As the embers of the fire began to putter out, Harry Potter closed the large book of fairy tales, placing it on the table next to him and taking extra care not to disturb the dozing child on his lap. Leaning back against the overstuffed couch, Harry took in his surroundings. The mantelpiece over the dying fire was decorated with holly garland, velvet red bows, and three stockings. The entire room was similarly decked, with garland and magical lights that were enchanted to look like small stars, even a small piece of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling in the doorway to his own bedroom. Smiling to himself, Harry cast a glance at the party responsible- he was curled up on the couch, head resting against Harry's leg as he slept soundly. The fire turned pale blonde hair gold- it looked to Harry as if he had a halo. Musing on how inappropriate the sentiment was, he couldn't help but quietly snicker. Despite his attempts to keep quiet, the child stirred.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Jamie?"
"Did Santa come yet?"
Harry couldn't help but smile again. "No, Santa hasn't come yet. It's still too early. Maybe if you go to sleep, he'll come quicker?"
Fully awake, the small boy turned around on Harry's lap, shaking his head as he nudged the sleep out of his eyes with his fists. "I want another story."
Shaking his head, Harry said, "We've gone through most of the fairy tales, duckling."
"Then tell me the story 'bout you and Papa at Hogwars."
"HogwarTs, you mean?"
"Yeah. That one."
Harry shook his head. "Your papa already told you that one."
Jamie glanced at the sleeping man, to make sure he was really slumbering, and stage whispered conspiratorially, "I think Papa wasn't telling it right, 'cos he said he beat you at Quidditch and he's not as good as you are."
Harry squeaked indignantly. "Beat me? He was WATCHING me, and… oh, bother, I guess I have to tell you the whole thing." Jamie smiled gleefully. "Well, it all started in our seventh year…"
Usually, Harry enjoyed the Christmas holidays. Ron always stayed at school with him, and they'd spend their precious days of freedom relaxing and talking and joking. Harry generally enjoyed the holidays. This year was different for him, though; Ron headed home with Hermione, leaving Harry by himself. For the first few days of break, Harry managed to keep himself busy with schoolwork, but by the time Christmas rolled around he was bored out of his mind.
On Christmas morning, Harry started the day as usual, by opening his presents. Although it was less exciting by himself, Harry was nevertheless pleased by his gifts as he unwrapped them. The usual Weasley sweater, a suspicious looking box from Hagrid- was it jumping? Harry decided it would be prudent to open it around other people, later. Ever practical, Hermione sent him a book on jobs: "Not Everyone Works for the Ministry: A Career Guide for the Wizarding World." Ron, at a loss, bought Harry a huge bag of sweets from Honeyduke's, which Harry thoroughly appreciated; the house elves were really slacking off on meal preparation during the holiday. It was understandable, though; the only people left at Hogwarts were a handful of professors, and about fifteen students. Including, Harry noted glumly, Draco Malfoy.
Ever since the fall of Voldemort over the summer, Malfoy seemed to have lost that zing which usually accompanied his insults. The insults themselves seemed to be lost, too. Harry couldn't help but find himself missing them- it added a bit of regularity to his days. Harry suspected the cause was Lucius Malfoy's death, though he couldn't possibly imagine anyone, even his son, having any sort of attachment to the man. Still, Harry couldn't help noticing how the younger Malfoy's cold façade would melt into an expression of sorrow when he thought no one was looking. When he saw that face, Harry just wanted to…
Harry shook his head- two months ago he startlingly realized he was having thoughts about Malfoy that were less about beating his head in and more about beating him off, and even when he was by himself Harry didn't feel he had enough privacy to indulge those thoughts. They confused him too much, and once again he felt a headache coming on from putting so much energy into repressing the slightly perverted direction of his thoughts. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to head out to the Quidditch pitch- nothing like flying to clear his mind.
After retrieving his Firebolt from the broom shed, he mounted it and began to fly in lazy circles around the pitch. Snow fell softly around him, coating the ground with about an inch of the white, feathery flakes. Harry relished the serenity that his quiet, still surroundings granted him.
His reverie was broken when he spotted a quiet cloaked figure sitting on the stands. As he flew closer, he noticed unmistakable blonde hair, grey eyes… shit.
"What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" he asked, annoyed, as he pulled his broom to a halt in front of the stands.
"Trying to steal Quidditch moves, obviously. That fantastic geriatric speed will steal the next game. Honestly, Potter, what do you think I'm doing?"
Harry sighed. "Trying to bother me?"
"The world, particularly mine, doesn't revolve around you. I happen to be attempting to calm down." Malfoy looked regretful the instant the words were out of his mouth.
"Calm down about what?"
"Do you do anything but ask questions, Potter?"
"Do you do anything but dodge answers, Malfoy? What are you calming down from?"
Frowning, the blonde looked down as he answered, "My Christmas present, not that it's any of your concern."
"You have me curious now."
"Fuck off, Potter."
Harry shrugged, and pulled his broom away from the stands, once more falling into his circle pattern, picking up his speed considerably and refusing to look at the stands. After a few minutes, he could still feel eyes on him, and briefly turned his head to look- yes, Malfoy was still there. Despite himself, Harry once more flew towards the stands. This time, he dismounted his broom and walked towards Malfoy, sitting on the bench in front of him. Malfoy said nothing.
"Malfoy? Come on… I've never seen you so out of it."
Malfoy sighed. "She… mother. She sent my father's cane."
"That snake thing?"
"Yes. Merlin, I don't know why I'm telling you this…" he muttered under his breath.
"What's wrong with that? Isn't it yours now?" asked Harry, confused. Malfoy all but exploded.
"It's not supposed to be! It's supposed to be HIS! He's supposed to be alive! He's supposed to still be here, he wasn't supposed to get himself killed, he promised me he wouldn't. What am I supposed to do now? The family name's been dragged through the mud, we lost most of the money we had to those damned reparations, there's no more money coming in… Mother drinks herself silly in her spare time, and I despair ever getting any sort of respectable career because no one would ever hire a Malfoy anymore. I have nothing left, no one."
At this point, Malfoy was shedding bitter tears, looking for all the world like he wanted to strangle both himself and Harry because of it. "Damn you, Potter, why couldn't you leave me alone? Why couldn't you just let me sit here until I relaxed?"
On impulse, Harry found himself reaching out his left hand to wipe the tears from the bottom of Malfoy's jaw. 'What the hell am I doing?' he asked himself in a panic, while he commented out loud, "Malfoy… look, Draco, I really didn't mean to upset you so much. And… I'm sorry about your father. I know how it is." He didn't move his hand from where it cupped Draco's lower jaw, feeling compelled to keep it in place. Draco was looking at him strangely through tear-filled eyes. Not entirely sure what he was doing, Harry angled his face towards Draco's, and did the only thing he could think of to stop the tears: he pressed his lips to the other boy's.
For a moment, Draco did nothing, and embarrassment overcame Harry. As he was about to pull back, he suddenly found his kiss reciprocated. Harry held back a moan as Draco started sucking on his lower lip- he'd never been with such an adept kisser before. As Draco placed an arm on Harry's waist and wrapped the other around his neck, Harry's right hand joined his left cupping Draco's face. For another minute they continued, battling tongues and making soft noises, before they both pulled back for air.
"Wow… that was…" Harry started.
"Good," finished Draco. "Potter, I would've never thought…"
"Yeah, well, I… I guess you can think it."
Draco smiled- not his customary smirk, but a genuine smile- and Harry almost melted. "I will then, Potter… er, Harry." The smile dissolved as Draco continued, "Or was that just something to satisfy your curiosity? See if you were queer? See if…"
Harry interrupted, "No! I just… I just wanted to make you feel better."
Draco's expression softened. "Well, then… alright. I do feel better now. But what are we going to do with this?"
The dark haired wizard reached for the other boy's hand, and fingers closed around each other gently. "We'll think of something, won't we?"
After Harry finished with the judiciously edited bulk, he tied up the story for his very sleepy son. "And after that, we spent the last few months at school together, and then we graduated. We opened up the warding business, and built the house. And then you came around, and here we are now. The end. Satisfied?"
The boy nodded. Harry gave him a hug, before ushering the child off his lap. "Now get yourself in bed, and I'll be around to tuck you in in a few minutes." Once more, Jamie nodded in agreement, and tiredly made his way towards his own room. As Harry shook out his cramped limbs, an annoyed voice spoke up from besides him.
"You know, the way I had him understanding it, a least I didn't seem like wimp." Draco stretched himself out on the couch and unceremoniously dumped his head in Harry's lap. Harry ran his fingers through the fine strands of blonde hair, smiling to himself.
"You didn't seem like a wimp. You were more like Scrooge, your cold heart melting in the Christmas magic…" As a reward for his statement, Harry received a playful shove in the stomach from Draco's elbow.
"Scrooge was the Muggle Christmas story you read Jamie the other night, right?"
"Yeah, the one where the man is obsessed with his money."
"The one I found so ironic considering how much you keep hoarded away at Gringotts…"
"I wouldn't be so rude to me when your head's in my lap."
Draco smirked. "I'm not the one who should be worrying in this sort of position."
"Oh, be quiet, you," said Harry, as he bent down to give Draco a quick peck on the lips. "We need to go tuck in Jamie."
"Just when I got comfortable?"
"Of course." Once more, Harry leaned and kissed Draco, longer and more passionately. When they broke, he sighed happily. "Merry Christmas, love."
"Merry Christmas, Harry. And happy anniversary, too."