the size of the place. The snow lay around in heaps and piles, and Draco suspected it hid a multitude of gardening sins. He wasn't sure whether this place counted as a farm, although he did spot a few chickens and what appeared to be cultivated land.
Harry was beaming, nervousness on hold. He spread his arms wide and took a deep breath, as though taking in the entire landscape. He turned to Draco with a grin.
"What do you think?" he asked gleefully.
"I'd best keep that to myself," Draco quipped.
"Oh come on, you don't think it's brilliant?" Harry shoved Draco's shoulder playfully.
"Sod off, Harry," Draco staggered off balance and caught himself before he slipped.
"Let's go inside," Harry seized Draco's elbow and hurried to the front door.
To his horror Harry didn't bother knocking, he just walked straight inside. He stomped his shoes off on the mat and slung his coat over an already crowded hook, then stepped aside to allow Draco to enter. Draco was unprepared for the chaos that assaulted his eyes and ears upon entering.
The house was crammed. Crammed full of people, full of things, full of noise. Everywhere he looked soft furniture sagged and tables held up mounds of clutter. The walls were covered in portraits and children's artwork and loads of knick-knacks, some more recognizable than others. Not a bit of it matched and no one seemed to mind. It was as different from Malfoy Manor as anything he could conceive of.
"Harry!" a chorus of voices called out. The kitchen was overflowing with gingers, all strategically placed around a long dining table and preparing various foods. He counted seven gingers in all, including Ron, his four brothers and their parents. Granger was peeling apples at the sink while two other girls bustled about at an older woman's orders. This must be Molly Weasley, the mother of this brood.
"Come in, come in!" Molly Weasley rushed over and swept Harry up in an embrace that threatened to swallow him whole. "Merry Christmas, Harry! It's good to see you." She planted a motherly kiss on his cheek. Draco felt his face flush, embarrassed by the show of maternal affection.
"And Draco, welcome to our home," Mrs Weasley's smile was just a touch more strained now, but she took Draco's hands in hers and squeezed warmly. "Oh come here, merry Christmas," she threw her arms around him and gave him an engulfing hug as well.
Draco was speechless. No one's mother had ever scooped him up and hugged him like one of her own before. His own mother had certainly never been so inclined. He had no idea how to respond so instead of hugging her back he simply stood frozen with his arms at his side and his knees locked. When she released him he knew he'd lost his casual composure, he could feel his eyes staring widely and knew his expression was dumbfounded.
Ron laughed so hard that he nearly fell off of his stool. "Malfoy!" he screeched. "The whole day is worth it just to see that look on your face!"
Draco swallowed the first response that came to mind, then the second and the third. "Thank you for having me. Merry Christmas to you, too," he said stiffly. He looked to Harry for support and saw floured handprints on his sweater. He looked down at his own sweater and saw similar flour streaks. Mrs Weasley was baking, apparently.
"It's fine," Harry said quietly with a grin. He was enjoying Draco's discomfort, too, Draco noted sourly.
The eldest ginger detached himself from the kitchen brigade and crossed the room to shake Harry's hand. This would be Arthur Weasley, the patriarch of this family. He was distinctly less comfortable in Draco's presence, although he didn't know whether it was his name or his orientation that troubled him. He suspected it was a bit of both.
"Introductions all around," Mr. Weasley pointed around the room and called names off one by one. "That's Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron. Then there's Audrey, Percy's girl, and Fleur, Bill's girl, and Hermione, Ron's girl." He looked around the group, "Did I get everyone?"
"Harry, introduce your friend," Charlie called. Several looks were exchanged around the kitchen, making it clear that the nature of their friendship had been explained already.
"Everybody, meet Draco Malfoy," Harry said sheepishly. "Draco, this is everybody."
A smattering of greetings were returned and the conversation hushed. Finally Bill spoke up, "So you two are, like," he looked around for confirmation, "lovers or partners or boyfriends or what?"
"Bill," Mrs. Weasley swatted her eldest son across the rump with a tea towel.
Draco cleared his throat delicately and shoved his hands into his pockets, aware that his cheeks were burning red. "Yes, well, you could say any of those things."
Harry's head was bowed and his eyes were averted. Draco wondered why he was answering when coming here was all Harry's idea in the first place. He was terribly uncomfortable.
Over by the sink Granger set the last peeled apple in a bowl and wiped her hands on the back of her skirt. She plucked Ron's sleeve and nodded in the direction of their friends.
"Right," Ron jumped up and hustled past his family, directing Harry and Draco up the crooked stairs. "Come on, I'll show you my room."
Draco followed behind the Gryffindor trio, bracing his hands on the walls of the narrow stairwell as the uneven risers threatened to trip his feet. Four flights up they arrived in a small room the size of Draco's closet back home, with angled corrugated ceilings and a crooked window. Posters of star quidditch players were stuck everywhere, handsome men on broomsticks looking determined and sportsmanlike.
"Bloody hell, Weasley," Draco gawked. "Look at all these men on your walls. And you call me a poofter?"
"I never!" Ron's voice broke in outrage. "Harry, tell him I never called him a poofter."
Harry sunk to the floor next to the bed and buried his head in his hands. "I don't think I can do this," he said softly. Granger sat next to him, her skirt puddling around her legs. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
"It's really okay, Harry," she said reassuringly. "Ron's family doesn't care. It's just new, that's all."
"I don't get it, You go to pieces every time it's mentioned," Ron sat on the edge of the bed beside Harry's other shoulder. With nowhere else to sit, Draco leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. Ron looked up at him questioningly, "You don't have a problem with it, do you, Malfoy?"
"Not as such," Draco shrugged. "I made peace with myself years ago. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's just reputation management." His words were braver than he felt, but he thought Harry needed to hear them.
"So what's bothering you, Harry?" Ron asked. "Did you only just find out that you're... the way you are?"
"No," Harry said from behind his hand.
"So you've always known?" Ron wasn't going to let him off the hook easily.
"Yes," Harry sighed. Hermione hugged him tighter.
"Then what's the problem?" Ron pushed.
"Ease up, Ron," Hermione scolded. "Harry, why are you so scared to talk about it?"
Harry's shoulders trembled and his breath became quicker and shallower. He shook his head and buried his face deeper in his arms. Draco waved Hermione aside and took her place, pulling Harry into his arms. He didn't care that the Weasel was watching or that Hermione was pressed up against his other arm, still intent on comforting her friend.
"Talk to me," Draco said quietly into Harry's hair.
Harry took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. When he spoke it was with such despair that Draco wanted to Apparate him away to their refuge in the Room of Requirement. "Dudley," he croaked.
"Dursley?" Ron scowled.
"What's a Dudley Dursley?" Draco looked to the other two Gryffindors for help.
"The Dursleys are Harry's muggle family," Ron said with disgust. "They treated him horribly. Made him sleep in a cupboard and treated him like a slave."
"Dudley is his cousin," Hermione clarified. "He's a mean, nasty boy."
"What did he do to you?" Draco asked, running his hand through Harry's hair. "Do you want me to curse him?"
"No," Harry lifted his head a bit, just enough to speak. "Dudley used to beat me, sometimes badly. He was always bigger than me, and until I went to Hogwarts it happened almost every day." He sat up further and rubbed his wrist across his eyes, pushing his glasses up his forehead. "He used to hold me down and pound on me and call me queer and poof and bent and," he paused, "arse bandit. And he wouldn't stop until I said it, too."
"I'll curse him," Draco gritted his teeth. Back when he'd hated the sight of Saint Potter, he'd had no idea he was going through such things at home. Well, he'd never hated the sight of him, just the idea of him.
"Dudley called me many terrible names, but those were the ones he saved for the worst beatings," Harry looked exhausted. "He didn't know that I really was," his voice dropped, "queer. But I knew, and I knew what it meant. And I knew it was the worst thing imaginable."
"Oh Harry," Hermione threw her arms out to embrace Harry, sandwiching Draco between them. He struggled to free himself and sit back so she could pull her friend closer.
"Granger," he said delicately, "Can you give us a moment?"
She looked up in surprise. She and Ron exchanged a look and they exited together without a word. Draco waited until both pairs of feet had retreated to the ground floor. He pulled Harry into his arms again and sat quietly, trying to think of what to say. He looked around the room, at the shabby walls and angled ceiling, the posters and knick knacks, the patchwork bed quilt. It was small and cluttered and tacky and worn, but kind of comfortable and homey in a way Draco would never admit out loud.
"Honestly," he said, craning his neck at the array of posters. "If I'd seen this before I would have guessed Weasley was the gay one." Harry's shoulders shook. Draco realized he had laughed. "Poncey, prancy Ron Weasley, what an arse bandit," he added.
"He'd kill you if he heard you say that," Harry lifted his head.
"No he wouldn't," Draco gave Harry a nudge in the side. "Because he knows who he is, and it doesn't matter what I say." He reached over and tipped Harry's face towards him. "Besides, there are worse things in the world to be called."
"Like Death Eater," Harry said softly, looking closely at Draco for a reaction.
"Right, like Death Eater," Draco agreed. "That name will follow me around for the rest of my life, tattoo or not. But it's just a name. And it doesn't change who I am." He drew his thumb down Harry's cheek and brought his face closer to his. He kissed Harry gently. "But I'd rather be known as queer than a Death Eater. Because I can say, yeah I'm queer. I'm queer for Harry Potter. If someone wants to make fun of me for who I love, that's their problem."
Harry looked at him closely for a moment. A smile touched his lips and he laughed wonderingly. "Did you just say you love me?"
Draco was startled. Had he? He briefly considered pretending otherwise, to save himself from embarrassment. But looking into those green eyes, he knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about.
"I did," he stroked the other boy's cheek again. "I love you, Harry."
Harry's smile grew until it overtook his whole face. He leaned forward and kissed Draco gently. "I love you, too," he whispered.
"You'd be crazy not to," Draco quipped.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," Harry cupped Draco's face in his hand and squeezed his earlobe affectionately.
"Merry Christmas, Saint Potter."
"We should go downstairs." Harry sighed.
"Are you going to be okay?" Draco asked.
"I guess."
"I want to hear you say it," Draco stopped him from rising.
"Say what?"
"I want you to say, I'm gay," Draco said firmly. "Or queer or bent or arse bandit, it's up to you. You need to say it, because one of those preposterous gingers downstairs will likely say it again, and you need to be okay with that."
"Is it really so easy for you?" Harry's brow furrowed again.
"If it were my father asking, I'd be as terrified as you, trust me," Draco shuddered at the thought. "But things have been different since the war. I'm not scared anymore. Everything I was scared of was embodied in my father. Without him around I'm free to be whoever I want to be. And nothing else seems frightening by comparison."
Harry nodded thought for a moment. Finally he looked up at Draco, his eyes intense. "Draco," he said seriously, "I'm gay."
Draco smiled and kissed him again. "Totally gay."
"Time to eat!" Ron's voice bellowed up the stairs.
"Come on," Harry stood up and dragged Draco to his feet.
They trampled down the uneven stairs and returned to the kitchen, where the dining table had been lengthened with extensions to seat twelve. Harry and Draco were swept up in a crowd of merriment, who passed them along to a pair of seats near the stove. They were directly across from Ron and Hermione, next to Mrs. Weasley at the end. Mr. Weasley at the other end was busy carving the roast, using magic to pull a perfectly thin, spiraled slice off of the bone.
Draco was sandwiched between Harry and the girl named Audrey, which meant the man on the other side was Percy. He vaguely remembered Percy from school but he never paid him much mind at the time. Bill was diagonally across from Draco, his wife was next to him and Charlie was on the corner. George was on the other side of Percy, to Draco's relief. He remembered vividly that George's twin brother had died in the war, and his intuition told him he should avoid creating any opportunity for the grief-stricken man to bring it up.
Harry passed a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes beneath Draco's nose. He sat back, startled, belatedly realizing that this was how the meal was being served. Of course there wouldn't be any servants or house elves. He looked over at Harry's plate and saw an embarrassing mound of potatoes, which he was now ladling gravy over. He did his best to dollop a more respectable pile on his own plate, trying his best not to notice the fact that most of the china on the table was mismatched. He passed the bowl along and immediately had another one shoved in its place.
The food came from every direction, and once or twice Charlie actually threw a bread roll down the length of the table rather than pass the basket. Several simultaneous conversations piled on top of each other, each louder than the next. They pulled crackers and tossed the little prizes contained within at each other. There were smiles and laughter and joking and affectionate teasing, and Draco was totally overwhelmed. This was nothing like Christmas at Malfoy Manor, where they assembled dutifully in the vast, opulent formal dining room for a structured and emotionally distant supper with a smattering of Malfoy and Black relatives who were mostly unheard of the other 364 days of the year. He imagined hurling a bread roll across the table at one of those events and his hands trembled at the thought of his father's reaction.
"So Draco," Mrs. Weasley snapped him out of his reverie. "What are your plans for after graduation?"
Draco knew she was being polite. The conversations were swirling around him and he hadn't spoken since they'd returned from upstairs. She was trying to involve him, which was kind of her, but he wasn't sure he knew how to function in this kind of environment.
"Well," he set his fork down and cleared his throat. "I'm considering pursuing a course of study in Healing."
"Healing," Mrs. Weasley looked delighted. "That's a noble path. Did you hear that, Arthur? Draco is going to be a Healer."
"Excellent, the world can always use more Healers," Mr. Weasley said politely. The whole table's attention was on Draco now, much to his discomfort.
"What do you need to be a Healer for? Haven't you got enough money for a lifetime?" Charlie asked around a mouthful of green beans.
"I'd like to do more with my life than just socializing and investing," Draco said simply, squashing down the more hostile answer that popped into his brain out of habit. It was hard not to go back to his old ways of sneering and cutting remarks when he was stressed.
"Who would want to be healed by a Death Eater?" George asked flatly without looking up from his plate. Everyone at the table fell silent.
"George, be polite to our guest," Mrs. Weasley chided gently.
"It's okay," Draco said, more out of obligation than sincerity. Beneath the table Harry slipped his hand over his and squeezed it reassuringly. "It's a reputation I'm going to have to contend with, and I realize that fully."
"He's having his tattoo removed," Ron piped up. "He's having a muggle doctor blast it off of his arm with a," he leaned over to Hermione, "what's it called?"
"A laser," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Laser tattoo removal. It removes tattoo ink from skin."
"It was Harry's idea," Draco said quickly. "He's the one who realized it might work and told me about it."
"It's working pretty well, too," Harry chimed in. "It takes several sessions but it's already starting to fade."
"Show it," George said in that same flat voice.
"I'd rather not," Draco smiled apologetically. "It's still healing and it's not exactly dining table appropriate."
"We've all got strong stomachs," George's voice was sharper this time. He looked up from his plate, his eyes shadowed. "Show us how you're erasing your Dark Mark."
"George," Mr. Weasley said firmly. "Your mother asked you to be polite."
"I understand your curiosity," Draco dug deep to find the social grace his mother and father had tried to ingrain in him. "But I don't think it's appropriate to share at the present. My apologies."
"It's okay, Draco," Mrs Weasley exchanged a look with her husband. Mr. Weasley put his hand on George's shoulder. George's attention returned to his plate.
"Speaking of Healers," Bill cleared his throat to change the subject, "We're going to be in the market for one soon." He picked up his wife's hand and beamed proudly. "We're expecting."
The table exploded in cheers, the unfortunate business between George and Draco forgotten in an instant. Mrs. Weasley jumped up from her chair and ran to her son and daughter-in-law and covered them with kisses and hugs. The brothers all spoke at once, clamoring to preemptively claim the status of best uncle. Even Harry added to the din with his hearty congratulations. Draco thought his head might explode.
On the tail of that announcement, Mrs. Weasley decided it was time for presents. The brothers all groaned in agony as she darted to the master bedroom and returned with an armful of colorful knitted fabric. She flitted around the table, handing out handmade woolen sweaters, each in a different hue and marked with the initial of the recipient. The ginger hoard took it in good-natured stride and thanked their mother enthusiastically, but behind her back they winced and exchanged looks of familial suffering.
Mrs. Weasley demanded that everyone try on their sweaters right there at the table as she passed them out. Ron's sweater was bright yellow, with a bold blue R in the middle. When his head emerged miserably from the neck hole Draco couldn't help but laugh. He leaned across the table and caught Ron's eye, gesturing his approval of the unusual fashion statement. Ron looked aggrieved as he looked down at the lumpy yellow thing.
"And one for Harry," Mrs Weasley dropped a green sweater in Harry's lap. Harry didn't hesitate, he immediately popped it over his head and grinned proudly as he jammed his arms through the sleeves. Draco looked at him like he'd grown another head. Did he actually like this absurdly monogrammed garment? He couldn't tell.
"And for Draco," Mrs. Weasley smiled.
Draco's heart froze in terror. Oh please, not a sweater, he thought.
"I didn't have time to make you a sweater, so I made you something else," she withdrew a multicolored woolen cap with a puffball on top and a large letter D stitched across the front. The table cheered at the sight of it, clearly enjoying the prospect of sharing the pain with a new guest.
"Try it on!" Harry shouted, his eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. Ron was devouring his sleeve in an effort not to laugh. Granger's face was buried in one of the scarves Mrs. Weasley had made for the girls.
Draco stared at the hat and considered running from the room. He was expected to put this on his head? He looked up at Harry for help, but there was none to be found there. Harry wanted to see the puffball cap on his head, too.
Realizing he had no choice, he took a breath and slid it over his head. When he looked up he knew it looked as absurd as he feared. Ron was shrieking with laughter and nearly fell out of his chair with hysteria. Granger's shoulders shook with giggles. He glowered at Harry, who reached up to straighten the cap so that the D was front and center, and then bobbled the puffball to everyone else's delight.
"It's warm, isn't it?" Mrs. Weasley's eyes sparkled, too. Draco suspected that she'd intended the absurdity of the hat, possibly as some kind of rite of passage to enter the good graces of this house of lunacy.
"It's smashing," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. That set them off again as everyone roared and pounded the table.
The family finally moved on to the next ritual and adjourned to the living room for gifts and tea. Mrs. Weasley lingered in the kitchen just long enough to cast a cleanup spell, then joined everyone around the Christmas tree.
Draco and Harry found a seat on the floor near the stairs as packages started circulating. They were mostly small, wrapped simply, with just enough to go around. Draco thought about Christmas at Malfoy Manor, typified by an enormous Christmas tree that was decorated impersonally by House Elves, and an embarrassment of packages spilling out around the base. Draco remembered wading through a waist-deep pile of exquisitely wrapped gifts, unimpressed by the bounty. He had teased Ron enough times about his family's financial standing that he knew they must have scrimped and pinched to provide for the holidays.
As that thought flitted through his brain one of the ginger brothers passed a small package back and said his name. Another was passed to Harry. Draco looked up in surprise.
"Is this for me?" he mouthed.
"Yeah," Harry's eyes shined as he saw its effect on Draco.
"I don't know what to say," Draco stared down at it in his lap. His eyes prickled. The package was square, about the size of his hand, and wrapped in basic red paper. It wavered before him as tears blurred his vision. This family, who he'd mocked and derided his whole life, who he'd looked down upon as poverty-stricken nobodies and blood traitors, who had made the best life they could from so little, and who surely couldn't have afforded much extra, had given him a present. Him, Draco Malfoy, a boy they only knew through the evils wrought by his family. They had given him a present. He blinked hard to hold the tears back.
Harry slipped his hand through Draco's and held it warmly. Draco's chin trembled. If anyone spoke to him now, he would blubber like a baby. He stood and excused himself to the restroom.
He could hear the family's cheers and expressions of surprise and gratitude as he stood before the sink, leaning on the edge for support as he gathered his composure. He looked up at himself in the mirror, his hair tousled from its brief encounter with the unsightly woolen cap. There were still traces of flour down the front of his sweater. His ears rang from the exuberant celebration and he wondered how he'd ever looked forward to the solemn gift opening process he grew up with. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, then returned to the living room.
Harry had just opened his present and was staring at it in confusion. it was a square piece of blue glass with an uneven edge. It bore no writing and served no obvious function. Draco could tell from Ron and Granger's posture that they'd had a hand in the gift's selection.
"Open yours, Malfoy," Ron called. "It's from all of us."
Draco sat next to Harry and carefully lifted the edges of the wrapping paper. The family catcalled and teased him for being so neat and tidy with it. When he had the long edge free Charlie swooped in and snatched the paper up, crumpling it in a big show of destructiveness and tossing it into the fireplace.
"That's how you open a present at the Burrow, mate," he winked.
"Right," Draco turned his attention to the box in his hands and lifted the lid. Inside was a blue piece of glass, identical to the one Harry held. It bore an uneven border on the opposite edge. "I assume they're meant to be fitted together," he said.
"Do it!" Bill shouted from the other side of the room.
Harry and Draco placed the two pieces of glass side by side and the uneven edging lined up perfectly. The pieces pulled together as though drawn by a magnet and snapped firmly into place. As soon as they were connected an object appeared embedded within. They held it up and peered inside. The object was a small brass palm tree.
"What is it?" Harry was confused.
"It's a portkey," Hermione explained. "It's for the two of you to use together."
"When the pieces are separate the key can't be used," Ron added. "But when you put them together, it appears again. Break it open to get the key inside."
"It's sort of a one time use kind of thing," Hermione said.
"Where does it go?" Harry asked.
"A wizard resort in the South Pacific," Hermione smiled. "We couldn't afford the resort, mind you, just the key. But it's supposed to be beautiful and secluded and very romantic," she blushed and looked around the room self-consciously.
"It's brilliant," Draco said, his heart overwhelmed with gratitude for the gesture. They would have had to have bought one that was approved for intercontinental travel. Add on the magic glass container and he knew it had to have been dear. He looked up and tried not to well up again. "Thank you."
"Yes, thank you," Harry was rendered almost speechless.
Hermione jumped up and threw herself at them, her arms open wide to hug both boys. "Merry Christmas, you two," she whispered in their ears.
"We didn't bring anything for you," Draco was suddenly horrified at their lack of manners. "I didn't know you would do something like this."
"It's okay," Hermione sat back on her heels and smiled. "This was our surprise."
Draco nodded and smiled back. "Thank you, Granger."
"You already said that," she teased.
"Well," he looked around the room, at the bustling family who were enjoying each other's company and chatting about their gifts, clad in absurdly lumpy wool sweaters with love in every stitch. "It bears repeating."