Chapter 12

"It's that time of year
When the world falls in love
Every song you hear seems to say
Merry Christmas."
Song - Christmas Waltz, by Mindy Gledhill

12 December 2005

Harry was exhausted. It had been a long-ass day investigating yet another magical break-in to a Muggle home. The perp was escalating, no longer satisfied to take a few broken Muggle items; now they were using magic around the people's homes, leading the Obliviators on a merry chase around the countryside. They were getting smarter, no longer exchanging broken items for working ones. No, now they were fixing them, cleaning the house, multiplying food, even adding bits and bobs of Christmas decorations around the homes.

The Muggle media was calling them the Christmas Brownies, as though these idiots had any idea the terror feral brownies would spread in Southern England. They'd destroy their homes, eat their pets, and lay traps for unsuspecting children.

No, these were human perpetrators, and they were going to break the Statute of Secrecy in a way the magical world had never experienced if Harry couldn't catch them. It was only a matter of time until someone posted a video on a blog or bulletin board, or even on one of those new video sharing websites people were talking about.

But for now, Harry was done for the night, putting the case aside in favour of a quiet evening with Draco. Maybe they could watch a movie and order a pizza. Something simple and restful.

Instead, he stepped from the Floo into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place to find chaos.

Christmas music played quietly on the Wireless, and Draco sat on the floor, the coffee table before him laden in books, old photo albums, newspaper clippings, and pages upon pages of notes. On the sofa behind him were fancy linens, several pieces of old, fancy silverware, and a tray of crystal wine goblets.

"Um, Draco?"

Draco looked up, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and one of his beloved Muggle pencils tucked behind his ear. His shirt collar was open and in disarray, and his eyes had a foggy, far away look in them that made Harry want to snuggle him. He was adorable.

"Hmmm?" Draco asked, squinting up at Harry.

Harry cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "I have so many questions and no idea where to start."

Draco looked around him, seeming to see the mess surrounding him for the first time. Turning around, he moved the tray of goblets out of the way and patted the cushion. "Sit. I want to talk to you about something."

Draco's voice wasn't terribly sombre, but it was serious and had Harry's hackles rising just a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, you idiot. I just want to show you what I've found and get your thoughts on it."

Harry stepped over a pile of books and settled down onto the couch, leaning forward to try to see the nearest photo album before Draco slammed it shut.

"Not yet." He turned to the side, drawing his leg up and hugging it as he seemed to consider his words. Harry's stomach twisted in anticipation. Still, Draco didn't look upset, so Harry forced himself to stay calm and to listen. "I was thinking about family Christmases."

"Oh-kay," Harry said when Draco didn't continue. "What about them?"

"Well, lots about them, actually. First, what you said about your time growing up, how your relatives didn't really include you in their celebrations."

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, not wanting to get into it. Draco always got worked up when the subject was mentioned.

"Yes, it does, but that's not what I'm getting at. Harry, in wizarding society, holiday traditions are passed down through the generations. I guarantee that some of the things you've done with the Weasleys were things their grandparents, great great grandparents, and so on, all did. There's magic in tradition, even little ones, and it's important to continue that."

Harry thought of his own parents, his stomach sinking a little at the thought of having lost that, of having lost anyone in his life who might have been able to recover any of it. He shook his head, clearing the temporary melancholy. He had Draco now, and the Weasleys.

"Anyway," Draco continued, picking up a yellowed newspaper from the table, "I asked Pansy and Blaise to do a little digging for me." He handed the newspaper to Harry, his motions hesitant, as though he wasn't sure how Harry would react.

Harry dropped his eyes from his lover to the newsprint and stopped breathing.

There, on the front page of the 1977 Daily Prophet, were his parents under the headline "Annual Potter Christmas Gala to Continue Despite the War." Beside them were two older people Harry recognised as his paternal Grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia, and on their other side stood a very young Sirius Black. Harry soaked it in, this little key to his family that he'd never seen, before dropping his eyes to scan the article. It was direct and to the point, laying out the details of the annual dinner and dance his family hosted for the wizarding world elite. Names Harry recognised jumped out: Abbott, Carmichael, Longbottom, Bones, Wood, McKinnon… The article described their dress, the fancy meal, the orchestra, and the highly decorated, winter ballroom covered in artificial snow and crystal.

It was beautiful and overwhelming.

Draco cleared his throat. "I want to help you bring it back." When Harry didn't respond, unsure what to say, Draco continued. "The ball. I want to help you throw this gala like your ancestors. It says they did this for decades, every year. It's important."

Harry's eyes stung as he considered what Draco was saying. "You want to throw a fancy ball like my parents did. So I can restart my family tradition."

Draco nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Look." He opened the album he'd shut earlier, flipping through photographs yellowed with age. Harry recognised several of the faces as relatives of his classmates or original members of the Order, and his throat began to ache.

"Where'd you get all this?"

"Obviously, some of this is from the society pages. Then Pansy made some Floo calls and gathered more details; Augusta Longbottom had a wealth of information."

"Draco," Harry said, taking a deep breath and hoping he could convey all he was feeling. "This is too much."

Draco took his hand. "No, it's not enough, actually, but it's a start. It may be all I can find this year since we didn't start looking until just a few days ago, but—"

Harry squeezed Draco's cold fingers and pulled them to his chest, laying a hand over them. "Thank you."

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure what Draco was going to do, his grey eyes darting over Harry's face, but finally, Draco simply smiled and nodded. "You're welcome." He reached behind him and grabbed the pile of linens. "So we only have nine days to plan. I've enlisted Linney's help, and Pansy is letting us borrow a few of her house-elves. Mother says we can use the ballroom at the Manor, but Augusta offered her ballroom as well, and I thought—"

"Wait. Ballroom?"

"Well, yeah, you're going to need room for dancing. Now, the Potters' Gala was always on Yule, so we have until the 21st, and I have a couple of days off work next week to iron out details. We'll invite all the old families." He held up his hands. "So, which of these napkins do you like better?"

Harry stared. Draco couldn't be serious. "You can't be serious."

"Of course, I'm serious. This is important. You need to feel like it's your event. So, which ones?"

Both napkins were a deep crimson and, from what Harry could tell, they were exactly the same. "Draco."

"Harry." Draco had his 'I love him, so I put up with him' look on his face again.

"You said the Malfoys had a tradition of a quiet family dinner on Yule. I can't ask you to give that up."

Draco rolled his eyes. "But I've done that every year my whole life. You haven't had the chance even once. We'll do yours."

"We won't."

"We will."

"Draco."

"Harry."

"I won't ask you to give up your own. I didn't even know these existed until now. This doesn't make sense!" Why does he have to be so stubborn?

"And that's exactly why you need to do this. Now which one?" He shoved the napkins in Harry's face. Harry's nose began to tickle. Before he could catch himself, he sneezed loudly, face landing down in the right napkin.

He pulled back quickly to catch a look of disgust on Draco's face, his eyes firmly locked on the now soiled linen. "You—"

"I guess the right one?" Harry said, beginning to laugh. The horror in Draco's wide eyes just made him laugh harder until tears began to drip from the corners of his own. "Draco—"

Draco folded the napkin over, covering the mess Harry had made, and daintily placed it upon the table. He took the pencil from around his ear and circled something on his list, presumably the red napkin on the right.

"Draco," Harry said, finally really thinking it all through, "why can't we do both?"

"Both napkins? That's ridiculous. Unless you plan to offer one as a handkerchief?"

Harry snorted another laugh but shook his head. "No, both traditions. I don't want a huge gala ball. You know I hate that stuff. But I love the idea of having all our friends over for a nice dinner, and we can light the log and do some of your family traditions for the evening. And we can use the red napkins."

Draco seemed to consider, his eyes casting around the items he'd set out. "You'll let me make it fancy?"

"Only two forks."

"Four."

"Three, and one of those are for dessert."

"Harry," Draco whined, but Harry knew he'd won when the corner of Draco's lips twitched.

Harry stood and pulled Draco up with him, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and looking up into his face. "A large, formal dinner party here at Grimmauld Place with all our friends to celebrate Yule. It'll be the best of both of our families' magic."

"It'll be ours," Draco whispered, and Harry nodded, his stomach suddenly flooded with warmth and his chest aching with the love he felt for this man.

"Thank you for this. It's wonderful, Draco." He looked down at the table of papers and books. "I can't wait to make copies of all this stuff and look through it later."

"These are the copies." Draco shrugged. "Augusta wouldn't give them up otherwise."

Harry grinned. "Old bat. Still, we're getting a new tradition out of it, so I can't complain."

A gloating smirk flitted across Draco's face so fast Harry wondered if he'd imagined it, but he just shrugged it off. This was going to be fun. "Nine days to plan?"

"Nine days," Draco agreed.

"Best get busy then. But do you think the holiday decorations around the house are enough?"

He ran laughing as Draco sent Stinging Spells his way. Merlin, he adored this ridiculous man.