Harry woke to the feeling of something warm and fluffy tickling his cheek. His first thought was that it was Draco's hair and that made him smile, but the loud squeak in his ear confused his sleep-addled brain. As far as he could recall, Draco didn't squeak, in his sleeping or conscious state. Wrenching his eyes open, he was a little disappointed to see not his boyfriend, but the large, pink nose of his pet ferret, Asha. She cocked her head at him and wiggled her whiskers, giving him an expectant look. Harry sighed and slowly rose from his cot into a seated position, reaching blindly for his glasses on the bedside table. Asha hopped off of the bed and scurried towards the attic door, scratching it and turning to look at Harry in a silent plea. Harry groaned like the springs on the small bed as he got to his feet, shuffling towards the door. He cracked the door open for her a few inches and she slipped out into the hallway, out of sight.

"Yeah, merry Christmas to you, too," he yawned, closing the door again and hobbling back to bed.

The cot creaked loudly as he sank back into it and pulled the checkered quilt over himself again. From the attic window, he could see the first rays of sunlight just beginning to creep over the snowy horizon, casting warm shades of pink and gold across the pale blue hills of Ottery St Catchpole. It was a beautiful sight. Not that Ron was in any fit state to appreciate it as he was still fast asleep on the other side of the room. With his mop of red hair sticking out in all directions and his mouth hanging open, Harry doubted that even a nuclear explosion would wake him up.

He smirked to himself and said loudly, "Merry Christmas, Ron."

Ron replied by snorting loudly and rolling over onto his front. Harry smothered a laugh and settled himself back into the bed. His best friend might be dead to the world, but by the sounds of it, downstairs was already a hive of activity. He listened to the distant clatter of pots and pans and Mrs Weasley's distinct voice as she spoke to someone, maybe Mr Weasley. He could hear more voices drifting from the garden through the attic window. Straining his ears, Harry thought it sounded like Bill and Percy; probably gathering more firewood, he reasoned. He knew that he should get up and help, but before he did anything else, he wanted to wish Draco a merry Christmas.

Pulling the two-way mirror out from under his pillow, he cleared his throat and said 'Draco Malfoy'. He waited patiently for a few moments for a reply but received none. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at the lack of reply, but he figured that it was still early and that Draco was probably still asleep. Slipping the mirror back under his pillow, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the comforting sounds of home, intent on only resting his eyes for a few more minutes before he'd get up and ready himself for the busy day ahead. He must have fallen back asleep, however, because when he opened his eyes again, sunlight was pouring through the window and Ron's bed was empty. Checking the time on his wristwatch, he was surprised to see that it was nearly ten o'clock. Although he felt a little guilty that he was probably the only person still in bed at this hour, he took advantage of having the room to himself to try and talk to Draco again. Retrieving the mirror, he held it up to his face and once again said Draco's name, but still, there was no reply.

Harry frowned. Draco would definitely be up by this hour. Maybe he just wasn't in his room, he wondered. Trying not to let disappointment set in, Harry tucked the mirror back under his pillow again and got out of bed. He'd try calling him again in a little while—there was still plenty of time to wish him a merry Christmas.

Once he was showered and dressed, Harry made his way down the crooked, winding staircases to the kitchen on the ground floor. Just as he reached the first-floor landing, Harry paused in his descent when he heard hushed voices whispering furiously below him. Moving as quietly as he could, Harry leant over the bannister to see who it was and was surprised to find Ginny, Hermione and Ron standing in the cramped corridor with their heads close together. Part of him was curious what was going on, but also a little bit annoyed that if there was some sort of drama, nobody had cared to wake him up and include him in the conversation.

"—there must be some sort of explanation," he heard Hermione whisper.

"He's a lying wanker, just like he's always been," Ron hissed. "There's your explanation!"

"We don't know that. Not for sure."

"How are we going to tell him?" Ginny asked.

Harry's insides squirmed at those words. He experienced that horribly familiar feeling that he'd just walked into a room where moments before he'd been the main topic of conversation. One of the bedroom doors behind Harry swung open then and Fleur stepped out dressed in her winter coat, hat and gloves.

"'arry!" she greeted him, closing the bedroom door behind her. Harry noticed that his friends had abruptly stopped talking. "Joyeux Noël. 'ow are you today?"

"Merry Christmas," Harry replied, quickly stepping back from the bannister so that his friends wouldn't see that he'd been spying on them. "Are you going out?"

"Oui," she nodded and Harry followed her down the last set of stairs. "Bill and I are going to the village to get more wine for dinner. I don't like the cheap stuff that Molly serves, it tastes 'orrible."

"Right," said Harry distractedly. When he reached the landing, he came face to face with his friends, who all had guilty expressions. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

"Merry Christmas," they mumbled.

Harry cast a wary gaze over his friends and waited until Fleur had left the hallway before asking, "Sorry I slept in so late. What did I miss?"

"Nothing," said Ginny a little too forcefully.

Hermione worried her lip nervously and didn't seem to be able to meet Harry's eye. Ron, however, looked furious, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and his face was as red as his hair. Harry's eyes narrowed at the blatant lie.

"Seriously?" he asked flatly. "You look like you're conspiring the gunpowder plot. What's happened?"

"Nothing that we need to talk about right now," Ginny replied evasively, earning her an angry look from Ron.

"Bullshit," he hissed. "He has a right to know!"

"Know what?" asked Harry.

"Molly, I can't find the blasted newspaper anywhere!" Mr Weasley's voice suddenly cried from the living room.

"It's on the coffee table, dear!" she replied.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't tell him!" Ginny shot back at her brother. "I just thought that we could hold off ruining his day for a few hours, at least let him enjoy his Christmas dinner first!"

"What's happened?" asked Harry, his voice rising. "Has someone died, or—"

"No! No, Harry, nothing like that," Hermione reassured him quickly.

Some of the fear that had sharply risen in him dissipated somewhat at those words. The living room door burst open then and Mr Weasley nearly walked into Harry. His eyes narrowed as he looked between the four of them. "Have any of you seen the newspaper? It seems to have grown a pair of legs and gone for a walkabout."

As the four of them shook their heads, Mr Weasley muttered under his breath and marched towards the kitchen. Harry waited until Mr Weasley was out of earshot before speaking again. "Well, since nobody's dead or injured, whatever it is, it can't be that bad, can it?"

Ginny, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks which made Harry's stomach twist horribly. What weren't they telling him?

"We'll tell you," Ginny promised. "But only after you've had something to eat. Come on, let's grab a couple of slices of toast and we can go out for a walk."

Harry's patience was wearing thin but his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, so he temporarily relented—getting some food in his belly wasn't a bad idea. He supposed that whatever it was that they weren't telling him could wait a few more minutes. Reluctantly, Harry followed his friends into the kitchen where he wasn't surprised to see Mrs Weasley at the stove. She was bent over double with the oven door pried open, inspecting the large turkey inside.

"Hmm, it's looking a little dry," she mumbled to herself before squirting more drippings over the bird with a turkey baster.

"Harry's up," Ginny informed her mother.

"Oh good! Merry Christmas, Harry," said Mrs Weasley in a sing-song voice. She closed the oven door and discarded the oven mitt onto the kitchen counter. "Would you like a cup of tea? The kettle's just boiled."

"Uh...yeah, that'd be lovely," he replied, taking a seat at the table.

In the blink of an eye, Mrs Weasley had a plate stacked with buttered toast pushed under his nose and plonked a steaming hot cup of tea beside it. Harry tucked into his tea and toast, although he couldn't really enjoy the taste of it when his mind was occupied with other matters. While Harry ate his breakfast, he watched Mr Weasley search the kitchen for the morning newspaper. Lifting pots and pans, under the dishcloth and oven mitts, he even checked inside the breadbin, but the newspaper was nowhere in sight.

"Where the bloody hell is it?" he muttered, wandering into the scullery to continue his search.

"Someone's probably left it in the bathroom," Mrs Weasley suggested, carrying a chopping board full of carrot skins over to the bin. She pressed the bin's pedal with her foot and the lid swung open, and just as she was about to scrape the contents of her board into the receptacle, she paused and exclaimed, "Oh! Arthur, the newspaper's in here!"

Mr Weasley's head popped out of the scullery. "Someone stuck it in the bin?"

Mrs Weasley brushed off the crumpled up newspaper and held it out to her husband. He took the proffered paper and shook his head in disbelief. "Who on earth did that? I haven't even had the chance to do the crossword yet!"

Arthur muttered to himself as he took a seat next to Harry and flattened out the newspaper on the kitchen table as best he could before opening it up to the first page. Ginny hopped to her feet then and grabbed a bundle of coats hanging by the kitchen door.

"Come on," she said briskly. "Let's go for that walk."

"Right now?" Harry mumbled, his mouth full of toast.

"Good idea," said Ron a little too brightly, closely followed by Hermione. "We can go for a walk around the orchard. Maybe get a game of Quidditch in before dinner, if you fancy it."

"Don't stray too far," Mrs Weasley warned. "I'll need your help setting up the table for dinner!"

Harry tossed his half-eaten slice of toast onto the plate. Following suit, he began pulling on his coat and bent over to lace up his boots. Mr Weasley flipped the page of the newspaper and laughed. "Would you look at that, Molly, my latest case made the third page!"

"Really? What's the case?"

Mr Weasley cleared his throat and began to read aloud, "The Muggles were left scratching their heads today as their Queen's corgi was transfigured into a hamster. There is now a full-scale hunt for the assailant or assailants, led by the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, Mr Arthur Weasley."

"Oh, that's wonderful dear," Mrs Weasley replied. "Speaking of news, I read something interesting in the paper this morning."

"Oh?" Mr Weasley replied distractedly, his nose buried in the newspaper. "What was that?"

Ginny threw open the kitchen door and grabbed Harry's hand, tugging him towards the exit. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Well, it looks like Lucius Malfoy's son is getting married," said Mrs Weasley conversationally.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her. "What?"

Mrs Weasley paused stirring the gravy on the stove to look at him. "Hmm? Oh, it was in the announcements section in the paper this morning. Lucius's son—Draco, I think—apparently he's getting married. To some French girl, no less."

"Really?" said Mr Weasley sceptically. "Merlin, what did he use to bribe that poor girl's parents?"

Ginny tightened her grip on Harry's arm and tried to pull him away, but he shook her off and marched over to Mr Weasley's side. "Sorry, but could I borrow the paper for a minute?"

Without waiting for permission, he snatched the newspaper from Mr Weasley's grasp. Ignoring Mr Weasley's grumbling protests, he began flipping through the pages for the announcements section. He found it about two-thirds of the way through the newspaper and began scanning the page for forthcoming marriages. His eyes stilled as he read the first entry:

Mr D L Malfoy and Miss A M de Montmorency

The engagement is announced between Draco, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy of Wiltshire, England, and Aline, daughter of Henri de Montmorency and Marie-Félicie des Ursins of Paris.

Harry read the short announcement over and over again, unable to believe his eyes. But the message was concise and to the point, and no less damning. Draco was getting married. And he hadn't said a damn word about it to Harry.

"Harry," Hermione coaxed. "Maybe we should talk about this outside—"

"It's a mistake," Harry shook his head in disbelief. "A printing error, or...h-he wouldn't do that."

"Once a wanker, always a wanker," Ron snarled.

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny hissed.

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs Weasley. She had stopped prepping the food and looked at her children with a concerned look. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Mum," Ginny lied.

Harry's heart was pounding in his ears. No. It couldn't be true. He wouldn't believe it. Draco wouldn't do that to him, he just wouldn't.

...Would he?

Without a parting word, Harry dropped the newspaper and marched out of the kitchen. He bounded back up the stairs two steps at a time, ignoring everyone shouting after him. He was panting by the time he reached the top floor, but he didn't wait to catch his breath before grabbing the two-way mirror from under his pillow and holding it up to his face.

"Draco, are you there? Draco," Harry snarled with frustration at the lack of reply. "Draco Malfoy. Malfoy? Come on. If you're there, just talk to me, please!"

He stilled as the surface of the glass began to shimmer. Familiar white blonde hair and grey eyes began to take form in the mirror...only they were something different about the face that began to take form. The blonde hair was too long, and the eyes, although identical to Draco's, weren't warm and welcoming, they were cold and threatening. Harry's eyes widened with shock at the furious face that stared back at him through the mirror.

"You," hissed Lucius Malfoy.

Harry slammed the mirror facedown on the bedside table as quickly as he could.

"Harry."

Harry's head snapped towards the soft voice calling him from the bedroom door and he found Ron standing there, looking more despondent than angry. He lingered by the doorway, clearly in two minds about whether he should comfort his friend or leave him in peace.

"Hermione saw the announcement in the paper this morning," he explained. "We've been trying to figure out a way of telling you."

"Tell me what? That 'I told you so'?" Harry bit back. "Because if that's why you're here, I don't want to hear it!"

Ron shook his head. "I've never pretended to be his biggest fan, but I never wanted this."

Harry shook his head and muttered helplessly to himself, "Why? Why would he do this?"

"I don't know," Ron replied quietly. "Honestly, I'm as surprised as you are."

"Bollocks," Harry snarled.

"I am!" he insisted. "I honestly thought he…" Ron shut his mouth then and bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, mate. At the end of the day, it's his loss."

Ron's words did little to comfort Harry. If anything, his best friend's pity made him feel that much worse. He had warned Harry that Draco would let him down, that he was foolish for putting his trust in him—in a Malfoy, of all people. What other outcome was he expecting? Despite Ron's warnings, Harry had carried on blindly, falling deeper and deeper for someone who evidently didn't share the same feelings as him. It was humiliating to be proven so wrong. He could feel tears stinging the corners of his eyes and felt a fresh wave of shame. The last thing he wanted was for Ron to see him cry.

"I'm going out," he croaked, pushing past Ron.

"I'll come with you—"

"No!" Harry snapped. "Please, just...I just need some space."

He didn't wait for Ron to reply. Only half-aware of what he was doing, Harry's feet carried him back downstairs and into the living room. He grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and tossed it into the grate, causing bright emerald flames to erupt into life. Stepping into the flames, he called out his chosen destination, welcoming the roar of flames that flew past his ears, it was the only thing loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears.